Never. “Not really.” He opened the door across the hall and showed her The Joker suite. Bright teal drapes contrasted the damask mauve wallpaper. The bedding and shams were done in green and orange to match the Joker’s vest and ascot.
“How do you pick your colors? They’re so vibrant.”
His neck heated. She probably thought his taste was abysmal. “I, uh, base them on characters from comics.”
“Like Garfield?”
“Not quite.” He shut the door, wanting this painful experience over. “The last guest room’s at the end of the hall.”
Opening the door to the Poison Ivy suite, he hoped she chose this one. It was more feminine than the rest, and he found it easy to imagine her lying on the emerald duvet embroidered with tiny silk vines. The walls were deep ruby, providing an almost sensual atmosphere.
“Oh, Elliot… It’s lovely.” She pivoted, a slow smile forming at her lush mouth. “I may pick?”
He swallowed tightly, under her spell once more. “Of course.”
“I choose this one.” She stepped to the bed and collapsed to her back.
His gaze fastened to the flash of soft flesh showing at her thigh where her skirt had risen. His stare zeroed in, lingered, and slowly traveled over her crimson dress, and up her hips, pausing again where her breasts jutted upward. He needed to get out of there.
Dropping her bag to the settee at the foot of the bed, he back stepped to the door. “So you have everything you need? The bathroom’s through that door. There are linens in the closet—”
“Elliot?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he found her resting on one elbow, her body curving with feline grace. His brain short-circuited as his breath seized.
Her smile was all too trusting. “Thank you for letting me come here. I promise I’ll be gone soon.”
“Take as long as you need,” he rasped, betraying every insecurity raging inside of him. “You’re my guest.”
Crossing the threshold before she noticed the mountain of rock hard cock jutting below his belt, he shut the door behind him and blew out a rigid breath. This was definitely not how he expected his evening to end.
He went to his room, and as soon as the door shut he adjusted himself. “Unacceptable,” he muttered, trying to disguise the unrelenting bulge in his pants.
Growing frustrated, he removed his glasses and crimped his brow in a hard grip. “Get a hold of yourself.”
But there was no hope. Every time his eyes shut, glimpses of Nadia stretched across his guestroom bed flashed in his mind. He marched into the master bath. Five minutes later he was only slightly relieved—and hard again.
“Damn it!”
His flesh and blood fantasy was down the hall, and if he didn’t get a grip, he’d be walking around with a hard on until she left. He grit his teeth and marched back to the bathroom for a second demeaning attempt.
This was exactly why women and the feelings they produced were tedious.
After jerking off twice, he was still too wired to go to sleep and too much of a pussy to venture outside of his room. Watching his phone like a teenage boy watches the hot neighbor’s windows, he settled into bed. After hours of stalking the cameras for any movement outside of Nadia’s room—there was none—he managed to fall asleep sometime around three.
The following morning, as he dressed and knotted his tie in a perfect half Windsor, his gaze continuously drifted to his cell, which still had the security app open. He was leaving in a few minutes and feared he wouldn’t see her before he left for work.
Once his shoes were on, he paused at his bedroom door and returned to the desk. Pulling out a sheet of paper, he hesitated...
Nadia,
I hope you slept well. There is cereal in the pantry and eggs in the refrigerator. You may help yourself to whatever you need. Martha is my maid and she will be here between 10:00am and 3:00pm. She knows where everything is kept. My cell number is
“Shit.” He crumpled the note. Letters were so impersonal.
Brushing a frustrated hand over his hair, he moved to the dresser, and smoothed out his part, hesitating as he faced the door once more.
With a huff, he marched down the hall, pausing outside of the Ivy Suite. Their proximity produced a sort of diaphoresis, and he couldn’t remember ever sweating to such a degree outside of gym class.
Raising his hand he tapped lightly and waited.
