Page 94 of How to Bang a Billionaire

It was going to be amazing.

The taxi deposited me at One Hyde Park, which didn’t look quite as intimidating as I remembered. I got security cleared and then wandered into the elevator—enjoyed the iris scan and the swift, silent whoosh of the ascent.

Pulling off my T-shirt—gosh, even air was nice, stirring a faint, residual memory of pleasure—I let myself into the apartment.

And discovered Caspian Hart waiting for me in the receiving area.

No jacket. No tie. Otherwise impeccable.

The room itself had been meticulously restored. Even the carpet I’d forlornly attempted to clean that morning.

And oh my word. He’d been here all night?

“Arden.” He rose. Smoothed the creases from that stark, black suit. Regarded me so coldly it gave me the shivers. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

That wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting. But then I hadn’t expected him to be here at all. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I have no idea where you went and you weren’t answering your phone.”

Maybe I should have been touched by the concern. But right now it was pretty seriously misplaced. “You didn’t seem to care too much about that yesterday.”

“That’s not relevant.”

“It’s pretty fucking relevant to me.”

His face got all tight and still—a look I remembered from when he’d been talking to Ellery. “While you live under my roof, you will carry your phone, stay in contact, and use the driver I have assigned to you.”

Wow, I’d say he sounded like my mum, except my mum wasn’t a total dick. “You have no right to talk to me like that. I agreed to live here, and sleep with you, and fit my schedule to yours. But that doesn’t make me your fucking property.”

“I’m trying to look after you.”

“What? You mean in case I get myself raped in an alley again?”

There was a long, horrible silence. It made me wish I had another vase to drop.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Caspian said finally. “And I’m sorry.”

“Wow. That is the worst fucking apology I’ve ever waited nearly forty-eight hours to receive. F minus. See me after class.”

He gazed at me steadily. And then said, very quietly, “I told you I wasn’t very good at caring for people.” A pause. “You keep saying you want me, Arden. Well, this is who I am.”

“No.” I came at him like a very small but determined tornado. “This is bullshit.”

We tangled up into this angry…hug thing? And ended up in the chair where he’d been sitting before, with me straddling him, my hands on his shoulders. It was probably the closest I’d ever been to him—including the times we’d fucked. His eyes were wide and shocked and wary, like a wild animal about to bolt. Or, y’know, rip my throat out.

“I’m really grateful you showed up that night,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean you get to use it against me. Ever.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were. You think I can’t tell the difference between what happened in Oxford and what I want with you?”

“What…” I felt the shudder run through him “What if I can’t?”

I shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to trust me then.”

“I’m not—”

“Good at trusting people?”