His Sword

by Holly Hart

  It’s my turn to fall silent. Of course I haven’t forgotten. I remember everything. After dad went into the hospital, I found myself on the streets. You know what sleeping outside in New York in January is like?

  No?

  I hope you never have to find out. You can’t stop shivering. Every time you breathe in, it’s like an icicle slicing through your heart. When you sweat, it freezes, and your clothes become icy shells. Your fingers get so cold that if you tap them, you don’t feel a thing.

  I don’t recommend it.

  “You remember living in that shelter?” Robbie says.

  I nod.

  Shelter is putting it a bit strong. It wasn’t a homeless shelter, just an abandoned factory down on the outskirts of Brooklyn. God only knows how it was still there, and hadn’t been acquired by some faceless developer. It was boarded up, there were weeds everywhere. It stank in summer and froze in winter.

  But it was home.

  “Of course I do,” I whisper. “How could I forget?”

  I found the old factory one night. It was close to zero, and all I had was a dirty bag I carried on my back. It was two years ago, almost three. I was barely seventeen. I didn’t have any relatives to take me in, and the city forgot about me. I was abandoned.

  I tried shelter after shelter, but they were all full. I was barely more than a kid, but it didn’t help. I didn’t blame the women who turned me away. Those shelters were overflowing, some filled with mothers and their kids. You can’t let a five-year-old sleep on the streets.

  So I walked.

  “That place was home,” Robbie says. “How many of us were there; twenty; thirty?”

  “More,” I say.

  Robbie’s right.

  The factory was salvation. I saw a flicker of candlelight coming through the boarded windows. I lingered on the street: first for a minute, then two, then five.

  I might have waited there all night. I was too scared to go in. Being a female out on the streets is a dangerous business. Everyone’s looking for something from you – and it’s usually no good. There’s no way I was about to walk into an abandoned factory.

  Then I saw Robbie.

  “Remember the parties: the food; the community?” She asks.

  I nod. “Of course I do.”

  She was carrying a bottle of cheap vodka in her hand. She couldn’t have been much older than sixteen, yet her fingers were rosy from the booze. She stumbled through the snow.

  “Hey, you,” she said. “Got a cigarette?”

  I remember turning, numb with cold. This girl in front of me, wearing a mismatched selection of thrift shop furs, she seemed like she’d fallen from some other universe. She was so damn confident.

  “I don’t smoke,” I said. I turned to leave.

  “Nor do I, really,” Robbie said. She flicked her cigarette butt into the snow. “It’s a horrible habit. Fancy a drink?”

  But it’s not the parties I remember. It’s the fact that, for the first time in weeks, I found a group of people who welcomed me in with open arms: a group of people who cared for me; a group of people who loved me.

  “And,” Robbie says – her voice stirring, “Remember how it’s all gone?”

  I do.

  I got back from a day’s casual work. The kind you find hanging around outside shitty temp agencies that cream off half your pay check. The kind where some sleazy manager tells you that if you go into the back room with him, unbuckle his pants, and do you-know-what, he’ll let you come back and work another day.

  Yeah, that happened a lot.

  I got back to the old factory after work – the one I’d called home for months, and there was a fresh fence around it. The construction company was already bringing in bulldozers. They cleared us out, every one of my friends. The only home I knew was gone in weeks, just rubble on the ground.

  “Of course I do,” I say. “How could I forget?”

  “And you remember who did it?”

  “Of course I do,” I repeat. The words clatter out of my mouth, harsh and aggravated. It’s not like the bulldozers turned up with Thorne Enterprises painted on them, or anything. It was only a year or so later we found out who owned the company that bought our home.

  Charlie Thorne.

  My boss.

  “Penny,” she says. “He’s the same kind of prick who refused to pay out on your dad’s health insurance. They are all the same, these rich assholes. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. I feel my resolve begin to stiffen. “I do.”

  “So, what do you say? Way I see it, we’ve got two options: either we stick to the original plan, and con the asshole out of his cash; or you become Mrs. Penny Thorne, and take him for everything he’s worth in the divorce.”

