“I meant…” He let out a ragged sigh and dragged a hand through his wild-man hair.
She climbed down from the ladder and laid a gentle hand on his arm. He still flinched. “I don’t mind you either. But then again, you haven’t really let me see the whole picture, have you? You enjoy hiding, even in broad daylight. Every curtain and blind is closed tight against the world and you don’t let anyone in.”
His arm trembled beneath her hand, his breathing ragged and shallow, but he turned his face back to hers and met her gaze. His hair still hung down in his face, disguising the burns. Wire thin, he burned with barely contained energy, making him seem bigger than life, a perfect storm brewing, waiting for the right moment to detonate.
Lightening her voice, she reached up and tugged on the forelock hanging down in his eyes. “Like I said, you need a haircut. A good shave and some clean clothes would elevate you from backwoodsman to something a little more civilized. But you aren’t half bad, Mr. Caine.”
He stared at her, as if he still couldn’t decide if he ought to be offended by her blunt attitude, or relieved that she didn’t find his scars repulsive. “That’s why it sounds like a joke when you call me ‘sir’.”
She cocked her head, trying to backtrack through their conversation to connect the reference.
“Domme. You said…”
“Oh, yeah, I’m a Dominatrix for hire in my free time, but I’ll be respectful while I’m working here for you and Uncle Gordon. I guess I’m so used to people ma’am-ing me all the time that I didn’t realize I was secretly laughing about it. I’ll be a good girl and call you Mr. Caine to be safe.”
She deliberately used provocative language, trying to pinpoint whether he’d respond in any way. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me to be a good boy, or you’ll… What did you threaten me with earlier?”
Lowering her lashes, she let out a husky laugh. “I said I ought to bend you over your desk and beat your ass.”
“That’s what you’d do to a bad boy?”
She didn’t know him well enough to decide if he was fishing for a play invitation, or merely trying to use her own words against her. “I guess that depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether I’m hired to tell a man when he’s a bad boy. Or if I’m only playing for myself.”
“There’s a difference?”
She folded up the ladder and looped her forearm beneath the top step to make it easy to carry. “Definitely.”
As she headed for the front set of stairs, he scrambled after her. “Well?”
She didn’t slow her step. “Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me the difference?”
She turned toward him so quickly that his eyes flashed white and he almost leaped a step back. Planting a hand on his chest, she gave him a push to see how easily he went where she suggested. He swayed a little, but didn’t step back. In fact, his eyes narrowed and he tensed for a fight.
Good. She liked an energetic chase.
“I’ll tell you the difference—if you clean yourself up. Pull yourself together. Let some light in. And for God’s sake, get poor Uncle Gordon a little help around this monstrosity of a house.”
He lowered his head and glared into her eyes. “You think you can walk in here and tell me what to do? You don’t know me, Kelsey. You don’t know me at all.”
She stepped closer, letting her energy rise, but she kept herself calm and assertive, not erratic and angry like him. “I didn’t give you permission to use my name, Mr. Caine.”
“So?” His eyes glittered with challenge, his chin jutting out. He didn’t put his hands on her, but every muscle in his body screamed, Prove it. Prove your power over me.
“Bad, bad boy,” she purred playfully and turned away. “I might work here for a few days, but you don’t own me, Mr. Caine. I’ve got work to do.”
Breathing hard, Harvey stared after her, but didn’t follow this time. He needed space. Mental space. His spacious sanctuary had suddenly dwindled in size until it mentally felt like a tiny one-room apartment in Manhattan. She sucked up all the breathable oxygen in the room, leaving him floundering.
Unused to dealing with people, he felt completely out of his element. She teased. She held firm on what she wanted. She didn’t run screaming when he looked at her. She certainly didn’t back down from a challenge, nor cave and give him what he wanted just because he asked. Most strange of all, he was inclined to do as she asked and get himself pulled together.
As Maxwell had been begging him to do for years.
Why deny his longtime family friend, who obviously cared for him, and immediately want to give up all pretense of his self-hatred at the drop of a hat because a woman asked him to?
His stomach complained, not nearly satisfied with the Scotch egg he’d finally wolfed down so he didn’t look like an imbecile with it dangling out of his mouth. He’d stuffed the others in his pockets. Maxwell would be so thrilled to find the greasy stains. Not that it bothered Harvey in the slightest. No one saw his clothes…
She would. The intruder.
He headed to his room on the third floor, his body on autopilot while his mind raced. He refused to do as she asked. He didn’t owe her anything. He was the employer, after all. At least technically. His trust paid Maxwell, who must have offered a token amount to his niece to help her through whatever bind she was in. Harvey didn’t have to do a single thing she wanted. In a few days, she’d be gone. His house would be silent again, empty and cold and dark. Exactly the way he liked it.
Let some light in.
The air in his room was heavy and thick. By rote, he flipped on a lamp he’d placed by the door, typically the only light he allowed in here. Stacks and piles littered the floor and the bed. He never slept in here. He couldn’t sleep much anyway nowadays, and he certainly wouldn’t treat himself to a cushy soft bed. Not when his parents…
He pushed the thought away with effort, rolling it like a heavy boulder into the endless depths of blackness in his mind. Weaving his way through the clutter, he entered the attached bathroom. This time, he had to turn on the light, and the harsh glare made him wince and cover his eyes until they adjusted.
