Rich Boy: A Royal Landlord Romance (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 5)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Pounding my fist into her door, I holler her name. “Ethel! Ethel! Open the door!”

  No answer. But I know she’s in there. I can hear her striking a lazy tune on the keys of her grand piano.

  You heard that right—the woman has a grand piano.

  This building is a dump. The place is barely habitable. On the ground floor is the dirtiest restaurant in town. It blows my mind that the county hasn’t shut it down yet. Next to that is the laundromat where all the sketchies hang out and do god knows what. I live on the second floor. There are two other apartments aside from mine and they’re all in terrible condition. Cupboards falling apart. Paint peeling off the walls. Moldy bathtubs. All the hallmarks of a hovel.

  Yet, on the top floor, Ethel lives in a mini-palace. With her grand piano.

  I’ve only ever caught glimpses of it by peeking over her shoulder when she cracks the door open to snatch my rent check from my fingers on the first of the month. But from what I’ve seen, the place is breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers, gold-leaf crown moulding and ivory drapes with little golden tassles at the ends. Meanwhile her tenants live in squalor.

  Well, today a peasant is storming the gates.

  I flatten my palm against the door and bang again. The piano-playing stops and I press my ear to the door, dancing in place to distract myself from the burning itch prickling at my skin. I hear footsteps approaching and the subtle creak of the floorboards. Then, there’s a pause, a hesitation on the other side of the wood.

  Nuh-uh. My skin is on fire. She’s not getting rid of me so easily.

  I lean back and position my grimacing face right in front of the peephole so she knows I mean business. Look—the rent is cheap, so I’m not expecting Buckingham Palace but this dump is my home and I deserve to live with at least the minimal comforts. Clean, running water isn't too much to ask. “Ethel,” I say loudly, hoping to mask my desperation beneath my menacing scowl. “I’m not going anywhere until you open this door.”

  More silence.

  My leg bounces frantically. I rap my knuckles against the door again. “Ethel. Open up. Open up. Please.”

  Nothing.

  "Oh god, lady. Open the fucking door," I moan under my breath as I round my shoulders and press my knees together, my body beginning to close in on itself like a crocus flower.

  Slowly, I begin to accept my fate. This is how I’ll die, wilted and lifeless with oozing wounds on Ethel’s thick, Persian welcome mat.

  No Sadie. You can't just give up! You have to fight!

  Since when do I back away from a challenge? I’m the type of girl who keeps clawing away until she gets exactly what she wants. Why should this be any different?

  Gripping my dress over my tits with one hand, I ball up my other fist, ready to explode into another round of banging. That’s when the door swings open. Caught off guard, I jerk forward. My big toe catches on the edge of the doormat and I go hurtling toward a wall of taut, tanned flesh.

  Strong hands fly out and catch me by the shoulders right before I slam straight into his chest. On my startled inhale, his scent invades my belly. Something subtle but rich and absolutely mouth-watering. A frisson rolls across the surface of my skin. This man has muscles. Many muscles. Muscles that bulge against his smooth, sun-bronzed skin. My gaze climbs an acre of man-chest and the thick column of his throat to his lips. Full, red, smirking lips.

  When I finally look up into his eyes, his dark irises are glinting with mirth. He holds me at arm's-length and his gaze moves over the mess that I am—shower cap, zit cream, party dress clutched to my chest like body armor.

  His lips start moving and exotic-sounding words pour from his mouth. "Well hello there, good looking," he says teasingly through a lazy smile. His smooth accent only seems to heighten the impact of his sarcasm.

  "You're not Ethel!" It's the only thing my frantic mind can think to say right now.

  His hair is sexy. Messy. The kind of disheveled that comes from rolling around in the sheets for hours on end. He rakes his fingers through the silky black strands. “No, I'm not Ethel. And you..." he takes a step closer, lowers his face to mine. "...have got a wee bit of yogurt on your top lip.” He reaches out and swipes it away.

  Fire blazes across my skin, following the trajectory of his big, thick finger.

  No, I'm not talking about sexual chemistry or passion or any of that good stuff. I'm talking about agony. Pure, blinding, fiery agony. Like he just sliced my flesh open with a rusty razor blade. A shrill noise tears free from the back of my throat.

