A sigh. She pads back across the carpet. Haley’s changed out of the dress she came here in, which is a shame. She’s now barefooted in a pair of skinny jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that hugs her body. The shirt is a dusky red color that goes with the room. I wouldn’t have thought a Constantine could ever look right in a room that I own, but we’ve arrived at that impossible moment.
“Dad.” Haley puts a hand up over her eyes and keeps walking. The gesture makes my heart ache. It’s so sudden and out of place that I put a hand to my chest. The pain is there, a dull hurt, and gone again. So Haley covers her eyes when she doesn’t want people to know she’s crying. It’s information, not a reason to have an emotion or a fucking heart attack.
“Daddy, please. You’re making it—” She swallows hard and when she speaks again her voice is level and sweet. “This is the only way. I know. I know. It’s the only way out of this, and I promise, it’s not so bad. I’m all right. I’ll be home soon, and this will all be over.”
Hearing her promise it is a knife somewhere in the vicinity of my ribs. That, and something else, too. A feral animal desire. If Haley Constantine thinks that this will ever be over, she’s wrong. Even if I stick to the terms of our contract and let her walk away after thirty days, she’ll live with this every second for the rest of her life.
The pain in her voice is what I wanted, anyway. There’s no point in playing games with the Constantines if they don’t hate it.
“Get some rest,” she says. “Yes you can. You can’t spend the next month in your workshop. You have to eat and sleep, and I’m going to tell Cash the same thing. Do not tell Petra. No—Daddy. Don’t tell her. The fewer people who know, the better. Did you delete his messages?”
My messages. She’s talking about me.
“Good. Now go to bed. It’s late, and I’ll call you again when I can. Don’t worry.” The hand comes down from her eyes, a few last tears shining on her skin. “I love you. Bye.”
I’m moving as soon as she hangs up the call. Haley senses it, and her eyes go wide. She scrambles to put the phone in the pocket of her jeans and is already backed up against the bed by the time I’m in the guest room. Haley wipes away the tears with her sleeve and stands up straight.
It’s too late. I saw her body trying to hide. Good instincts, but I’m going to take them to pieces. I step over the suitcase and get closer, closer, crowding her against the bed. Her lips part, breath coming faster, and it’s enough for now to watch her bend and shiver. I lean in. Let her feel the brush of my lips against the side of her neck.
And take her phone out of her pocket.
Her eyes follow it when it disappears into mine. “No—”
“Don’t argue.” I circle the suitcase, then stand over it. “Don’t fuck it up when you’re being such a good girl.” Haley’s cheeks redden at the sharp tone, and she looks down at the floor. “Giving me what I want. Saving your daddy. Fuck, you’d be perfect if you didn’t make me help you.”
Her blue eyes meet mine. “Help me with what?”
“Unpacking.” I kick at the suitcase and some of the clothes inside tumble out. I wasn’t particularly kind about the way I demanded the suitcase from her father—and, I’m assuming from the phone call, her brother. I sent my most intimidating foot soldier and gave them ten minutes. It wouldn’t be entertaining if they weren’t worried sick. “You’ve left all of this out. You must be having a hard time finding the dresser.”
“I can do it. Let me—”
I hold up a hand to stop her, and she folds herself back against the bed. “Oh, no, darling. It’s my pleasure. I’ll let you watch. How about that? I’ll decide what’s fitting for you to wear in my house, and you can watch.”
Haley stays silent.
The first shirt comes to hand, and it’s a twin of the one she’s wearing, only in dark green. I hold it up so she can’t help but see it. “Cute, don’t you think?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Yes, but you don’t think so.”
Oh, I do.
“A Constantine shopping the sale rack.” I flip the tag out of the collar. “Target? I’m surprised you didn’t get tagged with a dress code violation.” I toss it behind me, out the open door. “No. I don’t want to see you in that here.”
“Because it’s from Target?”
“Because it’s not sexy.”
This is an outright falsehood. The shirt she’s wearing shouldn’t be sexy in the least. But the way it nips into her waist and shows a bare hint of cleavage is doing frustrating things to my cock.
Another top. I raise my eyebrows at Haley, then toss it out the door. “So you’ve never seen another Constantine, then.”
“I’ve seen my family.” Her chin comes up. “I’ve been to Constantine parties. If I—” Haley stops herself and tries again. “My brother packed for me.”
“Ah. He wanted you to look as unattractive as possible.”
“No.” This, softer than the rest. “I think he wanted me to be comfortable.” She nods toward the leggings in my hands. “Those are my favorite.”
I stretch them until the seams pop and the fabric tears. Her eyes follow my hands, my face. The shredded remains of her favorite leggings as they join the rest of her clothes in the pile.
“They’re not my favorite, darling.” Two more tops. Two more pairs of pants. “My god. Your brother is a sadist, isn’t he?”
Anger flashes in her eyes, but she gets it under control. “He didn’t have a lot of time.”
“He had enough to pack this disaster of a wardrobe. Either he genuinely thought these would be appropriate for stepping outside your house or he wanted you to go naked. Twisted.” I laugh at the image of that little Constantine boy scrambling to choose clothes for his sister. Thinking he might one-up me, somehow. God help him.
That’s the thought that keeps my temper in check. It’s hotter by the minute, with every piece of clothing I take from the suitcase. Because, infuriatingly, I like the clothes. The cheap, stupid clothes I would never dress Haley in. I wouldn’t be caught dead letting her walk around the world in clothes from a discount store.
But I like them on her all the same. The clothes aren’t demeaning enough for what I want to do to her—not enough by far. But I fucking like them. Haley is sexy even in those outfits.
It doesn’t make sense, which pisses me off. This was supposed to be simple. I planned it that way. Embarrassing Phillip Constantine and using him as bait was going to be easy to execute and easier profit from, and if I’d known his daughter would show up and be like this, all innocent and embarrassed and trying her level fucking best not to cower...
I still would’ve done it.
All that’s left in the suitcase is a collection of underthings. I hook one of the visible bra straps around my finger and lift it into the air.
Haley watches it, her cheeks a deeper red than I thought possible.
“What’s your excuse for this?”
“I didn’t want the boys at college staring at my nipples.” This, so deadpan and so at odds with the hot red of her face, almost takes me out. Leo Morelli, dead at thirty-two of a Constantine heart attack.