Ever try silence?
Okay, now I’m really pissed. He can’t control everything that I do. You can’t hear me, so why do you care?
For a long time there’s no response. Did I go too far? Am I about to lose this job that I so desperately need?
My hands hover over the keyboard, ready to type out an apology. A groveling, abject apology that I absolutely won’t mean. My heart is thrumming in my throat.
Finally the typing bubble comes up. I hold my breath, waiting for him to tell me I’m fired.
Silence helps with focus. And if you’re focused, you’ll be out of here sooner. Which is what we both want.
I can’t deny that. But I’m also tempted to tell him not to dictate how I work, which would probably be pushing it too far.
Okay, is what I reply, having zero intention of actually doing it. If he can’t hear me, he can’t catch me. Is the knitting an approved item then?
What do you knit?
I lean back from the laptop in surprise. “Do you really want to know? And why aren’t you working, Mr. Billionaire?”
No reply comes, so I repeat it louder, taking childish glee in shouting at the top of my lungs. Not a peep comes back to me.
“I will not keep quiet,” I say to myself as I start to type. Whatever my friends want. Sweaters, scarves, shrugs.
What the fuck is a shrug?
Wow, I could get really snarky here and respond that it’s a motion of the shoulders to indicate ambivalence. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself. It’s a sweater that only covers the shoulders. I can make you one—what colors do you like? Teal? Magenta?
He hates those colors—I can tell by the very dark, neutral color palette in the house. All browns and grays and deepest navy blues.
Do not make me a shrug. Or anything else. The letters practically vibrate with his irritation.
I have a sudden urge to make him something anyway—maybe some knitted animal. A beast just like him. But I’m guessing that’s a no on the knitting stuff.
I blink hard. I really didn’t think through this whole imprisonment thing when I said yes. But I should be thinking about the second mortgage and the legal bills and my student debt, not how hard this will be. So I won’t have my knitting or my books or anything except my work? Big deal.
I can do this.
Fine, I write. You’re right. I don’t need the knitting. I should only be working.
To prove it, I go back to the laptop, which has finally pulled something off the hard drive. The files look like gibberish though. Which means I’ve got a long day—and night—ahead of me.
The knitting is approved. As long as it doesn’t interfere with the job. Now get back to work.
I read over the message several times, the words making my emotions jerk back and forth. He said I could have my knitting—but he also threatened to take it away from me. Reminding me that I’ve put myself entirely in his power here.
But he also had an entire conversation with me, about knitting of all things. He must be...
He must be lonely. The thought makes my chest squeeze. I tell myself to stop being stupid.
Of course he isn’t lonely. He’s got more money than God, and if he was scarred in the attack, he’s rich enough to have everyone overlook it. In a moment he could be anywhere in the world. But he’s locked himself up here.
Before my heart can squeeze again, I brutally remind myself that he’s locked me up in here too.
Chapter 6
I know I shouldn’t do what I’m about to, but I do it anyway.
I was good yesterday, only messaging Tess through the computer and then only for a brief time. The thought of her moving through the downstairs, only feet away from me, was an itch I couldn’t get rid of. But I ignored it and focused on all the work I’ve let pile up. And my search for whoever was behind the break-in.
I didn’t even wish her good night when she messaged me to tell me she was done for the day. Although I could have been a dick and told her sleep was for the weak. I certainly don’t get more than four hours a night.
But I didn’t. She better have appreciated that.
Rustem reported that she ate dinner by herself last night. And that she looked sad this morning, all the while eyeing me as if I were a monster.
I ignored him.
“Perhaps she’s lonely?” Gulizar said.
“Of course she is,” I snapped. “She’s not here to make friends. She’s here to do a job.”
But their nagging stayed with me all day until finally in the afternoon I pick up my phone.
And I dial Tess’s number.
“Hello?” she says on the second ring, all brisk business. It makes sensation dance along my spine, the way she says it.
For a moment my mind goes blank. I’m immediately furious because my mind never goes blank. “How’s your progress?”
That comes out sharp and short, but it’s also how I usually talk to my employees. Even the ones I’ve made my captive.
“Um…” She takes a breath like she’s going to launch into a long explanation. “Okay.”
“That’s it? Okay? I’m paying you for more than okay.”
I was also hoping to hear… more from her. At least something beyond a simple okay.
“I thought I was supposed to try silence.”
Against my will, one corner of my mouth crooks up. “Somehow I don’t think you’re obeying.”
“But you can’t tell, can you?” The curl of her voice suggests that fact drives me crazy—and she likes it.
“Did you get your knitting?”
She’s caught up by the change in subject. “Yes.” She swallows. “Thank you.”
Oh, she didn’t care for that, having to thank me for giving her access to anything. But she did it. “You’re welcome. Now give me a report that’s better than okay.”
She does, launching into the explanation that I was expecting before. Without explicitly saying so, she makes it clear she doesn’t like the circumstances she’s working under.
Too damn bad.
“All right,” I say, stopping her midsentence. “You could be going faster, but it’s fine.”
She huffs, then bites it back quickly.
“We’re having dinner tonight,” I say.
