Down and Dirty (Scions of Sin Book 3)

by Taylor Holloway

  “Don’t you know Nicholas?” I’d asked, “If it’s all so sensitive, why wouldn’t Richard just send you?”

  Oliver had sighed.

  “I’ve known Nicholas since he was born. That’s probably precisely why I wasn’t chosen,” he’d explained, “Richard told me to find someone trustworthy to do this and so I found you. Nicholas wants to remain anonymous and we’re all trying to accomplish that, even if it seems silly to us. That’s why you’re being tasked with this. Skylark and Richard agreed that it should be an outsider, someone not familiar with the family or Nicholas, selected to deliver the will. Someone who could be trusted. Apparently, I’m too close to the family to be trustworthy.”

  He grinned at the idea.

  “Why is this so cloak-and-dagger?” I’d said to Oliver, “It’s all sort of weirding me out. Delivering some old man’s will shouldn’t be this dramatic.”

  Oliver chuckled and shook his head ruefully.

  “You’re right. It shouldn’t be. Unfortunately, that’s just how it goes with the Durant family,” he’d replied, “they’re a weird bunch. A really weird bunch. Lots of money and lots of secrets. Lots of drama, too. You’ll get used to it.”

  Now that I was in the thick of the drama and weirdness, I wasn’t so sure I would get used to it. I also wasn’t sure I would be able to resist seducing Nicholas if the opportunity presented itself. His masculine features, strong body, and confounding mystery were a perfect storm of attractiveness. Knowing that he was sleeping just a few feet away from me, or maybe lying awake and thinking of me, had me considering some very unprofessional fantasies.

  In one daydream, I would slip out of my pajamas and knock on his door. Naked, I would purr his name through the closed door. I’d tell him that I was oh so cold and needed him to keep me warm. Of course, he would invite me into his bed instantly and urgently. He would be warm and gentle, holding me long into the night. We would turn this quiet night loud with our noises as we made our own fire under the sheets and kept each other warm. I’d go down on him for ages, sucking enthusiastically and enjoying every second of seeing him at my mercy for pleasure and release. And, we’d eventually fall asleep after he licked my cunt until I came so hard into his mouth that my toes cramped up.

  In another fantasy, Nicholas came to me. He would surprise me in the kitchen, kissing me insistently and then bending me over the little kitchen island and tearing off my clothes. I’d submit happily under his demanding touch, letting him pull off my shirt, work down my panties, and spread my legs wide to use me like a toy. I’d relish being touched by a virtual stranger, submissively bending forward and letting him pull my hair and put me just how he wanted me. He’d take me roughly, first with his fingers and then with his mouth. Only then—when I was wet, and whimpering and desperate—would he fuck me. Hard. We’d thrust against each other with an animalistic abandon, finishing together and then going back to our separate sleeping quarters never to mention the interlude again.

  By the time I finally fell asleep, I’d played through a dozen different fantasies, each more lurid and detailed than the last. My body was screaming for him. But he never came out of his room, and I never went into his. My fantasies would have to stay fantasies. Nicholas was never going to be mine.

  8

  Nicholas

  The morning dawned with a sound that I hadn’t heard in ages: whistling. Specifically, Jenna was expertly whistling the riff from “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding. Otis Redding was always a good choice in my book. I opened my eyes smiling and smelling fresh coffee. It was unmistakable that I was not alone in the cabin, which was a feeling I hadn’t awoken to here, ever. I could easily see myself getting used to it.

  In the kitchen, Jenna was more than merely wide awake. She was cooking breakfast, she’d located oatmeal and eggs and had made what looked and smelled like a very respectable omelet.

  “I thought vegans didn’t eat eggs,” I said by way of a greeting as I exited the bedroom. Jenna swung around from the stove, looking surprised and distracted. She looked adorably domestic in her pajamas and an apron. She brandished my spatula at me, and her whistling cut off abruptly. I’d clearly startled her, and she gave a little relieved giggle when I raised my hands up in the “don’t shoot” position.

