Dollars (Dollar #2)(70)

She snarled, struggling to sit up. Her eyes once again gravitated back to my cello.

I grabbed her cheeks with my free hand. “What is it? Why are you acting like an idiot?” I dug my fingers tighter. “Goddammit, speak and spit it out.”

Her heart hammered beneath my palm holding her down. Her body lurched with terror and rage.

It wasn’t an act. Her fear stank my room with truth.

Pulling back, I removed some of the pressure. “I’m going to let you go. But if you go after my cello again, I won’t hesitate to do what’s necessary to stop you. Got it?”

She ignored me.

My patience wore out.

Pinching her face, I forced her to look at me. “Got it, Pim?”

Her eyes blazed blue fire.

“Nod for yes. This is one time I won’t let you get away with not answering me. Unless you truly want me to hurt you, then that can be arranged.”

We glowered at each other.

For a moment, I feared she’d make me hurt her to prove a point. To become like him.

But then saneness finally glimmered; she reluctantly nodded.

I rewarded her by letting her go.

Prowling away, I jerked both hands through my hair, doing my best to figure out what the f*ck was going on.

“What were you doing running around the yacht naked and bleeding?”

She slowly sat up, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nakedness. I didn’t know why she did. It wasn’t because she was shy. Perhaps to make me more comfortable? She didn’t hunch, but she did keep her eyes downcast the more sanity returned to her.

Her body language spoke of regret and shame. Of confusion and a lostness that made my goddamn chest ache.

Regret, I could understand—I regretted so much of my life. But shame was not allowed.

Stopping my pacing, I snapped, “I know what you’re thinking. It’s about the other night, isn’t it?”

Her eyes met mine.

“Don’t feel shame for trying to show me what we could have together.” I gave her a wry smile. “Receiving a blowjob from you—even if I stopped it—felt f*cking incredible.” Deciding to push her and see just how open she was to discussing sex as a mutual thing, not just an expectation, I added, “Your mouth…f*ck, Pim. I dream about your mouth and finishing what you started.”

She sucked in a breath, her chest flushing.

“So don’t feel shame for showing me what you’re worth. I already know what you’re worth, and it’s a lot f*cking more than just sex.”

She looked at her hands in her lap.

I couldn’t help it.

She thought she could lock me out after tearing into my space and wreaking havoc? The least she could do was listen and communicate for once.

Striding toward her, I once again grabbed her chin, dragging her eyes to mine. “Is this about Dafford? About him trying to buy you?”

She flinched, trying to pull her face away.

I didn’t let her.

“If it is, I’ll make you a promise right here and now. I won’t sell you. I won’t lie and say I didn’t think about it. But I give you my word. I won’t. You’re mine for however long I decide.”

Her eyebrow arched as if to ask what would happen when I decided that time was up.

“Then we deal with that when we come to it. Things have a habit of changing. And decisions made now might be obsolete by the time we decide this—whatever it is between us—has run its course.”

She scowled as if she didn’t do well with open-ended contracts. She liked to see the finish line. To know what would happen in a best-and-worst-case scenario. Perhaps that was why she still held on to the idea of suicide even though she was too strong to ever give up. It was the power in having an end the way she orchestrated, no one else.

I could understand that.

Shit, I’d danced with the same possibility myself when everything turned to f*cking pieces. But she didn’t get to decide that anymore.

“Now I’ve sworn never to sell you, I need you to swear something in return.”

She sucked in a breath, her teeth grinding beneath my hold.

“Swear you won’t end it. Don’t rob me of the chance to heal you.”

She snorted as if that wouldn’t be long. She stuck out her tongue, revealing a red line decorating the pink muscle. No more stitches and no more blood.

It was my turn to suck in air. “I’m glad it’s almost healed.”

She held up her broken hand that’d downgraded from bandage to skin. Her eyebrow rose as she wriggled her fingers.

I frowned. “Why are you showing me your physical injuries? You think now your tongue is functional and your bones are knitted together, I’ll decide what to do with you?” A slow smile spread my lips. “Oh, not quite, Pimlico. We have a long way to go before you’re healed” —I tapped her temple— “in here.”

She froze.

“Did you think I just wanted you physically fit?” I grinned. “I know damaged. I’ve been where you are—in a different way, of course. It takes time.”

As her eyes narrowed in judgment and questions, a plan slowly unfurled in my head. For so long I had no idea what to do with her. What I could do without damaging my own shaky foundations.

But now…I think I know.