The Boss & The Intern: A Single Dad Next Door Romance

by Tia Wylder

  “I'll kill you,” Will snarled, “if you ever so much as lay a hand on her again, I'll murder you in cold blood, like you did my mother.”

  “LIAR!” Blackwood bellowed, “Get out of my house! Before I call a constable!”

  Will sprang to his feet and grabbed Lily's hand. “Come with me,” he said to her, his eyes pleading, “come away from this violent old bastard, Miss Monroe, I love you--”

  “No!” Lily cracked, and began sobbing into her hands, her sobs escalating to wails, for she would have loved nothing more in the world than to run away with Will, but then... then she should never see Rosie again. “I-- I cannot! I must... for her...” Lily uncovered her eyes just in time to see the stricken look of heartbreak steal over Will's face. He sighed and hung his head.

  “Get out of my house!” Lord Blackwood barked again as he regained his feet, staggering toward Will, “I'll kill you myself!”

  “Goodbye, Lily,” Will said sadly, and he left the room with his head hung low, shoulders sagging in defeat.

  “Whore!” Blackwood spat at Lily again, advancing on her nearly-naked form on the bed. She wept openly as he climbed on top of her, uttering oaths and roughing her up. “Now where were we...?”

  Chapter Ten

  Lily rose the next morning in pain. Lord Blackwood had handled her quite roughly, leaving bumps and bruises all over her body, and he took her roughly too so that it hurt between her legs, but worse than any of her bodily hurts was the hurt in her heart. She could not stop thinking of how wounded Will looked last night, and of how desperately she wished she could have joined him!

  Minnie came up eventually to fetch her for breakfast. Once she was cleaned up and dressed, Minnie escorted her downstairs, as Lily was having a hard time moving this morning and benefited from a steadying arm as she descended the stairs and made her way to the dining room.

  There she found Blackwood engaged with Old George. The manservant quickly scurried from the room upon seeing Lily. She sat down silently, staring at her plate.

  “You'll say good morning to your husband,” Blackwood growled. Lily said nothing. He slammed his fist on the table. “Good morning!”

  “Good morning,” Lily whispered.

  “This is not the behavior of a loving wife,” Blackwood mumbled, “you had best find your tongue, girlie, I have sent Old George to arrange for us to be married tomorrow.”

  Lily's voice deserted her. She hung her head and tried to choke back her tears, but one slipped down her face and landed in her porridge.

  “You have no reason to cry!” Blackwood got up from his seat and stormed over to her. He pulled Lily's chair away from the table while she sat in it, then leaned forward with his hands on the arms of the chair. “You disgusting little bitch! You should be grateful I'm willing to marry you, with your soiled loins and ruined reputation!” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Stop crying!” He straightened and stood back, but Lily would not look him in the eye, so he slapped her. She yelped, and put a hand over her stinging cheek.

  “How could you...?” she whispered, “I shall cooperate with you, Lord Blackwood, if you promise to control your temper. I cannot have my daughter subjected to such barbary--”

  “Your daughter! Hah!” Blackwood crossed his arms and sneered. “I have no intention of bringing some bastard little gutter rat to live in my house. My home is for my children--”

  Blackwood's tirade was interrupted as Lily leapt to her feet and ran from the room. Blackwood tried to follow, huffing and swearing, but Lily was young and light on her feet, and Blackwood was fat and many years' tobacco smoke in his lungs, so she made a clean escape.

  It was quite cold and raining as Lily sprinted to the stables. She mounted her horse and set out for the city at a gallop. All she wanted was to see Will, to tell him everything, and she thought she knew exactly where to find him.

  By the time she reached the pub where he had boxed the day before, Lily was soaked through and shivering. Her pale pink gown clung to her, and the voluminous skirts were shrunk, making her look even smaller than usual. She entered the pub to a chorus of jeers and whistles, and she implored the bartender to tell where Will Blackwood was. He said that he had rented a room the night before and hadn't left since, which was unusual for the man.

  Lily raced upstairs and hammered on the locked door. There was no answer. She pounded her little fist on the door again, this time saying, “Will Blackwood I know you're in there! Open up!”

  Moments later, the door opened a crack, and a bleary-eyed Will looked out at her. He frowned. “What?”

  “Let me in, Will, I--... I need to talk to you. I'm so sorry about last night--”

  Will swung the door open and pulled Lily into an embrace, kissing her hard while his warm, strong arms wrapped around her small, shivering form. Lily kicked the door shut behind her as Will pulled her down on the bed and began peeling the wet clothes off her body. Lily assisted him gratefully and soon they were both warm and naked, tangled in the bedclothes and kissing and fondling one another. Lily surrendered to her desire for Will and lay back on the bed, parting her legs for him as he kissed her all over her delicate frame. He was ready to enter her when the door burst open and Lord Blackwood lumbered in, aiming a gun at his son.

  “Get off,” Blackwood growled at his soon, advancing on the two of them. Lily clutched the blankets to her chest, trembling in terror.

  “Stop!” she cried, “Don't hurt him, he's your son!”

