Instigation

by Tessa Teevan

  When I glance down, his release is drying on my stomach, and I feel dirty. Used. After ripping my shirt off, I furiously rub at his disgusting mark of ownership. The creamy white substance disappearing into the cloth is rejuvenating, a symbol of what I have to do. Just as I’ve erased the remnants, I need to erase the man, and I can’t start soon enough. I’m about to jump off the counter and draw up my battle plan, but the sound of the back screen door sliding open echoes throughout the kitchen. My breath catches, and I freeze, my eyes widening with panic as an enormous shadow fills the doorway.

  Although Adrian may be gone, I am no longer alone.

  AS I STROLL TOWARDS the back door, I hear voices and quickly step off to the side. I position myself just beyond the window, I’m thankful it’s open so I can eavesdrop. Crouched down and barely off to the side, I’m able to hear their conversation through the screen. Neither of them is aware of my presence. Lurking in the shadows, just out of sight yet still within earshot, I watch with both confusion and morbid curiosity as Morningstar lays claim on his woman with just his words. Everything I’ve seen in the past led me to believe they were blissfully happy, but this is not a happy woman in love. And this is not a man whose sun rises and sets on the woman before him.

  At first, she’s willfully defiant, and I’d be lying if I said that it doesn’t make my cock hard to watch her, all five foot nothing of her, stand up to a man of Morningstar’s caliber. Whenever I have a new client, I do my best to learn whatever I can about them and their significant others. It makes it easier to know who I’m dealing with and how to do so in the most efficient way. The job depends on it. So when Morningstar told me that I’d be working with Gabrielle Latham, she became the object of my research.

  Everything I’ve been able to dig up on her gave me the impression she is the usual: a poor, young, timid girl with no family who swooned at the first rich asshole who promised her the world and then turned a blind eye to all of his indiscretions. Over the past two years or so, she quickly went from a young, single female with a receptionist job to the arm candy and housemate of one of the nation’s most promising up-and-coming businessmen, one whose net worth was already in the multimillions thanks to his dear old dad and his shady business practices.

  So when my eyes observe the way Gabriella Latham—with her long, dark hair, wide, brown eyes, and tight, little body—sets her chin defiantly and tells Morningstar that she is most certainly leaving him. I’m shocked as hell and, to be honest, a bit disappointed because she’s to be my contact for the next several months. I identified her as the perfect mark to suit my needs while I was on the job. I had plans for her. Not to mention this particular woman presents a wrong I have to right. Selfishly, I don’t want her to go, but even from my spot at the window, the determination on her face is evident.

  At first.

  Then, before I know what’s happening, he’s pushing her onto her back on the counter, pushing her skirt up, and fucking her hard into the granite stone. Curiosity turns to disgust, yet I still can’t look away. I know what he was doing. I’ve seen it before time and time again. Morningstar’s not ready to let his little pet go. He’s reminding her who she belongs to, reminding her that she will only leave when he allows it.

  Feeling too much like a voyeur, I tear my gaze away for a few moments, at odds with myself. I don’t want her to go away—I can’t have that happen. Yet, at the same time, I want to help her leave if that’s truly what she wants. I can somehow make this work in my favor.

  I’m not surprised when I glance back and see that the act is over as quickly as it began. It wasn’t about one last frantic goodbye before he left. Her pleasure didn’t matter. It was just his, and the expression on her face lets me know she’s aware of that, too.

  I grin as she remains defiant. The grin fades all too quickly while I watch as he systematically breaks down every bit of her strength until it appears she has none left. I continue to watch with mild interest, biding my time and waiting for him to leave so I can start my job. Unknown to him, he may think he’s teaching her a lesson, but in reality, he’s just getting her ready for me.

  As I wait, he seems to grow more heated, while she struggles not to cower. I’ve seen this before, and as much as I want to intervene, I have to just sit and watch. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Every fiber of my being screams for me to go to her the moment his hand encircles her throat. I may be many things, but I’ve never laid my hands on a woman in an antagonizing way. I never will, and the men—not that I’d even call them that—who do are the lowest forms of humans in my book. Morningstar, apparently, is no different, and I wonder how I missed it before. Making a mental note to go back through his file, I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, knowing I can’t react.

