Beast's Castle

by Ella Goode

  The hard part is that my attraction to and curiosity about Kale only grew tonight. Knowing that he cared enough to bring Colby to the diner so he wouldn’t be alone warmed my heart. Then to see that he was jealous that I was with Colten did something else altogether to me. Not to mention when the man put on swim trunks to teach Colby how to swim.

  All of those things had to have meant he has some sort of pull to me too. Does he feel it? Does it matter? I let out a long sigh. I shouldn't act on it. It will end badly, and Colby and I will be out on our asses. It would add to the list of disappointments that Colby has had in his life, and I can’t let that happen.

  Still I keep moving toward the kitchen. I know he has this place monitored. If he’s watching, he’ll know where I am, and if he wants to see me he’ll come. I can thank him again for watching out for Colby for me.

  What if he hadn’t been here when Cana dropped him off? I’m not sure she would have left him to begin with, but you can never be too sure. When I called her she said Colby assured her that someone would be home. It was how he’d gotten back into the house to begin with. She never would have left him otherwise. She apologized, but there was no need for it. He is my responsibility.

  When I finally make it to the kitchen, I notice that I’m not alone. The lighting is dim, but Kale sits with his broad back toward me. Is it possible that he is waiting for me?

  “Are you hungry?” I ask. He doesn't turn to look at me. “I could make you something. Then you could throw it away,” I tease. He doesn't say anything. I step closer to him. “I want to say thank you again.”

  “You’re not to see Colten again and still work here,” he finally says, ignoring everything I just said. That causes me to smile. I know I shouldn’t be happy that he seems jealous, but I am.

  “Okay,” I agree. I had no plans to see Colten. My simple answer gets Kale to turn a little to look at me. My eyes are still trying to adjust to the light.

  “Do you always follow orders so well?”

  “You are my boss,” I point out.

  “I told you to stop cooking for me. I told you to stop doing a lot of things, but yet you keep doing them.”

  “No you told me not to do them unless…” I lick my lips, my face starting to warm remembering his words from the other night. At least in the dark he couldn't see me blush. It’s much easier to be bold in the dark, I’m finding.

  “You want me to fuck your brains out?” At his crude words it’s not only my face that heats. I know he uses them to try and push me away. I should let him, I really should, but instead I lift my hand, needing to touch him. I think he needs it too.

  He doesn't stop me when I bring my hand to his face. It’s not the side with scars. As much as I want to touch him there too, I fear he’ll pull away from me again. He leans into my touch, his eyes falling closed. I lean toward him. He’s in one of the hightop chairs at the bar, and with his height, even sitting I still have to go up on my tiptoes to brush my mouth against his.

  His eyes fly open, staring into mine. I pause, wanting to kiss him so badly, but I know I shouldn't. I keep pushing when I know I shouldn't. I start to pull back, but he grabs me. His hands go to my hair as he turns his whole body, pulling me between his legs.

  “Too late,” he growls before his mouth is against mine. Tingles shoot up my spine. I part my lips, opening myself up for his kiss as he deepens it. I whimper when he lifts me off my feet, putting me into his lap and causing me to straddle him. It all happens so fast. He pulls me closer to him. I cling to him, feeling his hard cock against me.

  I`m not sure who is hungrier for the connection. Both of our hands are everywhere. When he pulls his mouth from mine, I gasp, trying to catch my breath. He buries his face in my neck. His breaths are warm against my skin, causing my nipples to harden.

  “That was a mistake,” he says. He lifts me easily, sitting me on the kitchen island. He pushes his chair back to stand. “This was all a mistake.” He takes a step away from me.

  “You're leaving.” It’s not a question. I know he is.

  “Since we established earlier that you can follow directions, I expect you won’t have a problem following this one. Stay away from me.” He turns to leave.

  “Or what?” I ask. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very cold.

  “Or you’ll be moving out of the west wing.” I may not like that answer, but at least I know the consequences of pursuing whatever this is; he’ll fire me. With those words he’s gone, giving me no choice but to do exactly what he asked for.

  17

  Kale

  It’s the sniffling that gives him away. The boy must be catching a cold. It’s the hot outside air and the damn air conditioning, although I’ve got none of that in my shop. It’s hotter than Hades in here, what with the forge running. All the AC in the world wouldn’t be able to cool this place down. For the last three days, I’ve been sweating out my regrets in here in front of the fire and mass of metal that’s supposed to be the signature piece in the upcoming Tate retrospective on forward movement.

  After running away from Summer and a lifetime of future disappointment, I retreated to my studio. I told myself it was because I was on a deadline and needed to work but, truthfully, I’ve come to recognize that I’m weak where Summer’s concerned. My dick wants to take control, and the only thing I can do is lock myself away. It’s been three days since the swimming lesson. Three days of agonizing fantasies with only my hand for company. Maybe that’s why I invite the kid inside.

  “Come out from behind the door,” I tell him. “My studio isn’t the safest place.”

  Colby creeps out from behind the door, a guilty look on his face. “We was just wondering if you were still alive.”

