Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

That’s what I have to keep telling myself.
It’s only until he grows bored of me, and how long can a rich, spoiled ass like him really stay
focused on a single woman? If men like that enjoyed commitment, they wouldn’t all be on their third
and fourth wives.
I wonder why Calvin has never been married.
I almost think to ask, then I realize I already know the answer: because he’s a lunatic and no sane
woman would marry him.
I smile faintly thinking it, but it’s not really true. There are plenty of women who would marry
him for all sorts of reasons—physically, he’s exceptionally attractive. Money never hurts. I suppose if
you looked at things in a different light, his psychotic devotion might seem… romantic, in a really
twisted kind of way.
I remind myself he’s not devoted to me. I’m a fixation, that’s all. Land he hasn’t yet conquered.
He’ll get bored of me and move on. They all do.
The bedroom light is off when I crack open the bathroom door, so I make the mistake of thinking
Calvin hasn’t come to bed yet.
My heart leaps when the light hits the massive bed and I see him sitting on the edge of it. My side
of the bed.
He has taken off his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to just below his
elbows. I’ve always found it sexy when a man wore his sleeves rolled up like that. I resist the urge to
look at Calvin’s arms. I know what they look like. I’ve seen the definition in his corded muscles as he
strained to wrestle me into submission, glimpsed his tanned, sexy hand and arm veins when he was
grabbing my arms to pin them behind my back so he could have his way with me.
His tie is off now and the top button of his shirt is unbuttoned. He looks more relaxed than he did
at dinner, and relaxed is a nice look on him. I don’t know why, but I would bet he doesn’t let many
people see him in this state.
His gaze lingers on me as I cautiously step into the room.
Shyness creeps up on me and I think of how naked I am beneath this towel.
My voice is small, but it breaks the silence. “May I have some clothes to sleep in?”
He braces his palms on the bed behind him and leans back, his gaze never leaving me.
“Manners?”
“Please,” I add, managing to keep my tone sweet despite a faint surge of irritation.
Calvin smiles. He knows I’m annoyed but trying to shove it down for him. He likes that. “No,”
he says anyway. “I’m afraid brats don’t get clothes.”
I can’t deny I’ve been a brat today. I think I have my reasons, but I don’t bother arguing in my