by Sorcha Black
“We can’t assume you’re safe from shooters.”
After he finished his conversations and nothing else happened, I gave him a small shove. “Move. Everything is fine.”
He turned, pinning me to the brick.
“I’ll tell you when everything is fine, not the other way around. Understood?” His voice was very quiet, but there was command in his gaze that made me want to lick him.
“Uh-huh.”
“No, not ‘uh-huh.’ Repeat what I said.”
“You’re the boss. You tell me, I don’t tell you.”
“Exactly.” His mouth twitched. “So, do what you’re told.”
I arched my back, stretching, letting my body press up against his more than it had been. He was wearing a lot of clothing, and was overly warm, but I was almost naked and the shade was cool. He’d put his gun away, but the weapon he was naturally equipped with pressed against my stomach. The sheer size of it was intimidating. I wanted to sink to my knees and unzip his pants, run my mouth over his hardness. I imagined making him gasp, and I liked how the idea made me feel—powerful for once in my life.
“So…do you have any new orders for me?” I rested my fingers on his thigh as casually as I could, trying not to spook him. No one would come out here looking for us, and there couldn’t be any cameras pointed into this dumb corner. No one would know.
His eyes were like flint—he’d gone from playful to scary-serious.
“What are you doing, Miss Kincaid?”
“What would you suggest I do, Mr. Köhler?”
He made a pained sound and pulled away. “Behave. Just fucking behave, for the love of God.”
I smiled at him sweetly. “If you say so, Daddy.”
“And stop it with that Daddy shit.”
I gave him the rudest smirk I could muster, hoping it would make him snap. His hand twitched—I saw it happen, but he didn’t do more than glare down at me in disapproval.
Should I sass him more, or let it go?
His phone rang and he answered immediately, grunting at the person on the other end a few times before saying, “Good.” He hung up.
“A contractor used a Hilti gun a few houses down,” he grumbled. His body didn’t relax in the slightest. “You’re safe for now.”
I was pretty keyed up, between the possible threat and the excitement of being so close to Mr. Köhler.
“Good.”
He didn’t step back, though, and he stared at me with an inscrutable expression that made me want to lick him.
And yet…he didn’t make a move.
Ugh.
I shoved at him, but it was like trying to shove the house.
There was a gleam of amusement in his gaze. “Ask nice and I’ll move.”
I stuck out my tongue and slipped through the space between him and the house, making sure to rub against him, then dove back into the pool.
How the hell could I stop lusting after a man who gave me such mixed messages? It was such a high when I could get him to flirt back, but so awful when he got all aloof and disapproving—but that was sort of hot too.
It was confusing. Was he interested in me or wasn’t he?
Was he dating someone, or had he only implied that so I’d stop flirting with him?
There was no mistaking the interest his body had shown for me, but if he was never going to act on it, what was I supposed to do?
Maybe I should just do my best to forget about the attraction between us, but how was I supposed to do that when we spent almost every waking moment together?
* * *
“Have you made the appointment with your father’s lawyer yet?” Mother asked, breezing into my room right at the climax of the movie.
Mr. Köhler paused it and stood, inclining his head to Mother and moving to stand by the door.
“Hello, Mother. How was your trip?” I asked, getting up to greet her.
She didn’t smile or acknowledge what I’d said.
“The lawyer, Deen. Did you make that appointment?”
“Not yet. My birthday’s not for a while.”
“Postponing important obligations won’t get you far in life. You need to get that settled. Let me know when the appointment is booked.”
I could feel the tepid smile trembling on my lips.
Yes, hello, daughter. Nice to see you. How’ve you been? It’s been weeks, let’s catch up. Do lunch.
Why did I give her the space in my head to let her casual indifference toward me hurt? Maybe because she was all I had. It had been easier to blow off when I’d had Jake around as a surrogate father.
“Okay.” I rubbed my tingling nose with the back of my hand. Crying wasn’t going to fix anything. I’d learned that lesson early on. Even as a kid, if I got teary or annoying, she’d gesture at my nanny to take me away. “Things went well?”
“Of course they did.” She frowned at me as though I was stupid for doubting she could handle anything life threw at her. I wish I’d inherited some of that. “Did that boy take you out on a date?”
“Not yet. He’s called a few times, but he had to go to California on business. He’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“Just don’t be ridiculous and fall for the first man who pays attention to you, Deen. He’s probably after your money, and you don’t need that kind of pathetic drama in your life.”
I bobbed my head at her. “Was that how things were with my father?”
“What does he have to do with anything?” Mother waved a hand. “Your father didn’t have a good head for business. Like you, he was silly and sentimental. I’m afraid you’re going to be the victim of any man who manages to catch your interest. You don’t have much of a spine.” Mother smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about that though. I’ll make sure any man you end up with obeys me, at least.”
She gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder and left.
I stared after her in amazement. Her words and her actions hadn’t matched up, but that pat on the shoulder had been…nice. When was the last time she’d been so affectionate? She didn’t want me to end up with a bad husband. That was loving, right? She’d gone from forbidding me to date, to wanting to take a role in helping me choose someone. Maybe she did care.