  Promise me you’ll protect her. Promise me, Matthews, or I won’t do this.

  His words echo through my mind, and I shake my head profusely, trying to wash them away. That voice—his voice—resounds in my brain from time to time, a constant reminder that I didn’t protect the girl he loved the most. A constant reminder that I failed.

  With Gabriella, I won’t do that. It won’t happen again. Not on my watch.

  It cuts me to the heart, the way she cries out and whimpers. The frightened doe-eyed look in her eyes stirs up a fierce longing to protect her. To right all of my past wrongs with this one girl. But I can’t make a move. I can’t alert them to my presence. I can’t be caught watching this scene playing out in front of me. All I can do was wait. I’m here to do a job, and no woman, no matter how delicate, how beautiful, can derail my plans.

  Especially not the boss’s woman. But holy fucking hell, do I want to storm in and throw him off her. I don’t know why, exactly. I’ve been in this same position before, and usually, my sympathy for the woman doesn’t run all that deep. More often than not, they’ve put themselves in this position, and generally, they even fucking like it. They don’t want protection or rescuing.

  This woman, with her expressive eyes, her quivering lip, and cowering shoulders, makes me feel differently. I want to protect her. I want to do what I didn’t once before. I want that with her. I have no fucking clue why.

  Something about her is just . . . different. She doesn’t seem like the others, something that’s further cemented as I continue to witness their back-and-forth interactions. As she challenges him, I learn she doesn’t care about the money or the flashy things, especially now that Morningstar’s shown his true colors, apparently in the form of infidelity. She isn’t willing to turn a blind eye now that she’s found evidence of his indiscretions. And those indiscretions? She doesn’t even know the half of them.

  What would she do if she did learn them? Better yet, what would he do? Why do I even fucking care? I don’t know the answer to that, but standing there in the shadows, watching as he takes everything from her, breaks down each little part of her, just as he’s been doing since the moment he first spotted her, I know she’s going to be different. This job is going to be different. We haven’t even spoken and I’m already feeling protective. I’m completely fucked.

  Protect her.

  That fucking voice resounds once again, and I give in. I know it’s inevitable. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect Gabriella Latham, whether she likes it or not. Failure, this time, is not an option.

  Finally, after an agonizingly long wait and a game of cat and mouse between them, he turns on his heel and leaves, apparently convinced he’s won that round. But I’m not so sure. Soon, it’ll be my turn to play, to make sure she comes out the victor. Or at least that I do.

  Long after he’s gone, she still sits there on the counter, unmoving, almost as if she’s fearful he’ll return if she does. An indiscernible amount of time passes as I just wait and watch. My phone beeps, a message indicating that Morningstar is in the air, flying far away from Philadelphia.

  It’s time. I can no longer help myself. I want to be near her. I need to see Gabriella up close, to make sure she’s okay. And f
or some reason, I want to be the one to comfort her if she isn’t.

  Get it together, Rafe, I think. You can protect her without getting too close.

  One glance. One initial meeting before we begin working together on the construction. Just a brief introduction, a friendly face after that showdown. One good first impression to get the ball rolling and then I’ll go.

  I’m not sure it’ll be that easy.

  I’VE BEEN SO LOST in my own thoughts that, when the screen door slides open, I nearly jump out of my skin and tumble off the counter. A tall, broad-shouldered man enters into view. He’s big and masculine, almost blocking the sun as he fills the doorway. Mortification sets in as I wonder just how long he’s been there and how much he witnessed. More importantly, why is he here?

  A sudden wave of terror washes over me, but it slightly dissolves when my eyes sweep over his face—a gorgeous, rugged face with sharp, prominent features I want to study for much longer. But I know better. If Adrian’s taught me anything, it’s that the saying is true. The devil does always arrive as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Never again will I fall for a pretty face.