Muffled shuffling met his ears and light filtered beneath the wood of the door. Stepping back, he braced himself, directing his gaze at the carpet. The door opened and two small feet stepped into view. Her second toe was a smidge longer than the first, but her nails were painted in the sexiest shade of red, the skin on the top of her feet as dusky and striking as all the rest.
“Good morning, Elliot.”
His regard traveled upward over tapered calves, feminine knees, and lush thighs. He’d never seen so much flawless skin and his heart rate accelerated the higher his eyes traveled. He’d yet to run into a stitch of clothing. His breath gusted out of him when he reached the apex of her thighs, covered in tight little black shorts that looked more like men’s underwear than actual attire.
Blinking, he stared a moment too long at the expanse of satin flesh shown at her flat belly. This was what she slept in? Men’s briefs and a tank top?
His face went numb as his attention rose to the peaks of her unconstrained breasts. And there were her nipples. “Um…”
“Are you okay? You look irritated.” She stepped forward and he sucked in a sharp breath as the back of her cool knuckles pressed to his clammy brow. “Your skin’s warm. Are you sick?”
“Yes.” What?
He seemed to have no control over his words at the moment. But she was wearing glasses, wearing the fuck out of them, and he couldn’t fathom how a woman as sexy as Nadia had gotten more attractive overnight.
“You should rest. Let me use the bathroom and I’ll take care of you.”
Her hand pulled away, leaving him dizzy as she turned. His attention fastened on her toned ass stretching the material thin and his dick throbbed. Did she say she was going to take care of him?
“You might have a fever, but I have just the thing.” She gazed over her slender shoulder and smiled, knocking the breath out of him again. Beautiful torture.
“Go on back to bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She was coming to his bed? “Okay.” Another word he had no control over.
He didn’t move.
“Go on. Bed.”
When she disappeared into the guest bath, he looked down the hall, his vision narrowing to pinholes. What are you waiting for?
His brisk steps carried him back to his room where he turned in a confused circle in the same place over and over again like a dog seeking its resting spot. Lowering himself to the edge of the mattress, he pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Think Tank.”
“Jet, it’s Elliot.”
His friend waited as Elliot tried to focus, capable only of the simplest facts. “I won’t be in today.”
“Everything all right?”
He hadn’t taken a day off in … eleven years. “Yes. I’ll call you later.” He ended the call as he heard her soft steps brushing over the carpet.
The door opened and she tsked. “I said, back to bed. You need rest. Under the covers you go, mister.”
Without paying him much attention, she straightened his bed covers and fluffed his pillows. As she folded back the sheet, she looked at him and clucked her tongue. “Do you plan on wearing your suit and shoes to bed?”
She nudged him back and gracefully kneeled at his feet, her big brown eyes flashing as her gaze seemed to physically stroke over him before lowering to his feet. Her small fingers untied the laces as she slipped the shoes off his feet.
His mind jumped to a forgotten place in time, the shoe store his mother used to take him back when shoe salesmen actually measured customers’ feet. There was a fish tank he liked i
n that store. But he liked this better.
As she rose, her elegant motions put him in a trance. Her body moved so gracefully as if gravity didn’t have a hold on her the way it held everyone else. Every motion its own dance. His gaze tripped over her breasts and his chest tightened with desire as his fingers twitched to feel her supple flesh.
The leather soled shoes clopped to the floor, jarring him out of his head. She leaned close and he held his breath as she clutched his tie, loosening the knot and sliding the material free with a practiced pull.
“No need in wrinkling your dress clothes. Where do you keep your lounge pants and t-shirts? I’ll grab some for you.”
He blinked at her, afraid if he moved he might spontaneously combust. “I don’t have lounge pants.” Or t-shirts for that matter. His undershirts were as close to casual as he got, and he never wore them without something on top.
“What about sweatpants?”
He shook his head as she stripped him of his jacket.
“Pajamas?”
He couldn’t tell her he slept nude. Making a mental note to pick up loungewear—whatever that was—he rasped, “These pants are fine.”
