“Nice to see you too, Angelus,” Lindsey chuckled, “so…did you get Radcliffe to sign?”
A grin spread across Liam’s face, “Papers are being messengered over as we speak.”
“How’d you manage that? Didn’t he know about the Random House deal? They were going to offer him twice as much,” Lindsey raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say I made sure the deal was put on hold until we had him under contract. I even have him staying in my guest house.” Liam smirked.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea? You said yourself how enamored with his writing Buffy was.”
“Her name is Elizabeth, and have you seen this guy? He’s a joke. He’s just some bad boy wannabe with a bad dye job,” Liam sneered, “besides, I can handle my wife.”
Buffy paced back and forth, nearly wearing a path in the plush carpet. She knew he’d moved in today. Her stomach was in knots. She rolled her eyes at her agitation. I’m acting like a schoolgirl, she thought, running her sweaty palms down the sides of her jeans.
Spike’s eyes traveled across the spacious cottage. It was more spacious and luxurious than most of the places he’d ever called home. It had a huge master bedroom, complete with an opulent master bath. There was a broad living room with twin plush cream-colored couches facing a huge stone fireplace.
On the far side of the room, was a vastmahogany desk in front of a large bay window. Spike looked out the window, sighing when he noticed the perfect view of the pool. His gaze traveled to the lounge chair where he had been with Buffy only nights before.
Spike screwed his eyes shut, willing away the images of her graceful body as she moved above him. His mind reeled as he tore open one of the taped boxes and grabbed his bottle of Jack Daniels.
She was playing him, he was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure what it was that she wanted, but the one thing he knew for certain, was that he couldn’t trust her. Or yourself, when she’s around, he reminded himself.
Buffy pasted on her brightest smile as she walked tentatively across the pool deck. She’d rehearsed her welcome speech carefully, and tried her best to dress the part in a simple pair of low riding jeans and a peasant blouse. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail. She’d forgone makeup completely. Just a friendly hello, she told herself. Any hostess would check to make sure their guest was comfortable, she added, feeling her heartbeat increase with every step closer to the cottage.
She’d just raised her hand to knock on the door, when it was suddenly flung open.
“What the hell do you want?”
Buffy’s eyes widened as they met his storm blue gaze. She was sure they penetrated right through her skin.
She saw the bottle in his hand and knew instantly that he was drunk. He smelled of smoke and alcohol. A masculine smell that brought her senses alive. Buffy was taken aback by his anger, but couldn’t control the involuntary shiver that tore through her body. The air seemed to crackle around them. For a long moment neither one of them spoke.
Spike knew he’d had far too much to drink. He was also fully aware that he had no right to be this enraged by her presence. Though she hadn’t been up front with him, she certainly hadn’t forced him to do anything against his will. There was just something about her that made his every emotional response that much more intense.
“I…uh…,” she never got the rest out. Spike grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her into the room, then backed her against the door.
He was close, so close she could smell the liquor on his breath. It wasn’t the alcohol however, that was intoxicating her.
Spike inhaled her scent; she smelled of citrus and lavender.
“What…what are you…doing?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Spike ran the back of his hand gently down the side of her face. “So beautiful,” he whispered.
Buffy felt herself melting into his touch as her body reacted immediately to the dangerous edge in his voice.
His gaze fell from her eyes to her lips, his fingers ghosting over them as he spoke. “I just wonder which one is really you,” he said, tilting his head to the side.
“Are you the sweet, beautiful girl in front of me?” He asked, as a smile tugged his lips.
“Or are you the cold bitch who was at your office…or the whore I met at the party?” Spike knew he had crossed the line. He didn’t miss the hurt that flashed in her eyes, nor did he miss how quickly she was able to push it back. What he hadn’t noticed, was her knee coming up between them, until he felt it slam against his groin.
Buffy watched as his face contorted in pain before he fell to the floor grasping his crotch. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry.
“What I am is your boss and I expect in the future you will watch your fucking mouth. Now, get your drunken ass up and start writing. That is what you’re getting paid for.” Buffy turned and hurried out the door. Tears streamed down her face as she hurried toward the house.
He’s no different, she sobbed. All the men she’d ever met were the same. She didn’t know why she thought just because he could write pretty words and intense emotions that he would feel them, especially for her.
Spike groaned as he lay on the floor clutching his injured manhood. He’d all but expected her reaction. He’d expected her anger; even her attack hadn’t been a complete surprise. What he hadn’t expected was the hurt that flashed in her eyes. He hadn’t expected the look of utter disappointment that shone so clearly for that brief second. He closed his eyes, trying to force away the guilt that was creeping in. It’s for the best, he told himself, crawling over to grab his bottle of discarded whiskey.