3: William.

"You think I'm a softie?" My voice is deceptively gentle when the rest of me is so hard. "Do you know why I pulled over?"

"Why?" she says, seeming to hold her breath.

Don't you dare. She's innocent. I say the words, anyway, however. I want to drive her away. Now. She caught me with my walls down and that is the ultimate invasion, made worse because I crave it happening again. "I pulled over because I know tight pussy when I see it." I frame her jaw with my right hand, tilting her blushing face up toward mine. "I'd like to fuck you on all fours, right here in the middle of the road, little girl. Rough as you can stand. Still think I'm a softie?"

"No," she gasps, the green of her eyes deepening to a forest shade. "I don't."

I ignore the regret stabbing me in the neck. "Good."

She tugs her chin out of my hold, skirts around me and continues walking up the road, arms stiff at her sides. I'm monetarily dumbfounded by the sense of loss I experience without her in front of me—and then I'm turning on a heel, going after her. "Get in the limo. Now."

"Why would I do that?"

"How about so you don't catch pneumonia?" I growl. "Or get kidnapped."

"Or roughed up on my hands and knees in the middle of the road?" she inquires primly over her shoulder, hurt dancing in her eyes.

More regret piles onto my head. "I said I would like to do those things, not that I'm going to," I say through my teeth, following on her heels. "Stop walking away immediately and tell me your name."

"Since you asked so politely, it's Grace. Grace Hellington," she says, spinning back around to face me. "I don't understand. Why would you want me to think you're terrible and rude? Can't you just be the man who shares his umbrella?"

"Grace Hellington." That name hits me with such an odd sense of déjà vu, I feel slightly dizzy. I shake my head to clear the sensation. "I'm William Jones."

She crosses her arms, pursing those bee-stung lips, and my cock turns harder than fucking steel in my slacks. "You didn't answer my question, William."

Is it my imagination or does my name roll off her tongue as if she's said it a million times? "You asked me a personal question. I don't answer those." She starts to turn again, but I catch her by the elbow. "If I make an exception this time, will you get in the limo? I...find myself wanting you warm and fed. Immediately."

And spoiled rotten, dripping in diamonds, pearls and my come.

Some of the ire fades from her eyes. "Everything is 'immediately' with you. Do you ever have to wait for anything?"

"No." My answer makes her smirk, cross her arms and wait. For the answer to her question, I assume. Can't you just be the man who shares his umbrella? There is a shard of discomfort in my throat when I answer. "Sharing an umbrella might seem like a small gesture, but it made you expect more from me...emotionally. I have nothing to give in that way." My jaw is tight enough to shatter. "If you come home with me, however, I have possessions that will make the fact that I'm an asshole seem irrelevant."

A line forms between her brows. "You think I won't mind you being mean just because you have nice things, like a fancy limo?"

"Exactly."

Her smile is tremulous. "You're wrong."

I arch an eyebrow. "Prove it. Come with me and stay for a night in my home. I'll remain my total bastard self while I'm spoiling you silly and we'll see if you truly want to leave in the morning."

Visibly mustering her confidence, she sticks out her hand for a shake. "It's a deal, William."

My hand slides around hers and static ripples up my arm. And since our deal gives me permission to be my typically ruthless self, I pull her up against me roughly, flattening her sweet little tits against my chest. "You just made a deal with the devil, little girl," I rasp, stooping down and throwing her over my shoulder. With her sputtering in shock, I turn on a heel and stalk back toward the open limousine door, already envisioning her in my home. In my bed. "No going back now."