a contest of wills that I’m determined to win. I grab his book, toss it aside, and sit down on his lap. He’s hard. I can feel the length of his cock pressing against my thighs, and he stifles a groan of arousal – but he’s not making a single move.
“Something you want to say?” His jaw is set, his muscles strung taut. His green eyes seem to darken to the color of a stormy sea, the way they always do when he’s mad.
All this because I didn’t tell him I sold my damn car? If that’s all it takes to make him not care…then he must never have cared much at all. And why is that a surprise?
Well, the hell with him.
“Nothing I want to say, and nobody here worth speaking to.”
His eyes flicker with hurt, and he presses his lips together, staring over my shoulder at nothing. I leap to my feet, storm into the bedroom and quickly pull on a tiered white cotton skirt and a red boat-neck blouse.
I would love nothing more than to throw on a sexy dress, go to the Starlite Nightclub and flirt up a storm. After all, I’m not really married, am I? Donovan’s making that damn clear. But this is Greenvale. It would be all over town by the end of the first song. I can’t risk tanking this deal. So I settle for going over to Pamela’s house, to drink away my sorrows.
As soon as I get out the front door, I see that it’s raining, and also I remember I don’t have a car.
I have to go back inside.
Donovan looks up, and he doesn’t say a thing, just purses his lips together and resumes reading. I call Pamela, and she shows up about fifteen minutes later to pick me up.
“Bye!” I yell furiously from the doorway.
That earns me a single glance. “Call me if you need anything.”
I turn and stomp out without a reply. Least satisfying flounce ever.
Chapter Twenty-One
SIENNA
I wake up alone Monday morning, to the sound of men’s voices in the living room. Muttering furiously under my breath, I stagger out of bed and make a quick pit stop to the bathroom. Then I stomp out of the room in my body-hugging pink tank top and pink boxer shorts with hearts.
I wore these clothes all evening Sunday after I came back from the winery. I should have been in a fantastic mood, because we had so much business that people were lined up outside the door, but it all felt sour because Donovan didn’t even look at me in my sexy booty shorts. He spent most of the evening up in his loft-office, then he slept up there, as usual.
Fine. Good. Who needs him? I’ve got my trusty vibrator. It’s never in a mood, never stomps off in a huff, and it’s devoted entirely to my pleasure. And in return, I feed it the finest quality batteries. Men should take notes.
When I come out of the bedroom, my cranky gaze lights on Donovan. He’s standing in the living room area, wearing a white T-shirt that molds to his body so perfectly I want to push him in front of a bus.
Two burly twenty-something guys are carrying in a box that says “treadmill” on it. As I watch, they stagger past me.
I stalk over to Donovan. “What is this?” I demand.
Donovan’s posture goes stiff and tense, and he crosses his arms across his broad chest. “It’s raining again. I bought us a treadmill so we can train on days when the weather doesn’t cooperate, if we don’t have time to go the gym. Or, you know, if you’d prefer to train without me.” He looks away as he says it.
“If I’d prefer to train without you?” I echo. “Have you suffered a blow to the head recently?”
“Ouch!” One of the treadmill guys was so busy staring at my rack that he accidentally walked into the sofa.
“Can you put some clothes on?” Donovan says in a low, heated voice.
“Are you actually pretending to be jealous? The man who wouldn’t touch me, even with his ten foot pole?” I mutter.
He smirks at me.
“And don’t look smug. Having oversized equipment isn’t any good to anybody if you refuse to use it.”
“Who says I’m jealous? Maybe I just don’t want us to get sued when one of them trips and breaks a leg. Is your accident policy up to date?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’d better hope it is.”