Page 326 of Summer Heat
My fingers trace lavender flowers carved into the bedpost. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. Is buying me revenge enough or does he have something worse planned?”
“Worse, like…sex. The auction was two days ago, right?”
“Right, but he hasn’t done that yet.”
“He hasn’t touched you?” She sounds incredulous.
“He’s touched me.” I feel my cheeks flame with the memory of his touch, the memory of his tongue. “But he hasn’t taken my virginity. And the way he talks about it…it scares me. Like he’s planning to make it awful. Is that crazy?”
I want her to tell me tha
t’s crazy, that a man like Gabriel Miller wouldn’t resort to that. That it would be too cruel, too kinky, too something to be real.
“It makes sense,” she says, musing. “How much did your dad steal from him?”
“I don’t know.” A lot. More than I can ever repay, even with the money from the auction—which came from him, anyway. “And it’s more the principle of it. He has a thing about people who lie.”
“Really? Well, do you think you can get him to talk? If he has a thing about lying, he might be honest with you.”
I’m not sure if it would be better or worse to know he has something awful planned for me. “I can try. But look, I need you to be honest with me. People say it hurts, the first time. Does it?”
“I think everyone is probably different,” she says, but she’s hedging.
“Harper.”
“My first time was with the gardener. I was fourteen. He was nineteen.”
I wince because I didn’t know that about her. It’s a pretty big age difference. “Wow.”
“I bled so much my mom gave me this awkward talk about what periods are while she was stoned out of her mind. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d gotten my period a year ago.”
My heart clenches. “Oh, sweetie.”
“Here’s what I think you should do. When you think he’s going to do it, take a pill. Or have a drink. Something to dull the edge, you know?”
Despite my growing fear of actual penetration, I crack a smile. “I already tried that. The first night. He ended up tucking me into bed.”
“That’s pretty sweet for a motherfucker.”
“Yeah.” My smile fades. “He can be sweet one minute. Then the next he’s dismissing me from the room, telling me he’ll call me when he wants to use me. His actual words: use me.”
She makes an outraged sound. “Who does he think he is?”
“My owner.” At least for the next twenty-eight days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I don’t have to wait long to find out when he plans to use me.
After my phone call with Harper, I leave my room and wander the large hallways, peeking into empty rooms as if one of them will hold the key to unlock Gabriel Miller. As if he’s storing all his secrets in some kind of trophy room, ideally with neon arrows and handy signage to point me in the right direction.
All I find are endless corridors of comfortable, expensive rooms—sitting rooms, bedrooms. How many people can this place actually hold? There’s also a movie room with three small rows of leather chairs and a screen that takes up an entire wall. A large gym with a sauna attached. There’s even a small art gallery on the top floor featuring some estate pieces, some local artists, and a particularly gorgeous Sargent painting of a woman by a piano.
I manage to avoid his office, the open door allowing his voice to carry as he speaks on the phone.
Only one room is a mystery. Locked.
The brass knob doesn’t turn. The rooms were filled with antique furniture and sculptures. Even the priceless paintings in the art gallery hadn’t been locked.
