Slate
By Stella Marie Alden
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
From the author:
Copyright (C) 2018 Stella Marie Alden
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
[email protected]
Chapter 1
Slate
I bolt upright at the warble of my house alarm, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Even before my feet hit the floor, I grab my gun off the bedstand and slide off the safety. A familiar stab from my shoulder reminds me to take it easy. My stitches aren’t yet healed.
The nearby cell phone reads two in the morning and I use its light to rush into the bedroom next door. With the noise off, I switch on the wall of monitors.
Shit. Most of the estate’s cameras are down because the goddamn squirrels chewed through the wires. I never figured on needing my surveillance so soon but it’s pretty clear someone opened my front gate.
Barefoot, I rush past four empty bedrooms, jog the length of the living room and two kitchen islands. From there, I open the Anderson doors, pad onto the deck, and peer down at the source of my interrupted sleep.
Thirty feet back, my guest house is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. It’s either some bold squatter or an incredibly stupid thief. Regardless, I plan to scare the shit out of them. Who the hell has the audacity to break into my fucking estate? It must be some out-of-towner. Most everyone around here knows better.
Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I run down the deck steps and make my way across the cold, wet lawn. Worms squish under my toes, crickets stop chirping and inside, a woman sings lightly. I walk up to the bedroom window and look in.
Ah, shit.
A young woman undresses, sexy as hell. She’s got dark brown shoulder-length hair and pert breasts. She’s thin and her calves are muscular, like a runner. My gaze runs up her legs to the curls of her bush and blood runs south.
Ah, fuck it all to hell. Now I’m a pervert? I give her time to dress in pajamas which consist of tiny shorts and a tank top while I consider my next moves. Not too many years ago, I had a buddy blown to bits by a conniving bitch, almost as beautiful as her.
I keep that in mind as I rush to the front door and push it open. In the small kitchen, I figure it’s time to teach this little trespasser a lesson.
Pulling out my weapon, I shout, “Freeze!”
She slams the bedroom door, a lock clicks, and it takes me two strides to get past the kitchen table.
I bang on the white, painted oak. “Get out here, missy. You have some explaining to do.”
Not only am I pissed some intruder’s in my guesthouse, my shoulder hurts, and my cock’s gone hard. My fucking appendage should know better.
Looking down, it dawns on me I left my room in my birthday suit. I never expected to find a female, a gorgeous one at that. Shit, there’s nothing to do now but grab a throw-pillow and hold it in front of me.
Suddenly, being naked is the least of my problems. The door bursts open and she’s got a weapon. I kick, the gun flies, and my pillow drops. Screaming hysterically, she steps close and pounds her fists on my chest. When one of her blows breaks open my stitches, I’ve fucking had enough.
I grab her wrists, pin them over her head, and press her against the wall. “For crying out loud, stop.”
Her eyes scrunch shut and her heart thumps against my naked chest. Dammit, I didn’t mean to frighten her that badly.
“Look at me.” I step back about a foot as tears leak down her cheek and she bites her lower lip.
“Fuck it all, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you’re doing on my property at two in the morning. I won’t call the police, if that’s what’s upsetting you.”
Her eyes pop open.
Ah hell, they’re dark chocolate with a few flecks of gold, framed by naturally thick lashes and no gooey shit. The tears sticking to them make me feel like a complete ass so I move both her wrists to one hand and wipe away the waterworks with the other.
Her mouth moves, lips thick and red. “P-please don’t hurt me.”
I snort and glance down at my shoulder where blood flows from my open wound. “The only one injured is me. If I let you go, you promise not to fight? We can talk?”
She shakes her head up and down, silky locks on her shoulders. However, her gaze traverses to the open windows, the door, and finally between us where my cock has taken a huge interest.
“Sorry.” I let go of her, grab a sheet, and wrap it around my waist. “I sleep naked and you caught me off guard… Sit. Please.”
“W-what do you want with me?” She eases down onto the edge of her bed, her eyes honing in on the gun by her feet which I pick up and turn around.
It’s a realistic-looking water pistol. “What the hell?”
“Mace.”
I shake my head at the stupidity of such a weapon as she narrows her gaze. “So, you’re the infamous Slate. I’m not impressed.”
“And you are?”
She sniffles and swipes her arm under her wet nose. “Lilac Starbird. I was going to be your live-in dog walker. Edna Weissman gave me your access codes. How else could I have gotten through your ten-foot gates?”
Ah shit. She drops her ‘R’s like someone from Boston making Starbird sound like Stahbahd and I don’t know how, but I’m certain my mother’s gone and done it again. For the last six months, she’s been trying to hook me up with nice ladies from good families. This time, I got to hand it to her, she’s upped her game.
“Who are you, really, lady?” I need her to confess and get the hell off my property.
“What’s your problem? Call Edna. She’ll tell you. I’m your dog walker. Well, I was going to be.”
