I stand and yank on the other shirt I’d brought in. As I do, she watches me, not even bothering to look away.
Screw her. If she’s that bold, I can do this. I unzip my navy trousers and slowly tuck the business shirt into my pants. I then zip up, exhale, and feel civilized.
“Enjoy putting on the show?”
I have to laugh at that. “You’ve got a quick tongue on you!”
I am about to walk out when I hear, “At least one of us does.”
I stop at the door, and I take offense. I am proud of my oral. Really f-ing proud, and I know I can kiss. The sneaky minx is now hiding under the covers, and she lifts the sheets over her eyes.
“Careful!” I growl.
“Or what?” she asks playfully.
“Lights out!”
I walk down the hallway, intrigued by my find, but also disturbed. I am unsure if I want to spank her butt or fuck it hard. Or both.
Time will tell.
7
SAMANTHA
I awake in Grumpy’s childhood bedroom, and I slept better than I probably should have. It feels weird, considering Grumpy grew up in the same bed. Very weird.
Especially as that he’d made me come like I’ve never come in my life.
The combination has me confused as I limp to the window in his shirt and my panties. Again, what the heck!
Looking around, I notice someone has brought my bags in from the car. It must have been after I had the hot tea and fell asleep last night.
Someone has placed them just inside my room, and now there is a tray with hot tea options, a silver pot of coffee, and another silver pot of hot water. Also, fancy cups and saucers.
I find the colorful robe I always have in my travel bag. The one I bought from a cool Parisian market. As I pull it on, I shed Grumpy’s shirt and pour coffee.
Looking at the many books and photos on the wall, I notice some are of him racing yachts, skiing competitively, and playing tennis.
Also, more of him and the tiger, but in most of them, the tiger is a young cub. Harrison always looks serious in the photos. Always focused and cold. Always gorgeous.
Watching the sunrise over the lake from the chateau with coffee in my hand calms me.
I am about to check my wound when there is a knock at the door. I hobble to it and open it to find the old gentleman, William.
“Ahhh, good morning, Samantha,” he says in his impeccable British accent.
“Good morning, Sir.”
“Please, call me William.”
“Of course,” I say. “Please, come in,” I say, ushering him inside.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Again, William is dressed in a conservative suit and tie. He walks in, and we head to the large windows.
