by Maisey Yates
And in a moment, the darkness was gone, and he was back to looking pissed off and hungover.
“Anyway, I think it’s covered. If his natural arrogance fails, it will be easy to come up with a story. I could say you were working for me, but then if you were discovered to be living with me, in the public eye, I really might tar myself with the same brush. Better to just have it called what it looks like.”
“I’m not, though,” she said. “Sleeping with you.”
“No.”
“And I won’t,” she said, as much for herself as for him.
“The horse sort of left the barn already.”
“What are you, a cowboy lawyer?”
“Hardly.”
“Yes. Okay. Granted, that horse left the barn. But it’s restabled and it’s locked back up. With an electrified fence. And it’s not getting back out.”
“Would it be so bad if it did?”
There was no cool disinterest in his eyes now. It was all heat. All desire. And she wanted to reach out and touch the flame.
She curled her hands into fists.
“So bad,” she said, clenching her teeth together. “So wrong.”
“See, I happen to know you like bad, so I’m not sure if this is an invitation or not.”
“Are you still into it? After knowing that your father was having sex with my sister, using her, are you honestly still okay with...us?”
He drew back as though she’d slapped him, the fire burning to ash in his eyes. He shook his head slowly. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. Because you do seem like you might be a decent guy. And like you did fall far from the tree.”
“Do I?” he asked, his voice raw.
“Yeah. You’re not as charming as your father. He oozes it. But it’s like oil you can’t wash off after. After talking to him...I feel like I’m covered in a film I can’t shake.”
“But you know how he is.”
“Yes. I do. But you aren’t the same. Just...trust me. You aren’t.”
“You have a lot of confidence in a strange man you hardly know. Since we’re going with the ‘I’m a stranger’ story.”
“Sometimes when everyone around you that you know is a horror show, you have to take a chance on the stranger, right? And gut instinct.”
“I hope yours is right.”
She blinked. “Are you telling me you don’t trust yourself?”
“I think, all things considered, trusting myself would be the most dangerous thing I could do.”
A shiver went down her spine. She didn’t doubt his words. But, for some reason, right or wrong, they felt like they were part of the same game they’d started the night they’d first met.
And she had to stop thinking that way.
“All right. Noted. No trusting you. I’ll keep a shiv on my person at all times.”
“And I’ll keep my distance.”
“So what am I supposed to do while I’m here in your penthouse, playing mistress of the manor?”
He arched a brow and looked her over, his gaze hot, assessing. “You could bake me a pie.”
“Probably not.”
“Vacuum in high heels and pearls?”
That should not turn her on. It should make her want to punch him in the throat. Instead, she pictured him coming up behind her and...
Well, never mind.
“This is the part where you get shanked, my friend.”
“I’m just offering up helpful suggestions.”
“Well, you can put a cap on that anytime.”
“You asked.”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Do I have house rules...or...?”
“Whatever you like,” he said, standing and wincing as a shaft of light crossed his face. “I do have to go to work. If only for a few hours.”
“Great. Well...I’ll hold down the fort. But I won’t vacuum your fort. Or bake pies in it. So you can just let go of that fantasy right now.”
“Katy, for the time being, this is your home, too. I don’t expect you to adhere to any rules.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Where did controlling Austin go?”
He took his suit jacket off of the back of the chair and slipped it on. “He only comes out at night.”
The rough edge to his voice, and the promise laced in those words, sent a little spike of longing through her that came to rest at her core. Which was so stupid because she was supposed to be shaking off the attraction. He was supposed to be helping her shake off the attraction because he was supposed to shake it off, too.
“Well, then I will limit my interaction with you to daylight hours.”
“Probably for the best.” He looked her over, quickly, but she felt it burn over every part of her. “Yes. Probably for the best.”
Chapter Six
It had been a miserable day at work. Because every case he’d reviewed, every potential client he’d spoken to, had made him think of Sarah.
Had made him think of Jason.
Every woman with a bruise and sad eyes. Every woman with stubborn pride who sat there, rigid, hating to admit the things that had been done to her, as though they were her failings in some way.
Even the print screamed at him. Documents that detailed abusive relationships, sleazy bosses. Hell, the standard divorce cases were calling up dark emotions. But he was in a pretty dark place, really.
Austin took his tie off and started up the stairs, the faint sound of a thumping bass the first indicator he had that something was weird.
He frowned and slipped his jacket off, draping it over his arm as he started to work on the buttons on his cuffs.
The music was coming from down the hall.
He passed by Katy’s door, which was closed. The music wasn’t coming from there. His frown deepened as he went toward his own bedroom, and the music got louder, mingling with the sound of running water.