Mr. Köhler shut the door and came back to me. “That was seriously fucked up.”
“What?” I asked, still lost in thought.
“You do have a spine. She steamrolls you anytime you try to make a personal decision.”
“Well…she’s worried I’m going to screw up my life.”
“She’s worried she’s going to lose control of you. What kind of mother tells you she’s going to pick out a husband for you and control him?”
“It happens all the time in other cultures.”
He grunted.
“What?”
“I hate how she talks to you. Next time, give me the word, and I’ll step in if you want.”
“You will not. It’s not your job to fight my battles for me, Mr. Köhler.”
He was fuming. His face was impassive, but I could tell by the set of his shoulders and the way his brow had lowered slightly.
“You should try to stand up for yourself. Eventually you’ll be forty and still under her thumb. Is that what you want? To marry some man your mother controls?”
Why did he care? “I…that’s how things work with us.”
“Even royalty marries for love nowadays.”
“Not all of us are blessed with qualities that make people fall in love with us, Mr. Köhler.”
He put his hand on my shoulder right over where my mother had just patted me. The heat of it felt like a brand.
“The only thing about you that might scare a man away is your mother.”
I raised my brows at him. “And my money. Apparently that scares men off, too.”
“I mean appropriate men,” he said, glowering.
“Maybe I prefer my men inappropriate.”
He squeezed my shoulder then let go of me, but not before I caught the inte
rest in his dark eyes.
“We should finish our movie,” he said as he reclaimed his seat.
“Yeah.” I settled back on the couch, but I’d lost the thread of the movie’s plot now. All I was aware of was him.
Chapter Six
A tap sounded at the door, and Vincent entered, carrying a silver tray stacked with mail. Miss Kincaid accepted the envelopes with a sunny smile, and the old man gave her a cheeky wink.
As soon as she was distracted, Vincent swiped a piece of bacon right off her plate, the way he did every time there was bacon for breakfast. Forget the fact that there was a stack of bacon under the metal dome on the table—apparently it was her bacon the man wanted.
She grimaced at him and playfully tried to stab his hand with her fork, but he strolled away munching and grinning to himself.
Leave it to Miss Kincaid to run such an undisciplined household. It hadn’t taken long for me to realize exactly who was in charge in the house. The staff behaved with stiff formality when her mother was home, but dropped that pretense as soon as she was gone. Aberdeen was in charge. Everything in the house was spotless, but I’d never worked somewhere where the mistress of the house could be found having tea with the cook and the maids, or fetching cold beer for the groundskeeper on a hot day.
Maybe she spoiled the staff, but rather than them taking advantage of her good nature, they doted on her…when they weren’t filching her breakfast.
She finished her last bite of toast, and I managed not to stare as she licked the butter from her fingers. Her attention moved to the mail—requests for her presence at certain functions, thank you notes, requests for her to talk to her mother about donations, invitations to fundraisers…she handled it all with practiced ease.
“What’s this?” she asked.
I shrugged, since there was no way for me to know until she opened the envelope. I glanced up from my breakfast, which she always insisted I eat with her. There was no postmark on the envelope—only her first name in a neatly typed, nondescript font. It was hardly the first letter to have been hand-delivered to her.
“A letter?”
“Thanks, Sherlock.” She pursed her lips at me and wrinkled her nose.
“I live to serve, Miss.”
She opened the envelope with her small letter opener and slid out a sheet of paper. I kept eating, but glanced up when she didn’t immediately start reading the contents to me. Her skin looked pale under her freckles.
“Everything okay?”
She brandished the sheet of paper at me with a shaking hand.
I took the page and turned it so I could see what was written on it.
A chill numbed my bones.
It was a dark photo of a pale, naked young woman whose dead eyes stared sightlessly at the night sky. Typed underneath it in black ink was “Aberdeen Kincaid”.
I put the paper facedown on the table and glanced over at her. She looked as though she might vomit.
“Why?” she demanded. “Who would send that?”
I was on my feet and guiding her to hers before I replied. I found myself glancing around the room as if the person responsible might be standing, unnoticed, behind the potted plant in the corner.
“Let’s get you back to your room and call the police.”
Deborah, one of the maids, was dusting a decorative table in the hallway outside.
“Please make sure no one goes in there to clean up,” I told her. “I’m calling the police.”
She nodded, but her attention was on the gun in my hand.
“Stick to me,” I commanded. “If you see anything weird, say so.”
I checked the path ahead as we made our way to Miss Kincaid’s room on the second floor. I could feel her behind me, touching my back. When we got to her room, I checked it, then grabbed the phone out of my pocket and dialed.
“You think the person who sent the letter might be in the house?” she asked, her eyes wide and terrified. Rightfully so. There had been threats before, but it had almost seemed like they’d been meant for the people around her, rather than for her. This was the first one that had arrived with her name on it. She’d been shielded from the worst of it until now.
“Just being careful, Miss.”
