Page 15 of Ruthless Game

Emma was folding something black and lacy into her suitcase.

“Stop,” I called, rising from the tiny couch and making my way over to her, snatching it out of her hands before she could stop me. My vision turned a hazy red as I shook it open. It was a delicate, see-through, short nightgown made of lace and nothing else. Emma, with her blonde curls, thick, luscious curves, and innocent features, would be some sort of combination of unassuming angel and femme fatale in it. It wasn’t the kind of thing a girl wore to bed by herself; it was bought for someone else.

And the only person who ever should’ve gotten to see her in something as sexy as this, who should’ve been able to share her body with her in all its subtle and in your face gorgeousness, who should’ve shown her how beautiful she was, was me.

Me.

And she’d taken that from us. For no fucking reason.

And then I had, too.

Staring at her, I ripped it into pieces, listening to her shocked breathing and letting it appease me as I let each small piece of ripped lace flutter to the ground.

“From now on,” I said, slowly, so she couldn’t mistake my meaning, “You only buy spicy little numbers like this with me in mind. Got it?”

“I didn’t⁠—”

“Got it?” I asked her again.

“Are you going to replace that?” she said instead, not backing down. “Because it made me feel good about my body, and sometimes a girl needs to feel good about her body.”

“I’m happy to make you feel good about that stunning body, but you’ll only be showing it off to me from now on. Now, when I ask you, got it, you’re going to say, yes, sir. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she practically spat, throwing the last of her things in the suitcase and zipping it shut.

I checked my watch. It was almost midnight, and we had to leave for the airport in five hours.

“Get changed and get in bed,” I said. I wanted her to sleep naked, but didn’t trust myself in this moment. I was too turned on, too angry, too … too many things to parse out at the moment. I was also exhausted, and even though I always slept terribly—had slept terribly ever since graduating high school—I needed some sleep, however bad, to make it through the next twenty-four hours.

“Where are you sleeping?”

My heart began to race. Because yes, I knew we’d be sharing a bed, but knowing it and actually being faced with it were two different things.

Sleep, Max. You’re safe with me. I promise, she used to whisper when we were in her bedroom at her parents’ house. It had been the sweetest of lies.

“Where do you think?” I asked, attempting to sound casual in ways I didn’t feel. “I’m not sleeping on the floor and that couch is half my height, Angel.”

“Don’t call me Angel,” she said automatically.

“Emma, I’m going to call you whatever the hell I want to call you. Learn how to deal with it. Now, go change. You’re lucky I’m letting you wear clothes to sleep. Don’t get used to it.”

With a scowl, she turned her back, shocking the hell out of me when she stripped out of her dress, leaving her in a lacy white bra and panties that automatically made me think of the wedding we’d never have. Even if I still had that cheap ass engagement ring—the only one I could afford—that I’d never gotten the chance to give to her.

Get your head in the game, son, I could hear Coach saying.

I forced myself to look away from the swell of her ass, presented to me like a taunt. Stripping off my t-shirt, I threw it at her feet.

“Put that on. This wasn’t an invitation to get naked.”

Without a word, she snatched it off the floor and pulled it over her head, unsnapping her bra underneath the shirt and placing it on top of the suitcase before stomping over to the bed. It would’ve been cute, if I hadn’t swallowed my tongue at the image of her in my shirt, touching her skin, like she belonged to me again.

She did. I’d make sure of it. And then when I was done, I’d toss her away like she’d tossed our relationship.

Stripping down to my boxers, I climbed into the bed next to her, immediately enveloped by the sweet, soothing, lavender scent of her hair and body wash, the feel of her bare leg pressing against mine. I tried to get comfortable, but it was practically impossible when being so close to her was pulling me under those murky waters again.

Part of me considered braving her tiny excuse for a couch, out of self-preservation if nothing else.

But the rest of me?