Damn. It’s true I called Edna but I told her to call me back when she found someone. I wanted to interview him. I certainly didn’t tell her to give away my access codes. I gave her specific instructions. She could use them in case of emergency and the dog needed to be fed.
Whatever. There’s still that damn Boston accent. I fucking know my mother set me up.
Lilac, if that’s her name, stands and opens a drawer in the antique dresser. She grabs her unmentionables and tosses them into the suitcase, open on her bed.
The panties are pretty and lacy, too tiny to do much good. They’re the kind made to entice a man. Of course, my cock takes notice.
“Do you mind?” She stops for a moment and glares at my bulging appendage with hands on her waist. “I’ll be out of your hair in just a few seconds.”
“You can’t go. It’s fucking two in the morning.” When I grab her hand, pure electricity sparks between us and we both stare.
Her lush lips open, big eyes widen, and nostrils flair. Holy shit, I let go fast. This is not the time or the place for that much attraction.
Despite the body language, her dry tone implies
she’s in agreement. “There must be plenty of hotels. I’ll find one.”
“No. You’re staying right here. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” In another lifetime, I would’ve kissed that look right off her face but now I’m older and wiser. Burnt once, I’m not going there. I no longer play with fire.
As if she hears my thoughts, she gives my thick cock under the sheet a quick glance and pointedly returns her gaze to my face.
“Jesus. That’s not my fault. Look at you.” I give her pointy nipples under her tiny silk top a long, heated, once over.
Face now beet-red, she mumbles, “You’re the one who broke in on me. Edna said you’d be gone.”
“Yeah, well, not too many people know I’m laid up and I prefer it that way.”
The sticky liquid dripping from my stitches makes me run into the bathroom and grab a towel. I’m bleeding all over the place.
“Fuck.” A bit light-headed, I sit and press my hand hard to my shoulder.
“Let me see that.” All business-like, she steps between my legs and of course, my cock does the happy dance.
Focus, Slate.
“What are you, a doctor?”
“Soon.” She lifts my towel, pulls off my bandage, and grimaces.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Do you want me to patch you up or bring you to the emergency room?”
I don’t fancy a night in the hospital. Honestly, I could stitch myself up, if I had to, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. What better way to find out what she’s up to?
Chapter 2
Lilac
Good God. What in the world have I got myself into?
I stare at the man’s muscled form, covered in nothing but tats, a sheet, and a bandage. According to the pet-care agency, this Mr. Slate wasn’t supposed to be in residence. I specifically asked the woman who hired me and she assured me he worked in Manhattan and rarely came home.
Why then, does he even own a dog? Selfish bastard. He probably has a Doberman or a German Shepherd as a guard and needs someone to feed the poor thing.
I thought I landed a cushy job for the summer, especially when she told me it came with a place to live. Until about ten minutes ago, I was thrilled. It just goes to show you, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
Shit, shit, shit. The man with thighs on either side of mine is pure testosterone. He’s got dark, bedroom eyes, black lashes and a short beard. It looks so soft, I have to force my palm from caressing it. His lips, turned down at the moment, look like they could curl my toes when pressed to mine. That is, if I was looking for sex, which I definitely am not.
Enough! Jeesh.
Luckily, the doctor within takes over as I peel off his bandages and hiss.
Oh My God. What kind of guy is he?
“You were shot?” Shivers run up and down my spine. “Are you a cop?”
Please say yes. Please say yes.
Of course, he’s going to say yes. What else could he say? ‘No, I got shot robbing a bank?’
“Bodyguard.” He shrugs it off as if he just said he’s an accountant.
Okay. It could be worse. I take out my new doctor’s bag from under the bed and assess the pulled stitches. “You got alcohol or something to clean this with?”
He grunts some kind of affirmation and I wonder why I can’t understand him so I look down. His face is toward the window, otherwise his mouth would be right at my breasts. Realizing how intimate this seems, I step back and my butt bumps the open dresser drawer. It slides in with a loud thunk and I jump.
“And where would I find this alleged alcohol?” Damn, talking with him is like pulling teeth.
He starts to get up but I take his hand and use it to press the towel into his shoulder. “I’ll get it. Just tell me where to go.”
He smirks at my unfortunate choice of words. “In the main house. Go up the deck and down the long hallway. The bathroom is the fourth door on the right.”
Where my palm rests over his knuckles, my skin tingles and a part of me doesn’t want to pull away. His dark eyes widen, his nostrils flair, and his breath hitches.
That can’t be good.
“I’ll be right back.” Best to run, rather than walk but I come to an abrupt stop at the kitchen door when his dog barks wildly from the main house.
“What’s her name?”
“Who?” Dark eyes shoot me a confused look.
“Your dog? Its name?”
“How the hell would I know? I call it Dog.”
What an asshole. Doesn’t even bother to name his pet. I click my tongue and pause, needing just a bit more intel.
