She reached out for them, but Miles Xavier dodged her again.
"You want them?" he teased.
"Yeah." Joan Shaw's mind didn't even go there; she just nodded.
But the smile on Miles Xavier's lips grew wider. He leaned forward until they were barely a centimeter apart. "If you want them, go wash up."
"You pervert!" Joan Shaw blurted out, her face flushing crimson. She really, really wanted to beat this man to a pulp.
"I have the motorcycle. If you want it, there's only one way. And that is... to sleep... with me." He enunciated every word.
Joan Shaw's face was contorted with fury. She gritted her teeth. "Not! A! Chance!" A scholar can be killed, but not humiliated!
"Okay, I get it. Since you're so stubborn, you can just enjoy doing menial work in the logistics department." Miles Xavier stood up, pocketed the keys, and strode toward the French windows.
The moment he turned, a maid approached with a glass of plain water.
Joan Shaw was a bit stunned.
