“Maybe you should forget medicine and become a chef, or start your own business making organic baby food.” He throws me a smile over his shoulder, seeing me pouring the salad on two plates. “No green stuff tonight,” he pouts.
“But this one has bacon on it,” I say, only it comes out flirtier than I intended.
This time, I set our places at the island with real napkins. It’s strange to have a routine with him after two meals, but we move around the kitchen like we’ve been in here a hundred times together. We sit and eat. He even tries the salad. Well, he picks the bacon out and says he tried the salad. We both clean up, and I try my level best to ignore the electricity between us. I wonder if he feels it. It’s like we orbit around each other, instinctively knowing where and how the other one is moving.
I realize I don’t know much about my new boss. He’s sexy, handsome, rich, works hard, likes horses, and hates vegetables, but not much else. I guess it’s fair. He doesn’t know much about me, and most of what he does know he doesn’t really know. Still, I find myself curious.
“I was wondering . . .” I stop myself, but it’s too late.
“What?” he asks, leaning against the kitchen island.
“I don’t know much about you,” I say, realizing this is risky. Asking him about himself opens me up to questions.
“You want some sort of get-to-know-you session?” he teases.
God, he’s handsome when he smiles. “Favorite color?” I ask with a grin.
“Green,” he deadpans.
“It is not!” I laugh. “Tennessee Titans or Nashville Predators?”
“Football or hockey,” he says. “Tough one. I’ve got season tickets to both.”
“Country music fan?”
“This is Nashville. Kind of have to be.” I wrinkle my nose. “No?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Guess I’m a rebel.”
“Me, too,” he says.
“Give me one example,” I say.
“Hired you,” he says. “That’s not playing it safe.”
“Guess not,” I say. “You like to live on the edge?”
“I like to make my own decisions,” he says. “If I fail, then at least I did it my way.”
“Me, too,” I say, our eyes meeting. Somehow this well-off bachelor and I are more alike than I could’ve imagined.
“Is that why you don’t work with your father?” I ask, knowing I’m pushing the limits. Favorite color is one thing, but family is a whole other level. “I know he’s some big finance guy or something.”
He nods. “Owns his own investment firm. I’d never work for him. I started working when I was fifteen and saved, not wanting a cent from him. Went to college, double majored in business and construction engineering, then took out a huge loan to do my first real estate development when I was around your age, right after I graduated.”
“Risky,” I say. “What was it?”
“You know that ice skating rink and go-kart track out on Interstate 24?”
“That place is always crowded. You did that?”
“Yep, even worked there for a while to make sure things ran smoothly. Built the business, then sold it for a pretty penny. Used the profits to finance my next build and so on.”
“Wow,” I say. “You seem to love it.”
“There’s something about taking a piece of land or an old, run-down building and . . .”
“Rescuing it,” I say, thinking he’s done the same thing with me.
“Seeing the beauty in what others can’t,” he says, his voice low.
The heat in the kitchen suddenly went up a few thousand notches. “I’m just gonna . . .” I head toward the den, and he does the same. But I stop at the entrance. Usually, I plop down on the sofa, but I can’t do that now. I don’t even know if I should sit on the same surface as him. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say.
“No cooking show tonight?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Good night.”
“Paige,” he says, “sleep well.”
I smile, thinking there’s no hope for sleep. This house is a curse to my REM.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks. The confusion must show on my face. “The alarm,” he says.
“Oh right,” I say, crossing the room to activate it.
“Have you been arming it every night?” he asks.
“Yes,” I lie, unsure if I’ve activated it at all since the last time he reminded me. I need to develop a new habit of setting it.
He gets up, walking toward me. The man is mammoth. It’s not just his physical presence. It’s more than that. Everything about him overwhelms me. “Why are you lying to me?” he whispers.
“This job is important to me,” I say. “I swear, I’m setting it when I go out to the store and stuff. I just forget at night. I mean to set it before I go to bed, but I’m not really sleeping.”
“I’m not mad,” he says. “You’re out here all alone. The alarm is important to keep you and Finn safe.”
I nod. “How’d you know I was lying?”
“The same way I know you’re lying about the Cooking Channel relaxing you,” he says, tilting my chin up softly with his fingertips. “Look at me.”
I look up at him from under my lashes, and the truth starts to spill out of me. One look into his blue eyes can do that. “Lots of times, I’d go to bed hungry,” I say. “My mom didn’t always buy food, but we always had the television. You’d think those shows would make it worse, but they didn’t. I’d sit and watch and pretend all that food was for me.”
His eyes close, and his head does a little shake. He looks like that breaks his heart, but the way his hands clench into fists, he looks more pissed off than anything, like he just wants to hit something—hard.
And I’m still not sure how he knew I was lying. I’ve got to do better. I’ve got bigger secrets to keep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PAIGE
AGE 11
“Mom, do you have to go tonight?” I ask, hoping she’ll remember.
“Your mom’s my best girl,” her pimp says.
I shouldn’t know what a pimp is. I just turned eleven. Today, in fact, not that anyone remembered.
