The Single Lady Spy Series Boxset

by Tara Brown

“I think you need to head back to Sweden for the week. You seem tense.”

  He flipped me the bird and I pressed to end the call.

  I dropped the phone on the table and surveyed the room. The huge wall-mounted TV was something I’d probably be able to use without too many problems. Of course, I had to search high and low for the remote. It took me twenty minutes to turn it on. I couldn’t get sound, but I watched the picture. It was Casablanca, at the part where she walks into the bar and sees the piano player. I almost teared up as I saw her ask him to play the song they liked. Seeing the anger and the way Bogart stormed across the bar to stop Sam from playing the song reminded me of Servario.

  Bogart’s expression was the same one Servario got. Mostly it was the fake smile with the heartbroken eyes. Almost as if his lips couldn’t convince the rest of his face he was happy.

  I wondered if I was easy to read or if I was more stone-faced.

  As the night went on, I finished my glass of wine and curled into the pillows and cushions. The couch was soft. Trying to sleep, I closed my eyes but they opened almost immediately with fear. I didn’t like being in the wide open.

  A little tipsy, I got up and stumbled farther down the hall, opening door after door until I reached a set of double doors.

  As I opened them, I smelled him in the air. My hand fumbled along the wall for the light switch. When I clicked it, rope lighting in the ceiling and along windowsills lit up the room.

  The room was ridiculous. I couldn’t imagine Servario ever needing such a room. Closing the doors and crossing to the extra large king-sized bed, I scoffed. It was made and pristine, as was every inch of the unlived-in home. He was ostentatious.

  Sighing, I turned to find another set of double doors. I opened them to discover the walk-in closet which was the size of a bedroom. Ladies’ clothes in a few different sizes filled a tiny corner of the closet. That disturbed me. I closed the doors and pored over the clothes. He had so many suits it rivaled a department store.

  Exhausted and becoming nauseated, I kicked my shoes off and noticed how plush the carpet was on my toes.

  I dropped to my knees and sat on the carpet, running my fingers through it. The room smelled of him. I reached up and jerked a suit free from the hanger and lay down, resting my head on the suit pillow. It was hard not to smell him.

  My mind played tricks on me. It lied to me about what it would be like if a man like Servario loved a girl like me.

  It would be more like Romeo and Juliet and less like Casablanca. We would both end up dead.

  I closed my eyes and savored the safety of the small room where no one would think to look for me.

  13

  Three’s a crowd

  A noise I didn’t recognize startled me awake.

  It sounded like people but then it didn’t. It was muffled and then loud again as if it moved in waves. I blinked and opened the door a tiny crack. Figures moved in the dark. There was moaning and a girl making a sound I was certain I had made but only with Servario.

  I stopped breathing and closed the door silently.

  With it closed, I pressed my hand against the back of the hardwood and waited for my stomach to drop back down. He was having sex—in his bed—with me in the house. Did he know I was there, in the closet? Was this deliberate?

  The reality of the whole situation didn’t filter in slowly. It slammed my brain hard. I was his prisoner, his captive, his pawn, and his plaything. And he was playing me.

  The rhythmic sound of the girl became louder.

  I took a breath and ignored my inner voice, which told me not to look, and put my hand on the knob again. I wanted to see it.

  I turned the knob and opened the door a crack.

  My eyes had adjusted to the dim light, making it easier to see them. The tanned complexion of his broad back and rounded shoulders was stunning in the moonlight. He thrust and I could almost feel him inside me. The door was open only enough for my one eye to see through and yet I saw it all. Her legs lifted to his shoulders, pressing against his chest to arch her hips better. He sat up, pumping wildly. The sounds escaping her intensified with the slamming of his body against and inside hers. His firm rounded ass flexed with each mighty strike as his fingers dug into her thighs, dragging her back to him. His head dropped back as a slight moan escaped his lips. I barely caught it over the spasms going on inside her body, making her scream and writhe. I was jealous of her and I hated that. I hated him. Mostly I hated myself.

