Kaine: A Men Of Gotham Novel (The Men Of Gotham Book 1)

by Daisy Allen

  Suddenly, I’m not hungry any more. It feels weird to feel so intimate with him, sitting here, making myself at home in his home and yet not knowing a thing about him.

  I glance around the living room. It tells me nothing, except that he has money. More money than I can imagine, times ten probably, to even be able to afford a place like this. Money. And nothing on display that could tell me anything else about him.

  Well, other than he cooks.

  I push myself off the couch and carry my plate back to the kitchen. Scowling a little at the unused, set-up dining room table, I grab the plastic wrap from the cupboards I’m now familiar with and put my plate in the fridge.

  He has to come home at some point, surely. I think. I busy myself with making up a plate for him and leave it on the kitchen island.

  Least I can do for you, mystery man, I say to the empty rooms as I walk through them, turning off the lights and settling down on the couch to wait for him.

  ***

  I’m hot. I don’t usually wake up hot. I usually wake up cool. With the sheets kicked off and the fan blaring over my sweaty skin. But right now, I’m hot.

  I drag my eyelid open, and it takes a while for me to register where I am.

  The blinds are pulled shut over the ceiling-to-floor window and I’m still scrunched up on the couch.

  At mystery man’s apartment.

  And there’s a blanket over me.

  Wait.

  What?

  I search over my last thought.

  There’s a blanket over me.

  “Ahhh!” I jump up, standing on the couch, throwing the blanket from my body as if it’s a sheet over poison ivy. “Woah.” I exhale, pointing at the blanket to command it to stay in its crumpled-up place on the floor.

  I did not fall asleep last night with a blanket.

  And yet, there’s a blanket, right there. I point at it again, to confirm with myself I’m not going crazy. “What the flying hell happened?”

  At some point last night, someone came and draped a blanket over me while I was sleeping. For a split second, I feel a melting feeling, oh how sweet of them, to be so thoughtful. And then it freezes. Not sweet. Creepy.

  Um, creepy? You’re the one squatting at a stranger’s house, I remind myself.

  “Shut up! I’m trying to think.” I yell.

  I climb down from the couch and look around the apartment. Everything else looks the same, unmoved. Not that there is that much to move. I run to the fridge and throw open the door. The plate of food is still there, unwrapped, uneaten. None of the other food that was in there is touched.

  There’s nothing else in the apartment that shows any indication of change.

  Just me. Just the blanket.

  That he must’ve draped over me in my sleep to keep me warm.

  It would be sweet, if I wasn’t an oven when I sleep.

  No.

  It still is sweet.

  Dammit.

  I find my phone still lying on the coffee table and press “2” on the speed dial.

  “Harold? It’s Jade. I’m okay, just letting you know I’m not coming into work today. I’ll explain later, there’s just someone I’ve got to see.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  HIM

  The water’s hot against my back, but it’s doing nothing to ease the ache between my shoulder blades.

  But I’m barely noticing it.

  My cock is hard and it’s slippery in my hands.

  I can’t stop thinking of her. The way she was lying there, sleeping. Her hair like a chocolate waterfall, falling over her shoulder, over her face, her lips slightly parted, her t-shirt drifting up under her breasts exposing an expanse of smooth, soft white skin of her stomach.

  God. My hand grips my cock harder as I remember standing there, watching her chest rise and fall with her breath.

  Her breasts, her goddamn round, full, luscious breasts, brushing against my leg as I pulled the blanket over her. To keep her warm as much as hide her body from my eyes, tempting me, making my body tense with need, with lust, with a craving to release. On her.

  And that goddamn fucking mouth. Red, moist lips, inviting me with every breath, every sigh.

  I haven’t been able to stop imagining that mouth wrapped around my cock, milking me for everything I have.

  Oh, God, my cock twitches at the thought of her kneeling in front of me in this shower right now, my hands in her hair, pushing her mouth onto me.

  The come rises, and I’m already ready to climax.

  “Fuck, Jade. Take my cock.” I grunt, and I feel my cock jerk as I lean against the shower wall while I feel my balls empty, shooting hard and long.

  It’s been so long, days filled with pent-up frustration because of the strange woman in my apartment.

  Who I just can’t stop fantasizing about fucking.

  Running my fingertips over my softening cock head, washing it clean, I growl with the feeling of restlessness. Instead of feeling satisfied, I just feel robbed. I didn’t want to come in the fucking gym shower at work. I wanted to come in her mouth.

  I turn off the water and walk out naked to my change room, catching my frown in the fogged-up mirror.

  When I am going to get her out of my system?

  ***

  As she is every morning, Jemima’s waiting for me to clear her to come upstairs when I get to my office.

  “Morning, Mr. Ashley,” she says, stepping off the elevator, seeing me standing at her desk.

  “Jem,” I answer, rubbing my hair dry with my gym towel, looking through the mail I’d asked the mail room to bring straight up to my office.

  “What are those?” she asks, pointing to the mail stack while eyeing the towel, a question flashing over her face.

  “Mail. I asked the mail room to bring them up.”