  The man startles, looking alarmed as my hands fly out and shove against the steely muscles of his chest. He falters a half-step as I push him out of the way. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” I apologize as I squeeze through the small space in the door and duck into the apartment.

  Before he can ask what the hell I'm doing, I sprint down the hall in search of the bathroom, leaving my dress in a pile on the floor as I go. I can only imagine what he’s thinking as I hop over the threshold and skid across the cold, tiled floor.

  I throw a glance over my naked shoulder and I meet his confused stare. "I'm sorry," I offer again, slamming the door behind me.

  2

  Xavier

  Well, nothing in the Airbnb advert prepared me for this.

  There's a naked stranger in the bathroom and I strongly doubt that she’s sane. I’ve been pacing the long, dim hallway from the living room to the bathroom door for—let me check my watch—forty-five minutes. Yes, forty-five minutes she's been holed up in there, banging around. Meanwhile, I've been out here trying to work out the appropriate response to a situation like this.

  The palace keeps a crew of etiquette consultants on payroll. I never quite understood why. Frankly, it always seemed to me like just another frivolous expenditure. But right now, I could use some professional guidance for figuring out what to do.

  I press my ear to the door and listen. All I hear is the spray of water hitting the glass door of the shower stall and a series of low, muffled, feminine groans. I can’t tell if those are sounds of pain or pleasure but my cock twitches saucily anyway. Hell no, buddy. You are not about to get hard right now.

  And I’m really in no mood for company tonight. I came to this place for peace and quiet. Alone time.

  Just a few minutes ago, I was busy with some very pressing matters, slouched over the piano, trying to decide whether or not draining the entire contents of Ethel’s liquor cabinet was a legitimate means to satisfy my hydration requirements for the day. Now, I’m stuck here having to deal with this madness.

  I should have listened to my gut and ignored the knock at the door when I heard it. The banging just wouldn’t stop, though so I got up from the piano bench with the intention of telling whoever it was to bug off. But I wasn’t prepared for the curvy little tornado that came storming through the door and nearly knocked me to the ground.

  The girl has a hell of an arse, though. Shut up, cock!

  A loud bang echoes from behind the closed bathroom door followed by a high-pitched girlish squawk. Oh, fuck. She’d better not accidentally dismember any of her limbs while she’s up to whatever the hell she’s up to in there.

  My heavy footsteps slap the hardwood floorboards as I hurry down the hallway in the direction of the distress call. “You okay in there?” I bang a balled up fist against the door.

  No answer.

  Is she dead? I really hope she’s not dead.

  Panic increasing, I bang again. “Hello. What’s going on in there?”

  Her irritated voice is muffled on the other side of the door. “Hold on, hold on,” she grumbles impatiently.

  My annoyance level arrows skyward. The nerve of this person to come into my place of refuge, barricade herself in my bathroom and then get pissy when I try to find out what she’s doing. I’m trying to keep a low profile in this town. The last thing I want is to unwittingly become entangled in some strange poop fetish scandal. Or worse.

  "Look sweetie—
you seem like a real darling girl but I don't know you from a lamppost on the street so I'm going to have to ask you to swagger on out here so you and me can have a little chat, yeah?" I take a step back from the door and fold my arms across my chest.

  There's hesitation on her part. Some more bumbling. But eventually, the door does swing open. And out comes a plume of steam that quickly evaporates to reveal the girl. Her curvy, little body is wrapped up in the bath towel I used earlier today. Her skin is moist and dewy. In all honesty, the red, blotchy pockmarks on her legs don’t take very much away from the overall package.

  I’m a sick man…

  I bring my attention up to her face. Now that she isn’t wearing that shower cap or that weird, white, creamy stuff on her skin, I can get a good look at her features. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink and she has a pert, little button for a nose. Her hair looks like it was washed in grape juice, though. It’s damp, hanging limp and tangled all around her head...And she's cupping one hand over her eye.

  All the alarm bells in my mind ring out. Uh-oh. This is no good. "What happened to you?" I ask, taking a cautious step forward, pointing my chin in the direction of her face.

