Opposition: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (NYC Doms), page 4
“I followed you.”
I gawk at him in surprise for a minute. “You’re not even going to pretend you were doing something normal?”
Shrugging a shoulder, he shakes his head. “I have nothing to hide. I dommed you. You ran. I followed to make sure you wouldn’t do something stupid.” Rolling his eyes heavenward, he sighs. “Which, of course, you did.”
“You, sir, are an asshole,” I say through gritted teeth.
“And you, young lady, are a brat,” he counters, crossing his ankle on his knee and shooting me a withering look. “It’s no wonder you made your way to Verge. Like somehow, intuitively, you knew how very badly you need to be dommed. How much you crave the release of a scene.” His voice lowers, and he takes an accusatory tone. “How badly you need someone to protect you.”
I sputter and fume, so angry I can barely form a sentence, but he doesn’t stop. “And no, I won’t deny that I’m an asshole.” Looking away, he yawns. “Makes things easier.”
“Impressive.”
A silent beat passes and neither of us speaks, but after a moment his voice softens.. “Look at me, please.”
I’m still furious at the audacity of this man.
“Do you just tell everyone what to do all the time?”
“Yes.”
I don’t know what to think of him. Even though he hid who he was tonight, something about him is refreshingly honest, if arrogant. When I look at him, he reaches his hand to me. I flinch when he takes my chin between his fingers and tips my head so the light glints against my upturned face. I want to pry myself away from him, and I hate that I can’t, but I’m somehow trapped here. Somehow completely held in his power, though the only touch he has is a gentle one on my chin.
“The asshole split your lip,” he growls. To my surprise, he runs his thumb so lightly over the tender spot, it feels almost gentle. “You need to ice that. And put antibiotic cream on this cut.” A tender trace of his finger to my neck where the blade nicked me. His voice drops to a reverent, furious whisper. “And I need to track his ass down and make him pay for this.”
I swallow, trying to get my nerves together. I can’t wrap my brain around what he says and why. The night’s overwhelming me with highs and lows, and I blame my confusion on my shaky nerves. No one takes care of me but me. And this man can’t stand me. Why does he look like he wants to pull me to him and nurse my wounds himself? Why does his voice vibrate with anger when he talks about avenging me?
I finally speak my questions.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Why what?” he whispers back, and for one brief moment I see a glimpse of the man behind the cavalier mask he wears.
“Why do you care?” I need to know.
“Because real men don’t hurt women. And anyone who harms someone like you is a fucking coward. I’d like to see him pull that on me.”
Hell, I want to see that, too. But I’m not going to fall for his antics, and he’s no saint.
“You spanked me,” I say, a feeble protest even to my own ears. “And something tells me you’d do more than that if I let you.”
To my surprise, his lips quirk up at the edges, but it’s so brief I almost miss it. “And I’d do it again,” he whispered. “Hell, a part of me thinks it’d do you real good to feel more than my hand on your ass.”
“What?” I ask. He’s still holding my chin and for some reason, my voice is shaky.
“Take you over my knee,” he says, his sapphire gaze molten. “Tie you up. Really take control from you and strip away those layers. To try to tame that wildcat in you.” His voice is deep and soft as he runs his thumb over my cheek. “And maybe, just maybe, over time, see some of that anger you wear like a cape fade.” He says it almost wistfully.
I can’t take this anymore. “Take me home,” I whisper. And just like that, the spell is broken. His eyes shutter and I think I’ve imagined any tenderness.
“Yeah,” he says. “Looks like they didn’t do much. Ice that damn lip when you get home,” he repeats, his voice so distant and cold it feels almost cruel.
I huff in indignation but don’t reply.
I can take his anger. I can take his scorn. But I won’t let him play with me.
“Your address?” he asks. I don’t look at him when I tell him. I don’t want to see whatever the hell is response is—pity? Indignation?
Whatever.
But as soon as we start heading home, I groan.
“What is it?” he snaps. God, this man is irritable.
“I forgot I have to get some groceries,” I tell him. Suddenly, I’m tired. So tired I want to curl up in a ball in this ridiculously expensive car of his and fall asleep. “I promised Bailey I’d bring something home.”
I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. It’s warm and comfortable in here, like laying in a leather armchair.
“Right,” he says. “Your boyfriend’s waiting.”
“Oh, shut up,” I tell him. I don’t bother to tell him Bailey’s my sister. He might have saved me, but he doesn’t deserve to know anything about me.
“Watch it, Cora,” he warns, in a tone that gets my attention. I blame our earlier scene, for my heartbeat quickening at his admonition. “You’re out of free passes. Don’t speak to me that way again.”
“Or what?” I say, opening my eyes. “You’ll spank me again? That’s how you do things in Richville?”
Meeting my gaze squarely, his one-word answer makes my pulse race.
“Yes.”
I swallow and look away, trying to conjure up indignation. And though he’s been a jerk, he’s taking me home and just saved me, so I can at least play nice. We ride in silence until his driver pulls up to a small, twenty-four-hour grocery store a block or so away from my apartment.