  Or, well, in this case, a ruggedly handsome one.

  “What . . . Who . . . who are you?” I stammer, my voice small and laced with fear. I glance around the kitchen, my eyes honing in on the block of kitchen knives across the room. Swallowing hard, I peek back at him, trying to gauge if I can make it to them first or not.

  I have eyes and ears everywhere.

  Adrian’s words resonate, and my eyes narrow as I size him up. I’ve never seen this man before, but that means nothing. Is he here to watch over me? To make sure I’m a good little girl while the master is gone? I shiver at the thought then look down to realize I’m only in my undershirt, a tiny camisole, with nothing to cover me up thanks to the come-stained rag next to me.

  His eyes soften, and his cheek ticks, one side of his lips curving up into a grin. He holds his hands up in front of him. They’re large, rough-looking hands that could easily do what Adrian hadn’t. I quake at the memory of his perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around my throat.

  “I assure you knives aren’t necessary. I come in peace,” he quips, his joking tone doing little to appease me. He must notice, as he’s quick to continue. “I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t mean to frighten you. We just finished setting up out back and are all ready to break ground. Mr. Morningstar’s expecting me.”

  Mr. Morningstar’s expecting him? Of course he is. The rest of his statement melts away as fury rises in me.

  “So, he did send you? Aren’t you a little . . . out of your depth playing babysitter?” I spit out angrily. “I don’t care what or who you report to. What are you supposed to do? Watch my every move? Or are you just here to scare me into submitting? Well, I’m telling you it’s not going to work.”

  I have no idea where this defiance is coming from, but I like it. I intend to channel it in order to get me out of this situation. Setting my chin, I glare at him, waiting for his response. For him to tell me that I’m right. It only makes sense, since he waltzed in so quickly after Adrian departed.

  “Umm, ma’am?” he questions, his eyes full of confusion as he tilts his head to the side, studying me. “Aside from watching my kid brother, I’ve never been a babysitter, and I don’t ever plan on taking up that particular occupation. Never been much of a fan of kids.” His gaze darkens as he bites his lower lip. I watch as it pops out of his mouth, entranced at the sight. “As far as getting you to submit . . . Well, if that were my goal, I assure you it wouldn’t be for another man.”

  My cheeks flush at his innuendo, which only causes his smile to deepen. I’m unsure why, but something about his charming grin and slight Midwestern accent is instantly soothing, almost reminding me of home. His words echo, and either he’s really, really good or Adrian didn’t hire him to be his watchdog. I feel my guard dropping as my eyes sweep over his body then up to his face, where I catch him watching me intently. His gaze isn’t predatory; it’s actually a mixture of worry and humor. Worry that he’s frightened me and humor, well, probably for the same reason.

  “You’re not here to spy on me?” I ask, my tone accusing.

  As I examine this gorgeous male specimen, I realize the answer before he shakes his head. Adrian would never hire a man who looks like him to keep a watchful eye over me. He’s too attractive. Too alluring. Too . . . masculine and rugged. Not to mention, his attire would be entirely off-putting to Adrian.

  Dressed in loose-fitting jeans that sit low on his hips, a tight undershirt, and an open flannel shirt that’s rolled up to show off muscular forearms, he’s the epitome of every woman’s hot construction fantasy. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve had those same fantasies. He’s a walking, talking should-be Home Depot advertisement that would have women flocking to the store. My cheeks flush pink as I ponder how he’d look in nothing but a tool belt. Then I mentally chastise myself. The last thing I need right now is to be ogling another man in Adrian’s home. Especially after what just happened.

  Not that anyone could blame me. Perhaps Adrian was right. Maybe I was looking for someone to scratch my itch since he never seemed to be around to do so. Hell, at this point, I should just on principle. The panties next to me are a reminder that I’m not his one and only. Why should he be mine? Wouldn’t it serve him right if I sought out another, if for nothing more than to just feel desired for once?