  Her posture goes defensive. "Nothing." She presses her hand tighter to her eye.

  My gaze moves past her shoulder to where the shower curtain is flickering in the warm breeze. The bathroom window is now wedged open. It was closed before she got here. What the hell?

  I tilt my head and observe this weird lady incredulously. "Did you try sneaking out the window?"

  For a fraction of a second, she looks like she might just shrivel up from embarrassment. But then, she gives me a stony expression and makes the deliberate decision to lift her chin up and straighten her shoulders defiantly instead. "Maybe."

  "Maybe?" I cock a brow at her and she gives me an apathetic shrug. This is kind of insane. I should be backing away from this woman but I find myself stepping closer. Locking my fingers around her wrist, I lift her hand from her face. "And you hurt your eye in the process?" I observe the nasty swelling that's already beginning to form on the delicate flesh.

  "Maybe," she says again and wiggles her arm out of my hold.

  I stride past her, into the bathroom and throw a glimpse out the window. I cringe. "Jesus! What was the plan, darling? You jump out the window and then what? Pray for a soft landing on the chicken bones and takeaway boxes in the restaurant dumpster below?" This hen is crazy.

  She tries to keep her hard expression but it falters as the ridiculousness of the situation settles in. "What can I say? I was exploring my options…” Her pretty caramel eyes twinkle with restrained amusement. “Faking my own death also seemed like a viable option…Frankly, it's an option that's still on the table." Now, her lips are pursed together and her nostrils are twitching with laughter.

  One corner of my mouth curls up, too. Who doesn’t like a girl with a little sense of humor?

  When she brushes the pads of her fingers along the swollen flesh beneath her eye and she hisses through her teeth, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Only a monster wouldn’t take pity on a wounded bird. The strange little creature definitely has me curious.

  "Hold on,” I say, my voice going soft as my shoulders heave with resignation. "Let me go check for ice in the freezer." I don’t wait for her answer before turning down the hallway.

  I chide myself internally as I hurry toward the kitchen. I should send her on her way, let her fend for herself. She’s not my responsibility and she’s already overstayed her welcome. So why am I trying to help her?

  Peace and quiet peace and quiet peace and quiet. The nagging reminder rises from my subconscious.

  Damn this girl for showing up out of nowhere and upheaving my carefully laid plans.

  Rummaging around in the freezer, I come up with a half-pack of frozen peas. I feel a strange mix of trepidation and excitement as I head back down the hallway. It’s almost as if I can’t wait to lay my eyes on her again but I’m dreading it at the same time.

  I’m still trying to make sense of the feeling as I stroll back down the corridor and find her with the bathroom door open. She’s standing on her tiptoes to lean closer to the mirror over the sink. The bath towel has ridden up in the back, exposing those sickly-looking splotches on her skin. It’s a network of red, blotchy patches. Sort of like a heat map. But those legs—wow! Just wow! A stake of lust strikes through the hollow of my chest.

  And I’m giving my twitchy cock some serious side-eye right now. Won’t he just behave?

  She's lamenting to herself as she studies her reflection, grape-juice colored water dripping from the ends of her hair onto the white floor mat. "What the fuck?! I’m a brunette now? How the fuck am I a brunette?” Her shoulders heave on a sigh. “Great…Just great…”

  Not wanting to intrude on her private moment, I clear my throat to announce my presence. She glances up and shuffles away from the mirror.

  Without a word, I step closer and delicately press the peas to the black and blue crescent under her eye. My fingers brush her skin and she shivers. Maybe from the cold peas or from the light pressure I’m applying to the sensitive flesh. I shiver, too. Because I feel a little zap of electricity at the slight contact.

  She looks up at me from under her lashes. “Thank you.” For a fraction of a second, her brassy exterior slips and I see a flicker of vulnerability. I like it very much.

  My eyes move down her face again, confirming my previous evaluation. She’s pretty. No, not pretty. Beautiful. Lusciously full lips. Cheeks that swell gorgeously with her half-smile. Big, warm doe eyes. And that look she’s giving me…Soft but piercing, reaching into my chest and squeezing hard on my lungs.

