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He narrows his eyes at me as though he’s thinking, then he turns to the nearest assistant and loudly says, “Can you help my girlfriend pick some new underwear out? Preferably black and fuckable as I ripped hers off. She’s currently going commando.” He grins and throws me a triumphant look as every face in the shop snaps around to stare, first at him, then at me.
Gobsmacked, my face turns puce, and I spin away, completely mortified. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw what I’m holding at him and storm out. I’m frozen to the spot.
“Ummm, sure … yes,” the girl stammers, and I’m not sure if it’s because of his statement or if it’s him, as she turns every shade of pink there is and hurries to my side. I glare at him as she comes over, fussing and taking the panties from me. She looks at the ones I’ve chosen with surprise and looks at him as though needing his permission. He shakes his head, and she puts them all back down on the shelf.
How the hell did this turn into a lingerie-buying trip? One where he gets to dictate what I pick out? He’s turning this to his advantage again.
“Actually, I don’t need underwear,” I snort loudly, stubborn Emma kicking in. “I like the feeling of not wearing any,” I remark and walk past her, then him, with my chin in the air. I stop at a rail of all-in-one catsuits and glare at him pointedly. “Maybe I’ll start dressing in such a way so that my panties are inaccessible after this,” I pout before walking out of the shop, his smirk following me before he even attempts to.
He’s fast to catch up, trying to grab my hand, but I pull it away, keeping my face turned so he can’t tell if I’m mad. I know I should be, but somehow, I’m not. I feel strangely powerful.
I should torture him this way as I know it’s one way I’ll win. He may be the dark lord of sexual prowess, but I know how to shut him out and close down on him, so he doesn’t know what I’m thinking, and I know he hates that more than anything.
“You mad at me, Bambina?” he soothes, but I catch the laughter in his voice.
So, he thinks he’s funny?
“I’m perfectly fine,” I snap coldly, keeping my gaze averted as I walk fast, trying to stay in front of him.
“You’re sexy when you’re pissed,” he breathes into my ear, my skin tingling in anticipation, but I steel it back, keeping my cool, old Emma effortlessly moving in.
“I’m not pissed. I’m not anything,” I utter matter-of-factly, my tone of voice devoid of emotion. He catches my hand again and hauls me back around to face him. I don’t look at him but down at our hands, keeping my face still, blank and expressionless.
“Now, are you mad because I stole these?” He holds up the black lace he retrieves from his back pocket, letting half the sidewalk see. “Or because I announced to a shop full of uptight women that I fucked you and left you without them?” He grins at me, nothing on his face saying he’s even minorly bothered that I may be in a bad mood. This only annoys me more. His normally clear green eyes look very dark, and his pupils have enlarged crazily, even in the brightness of the day. I push the panties aside as though it doesn’t bother me that he’s holding them for all to see; I act like I don’t even want them and instead shrug.
“I’m not annoyed in the slightest. I happen to like this; it isn’t the first time I’ve gone panty-less for a man,” I smirk, and his expression drops completely. A little flicker of doubt crosses his face, and suddenly he’s the one looking pissed. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to remember the fact it was him who made me go commando the night he first took me home after the dance and shredded my underwear in the back of his limo and then again the night he got me on the hood of his car then dumped me home. I turn to move away, but he hauls me back a little aggressively, anger searing across his face.
“When? With who?” he impulsively yells at me, completely losing his cool like flicking a switch. I suppress the smile forming on my lips, lifting my chin defiantly.
He likes reactions; now I see why.
“Shouldn’t start games if you can’t handle them,” I smirk, attempting to pull myself free again, but his rage only heightens, and he pulls me hard into his chest so that I catch my breath. “Thought you weren’t the jealous type?” I retort.
The heat emanating from him doubles in ferocity; he’s raging, aggression peaking, but it only makes me feel a little bit empowered. Serves him right. He started this, and it will end his little mood when I tell him it was him. So, for now, I’m dishing it back at him and enjoying the rare upper hand.