  “You startled me! Good morning. And you’re right, we don’t eat eggs,” Jenna answered after a moment, sliding the omelet off the frying pan and onto a plate along with some buttered toast which she then extended to me, “this is for you.”

  I accepted and stared at the plate of breakfast in silent wonder.

  “I figured that making you breakfast was the least I could do for saving my life from a pack of hungry wolves in a deadly snowstorm,” she said after a moment, “sorry I didn’t make you any bacon. I don’t know how.”

  “Thank you,” I said genuinely, and she grinned toothily in return, “this is absolutely perfect.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she replied.

  Jenna had a slight gap between her two front teeth, like Brigitte Bardot. That gap meant that Jenna had what the French called ‘les dents du bonheur’ or lucky teeth. Americans might be obsessed with straight, even teeth, but the French thought the gap was especially sexy, indicating a charming mixture of innocence and vulnerability. Maybe it was in my French blood, but I definitely agreed.

  I felt a matching grin spread over my face. Jenna had remembered what I said about not having anyone cooking for me and decided to do something about it. I sat down on the couch and watched her moving around my kitchen like she owned it, adding sugar, nuts, and margarine to her bowl of oatmeal. She even refilled Harley’s water bowl for her, earning a skeptical look from the dog. Harley clearly didn’t quite know what to think of Jenna. In reality, Harley had never had much exposure to anyone but me.

  Poor Harley hadn’t slept well last night at all. She’d guarded the door all night, clearly worried that Jenna might come attack us at any moment. As much as I’d fantasized that Jenna would lustily attack me sometime during the night, she had—predictably—stayed put out in the living room. Harley worried for nothing. I suffered the long, hard night alone (literally).

  “The storm doesn’t look any better,” I remarked between bites. For a woman who didn’t eat omelets, Jenna made a damn good one. Outside the windows, the swirling white was just as thick as it had been the previous night. We wouldn’t be going anywhere for several hours.

  Jenna joined me on the couch a moment later, refilling my coffee and sitting down with her oatmeal.

  “Yeah, I noticed,” she said with a comical grimace. I could only imagine how desperate she must be to get away from Alaska. Away from me. She couldn’t have thought that her journey to find me and deliver a will would get so complicated.

  As if reading my mind, Jenna pulled out a large manila envelope from her roller board. As she did, I saw a brief glimpse of a flimsy lavender-colored lace lingerie set. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to see Jenna in nothing but that set. Unfortunately, I was going to have to settle for my grandfather’s will.

  “We might as well get this part over with,” Jenna said as she nibbled on her oatmeal, “I just need you to sign this thing here that says you received the will.”

  She pointed at the bottom of a form, and I read over it and signed it reluctantly. I really didn’t give a shit about my grandfather’s will or the paperwork that accompanied it. No matter what it said, it wouldn’t affect me in any way.

  “Ok here you go,” she said, sliding the envelope over to me on top of the coffee table, “it’s all yours.”

  “Thanks,” I said sarcastically, earning me a confused look from Jenna. She obviously wanted to know what was really going on with me, but how could I tell her? If I told her the truth, she’d be in danger. If I told her half the truth, she’d want to know the other half. Better to tell her nothing. If she didn’t know anything, it was better for her and better for me.

  At least that’s what I talked myself
into last night. Whether or not all that was true or just a convenient excuse for my cowardice was another thing entirely. I wished I could confide in Jenna and that doing so wouldn’t result in dozens of Skylark security operatives descending on my cabin. I found it very hard to believe that this young, beautiful creature who seemed to be composed entirely of innocence and curiosity, could be involved with the more unsavory parts of Durant Industries. In fact, I found it hard to believe she worked there at all.

  “Jenna,” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me, “what’s your job at Durant Industries? You said you work for Ollie?”

  “Yes. I’m a senior financial specialist in Emerging Markets,” she answered absently, applying a notary stamp to the forms I had just signed and filling out her own set of paperwork.