“Someone has to pay the bills,” she says, snorting the little white line on the coffee table. There goes the electric bill.
I look over at the stack of bills on the counter, then glare at the man before me. He brings her “the good stuff.” Normally, a needle in her arm does the trick, but when he needs her to do something particularly awful, he brings her the powder.
Wonder what it is tonight?
I don’t really want to know. Because it will be me that has to take care of her after. The bruises, the withdrawal—I’ll hear all the apologies. The lies.
He takes my mom by the hand, then places his other hand on my shoulder. “One day.”
My breathing increases, my chest rising and falling quickly. “Mom?”
“What?” she snaps.
“Never mind,” I say, looking at my feet.
She giggles a little, then reaches down and pinches my cheeks. Yanking my head away, I stick my tongue out at her.
“That’s a rude thing to do to your mother,” her pimp says as if he’s some sort of moral authority.
With defiance in my eyes, I stare him down and stick my tongue out at him.
He crouches down, reeking of body odor and shit for brains. “Do that again.”
My knees tremble, but I will not let him own me like he owns my mother. No man will ever own me. I cock my chin up and stick my tongue out as far as I can.
Before I know what’s happening, he licks my tongue, ramming his tongue down my throat. I can’t breathe. I can’t break away. His tongue fills my whole mouth, moving around, darting in and out. The taste of his bad breath overwhelms me, and I start to gag, forcing him to release me.
Though I have tears in my eyes, my mother only laughs.
He takes hold of my ponytail, pulling me closer. “First kiss?”
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“No,” I lie, tears streaming down my face.
He chuckles, and I know I need to learn to lie better.
“All your firsts,” he whispers. “They’ll all be mine.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SLADE
She’s lying to me. I’m lying to her. Some would say that’s no way to have a relationship with someone.
To me, it’s the only way.
The more time I spend with her, the more I realize I need to spend less. But fuck me, I don’t want to. My brain knows this is a bad idea. I’ve got a con list a mile long on why I need to stay the hell away—age difference, my father, her past, my past. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters when my dick throbs at every little thing she does. I swear, she could sneeze and make me come.
That’s true, but it’s also another lie. They’re piling up. The cold hard truth of it is that I don’t just want to fuck her. I fucking like her and want to get to know her. This woman who’s ten years younger than me. This woman who would sell herself to feed her child. This woman who wants an education, a career. This woman who insists I eat vegetables.
She’s changing me. I can feel it. Which is exactly why I’m showering then getting the hell out of Dodge this morning. One night with her almost did me in. I tossed and turned all night long. I know she didn’t have a picturesque childhood. Who did? Not me, but when I think of the things she had to endure—mad as hell and heartbroken are the two emotions that seem to cover it. She had no one. No birthdays and no one loving her or protecting her. I know that’s why she loves Finn the way she does.
Some of us learn how to love by not being loved.
Fucked up, but true.
All the more reason I have to protect her and Finn. The problem is, they might need protection from me.
Closing my eyes, all I see is her in those shorts and those damn socks she wore last night. She was beautiful the first night I saw her, all dressed up in high heels and makeup, but that’s nothing compared to the way she looks all relaxed and smiling. I like her better in knee-high socks than a thigh-high slit dress any day.
I step into my shower, the feel of her lips on my cheek still new—her mouth so soft and sweet. Lowering my head underneath the raging water, I place my hands on the shower wall, my dick hard and so fucking heavy that it hurts. I’ve resisted doing this since I met her, refusing to think of her to get me off. But screw it.
As I grip my dick, flashes of her play in my mind like lightning—her mouth, her tits, that tight little ass, her tongue sweeping across her lips. I pump hard and fast, wanting it to be her pussy instead of my hand. Wanting to see my cock pounding into her, hearing her moan, wanting to know what she sounds like, looks like when she comes all over my dick. Has sex ever been that way for her? Was it always work? God, I want her to know the pleasure I can give her, shatter her world as I come deep inside her.
“Christ,” I grunt, releasing all over my hand. But I don’t open my eyes as the fantasy of lying in bed with her after satisfying her holds me hostage. I want to make her so tired, so relaxed that she finally sleeps. And I want that in my bed.
“Slade!” I hear Paige screaming.
And it’s not the pleasurable scream I’d imagined a few minutes ago. Quickly, I rinse off, hopping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around my waist.
I hear her scream my name again. Only this time, I recognize that it’s more of a yell—the yell of a pissed-off female. Those are unmistakable.
She bangs on my door. “How could you?”
What the hell? Wonder what I did? I could hide in here like a little chickenshit, but that’s not my style. It will be too much fun to play with her when she’s all worked up. Besides, this is my house. When I open my bedroom door, she’s standing there seething. One her hand on her hip, her chest rising and falling quickly, and the other holding the baby monitor. Guess she didn’t want Finn to witness her outburst.
“Good morning,” I say, smiling.
Her eyes narrow, but she can’t stop them from wandering down my body. That’s it, babe, take a nice, long look. My dick starts to come alive under the fire in her blue eyes, and my towel isn’t doing much to hide it. Good. If we can’t be honest about everything, at least we shouldn’t lie about what we do to each other.