  An evil grin stretches across Robbie’s face. “So which is it: You in?”

  Chapter Four

  Charlie

  What the hell am I doing?

  How am I supposed to explain to Tilly that while she was away in Europe for a week, I installed some nineteen-year-old girl in our guest bedroom? I always promised I’d tell Tilly before I even started dating. How the hell am I going to break this news?

  Shit.

  Do I have to share my bed with this woman?

  The intercom system buzzes once. It tickles my brain, but doesn’t break through the ocean of angst drowning it out. It buzzes again. I finally answer it.

  “Mr. Thorne?”

  It’s the doorman, Frederick. He’s worked high-end buildings around Manhattan for longer than I’ve been alive. Even if he thinks that Penny is a hooker I’ve called while my daughter’s on her hockey trip, he’s far too professional to ever let that show.

  “Fred?”

  “I’ve got a lady here, says she’s here to see you?”

  I dry my hands on my gray suit trousers. “Penny?”

  “That’s right, sir. I apologize – I didn’t know you knew her.”

  “That’s all right, Frederick.” Suddenly, my mouth goes dry; dragging my tongue across my lower lip tastes like kissing the Sahara desert. But I finally get out, “She’s my wife.”

  There’s a pause, but only a second. 220 Central Park houses some of Manhattan’s wealthiest, strangest, most reclusive residents. Frederick Johnson’s seen some shit. This probably doesn’t even make his top ten – and even if it did, there is no way he’d let the owner of the penthouse suite know about it. Still, I make a note to tip him twice this Christmas. The last thing I need is for this… arrangement… to become the talk of New York.

  “Of course, sir: I’ll send her up at once.”

  I walk to the elevator with the heavy footsteps of a condemned man. A hundred worries mount up in my mind. What’s Tilly going to say? How am I going to explain to her that she’s got to pretend that I’ve married Penny? Will Miss Winters from the CPS discover the truth?

  That’s the bit that really worries me.

  I don’t believe for a second that Landon Winchester is going to give up this easily. He wants me to sign the merger agreement, and he won’t stop until I do.

  Maybe I’ll have to do it.

  If it’s what it takes to save my family, then I’ll do it without blinking.

  But I don’t want him to win. I never lose. Winning is part of my DNA.

  The elevator pings once. My heart thuds. The doors slide open.

  I know I shouldn’t think it, but Penny looks like a million dollars. Her dark, russet red hair falls past her shoulders. It shimmers every time she moves her head. She’s petite – barely makes it past my chest, but the things that are rushing through my head right now, they are barely legal. Like her.

  I clear my throat, and run my fingers through my hair. I need to pull myself together.

  “You made it,” I say.

  Penny flinches.

  I didn’t mean to be an asshole, but I know that’s the way it sounded. The truth is, I want to fuck her; I’ve wanted to ever since the second I saw her. I want to throw her o
ver the nearest couch, tug her pants down and enter her. I want to leave my red handprint on her ass. I want to make her mine.

  I want all that – but no way does it mean I trust her. Not as far as I can throw her, and I’m pretty sure that’s a hell of a long way.

  “I did,” she says. “This place is hard to miss.”

  The corners of my lips jerk upwards slightly. For a girl who’s thrown herself in at the deep end, she’s got balls. I’m not sure I’d be cracking jokes in her position.

  “I guess you better come in,” I reply, “before that thing heads back down.”

  Penny takes a couple of hesitant steps towards me. She drags a wheeled suitcase behind her – just an overnight bag, really. It looks like she hasn’t fully committed to moving in with me. It’s either that, or she lives light.

  My eyes narrow as I examine Penny’s face. I can be an asshole, I know I can, but the sight of a pretty girl changes all that. “Is everything okay?”

  She speaks too quickly. “Sure, why do you ask?”

  “You look like you’ve been crying,” I say.

  I regret it the second the words come out of my mouth. I’m no expert, but I don’t think you’re ever supposed to tell a girl something like that. It’s like asking them their weight…

  Penny wipes the back of her hand across her face and brushes past me. “I’m fine,” she lies. We both know it. “I just didn’t have time to put my makeup on.”