  “No he's not,” Blackwood sneered. “His mother was a whore, same as you. He's a bastard.”

  “Lily doesn't love you,” Will snarled, “no one does!”

  “Get off her before I kill you,” Blackwood demanded as he approached the bed. He grabbed Lily's wrist and yanked her off the bed, making her cry out as she scrambled to her feet, and Will threw himself at his father, tackling him to the floor. Blackwood released Lily's wrist to fight. Father and son rolled around, fighting for the weapon, when it discharged. Lily screamed and covered her ears as blood bloomed on Will's bare chest. She began weeping as Will collapsed, and Lord Blackwood loomed over him, aiming the gun at his head, but he was caught off-guard, and had assumed Will was done-for, but Will found the strength to spring up and steal the gun from his father. They grappled for a moment, then Will got control of the weapon, and did not think twice to shoot Lord Blackwood right between the eyes. Then the gun slipped from his nerveless fingers, and Will collapsed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hours later, after the doctor had come for Will and the coroner for Lord Blackwood, Lily sat by his bedside, sick with anxiety. They were still in the rented room above the pub because Will was in such poor shape the doctor advised against moving him just yet. It was a tawdry place, as far as Lily was concerned, for such a fine young man to die, and the thought made her frantic with grief, so she told herself that Will was not going to die, even though the doctor said the bullet had grazed his lung and he might die that very night.

  Lily did not sleep. She kept vigil over Will, holding his hand, listening to his every breath. It was the worst night of her life, including the night Lord Blackwood beat her so badly, because as Will listed, so ashen-faced and still, Lily realized that she loved him. How she could have come to love such a disreputable hellion she did not know, but there it was, and there he lay.

  It was a long, dark night, but Will still breathed when dawn broke. Lily was not a religious girl, but she had prayed all night, and now she thought she might have to start going to church, if Will lived. It was uncertain, but the doctor visited mid-morning and said that if he had survived this long, he would likely mend just fine, in time. Will did not wake all day, but that night, Lily was so tired she slept beside him.

  When she woke, Will's arm was around her shoulders. She peered up at his face and thought he looked a mite more lively now. She kissed his cheek and he stirred, brow puckering, and his eyes opened a crack.

  “Will!” she gasped, grasping his hand.

  �
��Is he dead?” Will whispered, his voice hoarse and weak.

  “Yes,” Lily said, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

  “Are you... sad?” He looked grieved.

  “I am sad for you,” she said, kissing his hand, “you mustn't die on me now, Will Blackwood, I... I've grown rather fond of you.”

  “Why wouldn't you come with me?” Lily felt a stab of guilt at the pained look on his face, and she knew that she had hurt him.

  “Will, I... I-I have a secret,” she stammered. She felt his fingers feebly squeeze hers in encouragement, so she sighed and pressed on. “When my parents died, and I was left penniless, I tried to find a husband to take care of me. One of my suitors... he... he took me, one night, and left me with child. So I bore that child in disgrace and was outcast from society. I have not been able to secure a living for myself, and my baby was starving, so I gave her to a charity home, but...” Lily dashes a tear from her eye. “I am racked with guilt every day for abandoning my daughter. Rosie. Her name is Rosie. Lord Blackwood was engaged to me under the pretext that, after we married, Rosie could come live with me, but... that day he said he had no intention of doing so, and that's when I came to find you.” She sniffed and pressed Will's hand to her cheek and she heard him making a noise. It sounded a bit like coughing, breathy and spasmodic, but when she looked at him in alarm she saw the amusement on his face and realized that he was laughing, only wounded too badly to do it properly.

  “Lily Monroe, you really are full of surprises,” he murmured. “You say... you've grown fond of me.” He trained his half-lidded blue eyes on her. “Do you love me?”

  “... very much,” Lily admitted, another tear slipping down her cheek.

  “Are you fond enough of me to consent to marriage?” He grinned faintly.

  “Marriage! A man like you! And a woman like me!” Lily scoffed. “Will Blackwood, I don't care how close you are to dying, that is a wretched cruel joke to play on me at a time like this.”

  “I'm not joking.” He squeezed her hand again. “Be my wife, Mrs. Blackwood.”

  “But what about Rosie? I must have her with me, Will, I cannot bear to let a stranger rear my daughter.”

  “A scandal, I know, to have another man's child under my own roof,” Will sighed, “but for you, Mrs. Blackwood, I shall tolerate this mark on my notoriously pristine reputation.”

  Lily burst into giggles and threw her arms around Will's neck. He groaned in pain and Lily squealed an apology, then leaned in to kiss him.

  “Then yes, I shall have you for my husband, Lord Blackwood, but only if you promise to reform your rakish ways,” she cooed, cupping his cheek.

  “For you, Mrs. Blackwood, anything,” he grinned.

  The Gorilla’s Secret Baby

  Chapter One

  Deandra

  Throughout my childhood and into my adult years, the only thing that ever made sense to me, was music. There was a structure to it, a rhythm, and a universal understanding of how it could be made, but no rules on how it should be done. In school I never understood math, history, science, or any of those basic subjects every kid is supposed to know. The only thing I knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, was music.