“Don’t be silly. They’re dress slacks. They’ll get creases.”
Her hand went to his belt and he sucked in a breath, catching her brazen fingers, and stilling her progress. “What are you doing?”
An inch south and she’d realize what a depraved pig he really was. Her dark eyes widened. Fuck. Did she already know?
Her hair was down, tumbling all the way to her hips and over her shoulders. She still wore those ridiculous boy shorts. Her full lips formed a shy smile. “I’m just helping you.”
He pressed her hands away, panic driving his heart into a frantic hum. “I can undress myself.”
Her arm drew back and she frowned. Did she honestly expect him to disrobe in front of her? This was totally inappropriate. He wedged a pillow over his lap.
“Perhaps you could find some tea?” Anything to get her out of there and away from his constricting pants.
Seeming to understand she’d crossed a line, she nodded and backed to the door. “Okay.” Her dainty fingers rested on the frame, drawing his attention to the slope of her hip. “But you stay in bed. I’ll be back in a few minutes with something. We don’t want you getting the flu.”
The door closed and he stared dumbly at the empty room, as helpless as a child under the decree of a stern mother. This was not at all what he wanted. He didn’t need her to think him some feeble man who couldn’t handle a slight cold.
You’re not even sick!
Disturbed by his pathetic appeal to her good nature, he stood and marched to his dresser, opening a drawer and snapping it shut when he found nothing but well-ordered socks and briefs.
“Why don’t you have normal clothes?” He unlatched his leather belt, coiling it with the others in the top drawer. “Ridiculous. And now she thinks you’re sick. Pathetic.”
He continued to berate himself as he stripped out of his dress shirt and tossed it in the hamper. As he climbed into bed still wearing his slacks and undershirt, he fussed with the pillows, refusing to lie there like an invalid. Now what?
Being that he couldn’t alleviate the pressure in his pants, he did the next best thing and reached for his phone.
Chapter Four
“The art of medicine consists in amusing the patient while nature cures the disease.”
~Voltaire
Nadia rummaged through the well-stocked fridge for produce, glad to see Elliot had everything she needed. She found a chicken in the freezer and sat the carcass in the sink to thaw. Placing the kettle on the stove, she went about organizing her supplies. The enormous counter was covered with hearty vegetables and an array of leafy greens.
A door opened and she frowned. I told him to stay in bed. Men were so stubborn.
She set a heavy cutting board on the counter. “You should be in bed, mister.”
A stout, older woman stepped into the kitchen wearing a startled expression on her crepe thin, wrinkled face. Not Elliot.
“Hello.” Nadia waved nervously.
The woman’s wide eyes scaled Nadia from her shoulders to where the counter cut off her view, just beneath her ribs. Maybe she should have dressed. She wasn’t expecting company.
The woman took a step back, her hands clutching a large pocketbook. “Who are you? Where is Mr. Garnet?”
“I’m Nadia. Mr. Garnet’s… guest. He has a cold.”
“You’re Mr. Garnet’s guest?” The woman frowned. “Are you a relative?”
She asked the question as if Elliot were some sort of recluse and this was the first time he had a woman in his house. A man like Elliot surely had lots of guests, but perhaps he chased his companions out before—whoever this was—arrived.
“I’m Nadia. Just a friend. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh.” Silence blanketed the kitchen. “I’m Martha, his housekeeper.” The teakettle let out a sharp whistle.
Nadia turned and moved it off the burner. When she faced her again the woman’s gaze reverted to the counter. Uncomfortable, she mumbled, “I wasn’t expecting anyone so I didn’t dress. Elliot’s sick, so I wanted to make him tea before anything else.” She gestured to the mess on the counter. “And soup.”
The woman’s frown remained as she nodded slowly. “I’ll go check on Mr. Garnet.” She disappeared, her silent steps leaving Nadia with no clue to her whereabouts in the large house.