  “Do you like it?” I followed up, wondering how she managed in the cut-throat corporate environment of misogynists and ladder climbers.

  She looked over at me thoughtfully.

  “That’s a very personal question,” she said, echoing my answer to her from the previous night, and then surprising me by adding, “but I guess I can tell you anyway. It’s not like it’s gonna’ get back to Richard.”

  I smiled at her wryly. Jenna was definitely right about that.

  “I like some things about Durant Industries,” Jenna said haltingly, “like my work. I love solving puzzles, so trying to figure out new opportunities is fun and interesting. I like Oliver, and the other people I work with in my department. I don’t like the corporate culture very much though. I don’t like how women are treated a lot of the time, especially by some of the senior management.”

  Her answer was extraordinarily diplomatic. I’d worked at Durant Industries. I knew the score.

  For instance, I knew that until my grandfather retired it was common to lay off women during maternity leave. I knew that he wouldn’t promote a woman who didn’t wear pantyhose, skirts, makeup, and heels. Or who failed to conform to his ideas of ‘what a woman should be like’. I knew that my father, while dramatically more progressive than his own father, still had a number of outmoded ideas when it came to gender equality. I knew that there was a still a glass ceiling that was made of bullet-proof acrylic between Jenna and the executive suite. And I knew that someone like Jenna would have to turn down about a dozen men every month who would be happy to offer her “mentorship” in exchange for her attention.

  “I’m glad you work for Ollie,” I said firmly, “he’s a good guy.”

  Jenna smirked.

  “Yeah, and he hardly ever asks me to give him hand jobs after hours,” she replied, and my eyes went wide with shock and disgust until I realized she had been joking. Oliver was, in fact, more of a father figure to me than my actual father in some ways. As my father’s right hand, it had been Oliver that took me to little league games and cub scout meetings. I was relieved he wasn’t a secret creep.

  “I’m surprised someone like you would work for Durant Industries,” I admitted. Jenna looked shocked.

  “What is that supposed to mean? Someone like me? What, am I not good enough? Is it because I’m a redhead? A woman? A person from New Jersey?” She snapped. Her eyes were as big as saucers. Harley looked up from her nap, tilting her head and surprised by Jenna’s newly high-pitched voice.

  I backpedaled. Jenna’s expression had gone from pleasant, amused, and honest to angry and disgusted in a second. Jenna hadn’t seemed prone to violent changes in mood until right now, and I wasn’t prepared. Or maybe I was just really inept at talking to women after years of avoiding humanity. Probably that second one.

  “All I meant was that you’re very beautiful and smart. I know how much sexual harassment and misogyny there is at Durant Industries. It must be hard for you,” I said weakly.

  “Are you saying that you think that sexual harassment only happens to attractive women?” Jenna fired back, her voice going very shrill and furious-sounding, “that’s a very ignorant thing to say. Sexual harassment can happen to anyone, by anyone. Everyone deserves a safe, harassment free workplace. Not just pretty women.”

  “Sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m just going to shut up now,” I said with equal parts confusion and contrition. Jenna laughed. Apparently, that had been the right thing to say? This was so confusing.

  “You triggered my patented Durant Industries man-deterrence technique,” she replied with a smile, “it works like a charm with the creeps who hit on me at the water cooler. I just start crazy and keep getting crazier and louder until they run away. You’re right though; the creeps are very real and everywhere. Your dad might be the worst of them, at least from what I hear.”

  I exhaled in relief that she hadn’t actually been angry, and in disgust that my father was one of the creeps at Durant Industries that women actively avoided.

  “I know,” I said, shaking my head and not needing to know the details of the recent rumors about my father. He was a notorious skirt-chaser. I’d been just as bad. No, I’d been worse. And definitely more successful.

  Our conversation moved on to lighter topics after that, and we finished our breakfast without any additional embarrassments on my part. Jenna insisted on doing the dishes after the meal, and I sat uselessly on the couch and watched her at the sink. It was so bizarre having someone taking care of me while I just chilled out on the couch. It felt like an unbelievable luxury.

