by Lexi Hart
If she was willing. I could make that happen. I could make a dozen things happen if she was willing.
But a woman that beautiful is bound to have someone waiting at home for her.
And even if she didn’t, Jake took a chance on me, giving me this job. And right now it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
One wrong move, one misstep and Blaire lets Mary know I’ve crossed the line.
Keeping my distance is easier. Safer.
She doesn’t look at me but sighs heavily letting me now she’s well aware of me watching her.
I’m half expecting her to ask me to join her again. A part of me wishes she would. Wishes she’d tell me she won’t ask about last night and we can just forget it happened.
But true to her word, she doesn’t ask again. She just keeps tapping away at her laptop, mouth twisted into a half frown I know I’m responsible for.
My stomach starts to growl noisily. Maybe she’s right? Maybe it’s unrealistic to think I can avoid her?
I take another look at her and find my thoughts straying to places they can’t.
This is too big a risk. I should have seen it coming. Should have done more to prevent it.
I’m teetering on a ledge I’ve actively avoided. And my resolve is starting to waver, the coffee and my hunger near drag my feet through the door towards her.
Sitting down to eat with her will open a door I need to keep closed.
I pull my eyes from her, stalk into the kitchen, grab a few granola bars and head back to my room to get my stuff.
I need to stay the hell away from her. Maybe switch up my routine. Move into the yacht house.
It’s in even rougher condition than the third floor. But with electricity and Jake’s boat, I could spend the rest of the weekend completely out of the castle.
Sheer will power will only last so long before I mess up.
She’s a temptation, and since she can’t leave. I’ll have to remove myself before I do worse than kiss her.
I can’t even contemplate what would happen if we spent the night together.
If I’m not careful, if I don’t keep my guard up, that’s exactly where this will end up.
“I’m going to clean the pool,” I say as I walk away.
BLAIRE
I stare at the door, listening to the rain trickling down the windowpane beside me and try to still my raging heartrate.
What is wrong with me? I can’t go around lusting after a broody, growly man. Sure, he’s gorgeous, but he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me.
Why on earth do I want to pursue this?
One look at the screen lets me know I’m dangerously close to acting out a fantasy that belongs on the page only.
His strong arms wrap around me. My body stiffens as I pull back, terrified my husband will come home. “I can’t,” I whisper.
Kurt’s hands wander lower until he’s gripping me around my waist. “He doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”
I slump in my chair and find my gaze wandering back to the doorway. Any intention I had of continuing to write is clearly becoming a dangerous occupation.
I keep heading towards writing a sex scene when I’m here with him; I’ll end up horny and frustrated.
Not a good combination. I should know better. I should be able to separate fantasy from reality.
But when Luther is around, the two seem to merge into one deliciously inviting cake I want to take a bite of.
With a scowl at the direction the scene is heading, I save my work and close my laptop.
It’s nearly lunchtime, and Luther barely ate breakfast. But I haven’t heard anything since first thing.
I chew on my lip and try to see if I can reason away my compulsion to go find him.
But the compulsion only grows and I’m beginning to suspect it’s because of the silence I thought I wanted.
Is it really so hard for him to be civil? I push back from the table and decide to make some sandwiches.
As I take the bread out of the pantry and find fillings in the refrigerator, the silence continues unbroken bar the sound of the rain falling outside.
It would be nice to have some company. Even if it’s just to reassure me he’s around if I need someone in case of emergency.
Is that too much to ask of him? Thirty minutes out of a long day spent entirely alone in an enormously spooky castle?
I’m not sure which is more intimidating. Spending two more days and nights all by myself or going to ask him if he’d keep me company for a while.
I’m either overthinking things or underthinking. Either way, we have to share the same space for a few days.
Even if that space is huge, it’s raining outside, so I’ll be spending most of my time indoors.
Since I’m stuck here and one of us has to be mature, and since I’ll never see him again after this weekend, I search for a bag to pack with the sandwiches I made.
When I’m satisfied it’s enough food for us both, I grab a six-pack of imported beer and some napkins.
I push the bag over my shoulder, go grab my laptop, tuck it under my arm, and prepare to be rejected.
I’m halfway down the corridor to the pool and can hear what must be a pump draining the water when I start to have second thoughts.
I’m borderline stalking him. But it’s not like I had to look hard. He told me where he’d be. That must mean he’s open to having lunch with me?
I blow out a breath as I step inside the pool house. With the noisy pump going, I almost miss Luther crouching shirtless, dressed only in a pair of shorts.
He doesn’t see me and bends down to grab a rag giving me a clear view of his muscled back.
Unlike the rest of his skin, he has an eagle tattooed across his shoulders, but it’s the ugly scars marring his tanned skin underneath them that make me look closer.
I inhale sharply, mind simultaneously occupied with what could have caused the scarring to a desire to run my fingers down his abs.
His head jerks in my direction. His eyes meet mine and since I’m now committed I try to smile. He glares at me, making me feel even more awkward.