“Strange woman.”
Dropping a teabag in a mug, she poured the hot water and stilled as a thought crossed her mind. Placing the kettle back on the burner, she scanned the room, pausing when her gaze landed on a tiny black globe in the corner by the crown molding.
Awareness crept over her, tingling every square inch of exposed skin as she looked into the hidden camera. Was he watching her?
She didn’t know if the cameras were linked to a computer monitor or the televisions, or, in this day and age, she wouldn’t be surprised if he could watch from his phone. She waited for a sense of violation to sink in, but there wasn’t one.
Oddly, the thought of Elliot watching awakened something dark in her, like performing on a private stage for him and him alone. Her hand slowly lifted, her fingers fluttering in a wave as if he might somehow answer the gesture.
She quickly turned back to the counter and caught her breath. No. She shouldn’t think about him like that. He was simply doing her a favor by letting her stay here. Only a fool would mistake his kindness for more. And damn her for falling into the same trap she always did when a man was nice to her. She needed to stop living in a fantasy world and start seeing things the way they actually were.
Look at his home, the way he lived, he probably thought she was class A trash borrowing his guestroom and traipsing around in discount underclothes. No wonder the maid was shocked. She probably looked nothing like the other women he brought home. And he was probably mortified his employee just saw her like this. Nadia would make it clear to the maid they weren’t involved. At least then Elliot would be saved the chore of making excuses for her presence.
What was she thinking accepting his invitation last night? She’d gone from one man’s inconvenience to another’s. The difference was, she liked Elliot and didn’t want him to resent her the way Ian did. She’d see to his soup and then start looking for somewhere else to stay.
Chapter Five
“The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.”
~Half-Life 2
Elliot’s lips parted, as Nadia looked right at him through the security camera. He’d told her the house was under twenty-four-hour surveillance, but maybe she didn’t believe him. Her head quirked and her hand slowly lifted in a shy wave. A breath of laughter caught in his throat. She was so damn cute and she was in his house. He preferred watching her from a distance when she couldn’t see how much she rattled him.
A sharp knock landed on the door an
d he stashed his phone under the covers, like a kid sneaking a glance at a dirty magazine. His throat cleared. “Come in.”
“Mr. Garnet,” Martha called, peeking inside. “That woman said you weren’t feeling well, but I didn’t believe it. Is there anything I can get for you?”
Embarrassed he now had the maid worried about him, he considered coming clean but that would only add to his humiliation. “I’m fine, Martha. Thank you. As a matter of fact, why don’t you take the day off? I’ll probably just get some rest and be back to my usual routine tomorrow.”
The older woman hesitated, her creased eyes rife with confusion. “There’s a woman in your kitchen—”
“Nadia. She’s a friend. She’s staying in the suite at the end of the hall. If you could—before you go—just see if her room needs any attention.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t mind.”
“I’m sure.”
No need to have more witnesses to the spectacle he was making of himself. For God’s sake, he was a decade overdue for a day off. There was no need for sirens or a parade.
“I’ll just take your dry cleaning down.” She disappeared in his closet. “Your friend seems to think you have the appetite of ten men by the amount of food she set out to prepare.”
He’d noticed. It touched him she would go to such lengths, but he assumed it was more about repaying his hospitality than any real concern. “I’ll make sure the mess is cleaned up.”
Martha emerged with an armful of suits, her smile uncertain. “I’ll leave you to resting. Call if you need anything. Once I check her room, I’ll be on my way.”
“Thank you, Martha.”
When she shut the door he let out a breath. Reaching under the covers, he felt for his phone. Sliding his finger over the screen he frowned when he didn’t see Nadia. The door opened without a knock and he threw the phone back under the covers, wincing as he used too much force and it slid clean off the mattress onto the floor.
Nadia stilled, brow arched as she held a tray laden with steaming items. “I brought you breakfast.”
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