Page 95 of The Billionaire's Baby

I’d snorted and his grin had widened as the sales woman had walked away. "You didn’t think I was going to let you pay for it, did you?"

"I can afford it," I’d huffed.

"So can I, and I much prefer if I bought it for you."

"Why, so you can make me a kept woman?"

"Can’t I buy you something because I want to?"

"A generous thought from you?" I widen my gaze. "Why don’t I believe it?"

"Better believe it, babe. Where you’re concerned, my thoughts run the entire spectrum from lust to anticipation to dominance to—" he’d leaned in close enough for our eyelashes to touch, "your submission."

"Which you’ll never have. That, I promise."

"We’ll see." He’d straightened, taken my arm, and I’d allowed him to lead me out and into the waiting car—a Porsche, which he’d had waiting for him at the marina… Apparently, he’d called ahead and had it readied for him.

Oh, and did I mention that he’d bought out half the shop? Or so it seems, given the number of bags they’d loaded into the back of the car. I had protested, but he’d simply countered that since I’m playing the role of his wife, I need the clothes to look the part. I have no argument for that.

Also, yeah, I have a weakness for designer wear. Although I do prefer to buy them for myself… Besides, this is an entire freakin’ wardrobe. WTF? The mind boggles. So, this is what unlimited money can get you? Not that I am lacking for anything; but in comparison to Mr. A'hole here, I may as well as be as poor as…a crow; and I am not talking about the yoga pose by the same name, either.

I shoot him a sideways glance, take in that stern profile, the hooked nose, that square jaw that should have warned me of his imperious nature. "Were you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Always confident that you’d get your own way.

His lips kick up. "Especially when I’m with you, Sparks."

"No, seriously," I huff, "have you always commanded people, confident that they’d do your bidding?"

"After the incident," he stares through the windshield, "the Seven of us fought a lot. Damian and me, in particular. We’d been locked up together by our captors, who liked to pit us against each other. We had to fight until one or both of us lost consciousness. It became a game for the two of us, how to keep hitting each other, without hurting the other too much, but making it believable enough for our kidnappers to buy it. When they caught on, Damian took the blame for it, only they didn’t spare me."

My heart begins to race. Finally, finally he’s beginning to share more about what happened to him.

"What did they do to you?"

"They whipped me."

I draw in a breath.

"Wh…whipped you?"

"They took turns, went at it day and night. They tied me up, strung me up from the ceiling, and whipped me until I’d lose consciousness. Then, when I had recovered, another man would start the process all over again."

"H…how long did that go on for?"

"Days…" he swallows, "weeks maybe… Or so I thought. I found out later it had been closer to ten days."

"Ten days?" I burst out. "Oh my god, Arpad."

He stares straight ahead, "My injuries were only physical, compared to what was done to some of the others."

"What…did they do?"

"That’s for them to share."

"Of course," I swallow, "from where I am, though, I wouldn’t say that you got off lightly."