I need to prove to myself that I can control myself, though. That I won’t lose all self-control with her, that I’m an honorable man who will do what I say and not take advantage of my power or position.
So I take her by the hand and bring her to my bedroom.
“Get some rest,” I tell her, pointing to the bed. “I have some work to do.”
She looks to me from below hooded eyes, clearly aroused by my command over her. Still holding my gaze, she nods, bows her head, and walks to my bedroom, all perfect grace and feminine allure with her naked curves and unadulterated beauty. I stifle a groan as she sways her hips, her full breasts swinging with the effort of walking unencumbered.
I stifle a moan as I follow behind her. I take one corner of the bedding and fold it down, then pat the clean, crisp white sheet beneath it to welcome her to lie down. She obeys, climbing into the bed and laying her head on my pillow. She breathes in deeply.
I stalk back to the entryway, find her mobile, and come back to her. I kick off my shoes, then slide into bed beside her and hand her her phone.
Jesus, what I’d give to hear her voice.
I have so many questions for her.
“Why were you in the church the night we found you?”
Her fingers fly over the keys.I was seeking respite from my brother.
Her fucking brother. I text her.
Dougal Reilly.
She nods.
“What had he done that caused you to seek refuge?”
He hit me because he was angry I took his money.
I frown. “You had good reason?”
She nods.
“I see. And MacGowen knows your brother occasionally hits you.”
Frowning, she types a response.
Aye, Father knows my brother hits me, but it isn’t occasionally.
Christ.
“It’s all the time, then?”
She nods, and turns her face away from me.
I’ll fucking kill him.
“Do you live with anyone else?”
“You live with your parents.”
A sharp shake of her head and a frown.
No, sir. I live with my mother and brother.
Fuck, I like that, the way she defers to me, and the way she relays bold, honest truth.
I nod.
