Thorne Princess(86)

Not the prototype to sell a story to the tabs.

“I’m talking about us.” I dropped my voice, just in case.

“Not familiar with that term.” Ransom popped his knuckles.

I felt pathetic, pressing forward when he clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but knew I’d be the loser if I didn’t pursue him. Ransom treated sex as an outlet, as a game. His partners changed often. Me? I needed him. No one else could do for me. He was sexy, but also safe. He could guide me out of my androphobia.

“I’m talking about what happened two nights ago.”

He put his phone down, studying me. His eyes asked me to drop it. I held his gaze, not letting go.

“Mistakes happen.” He shrugged finally. “Look at my track record.”

“That was no mistake. We couldn’t stop.”

“Precisely,” he countered. “That is the definition of an accident.”

We weaved through a long traffic jam, with at least twenty more minutes until we got home. He was stuck in this conversation, whether he liked it or not.

“I have a proposition.” I licked my lips.

“The answer is no.”

“You haven’t even heard it.”

“Don’t need to.” He picked up his phone again. I snatched it from his hand and tucked it into my front pocket.

He arched an eyebrow. “All right. You got my attention. What is it, Princess?”

“Two nights ago…it was the first time I’ve been with a man. And I felt good. Secure. I even…you know.” I shifted in my seat. “Climaxed.”

“I know.” He looked pained. Like he was suffering through the conversation. I bet he was. His sexual encounters never included any sort of pillow talk.

“This is a huge win for me.”

“I’m happy for you. Truly.” He stared at me, waiting for the punch line.

“We can continue doing this…discreetly, until your post is up,” I suggested.

He was still. So still, for a second, I wondered if he’d turned into a pillar of salt.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asked finally. “That would be a gross violation of my contract, not to mention a stain on my already filthy conscience. You’re the ward. You’re under my protection. What kind of scumbag would take advantage of that?”

The driver jacked up the volume of the music, signaling that he had absolutely no interest in listening to this negotiation, and that we ought to keep it down.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Random. If someone is going to be taking advantage of someone here, it’d be me of you.”

“You’re young, vulnerable, and we’re trying to get your life back on track. You have a history you should face, not bury. I don’t want to make things worse for you.”

“I’m of legal age, sound mind, and want to have fun for a change,” I insisted.

“You need to work through what happened to you. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Telling me what I need and what I don’t need is chauvinistic.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase—you can be with other men. But not with me.”

It scissored my gut. The way he didn’t trust that I was okay. I smeared a calm smile over my face, beaming through the pain.

“Thought you said I needed to stay abstinent.”

If you don’t crave me, at least be possessive of me.

“Change of plans. You can sleep with whomever you want.” He paused, frowning down at me. “Provided fuckface doesn’t mind a little audience. I’m not letting you be alone with some random.”

“No one’s gonna want to do that.”

“No?” He made a sad face. “Too bad.”

Tears pinched at the back of my nose. He was being his special brand of asshole again. The message was clear—he didn’t want anything to do with me sexually. A fling was off the table. Texas was a one-off. Who knew? Maybe he wasn’t into me there, either. What if he just felt bad for me because of Craig? A pity fuck. His version of a friendly pat on the back.

Yeah. That’s all it was. He didn’t want me to fall apart at the wedding. To be unwell when his entire job was to keep me together. He was only ever fixing me, not fucking me, that night.

I wanted to be sick.

“Hand me my phone back?” He opened his palm, placing it between us.

I dropped the device into his hand, looking away.



I Siri-texted Keller on my way to the house.

SOS. Need mental TLC and friendly advice. See you at my place.

By the time the taxi pulled up to my front door, Keller’s cherry red Ford Mustang Shelby was already there, blocking the garage door. Keller hopped out of the car just as I materialized from the cab, wearing a neck scarf, oversized glasses, and an ironic Hawaiian shirt.

“Darling! Back from the wilderness.” He kissed the air next to both my cheeks. He slid his glasses down his nose and widened his eyes to what was happening behind my shoulder, AKA the bane of my existence exiting the taxi, then pulling our suitcases out of the trunk.

“My, my. I’ll have him for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks.”

“Just be careful not to choke,” I muttered, sliding my sunglasses up to rest on my head. “He’s a health hazard.”