Page 26 of The Client
“Untuck your legs,” he says, running a thumb across his lower lip.
I’m sitting on the edge of the seat, back straight, legs pulled to one side, my hands folded in my lap. This is my standard position anytime I’m in a professional setting, a pose that’s businesslike, modest, and demure. But right now, the way he’s looking at me, I feel anything but.
I shift my legs to the front, pressing my knees together, trembling slightly. My whole body is on fire beneath the weight of his gaze, my skin prickling. Little warning signs going off in reaction to the danger radiating from him. I first felt it when he got on the phone with Zoric and demanded six months with me, refusing to take no for an answer. Rhys McConnell decided he was going to possess me, and he didn’t stop until he got what he wanted. He’s a powerful, relentless, and unpredictable man. And now he owns me.
“Now spread your legs. I want to take a closer look at what I just bought.”
At first, I can’t respond. My body is frozen. The desire and the heat are still there but they’re shrouded by shame. Knowing that I have to obey him to avoid consequences, I lean back slightly in the chair and angle my hips forward until my ass rides the edge. The hem of my skirt is tight around my thighs, so I shimmy it higher. My knees fall apart, but my cheeks heat and I quickly press them back together. He drums his fingers on the desktop, loudly, pointedly.
I no longer only answer to Mr. Zoric but to Rhys McConnell, as well. There will be double the hell to pay if I don’t do what’s expected of me. Resigning to my lack of choice, I pushed down my need for autonomy, relax my legs and let them fall apart. I know that under the shadow of my skirt, he can see my black satin underwear. A small sound comes from deep in his throat. Appreciation, maybe? He likes what he sees. I see it in his eyes.
A small thrill ripples through me. One small adjustment of my body has completely trapped his attention. People talk of how easily men are controlled with sex and I’m beginning to see there’s truth to that. He doesn’t look away as he leans back in his chair, puts an elbow on the arm, and a finger beneath his chin.
“Panties off,” he says.
I glance over my shoulder at the office door, which is closed but not locked.
“But—”
“Off.”
Oh, I want to be angry about this. Iamangry that he’s purposely embarrassing me and putting me in a vulnerable position. But at the same time I feel an odd sense of control in the way that he’s responding to the view of my body.
With a gulp, I push my underwear over my hips, over my thighs, letting the panties slide all the way down to my ankles. My breath is coming faster now, and I stare up at him, wondering if he’s going to fuck me in this chair right now. I’m half terrified, half dizzy with desire.
Rhys steps toward me and then drops to a crouch, right between my legs.
“Open,” he says, tapping my knee.
Heart thumping in my chest, I let my legs fall apart.
“Wider.”
I spread my thighs as wide as they’ll go. The air is cool against the wetness between my legs, and I wonder if Rhys can see that wetness as his eyes home in on the center of me.
I await my next instruction.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead he stands, walks back to his desk, and drops into the chair behind it.
“Straighten yourself,” he says.
Once I’m sitting up again, underwear back in place, skirt pulled down, he nods.
“This is how it’s going to work, Miss Jasinski. We will date publicly, we will fuck privately, and any feelings you develop for me you will keep to yourself. Understood?”
There’s only one acceptable answer, and we both know it. “Yes.”
“You’ll move into my house for the duration of our arrangement and sleep in the spare room. I paid for your exclusivity, so your business is my business. You haven’t paid for mine, so what I do is also my business.”
“Understood,” I say, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around that first part. I’m moving into his house? That beautiful mansion from last night?
“You will not come and go as you please,” he goes on. “You will not leave the property without my permission. You will never invite anyone into my house. You will do nothing—nothing—without my approval. This is both for your safety and to protect my investment.”
My jaw drops. “But I have to work.”
“What do you do for work, besides this?” he asks, sounding skeptical.