  “So, um, before I forget,” Jenna said, changing the subject as she dried the last coffee cup, “can you explain about the shower? I tried to figure out how it worked this morning and I couldn’t make it warm.”

  Oh no. She discovered my terrible shower.

  This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. I looked at Jenna’s extremely long, curly hair and figured that we might as well get it over with. Hopefully she wouldn’t be mad at me. My shower set up was intended for efficiency, not comfort.

  “Sorry about that,” I said feelingly, “I actually have a solar powered water heater, so that means there’s a lot more hot water in the summer than there is in the winter.”

  “So, during a snowstorm there’s no hot water?” She asked, eyes wide and horrified. She must have thought I was an absolute savage who never bathed.

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” I said reassuringly, “there’s still some warm water. I wouldn’t say it’s hot since the generator gets overtaxed trying to heat the water, but it isn’t freezing or anything. The bigger problem is that there isn’t a lot of it. Only about three minutes’ worth of water before the tank empties, summer or winter. I usually take baths. I heat up the water on the pellet stove.”

  “Oh,” she said, visibly confused by my old-fashioned bathing technique, “that doesn’t sound too terrible I guess. I don’t need to wash my hair right now, but I would like to take a bath…”

  I was relieved that she was taking it in stride. Plenty of the women I’d met before my Alaskan exile had insisted on hour-long showers. I helped Jenna draw the bath and heat the water and then retreated to the purgatory of my bedroom while she bathed to give her as much privacy as I could. I heard her begin to whistle again once she thought she was alone. In reality the interior walls of the cabin were extremely thin. I didn’t mind listening to her at all, except that I was reminded that she was a few feet away, naked in my bathtub.

  All I could do was pray to the snow gods that the storm would end soon, and Jenna could go home. Although an equal, traitorous part of me was ready to pray that the snow kept falling indefinitely. As long as it was impossible to travel, Jenna was trapped here. With me. Me and all of my indecent fantasies about her.

  9

  Jenna

  The one good thing about Nicholas’ antiquated bathing situation was that it ate up a lot of time. After Nicholas and I were both finally fed, bathed, dressed, and ready to actually do anything, the snowstorm outside had abated to just a few little flurries. For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, I could see a hint of the sun.

  “Does the lack of sunlight get to y
ou?” I asked Nicholas as we drove very slowly down the narrow lane that connected his cabin to the main road, “I feel like I would get depressed if I lived somewhere this dark.”

  He nodded as he drove.

  “It definitely does get to me,” he admitted. “People that grow up here don’t notice it as much. But for me it was torture for the first year. I had insomnia during the summer and couldn’t barely do anything but sleep in the winter. I lost about twenty pounds just from being so tired all the time. The good thing is that today it’s better understood how important sunlight is for vitamin D production and for people’s general mental health. I got myself this cool little UV light that I sit next to for a few minutes each day during the winter, and some really good blackout curtains for the summer. I know it sounds silly, but it really helps.”

  “I’m not sure a light would do it for me,” I told him, “I really like sunbathing.”

  Exceeding the surgeon general’s recommendation for UV exposure was my greatest vice. Well, that and tequila.

  “Don’t you burn pretty easily?” He asked, looking at me in surprise, “You’ve got very pale skin.”

  I smirked.

  “Such is the life of a sun-loving ginger. I wear sunglasses and I use a lot of sunblock,” I replied, “tons of it. I literally buy it in bulk online. Did you know you can buy sunscreen in gallon jugs off Amazon? You totally can.”

  “I actually did know that,” he answered, “I discovered it during my research for my cousin’s birthday gift. He was in cooking school and he’d gone on this trip to Japan. When he got back he wouldn’t stop going on about how amazing Japan was. So, for his nineteenth birthday I bought him five gallons of hand lotion, one of those weird, enormous body pillows that are shaped like anime characters, a book called “101 Japanese Phrases for Dating”, a Hello Kitty T-shirt, and a half-pallet of Kleenex. For some reason he didn’t appreciate my gift…”