by Jane Henry
He inhaled and closed his eyes, and I watched as his chest rose, then as he exhaled he opened his eyes, fixing them on me, dark pools of barely-tempered fury. I tried to pull my hand away from his, but he held fast. I wondered what he would say next. Would he threaten to spank me again? My heart raced as his eyes met mine and he sat up on the bed, grimacing as he shifted his weight but not releasing my hand.
I felt very small all of a sudden.
“You are right,” he said. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. That part is true, and for that I apologize.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “Even though you went where I asked you not to, there was no excuse for me flying off the handle the way I did. You are quite right that I behaved like a child. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
He was apologizing? Damn it, now I had no excuse for wanting to smack him, and without anger to hold onto, I was worried that residual fear and grief might tear me apart. His eyes met mine, dark as the nightfall outside our window, teeming with emotion. And as I gazed into those eyes, I felt not just the severity of his command, not just the stoked anger at the danger we’d both just faced, but more. I looked upon the eyes of a man who was tortured, conflicted.
What demons did he battle? What voices did he hear?
“Thank you,” I said in a little voice, knowing that it was too little, not enough, like a drop of water on a parched desert, swallowed up by the vast heat.
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “But even though I lost my temper, I did not mean to chase you out of my house. I wanted you out of the room, Annabelle. What kind of an asshole would cast you into the pitch darkness?” He looked genuinely perplexed for a moment and I shook my head, but he continued on. “And although I was wrong to lose my temper, the truth is, you did disobey a direct instruction. The single restriction I gave you.” His chest rose, and a sense of foreboding filled me.
Uh oh. This wasn’t going so well.
It seemed my only option was self-defense. “Well, you weren’t here,” I said, “And I saw no reason for you to tell me not to do things.”
His brows shot up so high he looked almost comical. I’d have laughed, if I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up.
“No reason to tell you not to do things?” he said, releasing my hand and pushing himself further up on the bed.
Damnit.
“Wanting some privacy in my home isn’t reasonable?” he asked. “But further, did you not agree to obey me?”
There was that…
I looked away and shifted on my seat.
“Look at me when I talk to you, Annabelle.”
Reluctantly, I complied. I squealed as one of his hands shot out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me across his chest.
“Mr. Gryffin, you’ll hurt yourself. Your injuries, you —”
“Fuck my injuries,” he growled, his breath tickling my ear, his eyes like flint. “You are lucky I’m injured, sweetheart. If I wasn’t, your bare ass would be over my knee.”
I shook, not fighting it this time as the heat of my body rose and my limbs trembled with impotent desire. I wanted him to spank me. I wanted to feel his controlled power. I wanted to squirm, helpless over his knee, as he punished me. I thought about a snarky response. I considered fighting him, pushing him away, but he was injured and my guilt got the best of me. I sagged on his chest and nodded my head, contrite. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Mr. Gryffin.”
The darkness in his eyes softened at that, his brows rising in surprise then lowering. He pulled me toward him and to my shock, his warm mouth and rough whiskers grazed the top of my forehead. “It is late,” he said. “You need your rest. When I am better, we will discuss what happened tonight. For now, you’ll rest.” He released me and point to the doorway. “Go. Go to your room and sleep now.”
Sadness filled me, as if he were rejecting me after the moment we shared. How could he send me away?
I rose, bereft, staring at the doorway, not wanting to leave but not wanting to defy him again. Not tonight.
I took a tentative step toward the doorway, but as I did, I realized I was afraid.
What had happened tonight wasn’t easy to forget, the men coming for me, holding me down. I still bore the marks of their attack. What if there were more of them? What if they were waiting in my room, or lurking in a dark corner of the hallway?
He could not come to protect me tonight, not laid up like this.
I froze, unable to decide how to obey him and face my fears at the same time.
His deep voice behind me warned me. “Annabelle….”
“Yes, sir?” I asked in a little voice, still not turning to him, my voice trembling.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” I swallowed, hard, as my voice trailed off. I was a big girl. I could do this. “I just…It was a little scary is all. I…was wondering if Worthington and Millie had gone to bed?”
Fuck, I sounded like a little girl afraid of the boogeyman.
Silence hung between us for a few seconds before he spoke.
“Come here, please.”
My mouth was dry and my hands shook, but I turned to him. “Yes?” I asked.
His jaw clenched, the dark shadow of his beard giving him a wild, ferocious look. I wanted to sit on his lap and run my hand along the scruff of his jawline and kiss him, softening the fierce furrow of his brow and tension in his shoulders. “I said come here, please,” he said.
I walked to him on trembling legs, wondering what would happen when I reached him. It was dark, and we were alone.
Anything could happen.
“Yes, sir?”
Without a word he put his hand out, palm up, as if offering me a chance to go to him of my own accord. Though his face was drawn and paler than normal, the white bandages reminding me of our attack and his injury, his presence still commanded. I reached for his hand, and he tugged me over to him. I sat down on the bed next to him as his hands gently rested on my hips, a light embrace, a touch that at once soothed and aroused me. I swallowed again.
His gaze softened as he looked at me, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper. “Are you afraid, sweetheart?”
