Hours later, the mattress dips, pulling me out of sleep. Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, and a familiar chest presses against my back. My heart stops. Shock paralyzes my bones. By the time my brain registers what’s happening, I lurch forward, part my lips to scream, but he claps a hand over my mouth.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, the mask brushing against my neck. “I just needed to see you.”
He pauses. Waits for me to relax. Then he releases his hand.
“What do you want from me?” I hiss into the dark. “Why come here when you’re engaged to someone else?”
His arms tighten around my waist. “The Rochester estate is bankrupt.”
My breath hitches. I go rigid in his arms, my mind scrambling to process his confession. The mansion, the grounds, the limousine. I thought he was old money.
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t elaborate. Just holds me tighter, his breath warm against my neck through the mask.
“Blanche Ingram’s money will save us,” he mutters. “Her presence here won’t change a single thing between you and me.”
“What if I don’t want to be the other woman?” I ask.
“You won’t be.”
I swallow hard. “Bullshit.”
He nuzzles my neck. Presses his thick cock into my ass crease. “Do you want me to leave?”
I should say yes. Tell him to go fuck himself with Blanche’s diamond heels. But the hard length grinding into me from behind is skewering my thoughts.
And despite everything, the lies, the humiliation, the casual indifference, I’m addicted to the way he cocoons me in his arms.
“Stay and explain yourself,” I whisper.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against my neck, his cock slipping between my thighs. “I’ll find a way for us to be together.”
TWENTY
THE KEYHOLE
Stay. Good dog.
TWENTY-ONE
The next morning, I walk down the hallway, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor like gunshots. For the first time since arriving at this accursed estate, I feel clear headed. No more confusion. No more romantic delusions. Last night’s bankruptcy confession changed everything.
Everything makes sense now: Rochester needs Blanche’s money to keep his fancy manor from getting repoed. I need to stay hidden from Gil’s people and the feds. And we both want to be together.
He can keep me as his dirty little secret for now, but the next time Blanche Ingram opens that mouth, I’ll bite back with teeth.
I reach the study door, finding him sitting behind his mahogany desk. His dark eyes track my movement as I step inside, making my nipples tighten. Shit. My body’s still programmed to respond to this bastard.
“Close the door,” he says.
I shut it with a click.
“Come here.” His voice is commanding, low.
I walk toward the desk but don’t sit on that degrading little stool. Instead, I lean against its edge, letting my skirt ride up my thighs.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” I ask, my voice breathy.
