Page 95 of Omega
I nodded. “I know.” I let out a breath and looked up at him. “Nick? I don’t think I’ve said this yet, but…thank you.”
He frowned. “For what?”
“Coming to get me? Rescuing me? Killing for me? Risking death for me?”
“Oh. That. It’s very literally in the job description. I would have gone to get you even if it wasn’t, though. They say love makes you do crazy things, and I always thought that was stupid bullshit. But now? Now I get it.”
Love.
The word hung in the air between us. He knew I’d caught it, and I knew he knew. We just stared at each other for a long moment, each willing the other to say it first.
Eventually, I couldn’t take the pressure any more. “Come on. Take me to Miami and buy me some new clothes and a fancy American dinner.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, and helped me back up into the monster Humvee.
* * *
And that’s exactly what he did. He took me to Saks and bought me a whole new outfit from the skin out. Jade green lingerie the exact shade of his eyes when he was horny, lace-trimmed demi bra and boy-shorts. A white skirt that hit mid-thigh, knee-high socks and Mary-Janes, a lacy, racy, sleeveless, backless, cleavage-popping blouse in sapphire blue. Even a brand new Kate Spade clutch. Like a good boyfriend, he followed me through the store and just told me everything looked amazing, told me to pick whatever I wanted and not worry about price tags. So I did what he told me. I might have tested him on the purse, though. I mean, it wasn’t Gucci or anything, but a four-hundred-dollar purse is crazy expensive to a girl who’s used to working three jobs just to afford rent, food, bills, and booze. Nick didn’t even blink. Just handed over a stack of hundos and told the girl to keep the change, walking away with my bag and ignoring the girl’s protest that she wasn’t allowed to take tips.
He accompanied me to the mall’s restroom and waited while I changed. “Damn, Layla.” His eyes on my body, his hands reached for me and smoothed over my hips. “You look incredible.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Nicholas.”
He growled. “Nicholas. Fucking Nicholas. I haven’t been called that since Mrs. LaPrade, my second grade Sunday School teacher.”
“I’m special, so it’s fine.”
“You are special,” he agreed, pulling me against his body for a kiss. “Very special. After dinner, I’ll show you how special you are.”
“You know, this is kind of a first for me.”
He pulled me into a walk. “What is?”
I tugged at the hem of the skirt. “All this. Letting you buy me this stuff. I’m not, like, a femi-nazi or anything. I appreciate chivalry and all that, but I’ve always drawn the line at letting men buy me things. Buy me dinner, sure. Pay for the movie, okay. That’s taking care of your date, and it’s fine. But I’ve never let a man buy me gifts. That smacks of having a sugar daddy, and I’ve always refused to allow that. Makes me feel like I’m being paid for sex, but in stuff rather than money.”
“So what’s different?” Harris asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything. Me, I guess.”
A pause as he helped me into the Humvee and navigated out of the parking lot. “Look. I’m not anywhere remotely close to being as wealthy as Roth, but I’m doing just fine. I’ll never want for anything. And as long as you’re mine, neither will you. I don’t give a shit how you want to work things. You want to keep your shit separate from mine, that’s cool. You let me; I’ll take care of you. I just want you any way I can get you. That’s all I care about.”
“There’s a certain assumption in what you just said that I’m not sure we’ve really covered yet.”
He eyed me across the space between us—which, being a Humvee, was significant. “Damn right there’s an assumption. Unless you want to tell me otherwise right now…Layla, you and me? We’re it. You’re mine.”
“Nick—”
“And I realize how caveman that sounds. You’re your own woman. You do what you want. I respect the fuck out of you. But you’re mine. It goes both ways, though.”
“Say it, Nick.”
He let silence hang for a moment. A smile curved his mouth. “You think I won’t?”
“I think it’s harder for you to say you’re mine than to tell me I’m yours.”
“I’ll show—”
I cut in over him. “No shit you’ll show me. I know it’s true. You’re mine, now, Nicholas Harris. Don’t think I don’t know it. I’ll let you be dominant and alpha and all that, because it’s hot as fuck and I like it. But make no mistake, buddy: I take what I want, and I do not sit and obey for fucking anyone. And I donotshare. You’re mine. And I want to hear that from you.”