The tenderness in his voice undid me. A lump rose in my throat and I nodded. “Yes,” I managed. “I don’t want to go in that hallway alone. I know the men who hurt me and attacked you are gone, but I can’t help—” I stopped, unable to continue. He released my hips and drew me to him, pulling me against the warmth of his chest.
“Sometimes, even grown women can feel like little girls,” he whispered. “Isn’t that right?”
Who was this man?
And how could I resist him?
“Yes,” I whispered back. “Sometimes we do.”
“And tonight, you need someone to watch over you. To protect you. Don’t you, honey?”
I nodded, my tears flowing freely now. I trembled, the memory of being helpless and alone overwhelming me.
“They were going to rape me,” I choked out, and his hands around me tightened. “They would have, if you hadn’t shown up. I’d have lost my virginity to an act of violence in the darkness.” My voice broke and a sob escaped, but he held me tightly.
“Annabelle —”
“I never would have been the same again,” I said. “I can’t imagine what horrible things they’d have —”
“Stop.” His rough fingers raked through my hair, from the top of my head down to my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re safe here, with me. There’s no need to dwell on what might have been.”
Again, he ran his fingers through my hair as I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not.”
We lay like that in the darkness for some time, my steady breathing mingling with his, until I rose with a start. I’d begun to fall asleep.
“You’re tired,” he said. “Exhausted. It’s time you get some rest.”
“But I really don’t want to —”
&nb
sp; He talked right over me as if he hadn’t heard me. “Go to my dresser and get one of my t-shirts,” he said, then under his breath, “Should be large enough for a nightshirt on you anyway.”
I was suddenly very, very awake.
“Um. What?” I asked.
His voice lowered, husky now, as he instructed me. “It’s late, Annabelle. I am tired, and so are you. And tonight, I don’t want you to have to sleep alone.”
Something in my chest loosened and excitement curled in my gut, while my eyes dampened.
Shit, I was a mess.
I gasped as his hand smacked against my ass, a firm slap that stung, but when I blinked at him in consternation, ignoring the way fire licked around my insides and my panties dampened, he merely lifted a heavy brow, pursed his lips, and pointed.
On trembling legs, I obeyed, walking in a daze to his dresser.
“Top drawer.” I shivered, trying to control myself so he didn’t see my reaction to his deep growl. The dresser was sturdy and well-made, dark wood that looked heavy and immovable, clearly well suited to house the clothing of the formidable Mister Gryffin. Despite the size and heft of the dresser, the drawer pulled easily when I tugged on the ornate handle. Rows of clean white shirts sat before me as his scent — musk and pine, smoke and whiskey, arrogance and manliness — filled my senses. As if in a daze, I pulled a t-shirt out and held the clean, cool fabric against my chest.
“Come here.” The command reverberated in my chest, the deep sound amping my nerves and arousal as I turned to obey. A glimmer of moonlight filtered into the window onto his face, giving me the barest illuminated glimpse of his chiseled, clenched jaw. I walked to him as if in a trance, holding his t-shirt.
He would take care of me.
But where would I sleep?
I turned back to the door and stared at it. The cold, lonely trek to my room no longer held any appeal. When I looked back at him, I wondered what made me hesitate so. I had nowhere else to go. I’d agreed to stay with him, to pretend to be his wife. I’d left, but now was my chance to make it right again, to fulfill my end of the bargain and reap the benefit of his generous agreement. Stupidly, I held the t-shirt out to him, but I did not know why. What did I expect him to do with it?
“Undress, please,” he said, as casually as he might have said, “Fetch me a glass of water,” or “turn the light off.”
In the dark aftermath of danger and pain, he was commanding me to strip. I took a deep breath, and then I obeyed. Off came the light cotton dress, up over my thighs, a brief pause at my chest before I closed my eyes and said fuck it. Over my head, and I stood in front of him in panties and a bra. I folded the dress neatly and laid it on the chair next to his bed, my eyes meeting his as he brazenly raked his gaze over my nearly-naked body. Hungrily, he took me in, not even attempting to avert his gaze or apologize for undressing me with his eyes.
“Pour me a drink, Annabelle,” he commanded, his husky voice sending a shiver down my spine as he pointed to the sideboard.
A drink? I reached for the t-shirt, but his voice halted me. “No. As you are.”
Oh my God. I closed my eyes briefly and inhaled, conscious of how my chest rose. Did he notice my rounded belly and curvy hips? The way my thighs touched together? Did he scrutinize every imperfection I’d memorized myself? I glanced around his room. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. It was a suite, really, more than just the master bedroom. His huge king-sized bed sat in only a corner of the room. Behind the bed lay the open door to a closet where, I suspected, a walk-in-closet of some sort of enormous variety awaited and to the right, the door to a bathroom stood ajar. Against one wall, though, lay a desk, and beside it, a small sideboard where I could see glasses and bottles of amber liquid.
I stepped over to the sideboard, his gaze burning my skin as I walked. When I reached it, I picked up one of the diamond-cut glasses that stood face-down on the table, and uprighted it, removed the lid to the ice bucket, and scooped a few into the glass.
“Which drink?” I asked.
“Any.”