  My parents thought there was something wrong with me. They tried to homeschool me, tried sending me to doctors, but no one could explain what was wrong with me. Perhaps they couldn’t because there was nothing wrong in the first place. I had a gift, I could read notes before I could read books.

  I was playing tunes on the piano long before I learned how to ride a bike. When it came to music, I was a genius, but everything else was simply lost on me. Eventually, my parents gave up and homeschooled me until I finished high school, which took much longer than anyone expected. They tried to nurture my talents, and they took pride in calling me a musical prodigy, but I always knew they looked at me different.

  My younger brother, Michael, was the favorite. He wasn’t like me at all. He was smart, athletic, and charismatic. They showered him with attention and affection. He was two years younger than me. When it came time for me to apply to college, I wanted to apply to all kinds of music programs, but my parents told me we couldn’t afford the tuition.

  When it was Michael’s turn, they promised him any college he wanted. They helped him move out, paid for his tuition, and sent him money whenever he asked. It was sickening to watch, and it made me feel like I had done something wrong.

  Eventually, I just got used to it, I lived at home writing music and working in a dead-end job at the grocery store. I used my paychecks to buy used instruments that I could pick up and learn. I had what felt like half an orchestra in my bedroom closet. Clarinet, flute, French horn, trumpet, trombone, violin, you named it, I could play it and write music for it.

  My parents had a piano downstairs. It was one of the first instruments I learned to play. When Michael graduated from college, they invited everyone they knew and all of the family they could muster. I was told to play the piano in the background so people would have music to listen to. As usual, I was put in a corner while they showered Michael with their love.

  I did as I was told, starting with sheets of music on crinkly and yellowed paper before finally moving on to my own work. Some of it was written down, but most of it was etched into my soul. I didn’t need any guidance to remember how the notes fit together. I didn’t name my songs either, I usually recalled them based on the way I felt when I created them.

  The one I was currently playing was composed the night after my parents refused to help me go to a music program in college. They went out that night and left me alone as the house. I sat at the piano and cried for hours. The keys were wet with my tears when the song came to me. As I sat there playing it for Michael’s graduation party, I had to fight back the tears that were forming in my eyes. I could hear his voice carrying across the living room. I heard the satisfaction in his words and I could picture the smug expression on his face.

  He was so proud of himself and my parents were so proud of him. I closed my eyes and kept on playing.

  “Hey, what’s that song you’re playing?”

  My eyes shot open and the song ceased as I bumped a wrong note. The eager conversations that filled the house weren’t affected by the sudden stop. They probably weren’t listening in the first place. I looked over and saw my brother’s best friend, Devin Jackson. He was a star quarterback throughout high school and now he was playing for a college team with plans to get signed by the NFL one day.

  He and Michael had been friends for almost ten years. Michael brought him around all the time, but Devin never spoke a word to me. I had a crush on him for years, dreaming of that classic sports romance with the star quarterback, but one look at him would make any young girl blush. From the moment he entered high school, his body started to fill out faster than any other guy. Within a few years, he was sporting chiseled biceps and a rugged chest.

  He walked with this bravado that went beyond arrogance and instead simply made him look powerful. It was easy to assume he was full of himself, but I always thought he had a softer side. Whenever he would come over to the house to visit Michael, I always felt safe. Those feelings faded with time, but they never truly went away.

  After all these years, today, Devin Jackson was talking to me. I looked over and saw him standing head and shoulders above me as I sat on the bench of the piano. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit with a crimson colored tie. His charcoal skin blended perfectly with his deep brown eyes. He always kept his hair short, shaved right down to the scalp. It helped his striking features stand out.

  “It’s uh, it’s not something you’ve ever heard of,” I said.

  He chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the piano bench.

  “Try me,” he said.

  I felt myself blushing as I turned back to the piano.

  “It’s a song I wrote, actually.”

  I looked over at him briefly and saw his eyebrows shoot up.

  “You wrote that
? It’s beautiful! What do you call it?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t have a name.”

  Devin nodded. He seemed genuinely interested in my music. It was a sudden and striking change. I hadn’t seen him in years, though. Maybe college changed him and Michael in a way high school never could. I wouldn’t have known since I spent my college years in my room, learning new instruments and writing new music.

  “Play some more of it, maybe we can think of a name, together.” he said.

  I looked back to the piano and to him again.

  “Right now?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah, it’s getting a little quiet. This party needs some of your musical touch.”

  I placed my fingers on the ivory keys and felt my hands shaking as Devin watched me. I took a deep, long breath, and started playing. I fell into a kind of trace as the notes started pouring out of me. It was as if my heart was singing and this was the only voice it had.

  Several measures went by and I felt Devin’s eyes watching my hands as they danced across the keys. Just as I was reaching the end of the song, Michael’s voice cut through the soft tones.

  “Devin, can I speak to you?” he asked.

  I continued playing, but the notes didn’t have the same impact. I didn’t want Michael to know I was listening.