“Sh*t, you don’t want this?” Brendan growled. His hands had turned into fists, and his eyes were nailed on Deirdre.

This woman had scraped her knees for Sterling. Stripped for Sterling. She had no f*cking concept of shame if it meant he would leave that b*stard alone. And yet, the moment he wanted her to please him sexually—she balked!

She balked at the thought of pleasing him, Brendan Brighthall! She balked as though she was refusing to court the Devil himself! Did she know just how many women would throw themselves at him and see the invitation as a privilege? So many women would wish they were in Deirdre’s place right now, stripping and teasing and pleasing him!

He laughed mockingly. “God, you’re so pretentious. Fancy yourself a chaste, devoted maiden dying to preserve her purity now?”

Deirdre’s face suddenly paled. A long beat later, she finally said, “Don’t you feel disgusted by the way I look, Mr. Brighthall? It’s… It’s one thing to make me grovel, but… this? Why must you…?”