  “I am.” From the video feeds, Summer is still working, but she’s stopped talking to me during the day. Not that I blame her. I would’ve quit by now. I keep waiting for that to happen, and when it does, I’m going to end up doing things I shouldn’t, like kidnapping her and locking her in the west wing.

  Colby inspects the dark space, his hand hovering over a hammer here or a metal pinchers there. Some self-preservation instinct has kicked in and his usual uninhibited curiosity is banked, although I can tell he’s dying to handle everything.

  “How come you have so many tools? I thought you were an artist.”

  “I am. Not all artist use paint brushes. That painting is kind of a lost skill these days. Most of your contemporary artists are using mixed media. Do you know what that is?”

  The seven-year-old shakes his head.

  “It’s when you use more than one type of thing so you are not just putting paint on a canvas but you could also be using metal scraps of buttons or grass.”

  “Grass?” Colby’s eyes light up.

  “Yeah, there’s a famous artist that uses nature in his work.”

  “Wow. I never knew that. So what do you do?”

  “Mostly metal. I work with steel, copper, sometimes gold. It’s why I need the heat.” I point to the forge. “And why I wear this.” I pat the heavy fireproof apron covering my chest.

  “What are you making?” He wiggles his finger toward the skeleton structure in front of me.

  “I got a commission from the Tate. Do you know what a commission is?” I can tell by his blank stare that he doesn’t. “It’s when someone pays you to make something. It could be something specific like you coming to me and saying I want a replica of the Porsche 917 race car or it could be like the Tate saying they want a piece within their theme of future movement. And don’t ask me what they mean by that because when you commission something for me, I’m making what I make.”

  “Can I watch you?”

  “Sorry, kid, I’m just not used to that sort of thing. I work by myself.”

  The boy’s face falls, which doesn’t sit right with my gut. But I’m having a hard enough time finishing this piece of work without a seven-year-old peering over my shoulder. I push away from my work table and pull off my weld
ing gloves. “Do you want another swim lesson?”

  “Nah. I guess I should get going and leave you alone.” He scuffs a toe against the ground.

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “Cooking. She texted you to see what you wanted to eat for dinner, but you didn’t get back to her.”

  “Hell.” I grab my phone. Sure enough, there’s a number of unread messages. I scroll to the one that is from an unknown number.

  Summer: Any thoughts on what youd like to throw in the trash for dinner

  Summer: Okay so maybe that came off rude. It was a joke

  Summer: Seriously a joke

  Summer: Nevermind I’m making curry

  “She’s making curry,” Colby offers unhelpfully.

  “Yeah, I see that,” I grunt and scrub a knuckle across my forehead. I’ve handled this like shit. In my defense, I have no experience with women except for my sister and pretty sure that doesn’t count, but abandoning a woman who kisses you seems to be dumb. Ignoring her messages on top of that? Might as well just throw me out with the trash. Here I am looking like a torn-up piece of paper on my best days and yet, Summer, a woman more beautiful than the flowers in Tina’s garden, willingly put her mouth against mine. I could have had her that night, and I walked away. I don’t deserve a single chance to even breathe near her, let alone lay her on my bed and take her.

  “Where’d you get your scars?” Colby asks, interrupting my train of thought.

  “My old man broke a bottle across my face when he was tanked. He mistook me for an intruder and tried to defend himself.” I finger my scars and then squint at Colby. Since we’re asking uncomfortable questions, I say, “Where’s your parents, kid?”

  “Car accident a couple of years ago. No scars though.” He shrugs as if losing your parents when you’re a kid is no big deal.

  “That’s tough.” No scars that anyone can see is what he’s saying. My old man is still around, but he’s too ashamed to show his face.

  “My mom’s still alive but I don’t know where she is,” he adds. His lips thin out as he tries to hold his emotions in.

  I make my mind up. We’re eating dinner together tonight. “Let’s go.” I gesture for Colby to lead me back to the house.

  “To where?”

  “Have some curry. Where else?”

  18

  Summer

  I glance at my phone again, and of course I don’t have any texts back from Kale. It was stupid to text him. Desperate even. What is wrong with me? I need to avoid him. It’s dumb to do anything else.

  He made it abundantly clear the other night and the past few days that he didn’t want to pursue whatever was happening between us. Still I find myself trying to brush the line. My mind is always drifting back to the kiss we had. The jealousy that shone in his eyes when he thought I was into Colten. I’d felt wanted for the first time in forever.

  “Wash your hands,” I tell Colby when I see him step into the kitchen. I pause for a moment when Kale comes in right after him. I turn away to hide the flush of my face before he can see it. I keep my back to him, not really knowing how to react. I definitely wasn’t expecting to see him.

  “You too,” Colby tells Kale. I get myself together and grab an extra plate, making one for Kale too. I’m sure Colby pushed him into coming to dinner. He’s been asking about Kale a lot lately. I think the man is growing on my brother too.

  I sit everything on the kitchen island. We’ve never eaten in the dining room. It’s giant and too formal. This kitchen would do well with a table in it. It has a little breakfast nook that is surrounded by large windows. A table would fit perfectly in front of them for small casual meals like this one.

  “I’ll see about getting one.”

  I jerk my head up, realizing I’ve spoken my thoughts out loud.

