She's Too Young (She's Too Young #1)(10)

By: Jessa Kane

I stop at the door and look back, finding she’s turned over onto her belly, ankles crossed in the air above her plaid-covered ass. Obviously, she doesn’t expect me to turn and look, because I catch a hint of contempt flitting across her face. I see it plain as day, before she smiles and gives me a little pinky wave. And I wonder if in the process of giving her everything, she’s going to take my soul.

Chapter Four

I’m wide-awake in bed, the storm outside illuminating my bedroom in violent bursts of white thunder. The meeting with China ran even longer than expected, impatience gnawing at my gut as the clock ticked past midnight and I knew there wouldn’t be another encounter with Veda until morning. Even now, I’m struggling with the urge to travel one floor down, to check on her in the back bedroom. I can picture her in the center of the bed, hair messy, lips open, the lines of her body outlined beneath the white comforter.

There’s been an urgency building in my middle ever since I saw the glint of malice in her beautiful eyes this afternoon. I want to straddle her, force her to look me in the face and spill what put it there. Perhaps I’ve underestimated Veda’s ability to see right through exactly what I’ve done. Bought and paid for her. Sent her father away when I could have given him an equally lucrative job right here in New York. Instead of seeing my actions as helpful—a way to get her family out of debt—she could very well see me as a villain. If I don’t change her perception, there is no chance she’ll stay once the contract expires on her eighteenth birthday.

An image of her jumping and twirling in the sunlight makes its way into my consciousness. Already, I know she would take the light along with her, if she left. And I’ll do anything to keep it. Keep her.

This afternoon, I let my lust overrun my sense and I can’t let that happen again, no matter how animalistic she makes me feel. If I’m to keep her, make her trust me, I have to earn it somehow.

Veda is so prominent in my mind, when I see her standing in the doorway of my bedroom, I think my imagination put her there. But no. The lightning blasts the bedroom with a white flash and I see her clinging to the doorframe, her face a mask of fear. I sit up so fast, I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash, and go to her at the door. “Angel.”

I try to bring her into the circle of my arms, but she won’t let go of the doorframe. “Storms don’t usually bother me, I just…I think it’s because we’re up so high and the windows…I swear we’re right inside of the lightning.”

My throat is closing up I need to hold her so fucking bad, but I sense I’ll get nowhere until I manage to block out what’s bothering her. Turning on a heel, I cross the bedroom, throwing the heavy curtains over the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room is doused in black, so I flip on the bathroom light, leaving the door slightly ajar and return to Veda in the doorway. “There we go,” I murmur into her hair, prying her fingers one by one off the wood. As soon as they’re all free, she throws herself against my chest and I wrap her in my arms. “Nothing can touch you when you’re with me.”

When she speaks, her mouth moves against the material of my T-shirt. “Can I stay in here? There are no curtains in my room.”


I know what you’re thinking. My agreement was a little too quick. Yes, I am a bastard, but not the brand of bastard that would use a girl’s fear to get her panties off. And coincidentally, her panties are the only thing I’d need to take off, because that’s all she’s wearing. If the staff hadn’t gone home hours ago, I would be in a rage over her walking through the house almost completely naked, but as it is, we’re alone. We’re alone and her nipples are in such hard points, I can feel them through my shirt.

“Go get under the covers,” I instruct hoarsely.

Veda looks at me curiously, but does as she’s told, crawling across the mattress without a hint of self-consciousness and settling into the wealth of pillows and sheets, looking so at home my throat hurts. When I climb in beside her, she turns onto her side, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. “How many women have you had in your bed?”

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