  He chuckled and patted her thigh. “Steve will see you out.” He climbed off the bed and walked, still erect with a condom on, to the bathroom.

  She struggled to get off the bed as she pulled her mini dress back to its rightful spot.

  She tousled her long blonde hair and walked from the room, holding her pumps.

  I heard the shower turn on and knew it was my only chance. I waited for the sound of the water hitting his skin. The suspense of it all made it seem like a real mission. I knew he enjoyed long showers so I remained until I heard the jets kick in that he used to massage his back.

  Then I slipped from the closet, tiptoeing to the door. While I slowly turned the handle my breath was silent, although my heart was beating wildly.

  I opened the door cautiously, trying not to make a sound. Just as I had it open half an inch, it slammed shut and his soaking wet, dripping body pressed into my back.

  “I saved the best for you, Evie,” he mouthed into my neck.

  “Don't.” I shuddered. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  “Why?” He chuckled. “I figured you were used to sharing your men with other women.”

  That stung.

  Cold hatred crossed my face, shutting my body down. “You’re clearly not my man.”

  “And yet here you are, my woman,” he growled and pressed my face into the door, lifting my skirt. “I just have to know.”

  The fight came alive in me. I spun, pushing hard against his chest. He staggered back. I threw open the door, running as fast as I could. In the dark and with the disoriented feeling of being in a different house, I was lost.

  A light down one of the hallways beckoned me.

  My bare feet slapped against the tiles as did his.

  He called out, taunting me, “I like hunting, Evie. I like chasing the things I want to be on top of.”

  Panicking, I began to run on my tiptoes when I realized I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore. I opened a door once I’d rounded a corner and ran hard, rounding another corner. I was back in the main sitting room. The house must’ve been built like an octopus.

  I sprinted across the foyer and through the hall he had gone down for his night out. I opened the first door I found and slipped inside. Closing the door, I flicked on the light. It was a games room. Billiards and other tables lined the massive space. I flicked off the light and ran for the back of the room, remembering where the tables were and hid underneath one.

  My breath and heartbeat were my only company.

  The wait felt like an eternity though it was probably seconds. The suspense was built so high I didn’t think it possible to be more afraid or paralyzed than I was.

  The door opened but no light filtered into the room. It was pitch-black in the hallway as well. He must have turned off everything.

  Not even blinking, I remained perfectly still, listening for breath or steps, but he moved silently.

  I crawled farther under the table and hoped I’d be able to see him. All I knew was I needed to make it to the door.

  “I can hear your heartbeat,” he whispered, and I couldn’t figure out where it had come from, somehow sounding as if it echoed off the walls.

  Holding my breath and frozen in fear, I had a sickening sort of anticipation.

  I waited before creeping forward again.

  My left foot was grabbed mid crawl. I screamed and kicked, but he dragged me back on the carpet so fast I didn’t stand a chance. Regardless of my scrambling, he was on me instantly, pressing me into the floor with
his weight.

  His hot breath licked at my nape.

  I didn’t give up the fight until he starfished my body, pinning my arms and legs out away from me.

  Somehow, he was able to free one of his hands, dragging it down the side of me.

  He lifted my shirt, tickling the side of my body.

  “Stop!”

  He kissed the back of my neck. “You don’t mean that.”

  He was right. I was horrified at myself and my growing excitement as his hand slipped down my thigh. The fabric of my skirt rustled as he dragged it up my body. He slid his thick fingers up my spread legs to my ass cheeks and then down between my thighs.

  “I need to know.”

  I shook my head, whispering into the carpet, “Don’t touch me. I don’t care what you have to know. Why don’t you go find yourself another whore if you’re not done?”

  There was a wide smile in his reply. “Evie, I want to know if you liked watching me with that whore.”

  Shame filled me. I knew what he would find inside my underwear.

