"Is there a problem, Miss Montgomery?"
"I said, GET OUT!"
With an hmph, she finally got the message and turned to exit--but not before Jacob threw open the dressing room door. I was clothed, but my arms still wrapped around the front of my body instinctively. Sleek and composed, only his eyes moved, narrowing in displeasure.
"What the hell is going on in here?" He looked back and forth between us like a parent scolding naughty children.
Neither of us said a word.
“I said, what is going on in here?”
What could I say without sounding juvenile? That I’d fallen for her ploy to get a rise out of me? That I was screaming like someone with no class because she hurt my feelings? I felt the anger seeping from me like air from a balloon and hung my head.
When Skye stepped forward, I expected her to throw me under the bus, but instead, she tried to smooth everything over. "Just a small misunderstanding, Mr. Whitmore." She gave me a smile that said, ‘play along’. "Maybe we should give Miss Montgomery some time to-"
"That'll be all," he snapped, dismissing her without another look. He turned to the side and allowed her to leave before shutting the door and turning his ire back on me.
"What was this misunderstanding about, Leila?"
"N-Nothing," I mumbled, still not looking him in the eye.
He snapped his fingers. "When I talk to you I expect you to look at me. I will have your respect."
I raised my chin, shooting daggers his way. "Respect? Like you snapping at me like a dog just now? Or how about your revolving door policy?"
His jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"
"Skye told me how you change your personal assistants like underwear. I better enjoy all of this before you throw me out like trash, right?"
His cerulean eyes flashed with something that looked a lot like hurt before they hardened to sea glass. He blazed forward and I gasped as he backed me against the wall, essentially pinning me in place.
I wanted to say something smart, but my brain couldn’t work with him so close to me. The heat of indignation melted and arousal quickly took its place.
His tone was harsh but I felt his lust thump from behind its Armani prison. "I don't appreciate being talked to as if I were the one in your employ."
Staring at him, feeling these powerful, damnable feelings made me want to drop to my knees and submit wholly to him, but the bullheaded part of me wouldn’t let me back down.
"W-Well, I don't appreciate being treated like being in your employ is tantamount to prostitution.”
The side of his mouth crept upward. "Prostitution? I never called you a prostitute, Leila."
"So all of this-” I attempted to move my hand and make a grand gesture, but his hands found my wrists and held them firmly at my side. “-almost two thousand dollars in clothing isn't because I signed your little contract and agreed to be your submissive?"
Turned on or not, I could tell I was starting to grate on his nerves as he let out an impatient sigh. "All of this is because the woman beside me shouldn't look like something out of the bargain bin."
"The bargain bin?" I said incredulously, my voice rising. "Just who do you think you’re-"
"Lower your voice," he said coolly.
“You think just because I signed some document you own me? That you can just...” My words trailed off as he released my wrists and moved his hand to my hip, finding the zipper and quickly pulling it downward. I wasn't sure what was worse--that he obviously felt entitled to my body, or that I was thoroughly turned on by it.
It really didn't matter in the end because the feel of his hand on me turned all brain functioning off. There was only the desire that made my breath come in gasps as his fingers spread out inside the front of my underwear. His hands were right against the lips of me and I could've exploded on the spot.
Ohmygod he's gonna finger me right here. Right in the dressing room.
Gone was the girl who let her head do the thinking...I just listened to the words of my body. And it was screaming for him.
"Don’t stop," I whispered.
I arched into his touch as I felt him skate toward my center. He made a V with his fingers, spreading me wide. He leaned in close, his eyes tearing into me. His lips traced my jawline, soft as a whisper, stopping at my ear.
"Tread very carefully, Miss Montgomery."
He removed his hand, leaving me hot and bothered. Without another word, he strode from the room. I gazed at the door, letting his warning sink in.
I was pretty sure there was a silent ‘Or else’ tacked to the end.
Or else you really will end up thrown out with the trash.
****
I clutched my overnight bag to my chest as the driver eased onto the exit ramp for the airport. Just the sound of the airplanes whooshing overhead was enough to make me tremble.
I hated flying. The long lines, the unnecessary gropeage by the security officers, the overpriced food both on and off the plane, and most of all, the seats that forced you to get to know your neighbor whether you wanted to or not. It just seemed like every flying experience in recent memory involved dishing out cash to be made uncomfortable.
Not that this one was being charged to my credit card. All my expenses were being paid for by Whitmore and Creighton. I should have taken a small bit of relief from that, but the bright terminal signs that hung overhead still made me queasy.
I pushed my shades from the tip of my nose to the bridge and took a swig of the Perrier beside me. If you can agree to being one of the hottest men on the planet's sub, you can do this.
"You can do this," I said aloud. "You can do..." My self-affirming confirmation trailed off as I peeked out the window and saw we weren't pulled to the bustling curb of a terminal or some parking deck, but a small parking lot in front of a non-descript building.
The driver killed the engine, pulled out the keys, and stepped out of the car.
I frowned up at him with confusion as he pulled open my door. "What-where are we?"
My question bounced right off him and as dreamlike as recent occurrences were, there was no mistaking the final three words that came out of his mouth: Private aviation terminal.
“Private aviation terminal?” I clutched my bag tighter. "As in private jet?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes ma'am. Now, if you'd allow me to attend to your luggage..."
I let him take my carry-on, threads and seams supporting the fact that it'd seen better days, from my lap and out into the sunshine. I slid out after it, still in a daze. Private jet. I assumed that Jacob would travel in style, but I was just hoping for a first class ticket.