Luther stays silent, just leans across the pump and switches it off then rises to his feet.
He grabs his shirt and tugs it over his head covering both his abs and his scars. All my bravado is vanishing the more he looks at me.
Since he’s probably expecting me to mention the scars or last night, I slide the bag off my shoulder. “It’s kind of unnerving being in the castle. Would you mind if I worked in here? I brought lunch. And I won’t disturb you. I promise.”
His eyebrows rise, then a deep frown grows on his face. I think he’s about to tell me to leave but he just scratches his chin and looks at the bag. “What did you bring?”
A smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “Ham and cheese sandwiches. Beer. Chips. But I can always—”
He shakes his head. “I’ll break for lunch.”
Relief floods through me. I open my mouth to thank him, but a curious look is growing on his face.
I’m not sure I’m interpreting him correctly. If he were any other man, I’d think he was distinctly interested in me.
The tiniest of smiles appears before it’s replaced with a level of scrutiny that is borderline rude.
I’m about to tell him I changed my mind when he seems to realize I’m uncomfortable and backs away so he can take a seat on the floor.
I pull one of the lounging chairs out and open the bag so I can hand him his lunch and a beer.
He accepts it without a word, just a slow nod that doesn’t invite any conversation.
Since the alternative is sitting on my own in the kitchen, I take a seat and recline as I eat my own sandwich.
The rain is still falling and seems to be getting heavier as we eat in silence. I don’t look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me as I reach down for my laptop and pull it onto my lap.
He doesn’t say anything as I try to pick up where I left off, try
ing to ignore him.
But it’s impossible. And writing is probably the last thing I should be doing. Not when my main characters are about to kiss for the first time.
Highly aware of his attention, I open my email and clear out my spam folder and check on the ads I’m running instead.
When he finally moves away from me and picks up a scrubbing brush, I almost release an audible sigh of relief.
I try to carry on with something productive, but it’s no use switching up to a later scene. I don’t write out of sequence. If I want to make my deadline, I need to write this scene.
I start to tap out a description of how my main character is feeling but my eyes keep straying to Luther.
I watch him toss a hose with a spray attachment down and then climb down the ladder with a broom.
To make it less obvious I’m gawking at him; I tap away barely paying attention to what I’m typing, sending him sly looks as my breathing starts to get a little fast.
All his arm muscles are highlighted as he scrubs the floor, grunting with the exertion.
Heat rushes around my body as I try not to stare. With every measured movement, more lust grows until I’m sure I’m gaping at him.
I flick a glance at the screen and find a series of typos, half sentences and missed punctuation and alarmingly, my bedroom scene has morphed into something entirely different.
His body presses against mine. His kisses fierce and protective as if he’s telling me he’d never hurt me the way Darryl had done.
The rain has soaked through his t-shirt, accenting his defined muscles born from a man who works for a living. A man who would fight for me.
A man who would take me as I am. “Take me, Luther,” I whisper.
His lips are on mine in an instant.
I blink. Shit. Luther? And when did it start raining? Not good. Not good.
I hastily remove Luther’s name and replace it with the right name, eyes darting in his direction.
In the history of bad ideas, this was obviously a monumentally bad one.
Rather than being distracted by what I’m doing, I’m actively including him in my story.
I have never done that before. I don’t base my characters on real people. Although if I met more that looked like Luther, maybe I would.
I clear my throat, ready to say I need to go somewhere else when he looks at me with such heat from the bottom of the pool, my lungs constrict.
His lips twitch into a half-smile before he points to the faucet on the wall. “Can you switch the water on?”
I nod hastily and close my laptop and place it on the floor. My legs are wobbly as I walk across the stone floor.
When he has the hose in his hand, aiming it at the floor, I twist the tap. It doesn’t budge, so I try again, grunting with the effort.
I’m not about to give up, so I put more effort into it, and silently curse as my hand slips.
Rather than risk an injury that will leave me unable to write, I relax my grip and try a gentler approach.
But it still doesn’t budge. “Who tightened this thing,” I mutter.
I hear a growl from behind me and turn to see Luther pulling himself out of the pool.
His frown is growing as I step aside and let him try. With a pointed look at me, he reaches down and twists the faucet easily.
Water gushes from the hose as he straightens and meets my gaze. We’re an inch apart and once again his eyes have strayed to my lips.
He doesn’t shift, and his chest is rising and falling to match mine. “I tightened it. Didn’t expect to have a helper.”
My breath is locked in my chest as he glances at my fingers. His lips turn into a smile I didn’t expect. “Guess you’re more equipped for typing.”
A laugh slips out and I lift my hand to examine my fingers. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just freakishly strong?”
His face lightens as he moves a step closer so we’re a breath apart. I don’t know what I’m thinking or maybe I’m not thinking, but I place my hand on his chest.
Luther flinches, but under the calm veneer, his heart is thrashing about wildly.