  He let go of my body slightly and arched my ass up with his other hand. He pulled my underwear to the side, dipping his finger between my lips. He slipped in the wetness there—the wetness caused by my watching him fuck someone else.

  He moaned when he discovered my shameful secret. “I had a hunch what I might find.”

  I hated that he was pleased by the perverse things he had made me like and want. My body trembled in frozen delight, waiting for the fingers inside me to move.

  But they didn’t. He kept them there, completely still, and began kneading my ass with his other hand.

  My hips attempted to rotate against him to force him to move, but he pressed me back down with his free hand.

  When I stopped moving, he lifted my shirt up to my shoulders. He planted hot kisses up the sides of my back and spine, his fingers remaining frozen.

  My breath picked up, my body was ready to convulse. His kisses lowered to my ass cheeks. He dragged my underwear between the cheeks.

  His words on the plane about fucking my ass started to play over and over in my head. He wouldn’t, would he? I would fight him to the death on it. No matter what.

  I jumped when I felt his teeth on my ass. He bit, not hard but enough to make me tense.

  “Relax,” he spoke softly and bit again.

  I didn’t enjoy the biting. I wanted the fucking but he refused to do the thing I wanted.

  He murmured sweetly to my ass cheeks, “You liked watching me, didn’t you?” His breath caressed my skin.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He jerked his finger inside my pussy. I cried out into the carpet as he thrust, pumping his fingers in and out.

  He stopped just as I was about to orgasm.

  “You liked watching me fuck her. Say it.”

  I shook my head but I couldn’t speak. The sounds that threatened to leave my lips were not words.

  Sweat started to form on my brow.

  “You want me to let you come, Evie?”

  I trembled, near tears, but never spoke a word.

  “Then you say it.” His voice was no longer a whisper in the dark. He commanded me.

  My weakened voice quivered when I tried to speak, “N-n-no.”

  He slowly dragged his fingers from me, but when he was just at my opening, he thrust back in. He held them there momentarily before repeating. On the third time I shouted, “FUCK YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

  Straightaway, his hand picked up speed. He inserted a second finger, stretching me and pumping rhythmically. I gripped the shag carpet, crying into it as my entire body went pins and needles before bursting into orgasmic flames. Beads of sweat covered every inch of me. He pumped until the twitching stopped. I was about to sigh and possibly cry a little when he lifted me off the floor, flipping me over. He laid me on the billiards table, spreading my legs and burying his face between them.

  He licked my swollen slit in flicks and sucks, starts and stops. His tongue entered me as his fingers rubbed my clit. He sat me up, slapping my pussy a few times softly. I was startled by it at first, but the vibration was nice. I had no idea.

  Just as I was getting into the groove of the soft slaps, he would replace his hand with his mouth, and begin the licking again. My second orgasm was building as he flipped me over, dragging me back down so I was bent over the table. My feet barely touched the ground. He slapped my ass hard. My legs being spread as far as they were made the vibration tingle everywhere.

  I gasped as he crawled a hand up my back, nestling it at the base of my head and pulled my hair. He lifted my head up and spanked again. I cried out. I wanted it to be a cry of pain but it was not.

  “You going to let that little fucker touch you again?” he asked menacingly.

  I didn’t know what he meant. “The fat man?” Who else had touched me?

  He spanked and pulled harder. “That young man.”

  Coop?

  I struggled against the hair pulling. “He never touched me.”

  I heard his belt rustle, making my eyes bug out. Was he going to whip me with the belt?

  Instead of a lash, his cock entered me hard.

  His hand left my head and planted on my hips. He gripped my skin like he had hers. He pulled my ass back, fucking me.

  He reached forward amid thrusts and rubbed between my legs, circling my clit.

  The felt of the table scratched against my cheeks and palms. The sound left my lips, like it had hers. I could imagine him, thrusting into her the way he was doing to me. I came again, seeing her feet in the air and his strong ass flexing. His thrusts slowed to make my orgasm deliciously paced.

