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His sharp jawline has a dusting of dark whiskers, and my fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and touch them. Maybe I should.Fuck, I don’t know.
When I glance back up, he’s watching me.
“What are you doing?” His brows are bunched.
“Nothing,” I squeak. “You’re just...”Christ.“Veryhandsome." Then I smile, flutter my eyelashes and kind of push my breasts out.
“You look like you’re having a seizure. Stop it.”
“That’s rude.”
He stands and waves his hand around. “Whatever this is, forget it. I’m not a sexually frustrated man who is going to fall for your...let’s call them charms, to be kind.”
Bastard.
My mouth is gaping as he strides out of the room and bangs the door closed behind him.
“Kind?!” I yell after him. “I bet you don’t even know how to be kind!”
It’s a wasted effort, but I feel better getting it out of my system.
I can’t help but agree with him. I’ve never flirted with a man in my life. And if I hadn’t been sitting down, I probably would have toppled over.
Ugh.
My plan might need some tweaking. I’m not giving up.
I’m not a sexually frustrated man.
So, he has a girlfriend or dates a lot, then. Or more likely, he sleeps with a lot of women. Another reason I don’t want to encourage him to touch me.
But I do want him to.
I glance down at myself and take in the black sweatpants and matching sweater I’m wearing. Clothes Maddox has provided me.
Why do I need to change?
I stand, ignoring my aches and pain, and open the closet. He spared no expense when purchasing the wide selection. It freaks me out when I consider how long he thinks I will be here.
Let’s call them charms.
Damn him. I’m not giving up my seduction escape strategy. Mostly because it’s the only one I have, but also because I still think it can work.
Maybe.
Dragging some hangers aside, I browse through the dresses and find a green one with a low neckline.
That will do.
I quickly shower, slap on some makeup and make my eyes smoky. It’s subtle, but enough to catch his attention.
Then I slide on a pair of black silk panties and a matching bra—all in my exact size, which is creepy as fuck—and then step into the dress.
I’m pulling up the zipper when the door opens. Our eyes connect in the mirror, and I almost grin at his glower. Something has irritated him and I think it might be me. Perhaps he’s not as immune to me now that I’m all dressed up.
What he doesn’t know about me is that I’ve survived a life of being controlled already.
I’m not the princess he thinks I am.