I went for the one that had the least amount in it, reasoning that it was likely his favorite. My hands shook as I removed the glass stopper, and gingerly laid it on the table, the pungent sweet, warm smell of whiskey overwhelming my senses. I lifted the heavy decanter, surprised at the heft of it, and tipped some of the liquid into the glass.
“That will do.”
I placed the decanter back on the table and replaced the stopper, lifting the glass and facing him. “Take a sip if you’d like,” he said. Sipping from his whiskey sounded intimate and a little personal, but I welcomed the idea of a bit of liquid courage. The liquor was both cool and warm, and it burned, but I welcomed it, fire scorching all the way down my throat and into my belly. From where he lay on the bed, his lips quirked, revealing white teeth. Suddenly embarrassed, I walked to him, holding the glass in front of me as a barrier, a gift, something to distract him from the fact I stood in nothing but my new panties and bra, a matching set in pale pink satin.
He reached for the glass, his warm fingers brushing mine as he took it from me and nodded. “Thank you.” His eyes met mine as he lifted the drink to his lips and drank thirstily. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drained the glass. He slid the glass on the bedside table and gestured toward the t-shirt that I’d left next to him. “Go ahead,” he said. “Put it on now. It is late, little one, and you need to get ready for bed.
“What about you?” I asked. He still lay in his soiled clothing, the expensive white shirt torn and stained.
“Dress,” he ordered, as he began to unbutton his own shirt. I wanted to stare, take in the sight of him unbuttoning and removing his shirt, but I feared making him angry being too slow to respond. I unsnapped my bra and averted my eyes so I wouldn’t see his gaze linger over my breasts that now hung freely, but hell, I wouldn’t sleep in my bra. I lifted the t-shirt, unfolded it, and slid it over my head, intentionally keeping my gaze from his. The hem of his shirt hit me mid-thigh, and my arms swam in the sleeves. It billowed around me like a tent, but it felt nice, clean and fresh. He’d removed his dress shirt and tossed it, followed by the tattered remains of his t-shirt, and sat in front of me bare-chested save the bandages that wrapped around his middle. A moment later, he pushed himself out of bed, and I watched in breathless fascination as he stood, then unbuckled his belt. He unfastened the clasp, and with a firm tug, it whooshed free. His gaze on mine, he doubled the belt over, tucked his thumb along the fold, and snapped it. I jumped.
His brow lifted. “So jumpy, Annabelle?” he asked. “Are you afraid?”
I crossed my arms across my chest. Hell yeah, I was afraid. I was fucking terrified.
“Of course not,” I lied, lifting my chin.
His eyes twinkled but he shook his head. “Seems I’m not doing my job correctly, then,” he said. I squealed out loud as his hand grasped my waist and he slapped the belt against my ass, a teasing swat that still stung.
“What was that for?” I protested. He merely tossed the belt to the floor and unfastened his trousers.
“Get in bed.”
I climbed into the humongous bed and shimmied my way to the very edge. The bed was warm and the pillows soft. It suddenly occurred to me how very tired I was. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to focus on the sting that still burned my ass, and the resulting pulsing between my legs. God, the man undid me. I heard the rustle of clothing as he finished undressing, and then his labored steps as he walked to the bathroom, but I kept my eyes closed. Far, far in the distance, I heard the squeak and whine of the faucet being turned on and off, but then it all melded into darkness, and I drifted into a deep, restful sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Sawyer
By the time I’d finished getting ready for bed, Annabelle was sound asleep, her chest rising and falling as she slept in peace. I watched her from the doorway of the bathroom, ignoring the throbbing pain of the wounds along my side, the ache between my temp
les already dulled by the shot of whiskey, and just took in the sight of her beautiful, innocent body snuggled up in my bed. My bed.
What I wouldn’t give to keep the girl there.
I climbed in next to her, and she barely moved. I curled up on my side, dressed only in my boxers, beside this beautiful woman wearing my t-shirt, and when I laid down, my exhaustion hit me. I snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her to my torso, tucking her against my chest, our bodies flush against one another. She sighed in her sleep but she did not wake. I lay in the darkness and held her, thankful she slept and could not feel the rock-hard erection against her ass, could not read my mind as I mentally stripped her and did sordid, carnal things to her body, mentally fucking her right here, in this bed.
Sleep overcame me. It very well might be the only night she ever spent in my bed. I would cherish the beauty of her presence here with me, and chase the rest I so desperately needed.
The next morning, I woke before her, the rays of the sun completely filling the room with bright light. I could tell I’d slept much later than usual, but today I would take the day off. Hell, I’d probably have to take the rest of the week off. I typically rose before the sun did, beginning my day with international relations and meetings while the rest of the world woke but today, I’d put whatever I could to Worthington, and leave the rest for another day and time. Today was a day for rest.
Today, I woke with Annabelle in my bed.
I’d stayed on my back, but she’d rolled over to me, gently gracing one leg along mine in her sleep. She likely would have been mortified if she’d done such a thing when fully awake, and I was thankful she was unaware of how she subconsciously sidled up beside me.
With considerable effort, I pushed myself to sitting.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I didn’t know you were awake.”