He’s not as in control as I thought he was. I swallow, unsure whether to remove my hand when his hand covers mine.
We stare at each other and I half expect him to pull my hand off him, but when I lean closer and place my other hand on his shoulder, his entire body reacts.
His fingers curl over mine. He moves swiftly, drawing me closer, crushing me against the hard muscle of his chest.
He leans in, and I hold my breath as he brushes his lips against mine. I whimper as he kisses me with enough force to let me know he’s been thinking about doing it for a while.
His tongue seeks mine, and I melt into him, shifting my weight and my hand so I can run my fingers through his cropped hair.
My hand slides from under his, and I grab him around the waist as lust surges like wildfire through me.
His kiss growing more insistent, his hands stray to my ass, he lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he pushes me back against the wall.
Skin burning, he keeps kissing me until I can barely breathe, let alone think.
When I’m growing slick with need, I take a gasping breath ready to suggest we move somewhere more comfortable when he pulls back.
He’s flushed, breathing as ragged as mine, but his expression is pained as he places me on my feet.
My head is spinning, desire blazing through me as I unlink my arms from around his neck.
He backs away, shaking his head, cursing under his breath. “I can’t do this,” he mutters.
Without a word of explanation or apology, he stalks away, leaving me equal parts bewildered, and excruciatingly turned on.
LUTHER
Saturday 2.13pm
Self-loathing propels me out of the room, and towards the place, I should have been anyway.
I can still taste her on my lips. And my hard cock is a testament to how close I came to giving in to temptation.
She doesn’t follow me, and I’m torn between disappointment and relief. One more nanosecond of kissing her and I’d have been spreading her legs right there in the pool room.
If she pursues this, or me, it’s going to take more than I have to fight her. I don’t know anything about her. She could do this sort of thing all the time for all I know.
I’m trying to convince myself that’s the case, that it’s not even about me when I open the front door and duck my head against the rain.
I jog across the grass and arrive breathless and soaked through at the boathouse.
Built much later than the castle, and with Jake’s 23-foot boat, dry-docked, I can sleep here and even cook food in the galley if need be.
I should have thought about it earlier. Jake isn’t going to give a shit as long as I clean up after myself.
I might even be able to take a look at the engine. Anything to keep me occupied. I’m trying to figure out how I can avoid Blaire and still do everything I need to but I can’t keep my thoughts straight.
Out of frustration, I pull out my cell and flick out a text to Jake explaining I’ll be bunking in here rather than my usual room.
While I have my phone out, curiosity gets the better of me. I do a quick search for Blaire and find multiple sites featuring her books.
But it’s a newspaper headline that catches my attention.
Best selling romance author to divorce.
I read on, growing more irritated by the tone of derision the reporter has.
While award-winning author Blaire Blake has sold millions of books worldwide, it seems Ms. Blaire has trouble managing her own love life.
I don’t bother to read anymore. I never place much stock in the news these days.
Not since I saw and heard what I have, and knew it’d never make the news back home.
I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket when I see the reply come in from Jake.
I frown at the response.
Ma
ry would rather you didn’t.
What the fuck? What does he think I’m going to do? Take it out for a spin?
I scratch my chin stubble and tap out a reply.
Got it.
Since I have no intention of going back to the castle or to my room until I’m sure I won’t run into her, I decide to see how well the galley is stocked.
But I’m not thinking about food. I’m thinking about finishing what I started. I’m thinking about what it would be like to kiss her. To strip off her clothes and make her scream my name.
I’m perilously close to tempting fate. It would be insanely gratifying. But then what? I sleep with her and then I tell her she needs to get the hell away from me?
I’m a prick. But I’m not about to kick her out of bed. If we even made it to one. The way she kissed me back, I don’t think she would have protested if I’d taken her right there and then.
And she’s not with anyone. At least I don’t have that on my already cluttered conscience.
I leave the gallery and climb the stairs so I can check out the bedroom.
The boat rocks a little as I walk around the deck. The rain is still coming down in sheets as I jump down and take a look around the boathouse to see the refurbishments Jake has been working on.
He and Mary have sunk their savings and borrowed against everything to try and turn a profit on this place.
Since he’s doing me a solid by giving me something to keep my hands busy, I check the cracks I noticed in the wall aren’t getting worse, a sure sign this is also sinking.
There’s notable movement in the walls and doors, but less than the cellar, which makes sense given the age of the castle versus the additions.
I spend a few hours working, tinkering with things, doing busy work just to keep from thinking about Blaire.
When it’s dark, I switch the lights on and stretch out my aching back as I check the time.
Four hours have passed since I kissed her in the pool room. I need to start filling the pool again or it won’t be ready in time.
But that job and every other one I’m supposed to be doing will have to wait until it’s late enough that I know she’ll have eaten and gone to bed.
I’m not strong enough to stay away. Not after that kiss. One look, one word and I won’t be able to hold back any longer.