The silence on the other end of the line runs over my skin. I shouldn’t care about her reaction—or lack of one—but it bugs me anyway.
The only other person in this massive house doesn’t want to be around me. It’s exactly what I wanted. Which brings up be careful what you wish for.
“That wasn’t an invitation.” Her tone is flat.
“No.” I don’t see the point in a polite lie. “I want to have dinner with you. So I’m telling you to come.”
“Does anyone ever tell you no?”
I have to think for a moment. Does breaking into my house and trying to steal from me count? Or is that more of a vicious middle finger?
“Are you about to tell me no?” I ask with deceptive softness. I know she won’t—she wants this job. Look at what she agreed to do to get it.
Still, I hold my breath until she says, “Of course not. And I’ll see you tonight.”
She hangs up without another word, which impresses the hell out of me. I spend the rest of the afternoon with only half my focus on my work, waiting for dinner to come. Which irritates the hell out of me because I only asked her in response to Rustem and Gulizar’s guilt trip.
When I enter the dining room, she’s already there, sitting in the spotlight in the middle of the dark. I take my seat at the head of the table quietly, but she still goes on high alert at my presence. She fairly crackles with it, and my fingers itch to reach over and touch her.
Instead, I remain cloaked in the dark where she can’t see me. But I can see her. And she’s gorgeous. The light is harsh, but when it hits her skin, it softens, curving around her form, caressing her. She stares at where she thinks I am, her chin defiant.
“This is the oddest way I’
ve ever had dinner in my life,” she says.
“I’m glad I’m not boring.” I have no food in front of me. I just want to study her.
“You’re too rich to be boring.” She stabs a piece of steak and twirls her fork without taking a bite. “And you eat like a king.”
“Better than a king,” I say. “Have you ever eaten English food? No, all the nations with great cuisine—Italian, Turkish, Vietnamese—have no royalty.”
“There’s a Vietnamese place around the corner from my place.” Her face falls. “I used to get takeout from there every Wednesday with Victoria. We called it our friend date.”
For half a moment I’m tempted to offer to get some Vietnamese food for her, to fly in the best chef in the world to whip something up for her here. Partly to wipe that sad look off her face and partly just to show her exactly what I can do with all my wealth.
But it’s not like she’s never going to do that again. I’m only keeping her here for a month or so, not forever. I’m not a total monster.
“Sounds nice,” I say shortly. “Very cozy.”
“You’re not a fan of cozy, are you?” Finally she takes a bite of the steak, rolling her lips around it in a way that makes sweat break out on my forehead. Thank God she can’t see me.
I definitely don’t like cozy. “Did the house give it away?”
She swallows, her throat bobbing gracefully. “That and the whole keeping me captive. And shutting off my phone. Those were all hints. And then there’s the stories about you.”
The way she says stories—like she hates that she loves hearing about me—is like a finger trailing down my spine. “Stories?”
“Oh, there’s all kinds of rumors going around about you.”
I lean forward, eager to hear. That’s exactly what I wanted—the information to be confused, muddled, and nowhere near the truth. A swamp of stories for my intruder to wade into.
“Like what?” I make my voice bored although I very much care.
“Um…” She chews on her lip, suddenly uncertain. “Like…”
“Like I’m disfigured?” I supply.
She nods slowly. “Also, that you’ve lost your mind.”
I snort. “They wish.”
“Some people say that you started the fire. Because you went crazy.”
I roll my eyes. “What else?”
“That it was a false flag.” She tilts her head. “That you made it all up.”
Huh. That wasn’t one that I was expecting. What earthly purpose would a false flag serve? People spend too much time on conspiracy forums. “Is that it?”
Her lush mouth flattens. “Some people say that the attack was real but that you’re totally fine. And that you’re hiding away here for some reason known only to you.”
So it looks like the truth is out there. “What do you think is true?”
Her eyes go wide. She wasn’t expecting that at all. “Well.” She sets down her fork, narrows her eyes. Whoa, when she gets hard-core thoughtful, it’s amazingly attractive. “The panels are all broken.” She starts to tick off on her fingers. “You have me isolated here and there’s no one except Rustem. You… sometimes make a noise like you’re hurt when you move.”
I go very still. She noticed that?
“You hired me instead of whoever gave you those security scanners.” She goes on, unaware she’s stunned me. “And…” She bites her lip, her gaze so focused on me I swear she can see me. “And you won’t let me see you,” she finishes quietly.
The atmosphere pulses between us. “You want to, don’t you? So bad.”
She nods once, jerkily, inhaling hard.
“I warned you about always wanting to look,” I rumble. “And I was right.”
Chapter 7
He’s right. I won’t stop wanting to see. But probably not for the reasons he thinks.
“Even if I want to, I can control my urges.”
I sense him shifting, like a big cat considering whether or not to pounce.
“I wonder,” he says. “If I told you to close your eyes and keep them closed while I turned up the lights, would you do it? Or would the temptation to take a peek be too great?”
My eyelids flutter as if they want to open, but they already are. “I could do it.”
“What if I came close? Close enough that you could peek through your eyelashes without me seeing?”