She raises her finger at me. “Did you threaten Clay’s job?”
“Did he tell you that?”
Her head tilts a little. “Not exactly.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“He said he likes his job here,” she says.
“That’s good to know,” I say, grinning at her.
“I know you threatened him,” she storms at me. “Maybe it was just implied, but I know you did.”
“I have a policy against employees dating,” I lie. What’s another one?
“What about Catrine and Jon?” she asks, thinking she caught me.
“They were already married when I hired Catrine,” I say, and it’s the truth.
“So employees can be married, but not dating?”
“Jon is my oldest friend,” I say. “It’s different. I can’t have employees dating and breaking up and bringing all that to work.”
“We weren’t dating,” she says, her voice growing soft. “He was my friend.”
I hate the sadness in her voice. This was never my intention. “And he’s not anymore?”
She shrugs. “You know how I take Finn to see the horses in the morning. Clay would usually meet us there. We’d just talk. This morning, he blew us off and would barely talk to me. He hardly even looked at me.” She looks up at me. “Did you do that?”
“Paige, you have to know he didn’t want to be just your friend.”
“Did you do that?” she yells.
“Yeah, I did,” I bark. I expect her to yell some more, but she turns and starts to walk away. “Paige?” I reach out, catching her by her elbow.
She looks up, her eyes wet with tears. “I don’t have a lot of friends,” she says. “It’s hard when you’re trying to take care of a baby. I was just trying to start over.” Her head shakes, and she pulls away, disappearing down the hallway.
I’m an asshole. It’s official. The thing is, I don’t regret saying what I did to Clay. He needed to know she’s off-limits. I do regret that it ended like this. My intentions were selfish, I know that, but I never wanted to hurt her or make her sad. That’s the last thing I want.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PAIGE
Catrine and I have been out most of the day, meeting with the party planner and going over the menu, flowers, band, and various other details for the opening of the golf course. Not much of a party girl myself, I wasn’t sure I’d be any good at planning this sort of thing, but now that I’ve seen everything, I’m actually kind of excited about it.
The clubhouse at the golf course is the venue, and after doing a walkthrough of the space, I know it’s going to be wonderful. The place is so beautiful, I could serve them baby food, play nursery rhymes, and give diapers as party favors, and it would still be a great party.
I’ve never been anywhere like it. I only saw the golf course’s greens from a distance because I was more focused on the clubhouse. The woodwork is exquisite—a hand-carved spiral staircase leading up to a viewing area, two bars, and windows offering a view of the beautifully landscaped course.
We have everything handled from the food, to the band, to the table arrangements. That narrowed our to-do list to finding something for Catrine and me to wear, so we decided to stop at a little boutique dress shop on the way home. She’s only weeks away from giving birth, so I knew she was stopping at this store for me. There wasn’t a maternity dress in sight.
So presently, I’m in my underwear in a dressing room as Catrine shoves dresses at me over the door. A blue sequin number comes flying at me. “I said nothing with bling.” I laugh.
“Finn picked that one,” she says. “He says it matches your eyes.”
“Finn can’t talk.” I g
iggle, not adding the fact that he was fast asleep in his stroller when Catrine shoved me in here. She’s been pushing him and picking out dresses for a good half hour now. Poor Finn, it’s hard to be carted around all day and still get your naps in. But he’s a trooper.
“Try it on,” she says, and I know she’s taken a seat outside to wait. Stepping into the dress, I know this isn’t the one before I even have it over my hips.
“I felt a distinct chill in the house when I walked in this morning. Something happen with Slade?” she asks.
“When does something not happen with Slade?”
“You two should just screw and get it out of your systems,” she says.
I pull the door open to the dressing room so fast, I forget I’m not zipped up. “Why on earth would you say that?”
“Please,” she says, motioning with her hand for me to turn around so she can zip the dress. “The sexual tension between you two is off the charts.”
“No, that’s just hatred and disgust.”
She laughs, then wrinkles her nose at the dress. “Jon thinks the same thing I do.”
“If Slade’s so into me, then why does he stay gone all the time?” I ask, hoping to shut her up.
“A couple of reasons maybe,” she says. “You’re a lot younger than him. And he thinks he wouldn’t be good for you.”
I step back into the dressing room, closing the door, but we continue to talk through it. There’s no one else in the dressing rooms to hear us. “The age thing is just stupid. I’m sure that wouldn’t stop him,” I say. “But why would he think he’s not good for me?”
Catrine doesn’t know about my upbringing, but Slade knows some of it. Why would he not be good enough for me? He’s handsome, successful, and surely has no problem finding women.
“You haven’t been around long enough,” she says. “Slade’s complex.”
“How?”
“He’s just very guarded. No one is close to him, except maybe Jon. I’m not sure anyone else knows who Slade Turner really is,” she says.
“What about his family?” I ask, feeling slightly hypocritical. I don’t like to talk about my past. I shouldn’t pry into his, but for some reason, I care. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Besides, I should know who my employer is, who I’m sleeping down the hall from.
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