This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,42
to stay away from him. Instead, he snaps his wild gaze to mine. My fury quickly dissipates as I get swept up in his stormy eyes. His eyelids droop closed and he leans in to inhale me, mere inches from my cheek. From this proximity, I can smell his soapy scent.
“Knowing you’re naked under here drives my already crazy head onto a new plane of madness—one I don’t understand and can’t navigate,” he whispers against my hair, his breath tickling me. “So it’s in your best interest to find clothes first and then we’ll continue this conversation afterward.”
His words twist inside of me and my knees wobble. “Why does it make you crazy?” I can’t help but goad him. I’m curious to know what it is about me that disrupts his normally structured life.
“Because,” he groans and a shudder ripples through his massive frame. “I want to touch it.”
“My naked body?”
A hiss of his breath sends a wake of goosebumps creeping down my neck. “Yes.”
“Send my parents the money they need to make this happen and you can touch me all you want,” I murmur. Did I really just try to bargain for more money with my body? I’m sick.
He growls, that same possessive growl from earlier today, and jerks away from me much to my dismay. “Go get dressed, Baylee.”
I huff at his clear rejection and storm away. It isn’t until I’m safe inside my room that I burst into tears again. Gabe prepared me for sexual abuse and pain. Not…whatever it is War is. It’s confusing and difficult for me to navigate.
Thankfully, the clothes in the bureaus are all simple and comfortable. For some reason, I’d expected business suits. Something demure and conservative. Items that matched War’s crisp, professional style. Instead, I find several pairs of jeans folded neatly in the drawers beside some yoga pants. Many T-shirts are tucked away in another drawer. I also find socks, bras, and underwear. The undergarments are all simple.
Nothing ostentatious.
Nothing sexy.
Just normal.
And I couldn’t be happier.
In the closet, I find a few nicer things including a couple of dresses but still no shoes. Why didn’t he give me any shoes? Slamming the closet door, I huff and storm back over to the dresser. I’m sure he’d prefer the dresses, but after his blatant display of control, I want to dress as unappealingly as I can for him. With that in mind, I choose a pair of fitted jeans and a soft pink V-neck shirt. I tug my hair out of the bun and weave it into a long loose braid in front of my shoulder.
When I emerge, a delicious aroma fills the kitchen. I find that something is baking in the oven. I didn’t know War even knew what delicious was.
“Greek-style vegetarian lasagna,” a deep voice rumbles from down the hallway.
I snap my gaze from the kitchen to see him standing several feet away from me. His dark hair is now slightly disheveled as if he’s been running his fingers through it. The dress shirt is completely unbuttoned baring his fitted white tank underneath. He’s rolled up his blue sleeves, showcasing beautiful forearms, and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his slacks. The expression on his face is still the almost feral one from earlier, and I’m surprised when a quiver of excitement runs down my spine.
Yesterday, he was such a mess.
Today, he’s messing with my head.
Today his normal obsessive patterns and displays are there but a different side of him pulsates from behind those composed behaviors. I want to scratch at him and free that side.
“I’m ready for the e-mail you promised,” I clip out and attempt to keep my cheeks from reddening. I’m supposed to be angry at him, not drooling.
“Come into the living room,” he says in a low, seductive voice. A voice you could nearly make love to. “I want to give you something.”
On shaky legs, I follow him out of the kitchen. The sun is setting and it will be dark soon. He leads me to the couch and motions for me to sit. Once I’m seated and attempting to regain my composure, I stare up at him. For a brief moment, hunger flashes in his eyes before he stalks off.
Okay…
Moments later he returns and sets a laptop down on the coffee table. “This is yours. You’ll have access to the Internet and the e-mail account I set up for you. Social media accounts are blocked for your own safety. I have safeguards in