Page 12 of Don’t Hate Me (Secrets of Ravens Hollow #2)

“Leave this on until the doctor arrives to assess you,” he says, his bossy tone back.

I stare down at him, confused by his care with me. “Why are you helping me? What do you care if I’m hurt or not?” I snap back, bitchy as hell.

He sighs heavily and stands so he’s now looking down at me as he runs a hand through his hair, small stress lines appearing on his forehead. “Don’t push me today, Sloane. My patience is wearing thin after you hurt yourself so badly yesterday.”

My eyes narrow. What the fuck? He’s pissed at me because I’m hurt. Fuck him. This is all his fault.

When I don’t say anything in response, he nods, satisfied. “I have had some of your belongings brought down to my room. Get changed, and we can have some breakfast together.”

I want to snap back at him and say that they’re not my belongings, my belongings were all destroyed back in Ravens Hollow.

The stuff he is referring to is the expensive shit he’s bought me so I can dress up for him.

But with his serious expression and all the trouble I caused yesterday, I hold my tongue.

He moves into the walk-in closet and comes back out with a white linen shirt and a pair of trousers.

He strips off the sleep pants he was wearing in one quick move, not even bothering to turn around and hide himself from me, and my mouth nearly falls open.

When did we start changing in front of each other?

I don’t know where to look, but my eyes won’t let me look away either.

I eat up every damn inch of him, and there is a lot to look at.

His body is chiseled from stone, with just a light scattering of hair, and you just know he makes good use of his home gym.

His cock is thick and hangs heavy between his legs, and I don’t miss the small twist of his lips as he catches me checking him out.

When he pulls his boxer briefs on, he turns around, yanking up his pants.

The sight of his back makes my breath hitch in shock.

His back is a landscape of faint, raised, and uneven scars.

The type of marks that couldn’t just be surface wounds; they are etched into his skin so deeply, leaving a painful, lingering memory, I’m sure.

As he slips his shirt on, then turns back toward me, I blink back at him. He knows what I have just seen, but I don’t dare ask him how he got them. Or why he changed in front of me. “Now we are even,” he mutters, his eyes meeting mine.

“W…what?” I stutter, still trying to process what I just saw.

He walks toward me as he buttons his shirt. “I have nothing to hide from you, Sloane.”

He thinks we’re even for all the fucking stalking shit he’s done to me. For changing me and watching me fuck other dudes. I huff out a laugh. “I don’t think so, Orlando.”

He chuckles playfully, still watching me as he takes a step closer, holding out a hand for me to take. “Do you need a hand?”

I push his gesture away. “You have helped me enough.” I stand on shaky feet and hobble over to the walk-in.

There, hanging front and center, is a simple sheath dress in white.

“Do I have another option?” I call over my shoulder.

The dress is beautiful and in my normal life exactly what I would wear, but what’s the point in dressing up here?

“No, wear the dress, it will look nice on you.” His voice comes from behind me, and I realize he’s followed me into the walk-in. “There are panties and bras in the top drawer.” His head tilts to the side. “Would you like help changing?”

I glare at him. “No, get the hell out of here,” I snap, bitchy as all hell. But what does he expect, that he will change in front of me and now I’ll happily do the same? Fuck no.

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and way too friendly for who we are to each other, before leaving me alone.

The man is obsessed with seeing me naked.

I find the panties and bra he was talking about and slip off my nightdress, changing into the dress he has picked out for me.

Before I leave, I go back to where I found that ring box and look for it, but it’s gone.

I wonder where he put it and who it’s for?

Has he had other girls here he’s called treasure before?

There is something majorly unsettling about that thought.

I hobble back out into the room. “I’ll let you get away with it today because walking up all those stairs to find something else to wear sounds way too painful right now. But just so you know, I’m not some doll you can play dress-up with.”

His smile reaches his eyes, amusement dancing in them at my comment. “I never thought you were.” His hand dusts up my arm. “But you have to admit it was a good choice. You look beautiful.”

“For what, to sit around the house with my leg up? Besides, an expensive dress can’t hide all of this.” I motion to the scratches and bruises covering my body.

“For me.” His eyes meet mine with too much warmth in them. “I like to admire you.”

I quickly avert my gaze, limping through to the bathroom in search of a brush. What the hell was that look and why did I like it? Being this close to him twenty-four-seven is dangerous. Once I have brushed my hair, I come back into the bedroom. “Orlando. Have you had other girls stay here before?”

His eyes narrow. “Why do you ask?”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “Curiosity.”

“No. You’re the first person I have let stay with me.”

I don’t know how I feel about that. “Not even any one-night stands? Girls who come for a weekend away?”

“What are you fishing for, treasure?”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m just trying to understand you a little better. You know so much about me, but all I know about you is you’re supposed to be dead.”

“You’ve seen me naked.”

I raise a brow, telling him that’s not what I meant.

His eyes lock with mine. “No other women have stayed here with me ever, Sloane, you’re the first.”

“What about the staff?”

“They come and go daily. We’re not that far from the mainland,” he admits, but I feel like he shouldn’t be telling me that, because I could use that information to get out of this place.

Instead of plotting my next escape, an ache forms in my chest for him, something I don’t understand. “You have lived completely alone for nine years?”

He closes the gap between us. “I like it that way.”

I pull a face, trying to understand him but not ready to admit that’s what’s going on here. “And now you have me crashing your space,” I say with a little too much attitude.

His hand brushes up my arm. “This space was built for you to crash.”

The way he says it makes my heart race. “What does that mean?”

He presses his lips to my forehead. “It means you were always supposed to end up here with me.” He tries to take my hands, but I step back from him awkwardly. He can’t say stuff like that.

“And the ring I found?” I ask, desperate to know whose it is.

A flash of disappointment comes over him, and he moves away from me. “Time for breakfast.” He walks from the room, leaving me staring at the back of his form as he strides away.

I knew I was asking too much. But now I’m more desperate than ever to know.