  “But they’re not sorted yet,” she tells me, settling down in her chair, turning her computer on.

  “I can see that.”

  “Then, why are you wast-..,”

  “I can damn well look at the mail sent to my goddamn office in my own goddamn building if I want to, Ms. Taylor, if that’s alright with you! Now if you’re done interrogating me, why don’t you do your job and get Xavier here. Now.”

  She stares at me for a moment, then turns away, her neck already burning red.

  Ah, shit.

  “Sorry. I just... I, I haven’t been sleeping.”

  “It’s perfectly alright.” I can tell be the way she’s blinking really fast that it’s not.

  “I just thought I would have a look, see if there’s anything abnormal that might tell me who this ‘J’ person is.”

  “Of course,” she clears her throat. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  I’m being sent away. Probably so she can cry or curse me. Either way, I figure she has a right to do it.

  “Er, no. Just, um, please get Xavier on the phone ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir. The last time she called me that, I’d just thrown a vase against the window and she’d walked in just as it had smashed all over the floor. It’s not behavior I want her to be reminded of

  I go into my office and close the glass door behind me.

  The phone rings and I answer it on speaker.

  “Mr. Kent for you,” my secretary tells me, hesitantly.

  “Um, thank you, Jemima.”

  “Yo.” Xavier answers, horns blaring in the background.

  “You on the way to my apartment?”

  “No. Why?”

  “To do your job! Get rid of the girl!”

  “That’s not my job, that sounds like something my client does and then I have to bail them out of jail for doing.”

  “Just get rid of her Xavier, I can’t have her walking around... just... sleeping on my couch looking all...”

  “What? Looking all what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Aw, man. No. You are so fucked. What has she done to you?”

  �
�Do it! Or you’re fired.”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s Tuesday, what else is new.”

  He hangs up on me before I can do it myself. That’s twice now. She’s disrupting the whole harmony of my life.

  I switch on my computer, hesitating for a moment before clicking on the security camera feed from my apartment.

  I tune in just as a figure jumps up onto the couch and throws a blanket on the floor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  HER

  The water’s hot on my back, but it does nothing to ease the ache in my temples.

  I hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but my stitches are pulling, not feeling quite right, and the ache in my head throbbed all night. Lying in one position on the couch didn’t really help the situation either.

  But the water pressure from the three spouts in the shower, overhead and around the midsection, bombard my naked body with a luxurious therapy that I’m reluctant to end.

  Half an hour later my fingers resemble dehydrated fruit. I turn the water off and wrap myself in one of the giant, fluffy towels on the heated rack.

  I’d stumbled over a linen closet on the far wall of the gargantuan bathroom and found a bathrobe in there, too. Since I’d spent the last day and a half in the same clothes, I had no intention of adorning my newly massaged clean body with them.

  Wrapping my hair in the towel turban-like on top of my head, I wander around the apartment bedroom, looking for something to wear.

  It takes a moment for me to realize I’m in a bedroom when I get to his.

  The bed is the only clue; otherwise, it resembles no bedroom I’ve ever seen.

  There is nothing in the room but a cement floor, a king-sized bed, a giant white woollen rug and the view of Central Park.

  “Woww...” I exhale as I run my toes through the carpet and wander over to the bed. It looks like it came out of a designer catalogue for billionaires. The quilt cover is soft, like butter under my palm. In a moment of utter lunacy, I step back from the bed and take a leap onto it, landing on my back, bang in the middle of the mattress. It barely moves. It just moulds around my body, easing every niggling ache and pain.

  “Holy hell.” Why would anyone ever leave this thing? I lie star-fished on the bed, reaching for the corners, to no avail. There’s no end to the mattress.

  There’s a flash of K laying on the bed, naked. And my face blares hot.

  I quickly slide to the edge and climb off.

  “How do you know he even sleep naked, silly girl,” I admonish myself.

  I shake my head to get rid of the images and spot an opening in the wall behind the bed. There’s a sliding door and I push it to the side. A light comes on as I step through the space, and illuminates a huge clothes closet. If there was anything that was going to entice me to become a man, this closet would do it. Everything is organized and hung in perfect formation. I run my fingers along the lines of suits and crisp shirts. Everything feels like decadence. There’s a bench in the middle of the closet and I sit down, staring at the lines of shoes and ties.

  He might have a fashion-conscious man’s wet dream closet, but it seems he and I do not wear the same type of clothing. I get up and open some drawers until I find one full of long sweater hoodies. Ah yes, the famous hoodies. I take one back to the living room with me. Pushing the little button by the kitchen wall, I watch as the blinds come to life and pull away from each other, opening to a dramatic view of New York City. I drop the bathrobe from my body and pull the hoodie over my head. It’s long enough to hide that I’m not wearing underwear, which will have to do, because I draw the line at wearing a strange man’s undies, Prada or not.

  My stomach rumbles and I realize it’s been almost a whole day since my last meal. I growl a bit, remembering that the meal I had cooked last night has gone uneaten, but it’s too early for me to gnaw on a pork chop. I pad barefoot to the kitchen and find a bowl and head to the fridge. There’s fruit and yoghurt and orange juice.