  Flipping me onto my back again, he grabbed my ankles and placed them in the same spot hers were. I didn’t notice until his cock was buried deep inside me. I tried to kick away but he held me there. Only when he had filled me with his orgasm, could I tell the difference between what he’d done to her and what he did to me. He cried out, making a noise I hadn’t heard in the room with her but I recalled from the hotel.

  He slapped against me one last time and collapsed on top of me, forcing my legs apart again. I wrapped them around him as he breathed into my breasts.

  “You set me up,” I whispered into the heavy dank air of the giant room we had somehow managed to pollute with our filth. “You knew I was in the closet the whole time?”

  “I did,” he offered. “But I didn’t force you to like it.”

  I shook my head. “I hate you.”

  “Good.” He placed a kiss on my belly and stood up. “I need you to hate me, Evie.”

  He left the room and I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

  I showered in a spare room and found a smaller room to sleep in.

  When I woke, I searched the room for something to put on. The other clothes felt wrong, on a bunch of different levels.

  I wrapped up in a blanket and made my way back to his room. His foot was sticking out of the covers. I snuck into the closet and stole a pair of shorts for jogging and a tee shirt. His clothes hung off me like they would a kid. I left the blanket in the closet and made my run for the door.

  After a small amount of searching, I found the kitchen from the smell in the halls. It was waffles. My mouth watered.

  A small man in a chef’s uniform grinned at me. “You hungry?” he asked through a thick French accent.

  I nodded and sat at the breakfast table.

  Everything was oversized, marble, and expensive. His house was like something out of a magazine, including the chef.

  He brought me a coffee and a plate of fruit.

  I stared at the fruit and then back at the kitchen. “Can I have some of the waffles?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He was like the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld, holding out on the waffles until he was ready to give them to me.

  I picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and bit down. I was starving.

&nb
sp; The coffee was perfect. I stirred the cream in and sipped. Even with the strawberry taste in my mouth, it was overwhelmingly good. My kids would love this house. I wondered what the cost of the chef was. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had enough money in James’ sneaky whore account to have a chef or even a house like this.

  My brain promptly went to the place most women’s would. I wrinkled my nose and noticed all the cleaning that would need to be done. The house was huge.

  Shaking my head, I grabbed the newspaper off the table where it was no doubt placed for him and gasped when I saw the front page.

  PRIVATE JET CRASHES ON MOUNT WASHINGTON

  “Are you reading my newspaper?” Servario interrupted my reading.

  “Yes.” My eyes were glued to the paper. “A jet crashed on Mount Washington after taking off from Boston,” I muttered. I paused a moment as I considered the possibility of it being Fitz. My eyes burned. “Did you do this?”

  He seemed confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Fitz left Boston after dropping everyone else off. He was on a private jet. Did you kill him? Is this his jet?”

  “No.” He sat. “I don’t know whose jet that was. What am I, psychic?”

  “Sometimes.” I narrowed my eyes. “Did you do this?”

  “No.”

  “Fine.” I stood and walked away. He was lying to me.

  “Are those my clothes?” he asked after me.

  I spun around with anger seething from me at the possibility that Uncle Fitz might have been in a plane crash. “I’m done with this. This sick, twisted version of playing house with you. Last night was really weird, and I have new things to talk to my therapist about so that’s always good. But I’m done. Either level with me or I’m walking out the front door, and I’ll kill whoever decides to get in my way.”

  He grinned. “You’re that confident in your abilities?”

  “No.” I almost laughed at that. “No. I feel that confident in my anger at the things that happened last night.”

  He watched me and exhaled deeply. “Come and sit and eat breakfast. Pierre makes an incredible Belgian waffle.”

  I neared the counter and stole a waffle from the steaming tray of them that Pierre was plating. I strolled away, waving over my shoulder. “Fuck you, Servario. I’ll leave you two alone. Thanks for the waffle, Pierre.”