She tried to tamp down the excitement. Was it just the night before when she'd been struggling not to say that word for fear he'd only mock her and all the things she knew she couldn't have? She hadn't said that word in so long she wasn't sure if she was even still capable of it.
“I-isn't this all a little sudden?” she said, instead. Stalling.
“Sudden? We've known each other eight years! This is three celebrity weddings and divorces. How much time has to pass before we both have what we want?”
“I-I don't want this.” But it wasn't even convincing to her own ears.
“Right. Well, it's done. I spent a lot of money; you're now mine. I have fulfilled my original promise to you, now it's time for you to honor your side of the agreement.”
The heated look he gave her made her look back down at the papers on the bed trying to figure out how she and Lindsay had gotten to this place.
It was true, when she wasn't hating him for bringing her to the house, she'd had a sick sort of longing for him. And Mina seemed to think that sentiment flowed both ways. And the papers in front of her indicated the same.
Lindsay picked up the papers, apparently deciding she'd stared at them long enough. He folded them neatly and put them in a drawer in the nightstand and joined her on the bed.
“Are you going to fuck me?” Shannon asked.
“It's well within my rights as far as the house is concerned, but no, not tonight.”
Because he didn't want her. If he wanted her wouldn't he... But why would he pay that money? He couldn't just be screwing with her. But it was wrong to even want him after... everything. The evidence of just why she should never trust the doctor was written in the ugly bleached-out scars on her back.
“It's late. Go to sleep.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled the blankets over them leaving her more confused than ever.
63
Lindsay laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an hour with the warm, naked object of his desire pressed snuggly against him, taunting him with what he should just take. He wasn't sure how, but she slept peacefully beside him. In sleep, her guard came down as if it was only unconsciously that she knew she could trust him. But could she really? Should she?
This should be a simple enough equation. She wanted him. He wanted her. But he couldn't help but feel if he took what he wanted that he would break her. Everything he touched seemed to break. Could he trust himself with her?
Lindsay slipped out of bed and put on some sweats and tennis shoes and went down to the fitness room. He was unsurprised to find Brian running on one of the treadmills, listening to Chopin's nocturnes. The two men exchanged a look that could have contained all the hatred in the universe. Things had been tense for years now with them—ever since Lindsay had brought Mina to the house.
She'd been broken when he'd brought her. Unlike Shannon. But then also so very much like Shannon in the anger painted in deep scars across her back. He'd made it a point to watch over her and keep her shielded from Brian.
He'd been understandably alarmed about Mina's safety when Brian had stopped a sale to claim her as his own. Lindsay had been sure it was some sick obsession that could only end in harm coming to her, but against all reasonable odds, something in her seemed to soothe the thing that was broken and raging inside Brian. But Brian had never forgiven him for meddling in the matter.
Lindsay hopped on a treadmill on the other side of the gym and started running, trying equally to ignore Brian and to stop thinking about the woman sleeping upstairs in his bed.
Brian's treadmill stopped, but the classical piano music kept playing. The other man moved to the treadmill next to Lindsay and started running again.
“So, Doc,” Brian said, not sparing him a glance, focused entirely on running to or from all the things he ran to or from on the nights he couldn't sleep.
Lindsay wondered if Brian still had the nightmares. They'd stopped treatment and Brian had become a black box from which no secret ever slipped. Not that Brian had ever been much of an open book. The things that lurked inside his mind existed inside a deep pit that even most grown men dared not tread into.
“So... Doc,” Brian repeated, this time with a hint of mockery in his tone, “trying some new therapy with our girl?”
Word did travel fast in the house. No doubt, Brian had gone straight to Anton as soon as the sale was complete for details. Lindsay felt his grip tighten against the rails of the treadmill.
“She's not our girl,” Lindsay said evenly. “She's my girl. Don't forget it.”
Brian laughed. “Oh, I thought we were sharing. After the way you inserted yourself between me and Mina. Is that not what we're doing? Come on... you know you want to. Let me... play with her. You can play with Mina. Let's see who can leave the most interesting marks.”
Lindsay tried not to let Brian's taunts get to him. There was no reality in which Brian would ever share Mina. The house sociopath was just trying to get inside his head. The man forgot who he was playing with.
Lindsay stopped his treadmill, got off, and went to stand in front of Brian's. He looked him dead in the eye. “If you touch her, the house will have a new resident killer. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah, Doc. You're real scary. I'm not too worried. I hear you only kill from neglect. Sort of funny for a plant guy.” Brian shut off his own treadmill and turned the music off. He gave Lindsay a good long stare down, then shook his head, chuckled, and left without another word.
Lindsay followed him out into the hallway to make sure Brian wasn't going to bother Shannon. When he turned down the hallway that led to the dungeons and his own room with Mina, Lindsay went back into the fitness room.
Brian's presence was still palpable in the room as if all his personal demons had set up camp there instead of following him back down to Mina where they could find quiet. Lindsay got back on the treadmill and ran. This time, the only sound in the room was the machine humming and his feet beating against the conveyor belt.
The past twenty-four hours had not unfolded the way he'd intended. Something had snapped inside him when he'd almost lost her the night before. Without his full consent something deep within his lizard brain had laid claim to her. It hissed endlessly in his ear, Mine. Mine. Mine. There was an unreasonable certainty to the word.
He'd wanted to take things slow. What if this feeling somehow wore off? He couldn't commit to her until he was sure. He couldn't drag her into something he couldn't finish. He needed to take some time, go slow. Be sure. But then he'd bought her.
And now that he had her, instead of fucking her, or training her into the perfect little slave to fulfill his every fantasy and request... he was letting her sleep! Like some poor lovesick fool. Did he plan to woo her? Bring her flowers and candy? Take her to the movies like two normal people?
Neither of them had even the vaguest idea anymore what normal looked like.
Here he was, trying to run his libido ragged until he was too tired for the signal of desire to travel from his brain to his dick—or the other way around as the case may be.
He looked up suddenly to see her standing there in the doorway, watching him. It was as if his spirit had briefly left him to awaken her and draw her to his side. She wore only his dress shirt that he'd worn to the office that day. Not the move of a woman who hated him. If she hated him, why would she wrap herself inside his scent? It was a wild, almost animal thing to do. Maybe her lizard brain was hissing, too.