  He might not give any indication of anything about him, but at least I know he likes to eat and eat well. And that’s enough for me right now.

  I fill up my bowl and balance it on one hand as I return to my perch on the couch.

  Munching on a berry, I dial, then balance my cell phone on my left ear and shoulder. It’s early still and Harriet’s phone is off, so I leave her a voicemail telling her where I am and ask her to bring me some work from the office.

  “They won’t let me up,” She tells me over the phone two hours later.

  “Can’t they just ding you up, I told you what number apartment I’m in?”

  “No, ‘there will be no dinging without Mr. Ashley’s okay,’ they said.”

  “Ooh, his last name is Ashley?”

  “Focus”

  “Okay, well... I don’t know what to do.”

  “Can’t you come down and get the stuff?”

  “I’m not wearing pants. Or underwear.

  There’s the silence again.

  “Fine, just give me a minute.”

  I wander over to the kitchen bench where Xavier left his card and number. I pick up the house phone and dial.

  “Kaine?” Xavier answers on the first ring.

  Kaine... starts with a K.

  “No, it’s Jade, the squatter.”

  “Yes, Ms. Sinclair, what can I do for you?”

  “I need you to get my friend ding’d up so she can come up to the apartment.”

  “No. Anything else?”

  “Xavier. I need her to bring me some work while I wait for your anti-social stubborn boss to come home so I can say thank you to him. The work will keep me busy so I stop trashing his apartment and going through all his personal belongings. You’d think he’d want that, wouldn’t you?”

  There’s silence on the line and then a sigh. “You know... you’re exactly like him. Call him yourself, his number is...”

  “Whoa, whoa! Wait!”

  I grab a pen from my bag and prepare to jot down the number on my arm.

  “Thank you, Xavier. I owe you.”

  “You WILL owe me, when I get fired.”

  I hang up the phone and dial the number.

  It’s not until it starts ringing that I notice the knot in my stomach at the prospect of talking to him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HIM

  I’ve gotten no work done. None.

  There are messages on my desk and emails dinging on my phone every few minutes.

  But all I can do is watch the figure on the screen.

  In my hoodie.

  And no underwear.

  Even now, sitting here with two of my department heads updating me on the week’s progress, I’m hearing none of the words that are coming out of their mouth. My eyes are fixed to the screen.

  She’s talking on the phone right now, and it’s taking everything that I am to not kick them out of my office, so I can turn up the volume and listen to her voice.

  “So, we’d love your input on that, Mr. Ashley.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Mr. Ashley?”

  “What?” I snap, looking up from the screen just in time to see them passing a look between them. Great. More people to add to the list of people I’ve yelled at for no reason today.

  “Sorry. I was distracted, what did you say?”

  “Er, just that, um, we really need to start hitting hard on the campaign for the launch of FireFree.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m just waiting for the numbers back from the marketing department, hopefully get them this afternoon.”

  “Okay, great. Anything else you need from us?”

  Oh, they’re leaving. Good.

  “No. Thanks. See you later.” I get up onto my feet, waiting for them to leave before pressing on the button to close my office door.

  They’re barely on the elevator before I reach over and turn up the volume on my computer.

  “Thank you, Xavier. I owe you.” I catch her saying.

  Xavier? Maybe he’s convinced her
to leave after all. The thought leaves me relieved and terrified both at once. She hangs up the phone and then dials another number. Who is she calling now?

  There’s a small ring of the phone on Jemima’s desk. She answers it after the first ring as she knows I prefer.

  Just then, Jade on screen starts to speak.

  “Yes, this is Jade Sinclair, can you please put me through to Mr. Kaine Ashley. It’s urgent.”

  Shit. How did she get my name? And my direct number?! Fucking Xavier. I look over and I see Jemima shake her head, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

  Then through my computer, I hear Jade again, “Well, please tell Mr. Ashley that I have every intention of doing the same thing over the phone as I am to his apartment.”

  Push her back, Jemima, don’t let her through.

  I watch my secretary from my desk through the clear glass and see her stand up, running her hands nervously over her dress. Damn.

  She walks to the door and I let her in.

  “Um, there’s a, um, a Miss Sinclair on the phone for you, and it sounds urgent.”

  Stalking Jade through my own apartment security cameras is one thing, speaking to her is another. But after a morning of watching her, the need for more interaction is undeniable. I want more. Need more.

  “Put her through, Jemima.”

  My secretary falters for a moment but knows better to ask questions. She closes the office door behind her and I brace myself.

  The phone on my desk rings and I answer it with a push of a button.

  “Hello?” She’s in stereo now, I reach over and mute the sound on my computer, but don’t take my eyes off it.

  “Hello?” she says again. I watch as she sinks onto the couch and twirls a finger through her thick curly hair.

  “Yes?” I say.

  “Ah, he speaks,” she says, and I feel a flush at her taunting me. “Can you please tell the doormen to let me friend Harriet up to your apartment, please. She’s bringing me some work.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t like people in my apartment,” I tell her, which is true. Except for you, I want you there.