“Over something like this, Emma, I’ll literally rip heads off,” he snaps at me, pure fury in those normally calm eyes, and I lose my courage. His voice is venom, and I cringe in fright as his hand grips my wrist harder.
The old fear of male aggression takes over, and I reach up with my free hand and snatch back my underwear. I yank my other hand free and shout at him impulsively, “You’ve some goddamn nerve! With the number of conquests you’ve had? It was you! Jackass!” I snap and turn on my heel to storm away, tears instantly pricking my eyes. I don't know how we got here from our happy morning to this. I feel like bawling.
I should never play games with Jake; I learned long ago that it only ignites this side of him. Even before I was his girlfriend, when I was just PA Emma, I saw this side of him when I would try to get a reaction from him. Jake likes to be the one to initiate and control games on his terms, but when it swings back at him, he instantly goes into death mode.
This is so stupid. People who love each other shouldn’t do things like this.
He grabs my upper arm and tugs me back, turning me to face him and halting me again in the street. People continue pushing past, uninterested in the little domestic goings-on.
“Dolcezza, I’m sorry. Emma, baby, please don’t,” he pleads. A tear trickles down my cheek as he pulls me into his arms, coming around me securely. He cradles my face against him, his hand on the back of my head. “Perdonami, Bambina, non è Questo Quello che volevo,” he rushes huskily, falling into that habit of fluent Italian when he’s overly emotional. It makes me stop and smile, and I lift my chin to him with a furrowed brow. He rarely does this, but on the occasions he does, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, a sign he is overwhelmed.
“What?” I giggle through tears, and his expression softens. He smiles and pushes our foreheads together, sighing in relief.
“Ignore me. Only you can make me forget the art of the English language,” he grins, his mouth finding mine, kissing me softly yet passionately, all the hurt falling around our feet. He finally releases me from his kiss and searches my eyes with his. “That first night after I told you I loved you, right? And the night I stupidly dropped you at your apartment like an asshole, too?” he questions. I nod. He remembers after all.
“I’m an idiot, Emma. I should have known it would only be with me with everything you've ever told me. I just saw red, Bella. I know I’ve no right to be this way, especially with my past, but I can’t help it. I know I wasn’t the jealous type, but with you, it’s worse than bad. Do you think you can live with a boyfriend who gets so insanely green-eyed that even his best friend was riding close to a broken nose this morning?” He looks away as though he’s embarrassed, but it only elates me. I push my mouth on his and kiss him thoroughly, panting when we finally break apart.
“I like it,” I utter shyly. No one ever made me feel like he does or reacted as he does over me. “I don’t recall any time that I have given you a reason to be jealous where Daniel was concerned, though,” I add thoughtfully, regarding him quizzically.
He raises an eyebrow with a dramatic sigh and shakes his head. “For his own safety, he should keep at least five feet between you at all times,” he grins, grabbing my hands, taking my lace panties back from me, and putting them in his inside jacket pocket with a smile. I shake my head at him. “I’m still keeping these, though … until we get home again.” He swoops down, silencing me with a kiss before I can protest, and I finally give up.
“So, in the meantime, I’m to walk the streets without a stitch on under this skirt? What should I do if the wind exposes me or my overly jealous boyfriend catches another man ogling my assets?” I raise my eyebrows, knowing this could very well happen. He frowns back at me, only this time in thought, and pulls his phone out, hitting the screen and putting it to his ear. He tells Jefferson where we are and to come immediately before hanging up.
“If I take you home and get you naked in my bed, then we don’t have to worry about it.” He smiles and hauls me into the circle of his arms again, a hand moving down over my ass as though he’s going to make sure the wind doesn’t lift my dress. I laugh at him and his severe inability to function normally.
“No shopping? I thought we desperately needed things … like shirts and underwear,” I tease.
“I don’t need any more clothes right now. And you definitely don’t need any more lace panties.” He grins naughtily as we wait for our car to appear.
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