  “I guess I should show you around,” I say.

  I turn to follow her, and my jaw drops.

  God, Penny has a killer ass. I want to bounce quarters off it, and a whole lot more than that. They say some girls have got cushion for the pushin’, but Penny’s not like that. She’s so much more.

  Her ass is thick, perfect and tight. I want to drag her toward me and get a handful of it. I wonder what she’d say. We’re married, after all…

  “Listen, Charlie,” she says. She pauses, and I somehow drag my eyes back to her face. “I’m –I’m sorry about all this. I don’t know what made me do what I did. I should have just put the tray down and left, like Miss Casey told me …”

  My stomach rumbles. A short, booming laugh escapes my lips. “Ella’s got you calling her that as well, has she?” I say. I shake my head. “She’s something, eh?”

  Penny doesn’t say anything. I pause, and rake my eyes across her body once again. This time I pretend as though I’m studying her, trying to formulate an answer.

  I am, and I’m not…

  In truth, I just want to drink her gorgeous curves in once again. Every time I close my eyes, the image of Penny riding me, bouncing on my cock as I slam into her, pressing her body against one of the huge windows that overlooks Central Park paints itself on the back of my eyelids.

  I cough, and look away. I feel a warm flush spreading on my cheeks. I wonder if she knows what I’m thinking about. I don’t think I’m hiding my reaction very well.

  “The truth is, Penny,” I say, “I don’t trust you.”

  The honesty slides easily from my lips. It’s never been a problem for me. In this town, too many people lie straight to your face. I don’t play that game. I’m honest, even when people won’t like me for it.

  Penny flinches. Her hair dances, shimmering once more in the light. “Oh,” she says. The word comes out of her mouth almost apologetically. She looks like a deflated balloon. “I get that.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  Now the idea has popped into my mind, I realize it’s all I’ve been thinking about all day. Who is Penny – really – and why is she doing this?

  I’ve always been fiercely protective over Tilly. Hell, I hid her from most of the world – just in case. That was until Landon started sniffing around, hiring detectives and God only knows what else. I thought I’d done the only job a father should: protected my family.

  And now, there’s this. And now, there’s Penny.

  “Doing what?”

  My voice is hard. “You know what.”

  “Mr. Thorne, I –”

  I wince and hold up my hand. “Jesus, you can’t call me that.”

  Penny bites her lip. It’s all kinds of sexy. I want to lose myself in her ocean eyes. I want to swim in them, float in them, on her. “Then what should I call you… boss?”

  Boss.

  The word sends a shiver running up my spine. It’s true. This morning, Penny walked into my office as my newest PA. Now she’s my fake wife. But I’m still the one who signs her paycheck. I’m the one who pays for her apartment. I could fire her right now.

  Or maybe I could do something else.

  Maybe I could order her onto her knees. Maybe I could make her unbuckle my belt with her teeth, and pleasure me.

  I close my eyes. I feel my fingers running through Penny’s shimmering red hair, my nails digging into her scalp. I feel –

  “Mr. Thorne –? I mean, I mean – boss?”

  My eyelids spring open. A short, sharp breath hisses from my lips. I turn away slightly, pinching my nostrils, but mainly it’s cover. I need to readjust my pants.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I got… distracted.”

  Penny licks her lip again. Her red tongue darts out. It’s the same color as her hair. I want to grab her ass and pull her toward me. God, what is this. What’s this girl doing to me? It’s not love, I know that. But right now, it feels every bit as powerful.

  “Apparently,” Penny says. Her voice drips with sarcasm. Okay, she knows.

  “Just call me Charlie,” I say.

  My throat is hoarse. I need a drink. Not lemon and ginger: something that will calm me down. Then again, maybe a drink is the last thing I need. I don’t need my inhibitions to be lowered very much before I’ll push myself onto Penny.

