Dear Christ, what are those doing out? And who the hell touched them?

I glance over at Huxley, and to my lack of fortune, he’s staring at my pleasure collection as well.

“Did your staff unpack my things?”

“They did,” he says.

“Seems as though they came across my lady toys.”

“Is that what you call them?” he asks.

“I could say dildos if that makes you feel more comfortable. Although, it probably doesn’t bode well for you that I have those, huh?” I nudge him with my elbow. “You know, since you’re supposed to be keeping me satisfied.”

“It’s nothing new to them. They know I have toys.”

Errr . . . what?

Did I hear that correctly? Huxley Cane has toys? Talk about a plot twist.

“Uh, what? Where?” I look around the room. “Do you hide them in your nightstands?” I walk over to one and open it, finding absolutely nothing.

“This isn’t my room.”

I stand tall. “Wait, so we’re not sharing a room?”

“No. My room is directly across the hall.”

“I see.” I fold my arms. “And what will your staff think about that?”

“They’ve been informed that we’re attempting to remain celibate before our wedding.”

A loud snort pops out of me and I cover my nose. “I’m sure that was laughable for them.”

“Why would that be laughable?” he asks.

“You know . . .” I wave my hand at him. “Aren’t you always bringing women home?”

“No.”

“Oh.” I think about that. “Well, I guess that’s good for me. Don’t have to pretend your wandering eye doesn’t bother me.”

He closes the distance between us with purposeful, commanding steps. His hand falls to just above my collarbone and he grips me tightly, his fingers pressing into the back of my shoulder. The position not only commands my attention but steals the breath right out of my lungs.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, his voice menacing. “I don’t have a wandering eye, never have, never will. And I signed a contract with you. That means I belong to you and you belong to me until our obligations are fulfilled within our agreement. Do you understand?”

His words pierce me, their meaning strong, poignant.

There’s no one else he’ll be looking at, no one he’ll be fucking until our agreement is up, that’s what he’s telling me, and it shouldn’t have any effect on me. But for some reason, it sends a chill down my spine, an ice-cold chill.

Growing irritated with my silence, he steps in closer, his body an inch from me. His hand slides up my neck and his thumb locks under my chin. He tilts my head up, forcing me to lock eyes with him. “Do you understand, Lottie?”

God, being this close to him, forced to look him in those sinister, dominant eyes . . . in this moment, I realize just how much I’ve put on the line. Because even though his personality speaks of nothing but arrogance—and I could never imagine myself falling for a man with such an incessant need for authority—I can’t help but feel something when he speaks to me with such conviction, when he claims me with his hands.

Swallowing hard, I say, “No philandering. Got it.”

“I’ll be loyal to you; I demand the same respect.”

“You act as if I have men lining up at the door to take out my hot mess of an ass. Trust me, no need to worry.” I pat his chest, trying to lighten the tension in the room, and take a step away so I can catch my breath.

That was . . . consuming. Something to remember—when he commands a room, commands my attention, commands my every move, I can see myself drowning in his presence. There’s no doubt about that.

I walk over to my dildos and pick them up one at a time to inspect them. Even though Huxley is an atrocious man with a mercurial attitude, he’s incredibly hot, and the way he spoke to me just then, with that alpha tone? That was hot. Go ahead, chastise me. I know I shouldn’t think anything about him is hot, especially after our recent interactions, but, ugh, his deep, sultry eyes, the way he towers over me, the baritone of his voice . . . yeah, it’s doing all sorts of things to me that will require assistance from one of my vibrating friends.

Maybe I’ll use my purple dildo tonight. I love the twisting motion it does. Although, my suction cup penis is calling my name, but that’s best used in the shower. It’s why I got it, so I could get off from behind, one of my favorite positions.

“What are you doing?” Huxley asks as he watches me run my hand up and down my purple dildo.

Because I think it’s fun to test him, I say, “Deciding what I want to fuck myself with tonight. You know, since my fiancé is celibate and all, I need to get off somehow. Your staff most likely understands the circumstances.” I pick up my suction cup dick and run my hand over the tip. “God, I love it from behind, but I’m too tired for a shower right now.” I hold up the purple one. “Looks like me and Thor will be having some fun tonight.”

I glance up at Huxley, and I’m rewarded with a tight jaw and an irritated glare.

Perfect.

Revenge is mine.

I’m not saying I’m a beauty queen over here, turning this guy on with every step I take, but I do know something about men. No matter who you are, if you’re stroking a dildo in front of them, they’re going to think about sex. And when they think about sex, they get turned on. And a turned-on asshole who has to go to bed alone is satisfactory to me. I hope he suffers . . . just to even the scales for the aggravation I’ve experienced tonight.

“Breakfast will be at seven thirty tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re there.”

“Seven thirty?” I shout. “It’s a Sunday.”

“We have things to discuss.” And with that, he shuts my door. I hear him go into his room across the hall and shut the door behind him.

Someone needs help with their anger problems.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe he is treating me very much like the Beast treated Belle.

“An invitation would’ve been nice, not a demand,” I mumble as I set Thor down on the bed. I walk over to the closet to discover that not a single piece of my clothing is hanging up. Instead, it’s all designer clothes, ranging from flowy dresses to tight-fitting evening wear, to blouses, to jeans. And then lots of shoes. Okay, that’s kind of nice, because—

“Oh my God,” I whisper, picking up one and clutching it to my chest. “Louboutin. Sweet heavenly Lord.” I set it back down carefully and give it a small pet. “You’re beautiful. Always remember that, especially when my careless feet scuff you up, because sometimes I walk like a newborn fawn.”

I open the drawers in the closet and . . . oh, wow. Picking up a white lace thong, I hold it up to the light.

“That’s a whole lot of nothing.” I glance down and open another drawer to find matching bras. “Do undergarments really matter?” Well, if his staff is doing the laundry, he probably doesn’t want my mismatched stuff just floating about.

It’s annoying how thorough he’s been in such a short amount of time.

I toss the garments back in the drawers and then search for my pajamas, which . . . seem to be nowhere. The more I look through drawers, the more I notice one thing in particular—there’s a lot of lingerie, but there isn’t one trace of my oversized T-shirts, my band shirts, or any trace of my personality.

I lift up a two-piece silk set—petite shorts that I’m sure will barely cover my ass and a matching slinky top. This is what he expects me to wear?

Garments in hand, I storm through my room, out the door, and right across the hallway to pound on his door.

“I need to speak to you,” I shout.

It takes him a few seconds, but when he whips the door open, he pulls me in by the hand and spins me against the wall as he shuts the door.

Standing tall in nothing but his shorts from tonight, his immaculately muscular chest rises and falls as he stares at me, his body overbearing, large, fuming. Someone spends time in the gym, and his name is Huxley Cane, because . . . wow. Just . . . wow.