  “Just an idea. It’s your home.” I rush to add the last part.

  “What is this?” Kale reaches out his hand, capturing my wrist. He runs his fingers along the rash on my forearm. It looks a bit more red because I was scratching it earlier. I tried not to touch it, but it had been so itchy I couldn't help it. Maybe I’ll go into town tomorrow to get some cream for it.

  “It’s from the uniform. I think it irritates my skin.”

  “Think?” He growls the question. No, I don’t think. I know it does. The rules state that I’m to wear it and after the other night, I want to make sure I follow them. I need this job, and Colby really seems to like it here.

  “It bothers my skin. I keep thinking I’ll get used to it.” His hold on my wrist tightens. It’s not painful, but I know there is no breaking his hold unless he wants to let me go. His jaw gives a tick. The scars on his face seem to tense up more too.

  “Then stop wearing it.”

  “I don’t know why I had to wear it to begin with. It’s not as though other people see me,” I hiss back. His eyes rake down my body and back up. My traitor body reacts. Why are we always ending up like this in the kitchen?

  “I see you.” He gives my wrist a small pull, causing my body to be flush with his. My breathing picks up as I wet my lips. He turns his face partly away, trying to hide his scars from me.

  “Are you going to kiss my sister?”

  I gasp, jumping away from Kale. How did I forget Colby was right here?

  “Napkins. Get the napkins,” I rush to say. Colby rolls his eyes at me, changing the subject. I feel my whole face flush, but I’m thankful Colby doesn't say more. He simply turns, heading back into the pantry to do as I asked. I pull my wrist, but Kale still doesn't let go.

  “Kale you said—”

  “I know what I said.” He pulls me again back into him. His mouth comes down onto mine in a hard kiss that is over almost as fast as it begins as he lets his hold of me go. Colby reappears a moment later, setting us each down a napkin. Before I can snag a seat, Kale takes the center chair so I have no choice but to sit next to him.

  All through dinner his leg rubs against mine as he and Colby talk about comics. It doesn't take much to talk Colby into making his own, which is actually a brilliant idea with how much he loves to draw.

  I can’t stop watching the two of them. For being such a grumpy jerk, Kale is so good with him. I suck in a breath when I feel Kale’s fingers start to play with the tie of my dress in the back. At some point he moves his arm to drape over the back of my chair. He doesn't even look my way. His attention is focused on Colby as he talks animatedly about all his ideas for making a comic.

  I slip my chair over, putting space between Kale and me. I’m not doing this with him again. He threatened my job. He might not know it, but we didn't have anywhere really to go. It is safe here. Or it had started to feel that way.

  It doesn’t help that when I got Kale’s attention it opened up this ache inside of me that I didn't know I had. A longing to be close to another person. A need to feel them against me. He put that ache there, and it grows worse each time he gets close and then pulls away again.

  “I’m going to start it now. I’ll show you a draft in the morning,” Colby announces.

  “Plate in the dishwasher,” I remind him as he hops down from the chair. Kale’s eyes are back on me now. I pretend not to notice as I wipe down the last of the dinner mess. “Wait for me,” I tell Colby before he can dart from the room.

  “A word,” Kale requests.

  “I need to get Colby ready for bed.” It’s not entirely a lie. He doesn't go to bed for a few hours but still, I’m keeping Colby close to keep Kale at a distance. He wanted me to stay away from him, and that's what I’m doing. I’m not a toy for him to play with when he feels like it. I know Kale has his issues, but I’m starting to notice I have some of my own. Ones that he’s bringing to the surface.

  “Summer.” There is a warning to his tone. One that has desire circling inside of me.

  “Later,” I say without looking back at him.

  I can walk away too.

  19

  Kale

  “How long does it
take to put a damn kid to bed,” I grumble. My watch says that it’s been thirty minutes since she claimed she was putting Colby to bed. He’s seven. Why does he need help in the first place? He can wash himself, hold his own peeper to piss, and put his jammies on. She’s probably just doing this to piss me off—or maybe to test my interest.

  Baby, my interest isn’t fading just because you decided to make me wait.

  I kick out my legs and rest my head against the hallway wall and try to decipher the sounds coming from the west wing, but the walls are so thick all I hear is some shuffling and that might be making it up in my head. I could go and look at the cameras, but that seems wrong now. The two of them aren’t intruders or help, so it wouldn’t be right. What they are—I can’t really put a label on it, but I don’t feel good looking in on them.

  It sucks having a conscience. I check the time again. Damn. Only five minutes have passed. It feels like it’s been an hour.

  “Oh, you’re here.”

  I glance up to see Summer’s frame outlined in the doorway. She looks beautiful even in her ugly uniform. I’m burning that thing tonight while she’s in the orgasm-induced coma I plan to put her in.

  “Is the boy asleep?” I ask gruffly.

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  My hands curl into fists so I don’t grab her and run to the other side of this house. I’m going to have to keep a tight grip on my lust tonight or I’ll scare her off.

  “Then let’s go.” I get to my feet and start walking. When I don’t feel her behind me, I stop. Over my shoulder I say, “Are you coming?”

  “I’m not a dog.” She frowns.