  The funny thing is I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t resist. I see the way her glances catch me when she thinks I’m not looking. I see the heat on her cheeks, the flutter of her chest.

  “Okay, Charlie,” she replies with a shy smile.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” I say. “Come this way.”

  As we walk, I realize that the last couple of minutes haven’t achieved anything. I started by asking her why she was doing this, and I ended up with my cock growing so fast in my pants I thought it might jump out. But that’s not an answer. It’s anything but.

  Penny’s flats tap on the marble floor. “So, you live here?” She asks. She’s lost the sarcasm, and it’s been replaced by pure astonishment. “Alone?”

  I look back. “Here,” I say. “Let me grab that.”

  Penny offers up the tiny suitcase. Our hands brush. An electric shock burns through me, but I look away. I can’t let myself succumb. They say every man makes his fortune with his head, and loses it through his cock. I’m not going to be one of those men.

  I can’t be.

  “With my daughter,” I continue, as if that moment didn’t happen. “But she’s away in Europe, right now.”

  “Must be nice,” Penny says, quickly, without thinking.

  I glance back. “Call me Charlie, Penny – but don’t forget who I am,” I growl. “I’m still your boss, and I expect you to treat me that way. Understood?”

  Shock flashes in Penny’s eyes. I don’t blame her. I don’t know where that came from. Maybe it was what she said about Tilly, but it can’t be that. It was a mild criticism, at best. No – I know the truth. I’m burning up for her.

  I look away. The sun has long past set on New York’s skyline. The city sparkles like diamonds beneath us.

  I clear my throat, and gesture Penny forward.

  “This is you,” I say. She walks past me with an attitude of sulky defiance, sashaying her hips. I don’t blame her. I was an ass. But it’s not going to stop me from locking my eyes on hers…

  In a second, it’s forgotten. Penny gasps as she sees the view from her room. Her hands fall to her sides, and she runs to the window like a kid at Christmas. I bite my lip. In spite of everything, it feels kind of go
od to make her feel this way.

  “This place… is mine?” She says, stumbling over her words.

  I nod. A little smile dances over my lips. I kill it immediately, but the damage is done. This weird love/hate, push/pull relationship that Penny and I are developing isn’t healthy. I just don’t know what to do about it.

  “It’s bigger than my apartment,” she whispers.

  She shakes her head, as if she can’t believe that anyone could possibly live in a place like this. I stand there, watching, and it reminds me of my reaction when I bought this place. Two hundred million dollars, cash, and I spent it like it was nothing.

  Except, standing here, I realize that it’s lost some of the magic. The thought rifles through me. It takes. I grit my teeth. And instead of accepting it like a man, I take my annoyance out on Penny.

  “You never did tell me,” I growl.

  “Tell you what?” She replies, looking back. Her face is a mixture of delights – and distress over what I’m about to say.

  I pause. I hold my breath. I could not say what’s on my mind. I could allow Penny this one moment of happiness.

  But I don’t.

  “Tell me why you’re doing this,” I growl. “Because if you’re here to hurt my daughter, I promise you one thing – I will not sleep, and I will not rest until I see you ruined and behind bars. Do you understand?”

  A hurricane of emotions passes across Penny’s face in just a couple of seconds. I can’t pick them all out. There’s anger, for sure: embarrassment, maybe; but guilt? It’s hard to say. Maybe Penny really is just what she seems – a girl who said a stupid thing at a stupid time.

  A thought strikes me, clenching my gut in a cold, terrifying vice. What if Landon Winchester planted her here? What if her good-girl act is just that: an act? Landon’s a bloodless psychopath. I don’t believe he feels emotions – other than when he crows over his vanquished foes.

  “I understand,” Penny croaks. “I –, I prom –” She cuts herself off. I wonder why she can’t say that word: promise. Does it mean anything? Am I just paranoid?

  I stride forward. The thick cream carpet deadens the sound of my footsteps. Penny’s hair forms a sparkling halo around her face in the dim overhead lighting. New York glows behind her. She’s my angel: my glorious, beautiful, broken angel. Maybe she’s exactly what I deserve.