What the hell.
He pushed the door open and was greeted by a rush of humid air and more discernible pop music. He was pretty sure the lyrics were talking about taking a ride on a man’s disco stick, and all things considered, it was about the last thing he wanted to hear.
There was no door on the bathroom, only an entry area, then the sinks, and in the back and around the corner, the toilet and the shower.
He walked through the room, which looked undisturbed, his bed still made, everything in its place.
Yes, the song was definitely a thinly veiled euphemism.
He gritted his teeth and walked into the bathroom. There was makeup all over the countertop. Makeup and some sort of heat-related device for a woman’s hair. He didn’t know what it was called because he’d never lived with a woman he wasn’t related to, and he’d never had the desire to ask what sorts of things they did to get ready.
There was wax, too. A big pot of it with a Popsicle stick sticking out of the top of it.
She might as well have taken a stamp that said woman and put it all over the room.
He rounded the corner to the shower area and saw a pair of pink panties hanging from the towel rack, along with a polka-dot bra and, beyond that, the shower, which was still running.
The shower, like the rest of the bathroom, was open, with the main part of it concealed by tiled walls.
He was about to say something. Let her know he was there, something. Then he saw her round the corner and her eyes went wide when she saw him. She jumped and slipped.
He reached out as quickly as he could and caught her by the waist, her body bowed backward, her stomach flush against his pelvis. She was wet from the shower, completely naked and breathing hard.
The only sounds in the room were the running water and the music now.
“Yo
u okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, wiggling a little bit now. “You can let go of me now.”
He did, stepping back and searching for a towel. When he looked back at the shower, she was gone, disappeared around the corner again. “I have your towel,” he said. “Putting it on the hook right here and I’m turning around.”
“You could leave the room.”
“Fine. I’ll do that,” he growled, walking back into the bedroom and trying not to think about the wet spots on his shirt, which represented the places her body had made contact with him.
Her naked body.
He fought the surge of heat that shot through him.
He had no right to be lusting after her like this. Not now. Not when he’d walked in on her like that without an announcement.
Of course, she’d been the one in his shower. His shower, when there was one right near her bedroom that she could have used. And all her girlie crap was spread out all over his counter. As though she had every right to come in and take over his space, her things landing everywhere like a cloud of frilly locusts.
That was her fault.
She appeared a moment later, looking freshly scrubbed and wary, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved pink top, her hair wet and hanging loose.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you knocking is polite?”
“You were in my shower, baby. I didn’t expect to find you there.”
“The music and running water weren’t a clue?”
“They were a trail of bread crumbs I felt obliged to follow. I honestly didn’t expect to find you naked and dripping wet in my shower when you have your own.”
“Well, you told me to make myself at home.”
“So you decided that meant going into my bedroom?”
He’d never had a woman in his personal space before. Ever. He’d had girlfriends, yes. But he spent the night at their places typically. Or he took them out and they spent the night in hotels. He wasn’t a hugger. He didn’t talk about his feelings. He didn’t let women leave their trappings all over his room.
There was room for one toothbrush in his bathroom, and that was his.
“Well, yeah. You railroaded me into moving in with you. You’re a Treffen, therefore my trust in you is...eh. And so I decided to snoop around in your stuff. Then I saw your shower.”
“You went through my things.”
“Yes. And I’m not going to apologize. Anyway, no whips, chains or invoices for sexual favors. On that score you check out.”
“Disappointed?”
“About?”
He crossed his arms. “The lack of whips and chains. You like that sort of thing.”
She arched a brow. “You got your rocks off that night, too, so don’t go putting it on me.”
“You were out of line going through my things.”
“Are you really all up on my butt for being intrusive?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you really getting on my case for being intrusive?” she repeated, her hands on her hips. “Because the last I checked, you got me fired from my job. You effectively got me evicted from my apartment. You forced me to move here by default and then you said make yourself at home. And so I have. And now you’re mad at me? You’ve interfered in every corner of my life and you’re pissed because I used your shower?”
“And left your girl crap all over everything.”
“My girl crap? What are you, fourteen?”
“No, but I don’t share my space.”
“Yeah, well, news flash, Austin. I haven’t done anything but share space my entire life. I’ve had to make sure my schedule was conducive to taking care of my younger brother. I had to make sure my emotions never made a blip on the radar, because I had to keep things smooth and stable for Trey. Then I moved to New York and moved in with a roommate who had her name on the lease and who I had to tread softly with so that I wouldn’t find myself out on my ass. Then guess what? Because of you I did find myself out on my ass. And now? Now I’m sick of treading lightly. You said make myself at home, I’m going to make myself at home. I’m not here because I want to be, buddy. I’m here because you stuck your all-powerful Treffen hand in my life and screwed with things.”
