He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are those—?”
“Those are nothing,” she snapped, meeting his gaze.
Either she designed metal art, or she'd unleashed a pissed-off hammer on a trophy collection. Her locked jaw suggested the latter. Strange she hadn't covered it the way she'd concealed the self-help books, but he let it go for now.
“Why are we here?” He nodded at the bed.
“Why not?”
Because phobic girls didn't invite strangers where they slept. He gave her a human smile. “It wasn't a personal question.” But he hoped it would incite a personal answer.
“Right.” She looked at the bed and smoothed the white quilt beside her hip. “This is part of the offer.”
His head jerked back. What the—
“Sex in exchange for dropping off my shipments.” Her tone was unshakably and incautiously determined. She'd done this before.
The cold splash of realization doused his brain. And his libido. Christ, why hadn't he seen this coming? Of course, her mental condition would force her to depend on people. People with hard dicks weeping to accept her non-cash payments. People like Zachary Fucking Kaufman.
Goddammit, her offer stung. He wasn't some delivery bitch boy, earning * for a walk to the mailbox. He was there for his own purpose, not hers, and he'd damned well fuck her on his terms. “No.”
Her face fell. “Oh. I thought—”
“I was so hard-up I had to run errands to get my dick wet?” His tone was harsh, though his anger had nothing to do with being hard-up.
Hell, eight years ago, he had been the whore, exchanging blowjobs for crack. No doubt, he would've been bent under some rutting drug-dealer at that very moment if Mr. E hadn't returned for him. Twenty-five years late, and still, he'd been overjoyed to meet long lost Dad.
A vein pulsed, hot and angry, on his forehead. Well, didn't that memory darken his mood? He should thank the good people of Austin for promoting Mr. E to police chief. The new position had come with too much scrutiny for a figurehead who trafficked slaves on the side. Mr. E had needed a front man to run the operation and remembered he had a twenty-five-year-old bastard son. A son, as it turned out, who had no qualms about profiting from sexual services.
Unless those services involved Amber and dipshit deliverymen. A beautiful woman should never sell herself so cheaply. She deserved better than Zachary Kaufman, and she definitely deserved better than what he had planned for her.
Fuck it. This irrational jealousy, or whatever it was, pissed him the hell off. He wanted to wash his hands of her. More than that, he wanted to brand her with a hundred possessive welts.
She fussed with her hair, hands shaking, and eyelids heavy with shame. “Can we just forget I said...that?”
Seriously? He squeezed his fingers into a fist, fighting the impulse to swing and knock her on her ass. He didn't want to scare her too badly. Not yet. Nor did he want to let this Zachary shit go. “Do you fuck all your house-guests?”
“That's a personal question.” Her stubborn chin and hard eyes only fueled his need to punch her.
He leaned over her, hands on the bed beside her hips, and pushed his face into hers. “Your offer to fuck bowled straight through personal and landed smack between your legs. Might as well spread 'em and air it all out.”
“Oh my God.” Her chest rose, brushing his, but she didn't lean away, didn't look away. “Can you please step back?”
His lips were so close to hers he could taste the toothpaste on her breath. “Answer the question.”
“No. I mean, yes.” Her voice was angry and rushed, her dilated pupils resolutely locked on his. “I like sex, okay? I thought the attraction was mutual.”
A burst of lust ignited through his cock. He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his erection, grinding his hips. Nothing said I'm attracted to you like a thrusting boner.
But the tentative squeeze of her fingers sent his head spinning. With her mouth so close and wet from her breaths, he took her lips. It wasn't a gentle touch-and-tease kiss, either. He went for it, dominating her mouth, spreading it open with his jaw, and angling her head with a fist in her hair. His tongue chased hers, lashing and taking.
She didn't fight back, so he unsheathed his teeth, catching and slicing her lips. His pulse raced, and his lungs pumped. Jesus, he couldn't reach any deeper, and she met him stroke for stroke, bite for bloody bite.
Her taste was insufferably sweet, much like the fingers stroking his cock. Which reminded him of his position on her offer.
He released her, and the room stumbled to a dizzying standstill. They shared a suspended look, panting in unison. He stepped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The answer is still ‘No’.”
She slapped a palm over her mouth, eyes closed and forehead pinched. Then she shot from the bed and ran out of the room, leaving a trail of messy footprints in her wake.