Staring at himself in the mirror, he looked at what she’d seen without flinching. Overgrown bushy hair. Uneven beard, one side thick and wild like his hair, the other sparse because of the scars. He’d thought he could hide the majority of them, but the hair refused to grow much on that side of his face. Bloodshot, glassy eyes, as if he were high or at least wired after days of little sleep and rough partying.
Once upon a time, he’d taken great pride in dressing nicely and grooming himself well. He’d worn only the very best and been an asshole on more than one occasion if his tailoring wasn’t perfect. Who was he kidding? He’d generally been an asshole all the time, about everything from his clothes to his food to his boats. He’d been a spoiled, careless, thoughtless snob who’d never hesitated from taking a vicious bite out of someone who hadn’t met his impossible expectations.
He’d been so stupid. So completely spoiled by everyone around him. His mother would get rather sheepish when people noted his behavior. It was her fault, she’d say, because she’d indulged him as a child. She’d endured several years of trying to get pregnant only to fail, even with the best medical care that their billions could buy. They’d spoiled him, not only with material items, but their love. They’d doted on him. Their every waking moment had been spent ensuring his safety and happiness.
And he’d taken complete and utter advantage of that love. He’d broken their hearts with his carelessness. As an adult, he’d traveled the world in his beloved boats, caring more for the sea than his family. Skipping holidays with only the occasional call, over and over, without thought or regret, until it was too late.
He loved them, he k
new that. But who wanted that kind of love? I’m a user. A taker. And always will be.
Even now, he was using Maxwell’s lifelong devotion to his parents to keep him as trapped and helpless in this house as Harvey. Without Maxwell, he’d be lost, rudderless and abandoned at sea. Yet he paid him back by constantly refusing Maxwell’s attempts at helping him get his life back. Why?
I don’t deserve to get my life back.
But Maxwell couldn’t have a life either. He doomed two people to hell. Four if he counted his parents.
With a sigh, Harvey turned on the shower. He’d get cleaned up. Not for her, but for Maxwell, although, yes, he did want her to tell him what the difference would be between a client paying her and what she wanted for herself. He’d get through the holidays and act well enough that he could finally send Maxwell off to a long-overdue retirement. He had the perfect place in mind.
Chapter Five
What on earth did one wear to a casual dinner with a billionaire recluse?
He probably wouldn’t even show up. He’d probably had plenty of her mouth for the day, especially since he’d only seen Gordon for months.
Sighing, Kelsey pulled on her nicest jeans and a thick wool sweater. Far from provocative and not remotely appropriate for a fancy dinner, but it was the best she could do considering that Gordon would be present too. The last thing she wanted to do was wear one of her racier costumes and give the poor old guy a heart attack.
The room he’d given her was bigger than her entire apartment, though not grand to the point that she felt uncomfortable. Her bed would fit in the closet with room to spare and she could practically swim laps in the divine soaking tub. Yet the furnishings didn’t scream ultra-rich. A simple chenille cotton comforter in a soft aqua matched the soothing color on the walls, with fresh white sheets. A deep-blue chair sat in the corner by the window—the perfect reading nook. The colors reminded her of a beach house in the Caribbean, not a Minnesota mansion.
Shutting the door behind her, she headed downstairs to find Gordon.
“How’d your first day go?” he asked as she stepped into the kitchen. “He hasn’t scared you away yet, has he?”
“Hardly.” She tried not to drool but whatever he was making smelled fantastic. “He’s not that bad. All growl but no bite.”
“I love him dearly, but he can bite when cornered. He’s certainly been gnawing hunks out of me these past few years.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can grab the salad out of the fridge, though I doubt he’ll eat much of it. These steaks are almost ready. I’m going to broil them a bit longer so they don’t bleed all over our plates. Unless you like yours rare?”
“I’ll eat it however. I’m not picky.” She opened the fridge and almost wept with bliss. Every shelf was lined with food, all perfectly organized and fresh. Such a difference from her childhood. It’d been nothing to open the door and find only ketchup and stiff, dried-out Jell-O to get them by until next month’s food stamps came in. She still couldn’t look at a bag of ramen noodles without her stomach instantly clenching with hunger, like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Fresh greens and fruits were Christmas. Literally, the church Mama dragged her to each year always gave out fruit baskets. A sweet orange or apple was a rare treat. Why buy a pound of expensive fruit that would only last a few days, when they could get boxes of ramen and mac and cheese for the entire week for the same price?
Salad. Steaks. She’d won the lottery. Even more unbelievable, she was getting paid to eat like this. Paid very well indeed.
Her stomach rumbled so loudly that Gordon laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Hopefully you’ll have room for dessert too.”
“I’ve always got room for dessert. Will Harvey actually come down for dinner?”
“Eventually, yes. He’s always been ruled by his stomach. The worst punishment he could receive as a kid was getting sent to bed without dinner. It certainly didn’t happen very often.”