“Well does Dog bite?”
“I don’t think so. Didn’t bite me.” A cocky grin spreads over his face.
“That’s not funny, Mr. Slate.”
“Just Slate.”
Oh great. We go by one name, do we? Like Prince? Fine.
“Listen, Slate. I don’t fancy being bit by your dog. I believe we’ll both agree we’ve had enough blood for the evening.”
His face goes earnest on me, with a voice to match. “Hey, I’m not messing with you. This puppy shows up on my doorstep last night and I took him in. He was pretty banged up and it looked like someone took a shot at him. So, I stitched him up. I think you and he will get along fine as long as you drop the attitude. Dogs sense shit like that.”
Maybe I should let him bleed out.
“I’ll be right back,” I smile sweetly and slam the damn door behind me.
Attitude? He hasn’t begun to see attitude. I stomp across the paving-stone path, up the deck stairs, and open the double glass doors. Suddenly, an English Sheepdog places oversized paws on my chest and slobbers all over my face.
“Well, hi there, baby. How ya doin’? You’re such a good doggy.” Laughing, I squat and let the puppy give me a few more licks before trying to follow Slate’s directions.
The kitchen is bigger than the whole guest house with granite countertops, two islands, and enough counter space for a TV celebrity chef. I turn left at a long hall, pass at least six doors and find the bathroom. After searching multiple cabinets, I finally locate alcohol, clean bandages and a tube of antibiotic cream.
Before I go, I have a second thought and stop in what must be Slate’s bedroom. There’s a pair of boxers on the floor and I grab his jeans as well. I really do need this job and any kind of sexual attraction will just screw things up.
However, I’m not blind. I can’t help but note there’s just one pillow and not one girly decoration in the room. The fact he probably lives alone makes the girls between my legs cheer but I am not amused.
“C’mon boy.”
I open the door and the puppy gets away from me. He bolts halfway across the yard, turns and barks. Then, he returns with a bound and presses his head to the back of my knees to urge me on faster.
I have to laugh, despite the completely screwed-up situation. After I make sure Mr. Sexy is not going to die from loss of blood, I’ll pack my things and… I don’t know. I guess I’ll find some park and sleep in my car. It wouldn’t be the first time.
By the time I get to the little cottage, the pup is sitting next to Slate. His tail thumps while Slate gives him plenty of love. In the light, I notice the puppy’s bandaged too.
Like owner, like dog.
“Okay, let’s have a look-see.” I pull away the pillowcase, our hands connect again, and my lady-lips do somersaults. This makes it more difficult to get serious and inspect the bullet wound.
“How long ago did this happen?” I pitch my voice professional and detached.
“A couple weeks.” He opens his legs so I can step between which is the right thing to do but way too intimate given the fact he is sexy as all hell and naked except for the sheet wrapped around his waist.
“Okay. I’ll repair the stitches that broke open but you should see your regular doctor in the morning.” If he can ignore the attraction, so can I. Besides, I feel bad I was the one who c
aused him to bleed.
He grunts something which could be agreement or dissent.
“This is going to sting.” When the denatured alcohol sinks in, he hisses and glares.
“Sorry.” While I work, he studies me so hard he either wants to become a doctor or is worried I’m incompetent.
I cut the thread and he nods with a look more suited to a professor than a patient.
“Not bad.” He leans onto his elbows to get a better look, this time at me.
Quickly I step out from between his legs, sweat rolling down my back. The suitcase on my bed reminds me I need to go.
“I, uh. Okay. Mr. Slate. I’m heading out.”
“Where to?” He looks at an old clock on the wall, then checks his wrist. “Now, it’s three in the morning.”
He stands as if that were that and, well, it’s not. “Listen, it’s obvious this job isn’t going to work out. Best if I just go, but thanks.”
For nothing.
“Knock on my door when you wake.” He turns on his heel, grabs my car keys off the kitchen table, and strides out of the house.
The puppy turns his head between outside and inside, apparently confused as to who to follow.
His bark sounds an awful lot like his new master as he runs out the door.
I think about running after my keys but something about Mr. Slate screams danger. I don’t think Edna would’ve sent me to a serial killer but still, who knows? They say it’s the quiet ones you need to worry about.
I chuckle to myself. Well, hell, he wasn’t all too quiet while he was banging on my door. Still, I wouldn’t want to cross him and he’s definitely not a guy to argue with in the middle of the night.
I push the suitcase to the floor and lay down on top of the comforter, tossing and turning, wishing he hadn’t stolen my sheet. At one point in the night, I remember I didn’t lock the door and almost get up.
Seriously? With his alarms?
Knowing he’s watching makes me feel strangely safe.
Sleep does finally come but it’s full of weird dreams and too soon I wake, just before dawn. I glance over at the main house where Mr. Sexy types, his skin lit blue by his computer monitor. Must be he couldn’t sleep, either.
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