  Man—I’m really getting into this.

  But without a lick of warning, she snaps out of the moment. She snatches the frozen peas from my hand. “Who the hell are you, anyway?” Turning her attention to the mirror, she presses the compress to her eye. “And where’s Ethel? I need to have a little chit-chat with my lovely landlady.”

  Her tough girl shield is back up. It’s cute.

  The corner of my mouth curves up again. "Ethel is...on an extended vacation."

  Her expression darkens with caution as she uses her free hand to wrap the towel tighter around her body. "An extended vacation?" Voice brimming with conspiracy and accusation, she pastes her entire body to the opposite side of the doorframe and nimbly slithers by me.

  It’s only then I realize how ominous my statement must have sounded. “Oh, no, no, no! Not that kind of extended vacation. Jeez, lady!” I chuckle deep in my chest. “Ethel is at my palace. In Ridgeland.”

  She’s not buying it. She obviously thinks I’m bullshitting her. Her eyes stay on me as she continues to back herself down the darkened hallway. "Your palac—? Ridge—? What? Are you speaking in code or something?" Then a thought dawns in her mind and she freezes. Her glare narrows and she lowers her voice. "Where did you hide the body?" In a snap, her hand shoots up like a stop sign. "Y'know what? Don't answer that. Please."

  Huffing through my nose, I throw up my arms in frustration. "Oh, come on! Do I look like a serial killer to you?"

  Her eyes scan the length of me from my dishevelled bedhead to my bare toes. The perusal is slow and deliberate and I've got to say I'm a wee bit in love with the way her pretty eyes feel on me.

  Her face twists into a challenging smirk. "Well, I don't know you from a lamppost on the street, so you tell me.”

  “Ha! Good one!” On top of being gorgeous, she's sharp. I'll give her that much.

  And now I’m backpedaling in my mind, trying to remember how I went from being annoyed by her unwelcome intrusion to being bloody well entertained by her audacity. This was not part of the plan, I remind myself. Not part of the plan at all.

  "Don’t worry about Ethel," I say brusquely, "All you need to know is that I'll be managing the building while she’s gone. Okay?"

  "So you are my new landlord?" That brow of hers hitches up t
o her hairline. Her expression is an unabashed vote of no-confidence as she appraises me again in light of this new information.

  "Your interim landlord. You can call me Xavier.” Eyeing her tattooed knuckles, I stretch out my hand for a shake. “My arrangement with Ethel lasts for ninety days."

  She fists her hips sassily instead of accepting my hand. "I have to deal with you for three months?” Her eyes twinkle again. Half serious, half teasing.

  I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I’m afraid so.”

  Maybe I should be offended by her lack of faith in me but I actually find it kind of amusing. I mean, how hard can the gig be? All I have to do is collect the rent on the first of the month.

  Well, it seems she has other ideas. “In that case...” There’s a delighted glint in her brown irises as they dart around the apartment and land on a small desk in the corner by the door. She saunters over there, drops the melting peas onto the rich wooden table and grabs a notepad.

  She begins scribbling furiously. “I’m Sadie from apartment 2C,” she tells me without lifting her eyes from the paper.

  I stride toward her with reluctant movements. “Uh, nice to meet you?” It comes out as a question because I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like whatever it is she’s jotting down on that notepad.

  “Firstly, I have no water in my apartment and it nearly cost me my life tonight,” she says earnestly, “so you’ll need to get to work on that a.s.a.p. Also, something’s wrong with my air conditioner. It’s making this really loud buzzing sound and blowing hot air all around my apartment. Then, there’s the latch on the backdoor that needs to be fixed and the…”

  I blank out on what she’s saying for a minute and perch on the edge of the desk. While Sadie is bent over the table and rambling, I take the opportunity to let my gaze roam all over her towel-clad frame again.

  Top-grade, that arse.

  I discreetly adjust my erection and thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice because she’s so damn busy preparing her list of demands. She’s being ridiculous, going way overboard with her requests. I vaguely register her mentioning something about installing a jacuzzi and I have no choice but to interrupt her.