“Thank you,” I tell him, reaching for the handle of the door.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he says. “You stay here.”
He issues orders to his driver, and I watch in surprise as the man enters the store.
“So, wait. You tell everyone what to do and they do it?”
With a bored sigh, he mutters, “Yes. Everyone.”
“And if they don’t do what you say?”
“I fire them, break up with them, or sue them, depending on who they are.”
“Well, then,” I mutter. “Must be nice to be king.”
“It is.”
Another beat passes in silence. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. Soon, his driver comes out with two huge bags of groceries.
“God,” I tell him. “I don’t have that much to pay him. I just have—”
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ. Enough.”
I clamp my mouth shut, as the man puts the groceries in the back of the car, then comes back to the driver’s seat.
“You can’t pay for my groceries,” I protest. “It’s—” But I’m at a loss for words. I truly don’t know what to say. My pride aches. I don’t like taking handouts. But at the same time, if I can pocket the money I made tonight, it’s probably wise.
“I just want it clear that I don’t want to be beholden to you,” I tell him. “I don’t—”
“Stop.”
He’s quite the conversationalist.
We drive in silence until we pull up in front of my apartment building.
“Call Bailey,” he says. “Make him carry the groceries.”
I shake my head. “Bailey’s asleep,” I tell him and decide then I’m done. I’m not going to let him get out of this car thinking I let him get me off even though I have a boyfriend. I’m not that type of girl, and just because he’s an asshole doesn’t mean he gets to assume I am.
“For your information,” I tell him. “Bailey’s my sister. Not my boyfriend. Maybe going forward it’s best if you don’t make assumptions about me.” I try to toss my head with scorn, but instead just manage to make my hair fall into my face.
“Good night,” I tell him, enjoying the look of surprise on his face the split second before he schools his features.
I open the door and step out. His driver carries the groceries and escorts me to the entryway door, then bows his head and bids me good night.
And then he’s gone, like he’s some sort of angel or demon.
Maybe he’s both.
Four
Liam
It’s been a week since I’ve stepped foot in Club Verge, and it’s not because I haven’t been thinking about it every damn day. I’m dying to get some relief, to go back to the place where I’m anonymous and respected, but I’ve had no time. It seems the local damn college is putting up a fuss about my plans for renovations and I’m ready to make heads fucking roll over this.
“Liam, listen,” Jake Cronwell, the head lawyer on my staff, leans forward, mopping his bald head with a white handkerchief. “Local college students need an ax to grind. They look for a cause, and those damn millennials are the worst of the lot.”
I shake my head while I check my emails and shoot off four replies while Jake drones on and on.
“You’re doing nothing illegal. The botanical gardens are beautiful, blah blah blah, but this is prime real estate, and since the owners of The Greenery are in arrears, the time is right.”
“I know,” I tell him, stifling a yawn. Jake’s as dull as hell, and the only reason I keep him on is because he’s a damn Pitbull in court.
The phone rings on my desk, so I hit a button to answer it and stop Jake from carrying on.
“Mister Alexander, your dry cleaning has arrived, sir. Shall I bring it into your office?”
“Please,” I tell Mandy, my administrative assistant.
A moment later, the door opens, and she steps in, holding my dry cleaning. She’s a small, older woman with short white hair, who still wears a dress suit and heels to work every day. She’s fairly toppling under the weight of the clothing. I forgot I had my older suit jackets and wool coats cleaned as well. I quickly step away from my desk and relieve her of the burden.
“Oh, Mr. Alexander,” she says bashfully. “Always the gentleman.”
I think of myself sitting in Club Verge with the feisty little redhead over my knee.
Not always.
“Thank you, Mandy. It’s Friday, why don’t you take off early?”
“I’d love to, sir. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
I nod, dismissing her. I try to keep my employees well compensated and happy and have successfully built a team of faithful employees as a result.
I can be ruthless. I can be vicious, even. But they don’t need to see that side of me. A man needs a staff he can depend on.
I go back to my desk and check my agenda.
“Got a call from Germany I need to take in five minutes, Jake. You got something else you need to tell me?”
“Sir,” he says, a purple vein pulsing in his temple. “You can’t dismiss these protestors. They could really have an impact in our plans.”
“Since when do I care about some fucking social justice warrior trying to undermine my work?” I ask him with derision. “Like I care. Let them whine. They still live in their parents’ basements and don’t even pay their own fucking cell phone bills. They can stomp their feet all they want but giving into them is like handing a tantruming toddler candy. Not gonna do it.”
God, this shit gets under my collar.
But Jake isn’t appeased.
“Liam,” he says, leaning forward so his arms brace on the desk in front of me. “I’m not telling you to give them what they want, but we do need to be careful with how we proceed.”
I shake my head. “Why?”
With a sigh, he flicks his finger across the screen of his iPad and brings up some footage. “Because of this,” he says, showing me a picture of a crowd of college students with protest signs standing outside of The Greenery. They’re surrounded by reporters from all over the country, but it isn’t the reporters that’s got my attention.
It’s the stunning redhead with her fist in the air, holding a microphone up to a podium.
Leading the fucking protest.
No.