That would have to be pretty close. Close enough that I could smell his skin. Feel his heat. If he came that close, I wouldn’t need to look. I’d have the rest of him to run my senses over.
“I wouldn’t,” I say confidently.
He drums his fingers on the table. There’s a strange sound, like he’s holding a metal pen in his fingers as he does it. The noise stops as he hisses like someone’s pressed on a bruise.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” His growl is back.
The lights go out.
I grab the table and gasp. Immediately my instincts go into overdrive. Was this deliberate? Is it a security breach?
“The power went out because of the wind.”
I jump at his voice right next to me. He must have flown to get to me so quickly. “Are you sure?”
“It happens,” he says. “Besides, if they’re trying again, they’re going to find out turning off the power was the worst thing they could do.”
My brain sorts through possibilities. “The safe locks down without power.”
He makes a little noise like he’s surprised and pleased by me.
Acting on instinct, I reach out toward that noise, leaning into the darkness. My hand connects with heated firmness. A shoulder. He must be crouching next to me. My fingers turn upward, find the softer, hotter skin of his neck. His pulse is wild under the pad of my thumb.
I release a shaky exhale that he must feel. My hand slides up the powerful line of his throat, my fingers finding the blade of his jaw, rough with stubble. In the pictures I’d seen, he had a take-no-prisoners kind of jaw, and it feels like he still does.
I get the grit of his stubble under my fingers as I trace his cheek. His skin feels so good on mine, I don’t even care if he might have scars. I just want to keep touching him.
As I leave the hollow of his cheek and reach the ridge of his cheekbone, he catches my wrist. I’m tugged forward until his mouth meets my palm.
As stony as his jaw is, his lips are amazingly soft. And hot. But not as hot and soft as his breath as it ghosts over my palm. He’s not really kissing me—it’s more like he’s breathing in time with my pulse.
It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. Up to and including orgasms.
I was right. There’s nothing that is safe or nice about Gideon Wolfe. If I’m foolish enough to start something with him, I won’t walk away unscarred.
Right now I don’t care about scars. I just want to taste him. I lean forward, ready to find him with my mouth. The rhythm of his breath in the darkness is like a homing beacon.
Something in the background clicks, like door locks releasing. There’s the short blare of an alarm, but then silence.
It’s enough to break the spell between us.
He releases my hand. Air stirs near my face, and when he speaks again, he’s moved away. “I’ll have to start the generator.”
I cradle my hand in my lap, my palm still tingling. “Do you need help?”
“No. And you should go home before I go to the generator.”
Rats. I figured he wasn’t going to let me get a look at him, but I’m not keen on stumbling home in the dark. “Sure,” I say. “Just one small problem. I can’t see shit.”
He laughs. “Here. I’ll walk you back.” He pulls me out of the chair, his hand hot and firm on mine.
“How can you see?”
“Maybe I can see in the dark.” There’s a flash that might be the baring of his teeth. Or maybe I’m just desperate to see something, anything, of him.
He walks through the house confidently, navigating c
orners and walls as if the lights were on. He’s either got the night vision of a freaking panther or…
“How many hours did you have to spend walking through the house in the dark to do this?”
“You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?”
I don’t know about that, but I think he’s been preparing for something like this, navigating through the dark in his own house. Which means he might have been expecting that break-in.
Every wealthy person expects a break-in—that’s just natural. But they usually install security and hire guards and leave it at that. Not practice navigating through their house in pitch blackness.
“How long have you been doing MMA?” I ask.
He stops so fast I almost walk into him. But he starts moving again just in time.
He mutters something under his breath I don’t catch, but I think it might be about my smart mouth and what he’d like to do to it. A shimmy of heat dances through me.
When we reach the in-law cottage, the lights are still off. The moon is a bare sliver in the sky, providing just enough light for Wolfe to find the doorknob. His back is to me, so I can’t see anything of his face. I know by now it’s deliberate. Which makes me desperate to see him. His touch, his voice, his presence are hooked into me, and I need all of him.
“I’ll start the generator,” he says, urging me into the house. “Sit tight here.”
As I pass him, angling sideways to get inside, my breasts brush his arm. Immediately he clamps down on my shoulders, pulling me into him.
This time his lips are on my mouth and not my palm. They’re soft but firm, and this kiss… it’s hard. Engulfing. Like he needs something from me and he’s going to get it.
It’s such a contrast from how sweet his kiss into my palm was, my knees go weak. I’m not frightened of the shadows, and his mouth on mine is shadow and flame. Like he’s going to take me into the darkness with him, he needs this so much.
I need it too. I part my lips, trace the seam of his with my tongue. He tastes like smoky tea and musk. He opens for me with a growly groan, half warning, half surrender.
I thought I knew what I was getting into when I kissed him back, but the thrust of his tongue against mine is something else entirely. I run my fingers through his hair, which is thick and silky. I can’t remember the exact color from the pictures I’ve seen, but I’ll remember the feel of it forever. I’ll remember all this—a wild, feral kiss in the shadows of the moon—forever.
Primal Bargains Page 5