“So that means my punishment is...leg wax on my bathroom counter and music that... Was it talking about...?”
“Yes,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “Yes, it was. I like that song. Sorry if it bothered you. Or maybe I’m not sorry if it bothered you. Grow up.”
“Did you just tell me to grow up?”
“Yeah. I did. Like you can’t handle song lyrics about sex. Again I ask—are you fourteen?”
“It didn’t bother me.”
“Well, then why are you complaining?”
“You have a bathroom. You could use that one.”
She arched a brow. “It doesn’t have three showerheads in the shower.”
“So? You don’t need three showerheads,” he said.
“Says the man who has three showerheads,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Personally, I value the ability to cleanse myself with the ‘rainforest mist’ setting on. It makes this whole ordeal feel less traumatic.”
“I think you’re milking it,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Yes. I do.”
“I don’t know if you know my pain and suffering. I was fired and thrown out of my house on the same day.”
“All right. If you want to use my bathroom, that’s up to you, but I’m not knocking on my own bedroom door and I will use my bathroom when I feel like it. If you’re so married to the showerheads, that’s your business, but you may end up with a guest.”
Her eyes widened. “I thought I told you I wasn’t sleeping with you.”
“And I thought I told you not to trust me.” The air thickened between them, her lips parting, her eyes darkening. “And you definitely shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re considering letting the horse out of the barn again.”
She blinked. “I’m not. I just wanted your shower, not your body. Calm the hell down.”
“Have you eaten?” he asked, deciding it was best to change the subject. And to take the conversation into neutral territory. And to move them to neutral territory. Territory that didn’t have a bed with a very useful-looking headboard...
“No,” she said. “I was going to order something.”
“Anything in particular?”
“I was sort of craving Thai.”
“I’m very good at ordering takeout,” he said. “Cooking, not so much.”
“I can cook,” she said, following his lead and leaving the bedroom, heading down the hall a couple of paces behind him. “Really gourmet stuff. Ramen noodles, with some vegetables for added nutrition. Mac and cheese. In the blue box. I don’t screw around. Also, Beanie Weenies. A can of pork ’n’ beans and some cut-up hot dogs. My skills cannot be beat.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had any of that.”
“Not even in college?”
He tossed a look over his shoulder. “No. I had a meal plan.”
“Oh, yes, of course. How could I forget? You’re all steeped in privilege. Which I guess I should remember since I just used your shower. Three showerheads.” She held up a matching number of fingers. “Three.”
He shrugged. “Yes. Yes, I’m privileged. Lucky, lucky me. My dad is a pimp.” He headed down the stairs and he could hear her behind him.
“There are different kinds of privilege. I mean, sure, that’s a sucky reality you have to face. But I grew up in terrible circumstances and I didn’t get to eat good food. So yo
u know...”
“Yes. Life was easy for me then. I won’t lie to you and pretend I had any great struggle. But looking back and realizing just how little I saw outside of my bubble? That’s hard. I’m not stupid. More than that, in my line of work, I’m trained to read people. I have to know how to read between the lines, how to reinterpret what they’re saying. I have to know how to manipulate. But even with that, my world was so insulated, so damned perfect, that I just couldn’t imagine the kind of thing my father was doing. I couldn’t have imagined Sarah’s pain. I’ve seen more since then. I know more about human nature. About how truly horrible life can be. I look back... I hate that idiot that couldn’t see past the glitter all around him. Who thought bad things happened to other people. To other classes of people.”
“And since then you’ve learned...?”
“Life is shit for everyone. It’s just that for some people it’s shit with three showerheads. Pad Thai sound good to you?”
“Pad See Ew.”
“I’ll get both. Chicken or tofu?”
“How about one of each. I’m living it up today and you, I assume, are buying.”
“Sure. Why not. You can be on the Austin Treffen meal plan while you’re here,” he said, his tone dry.
Katy watched Austin make his way over to the kitchen area. He pulled a menu out of the top drawer and picked up his cell phone.
She still felt shaky from their encounter upstairs. The way his arms had locked tight around her. The way it had felt to be up against him like that. He was all strength and heat. Strength and muscles and heat. And muscles. Oh...the muscles.
“Oh, my gosh,” she said, her tone overdramatic. “Now I feel steeped in privilege.”
“You are,” he said. “Look around you. Hello?”
He started to give the order and she just watched him. Watched the way his hand held the phone, watched the way he stood, one hand in his pocket, his watch visible. There was something about the way a watch looked on him.
There was something about him.
Maybe it was just because he was her first lover. Her only lover.