Kelsey couldn’t think of anything to say. She’d gone to bed hungry so many times that it’d taken years for her to get used to the feeling of a full stomach while falling asleep. She’d been cold and hungry and tired, and yeah, sometimes pretty much homeless, though Mama had always managed to find a roof for them somewhere, even if it was a friend’s garage. But the absolute worst was lying awake all night and crying because her stomach ached so badly for even a few bites of something nutritious.
“Were you able to interact with him any today?”
Giving herself a little shake, she took the salad bowl and followed Gordon into the next room. “Some. He did talk to me a little. Enough to let me yank his chain a few times.”
“Good. He needs to be rattled a little. Set the bowl here.”
The room was dark enough that she couldn’t get a feel for its size. Two long, elegant candles flickered on the table, providing enough light to reveal the neat stack of plates and silverware. The table had the weight and style of a massive dining room table that would seat a crowd, but he’d managed to take enough leaves out to make a cozy seating for three.
“Harvey doesn’t like a lot of light, especially for dinner. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
She shrugged. She could eat in the dark, blindfolded if she had to. “No biggie.”
“Usually I make him a plate and take it to him in the sitting room. We haven’t eaten in here for years. But we haven’t had a guest in a long time, either, so I’m hoping he’ll agree to join us. That’s why I lit so few candles. I think he’ll be more comfortable that way.”
“Nothing will make me more comfortable.” Harvey’s low voice sent Gordon whirling around, his face lit up with such a hopeful smile that it hurt her heart. The poor man only wanted the young man he’d practically raised to be happy. “But I’m so hungry that I don’t care.”
He’d taken her request—she didn’t dare say order yet—to clean up at least a little. He’d shaved, showered and changed his clothes. The dark pants and sweater must have been something he’d worn years ago, because they hung on his slight frame. He still needed a haircut, but at least he’d combed and slicked back the wild mane to hang smoothly to his shoulders. He still stood slightly off center, his left shoulder back and his face carefully turned to hide the worst of the scars. It had to make him feel incredibly vulnerable and exposed to let a stranger see the full extent of the damage, at least on his face.
He gave her a sardonic smile and sketched out a slight bow in her direction.
“Very nice.” She let her voice rumble with a hint of laughter. “I hardly recognize you, Mr. Caine.”
“And I hardly recognize you without that scandalous maid uniform, Miss Marley.”
Gordon started to laugh but managed to turn it into a cough. “I never said you had to wear a uniform.”
“But I like it.” She winked at Harvey, as if daring him to admit he’d liked it too.
“Let’s eat, shall we?” Gordon said brightly, taking the middle seat on the side nearest him. The other two places were set at the head and foot of the table, forcing Harvey to look at her. Slipping into her seat, she dropped her gaze to the table, determined to give Harvey space to get settled without feeling like they were all hovering or staring. Inevitably, her gaze locked on the steak and her mouth filled up with drool. She dragged the napkin into her lap and shot a quick glance at Gordon. He picked up his steak knife, so at least he wasn’t going to stare in horror if she started eating before someone said grace.
She cut a bite of steak off and immediately lifted it to her mouth. So good. Perfectly seasoned, moist and tender without being too squishy or rare. Another bite, another, and she made herself put her knife and fork down. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have the whole plate polished off while they were still cutting their steaks up.
“Could I offer you some wine?” Gordon asked. “I’ve opened a bot
tle of Cabernet that should pair nicely with the steak, but if you’d rather have something else…”
“Thank you, yes. Cabernet will be fine.” The darker wines were more suited to her taste than the light bubbly stuff Lilly had offered. She slid her wineglass closer to make it easy for him to pour and risked a glance in Harvey’s direction. Head down, he plowed through his steak like she dearly wished to do herself, cutting and chewing as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. She turned back to Gordon and smiled her thanks. “I haven’t tasted anything so good in years, except for that lunch we had at Dmitri’s.”
“I’m no chef like him, but there are certain meals I can prepare well enough to keep Harvey from blowing away. Simple, hearty foods mostly. Do you cook?”
“Me? No. Not really, beyond opening a can or popping a frozen dinner in the microwave.”
Gordon shuddered. “If you’d like to learn any of my dishes while you’re staying with us, I’d be happy to teach you.”
“I’d like that. Mama…” Her throat suddenly closed off and she paused to sip some of the dark wine. Rich and potent, it heated her face and stomach. She didn’t drink wine often, but this was really good. Paired with the steak, it was divine. She cut up the rest of her steak, making herself wait rather than shoveling the rest into her mouth to blend with the delicious wine. “Mama wasn’t home much and I usually fended for myself. We did easy stuff a kid could manage after school, without burning the apartment down.”
Harvey didn’t look up, but his hand slowed on its path from his plate to his mouth, making her think he was at least listening.
“I didn’t know your mother well and I’m afraid I lost touch with that entire side of the family,” Gordon said, keeping up their ruse. “Where did you grow up?”
“Everywhere. We moved a lot. Mama worked her ass off, usually double shifts between a diner and whatever other job she could find. In the summers when I was out of school, we cleaned offices together at night and sometimes houses during the day.”
The Billionaire's Christmas Bargain: Billionaires in Bondage, Book 3 Page 4