He didn’t say anything for a moment after that, and the silence stretched on for several moments. It was disarming. I wanted to say something, anything, just to end it, but that too felt like I was giving into him. And if there was one thing this silly little girl knew, it was that if you let someone think you were giving in, if you let them think you were weak, they would take advantage any chance they got.
I shivered, aware of the fact that I was still wearing just a thin t-shirt.
“You’re cold,” Colt said.
“No, I’m not.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He returned with a grey zip up hoodie, then stopped short just inside the door. He held it out to me, motioning for me to come get it. I took a step toward him, and his eyes raked over my body, lingering on my nipples, which were hard and visible through my t-shirt. Just like at the club, he made no excuses for the fact that he was openly staring at my body.
“Why don’t you take a picture, it will last longer,” I mumbled.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said, amused.
I turned around and slid my arms through the sweatshirt, then went to grab the zipper.
“It’s tricky,” he said, reaching around and grabbing it for me. “Sometimes it catches.” His chest was so broad, his hands so big, his body so strong, that it made me feel tiny in comparison. I closed my eyes as he did the zipper, letting the side of his hand slide over my breast as he did it. I knew he was trouble, I knew I barely knew him, but for some reason, in that moment, all I wanted to do was turn around and bury myself in his arms.
He’d told me that he could make me forget, and I believed him. Cutting had been my escape until now, a way to take the edge of and keep me from feeling things I didn’t want to feel. I’d avoided alcohol and drugs because I’d seen what they could do to people, so cutting had been my way of dealing.
In theory, I wasn’t opposed to losing myself in another person, through sex, lust, love, obsession, whatever. But if I was going to do it, it was going to be Declan. It had to be. He was the man I was going to give myself to.
And I’ve never been tempted by anyone else.
Until now.
I shrugged away from Colt, pulling the sweatshirt tighter around me.
“You shouldn’t have given me a sweatshirt with a messed up zipper,” I said.
“Sorry, Princess. I didn’t know you were so picky.”
“Is that a dig at the fact that I’m staying at a shelter? Because you’re not any better than me.” His sweatshirt was huge on me, and I pushed up the sleeves and pulled it tighter around me.
“Who said I was better than you?”
“Oh, please.” I folded my arms over my chest. Even with the extra security and padding of the sweatshirt, I felt a little too exposed, a little too vulnerable to his wandering eyes. “You’re rich.”
“Is that what you think? That I think I’m better than you because I have money?”
“Of course! Isn’t that why you brought me here?” Thinking about it now, saying the words out loud, I was starting to get angry. “Because you felt sorry for me? You saw I was wearing cheap clothes and that I was looking for a job as a stripper, so you just assumed I was poor. And then you somehow poked around in my personal, private business, which you were probably able to do because of your money, and you realized I was staying at a shelter. And that really probably made you feel bad for me.” I was getting going now. I wanted to put him in his place, to make him see that I wasn’t just some girl he could come along and save with his good looks and his money. I didn’t need saving. I was fine.
His cell phone rang before he could reply.
He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, answering it with a brisk, “Colt Cannon.”
Which just proved my point. If he didn’t think he was better than me, then why the hell did he answer a phone call in the middle of our conversation?
I needed to get out of here. Even the shelter was better than this. The shelter made you feel bad about yourself, but at least everyone there was in the same boat. You didn’t have to worry about some rich asshole making you feel inferior.
“Have Jessa take care of it,” Colt was saying into the phone. “She’s good with that kind of shit.”
I looked around the room for my clothes, the ones I wore here, the skirt and button-up shirt. I needed to change and get the hell out of here.
“Where are my clothes?” I demanded.
Colt held his finger up, the universal sign for “one minute.” But I wasn’t going to wait one minute. I wasn’t going to wait one second.
I crossed the room to the closet in the corner and flung open the doors. But there was nothing in there except for a bunch of fluffy robes hanging on hangers. I flung the drawers underneath it open, but they were empty.
Where the hell could my clothes have gone? I remembered folding them neatly and putting them on the chair in the corner, but now the chair was empty.
“Where are my clothes?” I yelled again. I was acting like a child, but I didn’t care.
“One second,” Colt said to whoever he was talking to. He covered the phone with his hand. “Relax. Your clothes are being washed.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You came into my room and took my clothes while I was sleeping?” How completely perverted.