I imagine marching up to that podium and taking her by the arm, then dragging her across my knee right on that fucking stage. I know what that belly feels like against my lap. How satisfying it is to watch the fullest part of her ass take my punishment. The way her mouth parts when I warm her ass… I blink, realizing Jake’s continued and I haven’t heard a damn word.
“…gotten the attention of the local media,” he says. “En masse. And if you don’t do some damage control, not only is our project in jeopardy, your reputation is. And you don’t need me to tell you, Liam, that matters.”
“Of course, it matters,” I tell him. He’s got a point. They can’t stop the actual construction process. We’ve almost cleared everything legally, and demolition begins in a few weeks. But they can potentially damage my reputation, which seriously does matter. I have a business to run, and Alexander Enterprises does not run its business in a vacuum.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “What do you suggest?”
Leaning back in his chair, he can’t hide his look of triumph. He’s got my attention now, and he knows it.
“A significant charitable donation, perhaps?” he says. “Or maybe reconstruction of a botanical garden on your private property?”
“Why the fuck would I need that? I’m not into Greenery and flowers.”
Christ.
“For publicity,” he insists with a sigh. “Just toss them a bone so they stop crying foul, and we can move on.”
I shake my head. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I want to track down Cora and punish her for getting involved in this to begin with. “Just make sure our team is sufficiently notified, and that they’re ready to play hardball if necessary. Got it?”
Nodding, he gets to his feet. “Got it.”
I dismiss him by turning away, and go back to my computer screen, but I can’t focus. All I can see is that interfering redhead with that mic in her hand, riling up that crowd.
God, is she ever in need of a firm hand. I let myself fantasize about bringing her here, into my office, and bending her over the enormous mahogany desk. How her little fingerprints would mar the gleaming surface, her cheek flush against the glass top. The little squeal she’d issue when I slammed my palm against her full, gorgeous ass before I took her hard and fast.
I look around my office. It’s as big as a suite in one of the most luxurious hotels in Manhattan, with a bathroom and a shower, a small room outfitted with workout equipment, and in the main office area, a huge sofa, small bookshelf, and framed prints of my degrees and accolades.
But beyond this office, the other rooms are vacant. It’s Friday night and everyone’s gone home but me. I often stay late. Hell, there’s a reason why I have suits that stay in my office, workout equipment, a shower, and a pullout sofa.
It’s Friday, though. And I have someone to go see.
Pushing a button on my desk, I ring my driver.
“Sir?”
“Ten minutes,” I tell him.
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up the phone and bring up the footage Jake showed me.
I stare at her mesmerizing eyes, so full of life and fire. Her wild, crazy, vibrant hair. The pert nose dotted in fetching freckles, and full, beautiful lips.
Shutting off my computer, I tidy the area and grab my jacket, before I shut and lock my office.
“Where to, sir? Home?” my driver, Manuel, asks.
I glance at the time. If she’s leaving the bookstore in a bit, I just might catch her. What I’ll do with her if I do, I have no idea. I can’t decide if I want to kiss her pretty, belligerent little lips, or teach her a lesson. None of that little slap and tickle I gave her the other day, but a really good session that makes her cry.
“Books and Cups,” I tell him. “I need to check something.”
“Right away, sir.” It takes us only a few minutes to get there.
I don’t have a plan. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. Maybe I’m just checking on her. Like a fucking altruist. Because that’s what Liam Alexander is, a philanthropist.
Christ.
Walking into the store, I only see the owner behind the desk. She waves and smiles at me, then turns to serve a customer. I feel a little disappointed. No, I feel a lot disappointed. I came in here ready to fight, and she isn’t here.
I’ll have to ask around.
Taking a book off a shelf, I fan thoughtlessly through the pages when I hear a familiar voice. My heartbeat accelerates like a damn teen’s.
“Feminism through the Ages? Really?”
She’s standing a few feet apart from me, with her hands on her hips.
“Yes,” I tell her in a bored voice. “I like to see what stupidity they’re propagating now.”
The comment has the desired effect, as her fetching cheeks flush pink. “I—you—how dare you!” she fumes.
“How dare I what?” I ask. “Critique a cause that’s near and dear to you?”
“I—argggh,” I’ve rendered her speechless.
Enough of this. I close the book and place it back on the shelf, rounding on her.
“How dare you?” I ask. I step toward her and she backpedals, her pretty eyes widening. “Getting involved in things that don’t involve you. Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Blinking, she pauses, then looks wildly about the store as if she’s going to call for help. Hell, I’m waiting for it.
But she doesn’t.
“What are you talking about?” she says. “I have no idea—oh. Oh, no. Oh, God!”
Her sudden change of tone surprises me.
“What?” I scowl at her.
Closing her eyes, she smacks her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she says. “We’ll have to resume our argument later. I have to go.”
“Go? Where?”
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she shakes her head, and to my surprise, her eyes fill with tears. “You don’t care, so why should I tell you?” she says. “I forgot something.” Her voice catches at the end, and for some reason, something unfamiliar claws at my chest. I fight the urge to draw her to me and hold her. “Something super important.”
