Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(36)

Yve’s head swiveled around, her cheeks deeply flushed with what I wanted to believe was lust, but was more than likely embarrassment. I tied the towel around my waist, because my dick still hadn’t calmed down, and I didn’t need Jerome seeing that.

“Yve, we need to talk,” I said.

Her eyes hardened. “I need to go. I have shit to do. And I also have nothing to say to you.”

“Yve—”

Jerome interrupted. “My dear, how about I find you something dry to put on. You don’t want to run off like that.”

She looked at Jerome, then me. “You keep a lot of women’s clothes in your house? You know, for occasions like this when you dunk them in the pool.”

I held back what I really wanted to say, given our audience, and instead replied, “I’m sure Jerome could find you something. His nieces have been here.”

“Yes,” Jerome said in an even tone, “and I’m sure they’ve left something behind. If nothing else, Lucas will fetch you something of his.”

“I think I’d rather stay wet.”

My lips quirked into a smirk.

Holding the towel to her chest, she turned for the door. Hell, her dress really was transparent now that it was wet. Everywhere.

“Yve. Wait.” She didn’t, so I said a word I rarely uttered. “Please.” When she froze, I continued. “Let us get you some dry clothes. It’ll only take a minute.”

My request hung in the air for long moments before she finally replied, “Fine. I’ll wait.”

“I’ll return promptly,” Jerome said before hurrying off as fast as his old legs could carry him, leaving Yve and me alone.

She didn’t turn to face me.

“So you come and then you go?” I asked.

Yve spun. “Fuck you, Titan. Don’t you dare try to shame me—”

I closed the distance between us. “The only shameful thing here is that you’re not naked and under me right now.”

Her expression hardened. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have—”

“Come from rubbing against my cock? I beg to differ. Although I’d prefer you wouldn’t have stopped there.”

“Jesus, you’re crass.”

“Just stating the facts.”

She released one hand’s grip on the towel, and it slid a little south. That hand went straight to her hip—propped and sassy. “I don’t like you,” she declared.

“I thought we’d established that you don’t have to like someone to want to f*ck them.”

“Doesn’t make it a good idea.”

“Come on, Yve. Why not figure out an arrangement that’ll work for us both—”

I wasn’t prepared for the crack of her palm across my cheek, or the sting that followed.

“Fuck you and your arrangement.”

She tossed the towel to the floor, yanked the door open, and stalked out.





A MISTRESS. THAT WAS ALL men thought the women in my line were good for. Sex. That was it. Until I’d found the one who wanted to marry me.

God, I’d been so young and naive. I’d thought he loved me. Little did I know, he’d just wanted to own me. Some scars would never fade, and the ones Jay had left were equally as painful as the ones my mother had inflicted—except hers were invisible. Disguised as words of encouragement as I grew up, they still haunted me.

You’re a pretty girl, Yve. You’ll have no trouble finding a man to take care of you. You’ll be just like your mama. Never have to work a day in your life, as long as you keep him happy.

An arrangement. That was exactly what a guy like him would want. I would never let a man take care of me in exchange for sex. Screw that. My determination to make Dirty Dog mine and prove myself as a competent businesswoman grew exponentially. I was not my mother. I had more to offer than my body. And screw anyone who believed differently. Especially Lucas Titan.

Yeah, I might have considered another round with the guy, but that was a far cry from a goddamn arrangement. Angry, I wrenched the steering wheel a little too hard as I turned down my street. The word set me off like nothing else. It was right up there with understanding.

In my book—which might be a messed-up one, but it was the only one that mattered—they were all euphemisms for the same damn thing . . . being a whore. Not a slut, not sleeping around—I was totally cool with that. What I wasn’t cool with was someone offering to compensate me for the use of my *.

I slammed on the brakes after I pulled into my parking spot, and eyed the stairs to my apartment. The locksmith had installed all new locks, and the security people had installed an alarm system. Neither of which I’d run by my landlord, but he was going to have to get over it because all I cared about was my own damn safety.

I stomped to the stairs and climbed them. Despite the warm evening, I was shivering in my soaked clothes. As I jammed my key into the lock, the deep purr of an engine sounded from behind me.

If that was an Aston Martin . . .

I glanced over my shoulder. A strange pang hit my chest when I saw it wasn’t an Aston Martin, a reaction I refused to believe was disappointment.

Get real, girl. Like Lucas Titan would ever chase after you like that. Not that I wanted him to.

I walked back down the stairs to meet Geneviève in the middle of the small backyard at the cheap bench I’d put out there.