  And like an answer to my subconscious prayers, this man walked in as soon as Adrian walked out. Maybe this is exactly what I need. To prove to myself, and to him, that I’m my own person. He doesn’t own me. He may have tried, and it may be buried, but somewhere deep down, I’ve retained my independence. I just need to be strong enough to find it again.

  This pussy is mine.

  A shudder rolls through me as Adrian’s proclamation replays in my head. On second thought, I’m ready to write men off for the foreseeable future. I need to focus on reclaiming my life. Not worry about revenge or jumping into bed with the first hot man who shows me interest. Hell, I’m getting way ahead of myself. A few smiles and crooked grins don’t mean he wants me. Knowing Adrian, he probably warned anyone about touching me anyways.

  The stranger clears his throat, and I look up to catch his amused grin.

  “I’m sorry you came, but he’s gone. He must’ve forgotten your appointment, and he won’t be back for weeks,” I inform him from my perch on the counter.

  “I’m the Matthews of Matthews Construction,” he offers, tossing a thumb behind him.

  I peer past him and see a construction trailer far off in the distance.

  “I’m aware that he’ll be out of town.”

  My eyes narrow. This is the first I’ve heard of Matthews. “What happened to Jericho?” I ask.

  Adrian didn’t inform me of any changes. Then again, Adrian’s never bothered to keep me apprised of anything unless he’s deemed it necessary. All of my previous interactions regarding the new guesthouse he’s having built have been with Jericho & Sons.

  “No idea, ma’am. All I know is my bid was accepted at the last minute and all plans were transferred to my office. We’re breaking ground today, and the boss directed me to report to Gabriella Latham. Can you tell her I’m here? My guys are ready to get to work.”

  I bristle at his insinuation. What does he think? I’m just some whore Adrian screws around with? Is that what he sees when he looks at me? Good enough to fuck, but not enough to help when it comes to anything important? Not worthy of being a businesswoman? When I glance down at my disheveled appearance, my anger wanes. If that’s what he thinks, maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all I’ve been to Adrian.

  “I’m Gabriella,” I inform him briskly, straightening my tank and sitting up just a little taller than before.

  A flicker of surprise flashes in his eyes before he raises his brow in my direction. “Really? Well, then, Gabriella, I apologize yet again. I didn’t put two and two together. You know what they say about
mixing business and pleasure,” he quips, his eyes shining with interest, as if he’d like to do just that. “I had no idea I’d be working so closely with the boss’s . . . uh . . . woman.”

  I can tell he’s intrigued by the idea, and I wonder just how closely together he’d like to be working. As far as I know, I’m just here as a go-between for Adrian and the lead contractor, who I’m guessing is this Matthews man. All questions, as well as status updates and the like, are to go through me.

  “I’m not,” I tell him, and he gives me a look of disbelief. “His woman,” I continue.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” he says, his eyes flashing to the shirt on the counter, the evidence of Adrian’s branding release.

  My cheeks flush as I straighten up and push it away. Tears well up in my eyes at the memory, and suddenly, I have the urge to run to the bathroom and take a scalding shower to wash every bit of him away. Matthews just watches me as if the sight of another man’s dried come doesn’t bother him in the least. Just how long was he standing outside? He steels his gaze on mine as if he’s waiting for me to challenge him.

  “Why are you here, exactly?” I ask, wiping away the tears that have fallen.

  Right now, even though all I want is to be left alone, there’s something captivating about the way he’s watching me. It isn’t pity in his eyes. It’s almost as if I’m captivating him. It makes no sense.

  His gaze doesn’t leave mine as his own eyes soften. “I think the more appropriate question, Brie, is why are you?”

  The question hangs in the air between us.

  Brie?

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, unnerved that this stranger is seemingly calling me out. “And why are you calling me Brie?”

  Before I know what’s happening, Matthews crosses the room until he’s standing directly in front of me, ignoring my question. “I don’t have many weaknesses, but I’m a goner for a beautiful woman crying. And you crying? It’s a damn shame.” Didn’t Adrian say something similar? He did, but somehow this feels different.