She nodded, hugging herself. She was shaking, and before I realized what I was about to do, I was hugging her to me, not caring that it was completely inappropriate. She was scared to death. A girl like her didn’t deserve this kind of nonsense in her life, no matter who her parents were.
Aberdeen burrowed into my chest as though she might be safer if she could somehow climb inside me.
“You won’t let them do that to me, will you?” she mumbled into my shirt.
“No, Miss. Never.”
She nodded as though she trusted me to have complete control over the universe. I’d do my damnedest to make it true.
The girl couldn’t know that my words were a vow. The fierce protectiveness she triggered in me was all wrong. There was supposed to be professional distance, but that boundary in my head had evaporated.
She was mine to protect, and I’d gladly die before I let anyone hurt her.
I set aside the protectiveness and rage I was feeling, and the memories of Violet bleeding out on the floor that threatened to crowd into my mind. There was work to do.
It seemed to take forever for the police to arrive, and even longer to answer their questions, although there was very little to tell. They collected the letter and envelope, and promised to run them for prints, but I doubted they would find much.
“You should call your mother,” I told her at some point.
“I guess I should before one of the officers does. She doesn’t like to hear about things secondhand.”
Not, ‘I need to call my mom’ or ‘she’s going to be so worried.’ Whenever she talked about her, it almost seemed more like she considered herself one of her mother’s employees. She dialed the number and left a message, but it was a good hour before her mother called back.
Meanwhile, almost everyone in the house had been by to check on her, including Vincent, who had been beside himself for having been the one to hand her such a horrible letter. He’d been so upset that Aberdeen hugged him and kissed his cheek and told him to take the rest of the day off. He’d refused, as though he planned to throw his frail body between the girl and potential harm.
Who would want to scare her like this? Why target her and not her mother? Unless they thought it might make Ms. Kincaid comply with something they wanted from her, but what?
“None of it has ever made sense,” Ms. Kincaid told Detective Mei later, waving a dismissive hand at her daughter. “If Stephen had debts or unsavory business dealings, I was unaware of them. One would think someone would have approached me to settle those debts or renew those agreements by now, if there were any. It’s been twenty years, and no one has contacted me about anything like that. This seems to be specifically about Aberdeen.”
The detective turned his inquisitive gaze on Aberdeen, who only looked lost.
* * *
It was difficult to keep my gaze focused on the novel I was reading when halfway across the studio Aberdeen was dancing her heart out in a threadbare petal pink leotard that hugged every dip and swell of her beautiful body.
The classical music faded into the background as she sailed around the room, her body honed for this work, every flex and release of muscle a mesmerizing and sensual experience for her audience of one. Hair pinned up in a messy bun, sweat sheening her skin, Aberdeen was temptation personified. The superhuman feats of contortion and gravity-flouting leaps were performed with a liquid grace that left me spellbound.
Book forgotten, I watched her claim the only moments of freedom she ever experienced in life. This her mother couldn’t control. This was blissful and unashamed, and I wanted to capture the sinful little butterfly and lick every bead of sweat from her body.
The mirrored wall betrayed my interest to her, our gazes meeting, but rather than fal
ter or stop, the motion of her body became more overtly sexual, every roll of her hips an invitation.
Touch me, old man. I fucking dare you.
I raised a brow in warning, as I had every day since my day off, determined to resist the little brat’s lure. The more I ignored her attempts the bolder she became. Her frustration fed from mine, which fed from hers, in one hot, infinite loop.
As the music died away, she turned off the stereo, the air filled with the scent of her exertion which the animal part of my brain automatically linked to sex.
She twirled to her towel, snapping perfect pirouettes, then strolled from the room as though she hadn’t done something breathtaking.
Feeling like she’d deliberately scrambled my brain, I prowled after her, catching up before she was two doors away. In silence, I trailed her to her room.
“Could you please close my door?” she directed.
Did she want to discuss something privately?
As the door clicked shut, she stripped out of her leotard and tossed it on top of her hamper. Underneath she wore a prim white bra and panty set that would have been modest if it hadn’t been almost transparent with sweat.
My mouth went dry.
She reached back to unclasp the bra, and I barely managed to drag my gaze away in time. From the corner of my vision, I caught the motion of her stripping out of her underwear. She turned toward me, the way she held herself a wordless dare for me to look.
“Coward.” She snorted and headed into the bathroom.
“Pardon?” I said, too riled to care that my tone was too sharp for me to be using with my employer.
“You heard me.” The water in the sink turned on, cutting off any comeback I might have summoned. I had none, only an overwhelming need to follow her in there and teach her hot little ass some fucking respect.
From the bathroom mirror, I caught a flash of bare skin. I was stalking toward the no-man’s-land of her attached bathroom before I could talk myself out of it.
As I entered the generous marble-and-tile room, her eyes went wide. She backed against the vanity, her naked body so fucking glorious I had trouble focusing on my goal. I raked my gaze over her, though, just once because it would have killed me not to look. God—that body, the smooth skin, the acres of freckles. Rosy nipples, I ached to sink my teeth into. A bare pussy.