Chapter 24
W hen I saw the fury in Sinclair’s fiery blue eyes, I wanted to blurt out, I can explain! But, of course, I couldn’t. At least, not in a way that he would have found acceptable or forgivable.
Before I could say a word, though, he said, “What are you doing?” His voice was unusually calm, especially in light of the way his face looked—and I found that even more frightening than if he’d begun yelling out of the gate.
“I, uh…”
Then he spotted the key ring in my hand. “Where did you get those?”
Again, my mouth refused to work. Anything I said could and would be used against me like a criminal in a court of law. I was guilty, caught doing something I’d agreed in writing not to do. “Um…” I handed the keys over, as if that would absolve me of my crime.
“You have expressly violated multiple terms of our contract. That you have nothing to say merely underscores that fact. Come with me.”
I didn’t want to. When he was like this, he was scary—and, even though I still found him to be undeniably attractive, I was afraid of what was going to happen next. So I would follow him…for now.
He walked down the stairs and headed straight for his office. When I followed him, I didn’t go all the way inside, instead remaining close to the door. He set the ring of keys on his desk and then looked at me, his eyes poised like weapons. “Have a seat.”
I’m doing this for dad. I’m doing this for dad. I repeated the mantra in my head several times to give me courage and strength—and then I walked over to the desk and sat across from him.
Only after I was seated did he do the same. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thin file, extracting papers from it. I recognized them, because I had my own copy upstairs in my room. After flipping through a few pages, he rotated them, shoving them across the desk. “Is that your signature?”
Why did I laugh? Out of every reaction I could have had, laughing was the very worst thing I could do—and that was clear based on how Sinclair’s face contorted. But the comedy of the situation, dire though it was, struck me. He was interrogating me like a cop or a lawyer—but we both knew that was my signature…and I’d apparently been expecting a much different question.
This time, he raised his voice so much that I felt like it shook me like a rag doll. “What do you think is so funny?” He hadn’t been this loud since the first week I’d been here—but I realized I wasn’t as scared as I had been back then. The initial fear had dissipated…and what was left was something I hadn’t ever experienced before outside of this mansion—it was the spirit to fight.
“You know and I know that’s my signature. You were asking an obvious question. That’s funny.”
“You should be taking this much more seriously, Ms. Miller. You have violated multiple conditions of the contract,” he shouted, snatching back the contract and flipping to the first page. “‘ The Employee agrees to abide by the following rules: a) The Employee will show up on time and work a full shift.’ You were clearly not working.”
“Actually, I could argue that I was. Some of what I’ve found downstairs—”
“SILENCE!” I nearly lost my breath at his vehemence. “‘ d) The Employee will not enter floors 2 and 3 of the East Wing of the Residence.’ Would you like to try arguing that what I saw was an illusion?”
“No, but—”
“‘ The Employee will not use items that aren’t owned by the Employee without permission, including when said items are used for the performance of work.’ You were not given permission to use these keys.”
“Okay, fine, I violated several clauses of your dumb contract.” Where the hell had that come from? “But I don’t see what the big deal is about the east wing second floor anyway. All that’s up there are bedrooms. It’s like they’re frozen in time. I don’t get what the point—”
He stood again, almost as if sitting down didn’t allow him to release his anger. “The point, Ms. Miller, isn’t what’s up there. The point is that you expressly violated several terms of our agreement. You are in breach of the contract.” He tossed it to the desk in disgust.
“Oh, yeah? Well, what about you?” I said, standing as well, snatching it up and scanning through the Employer Obligations section again—and, unfortunately, there wasn’t a single thing I could accuse him of—at least, nothing in writing. When I looked up, his lips were curled in a smug smile, and it made me angry with myself that I found him so captivating at that moment. “Maybe if you’d just tell me why I shouldn’t go up there, I wouldn’t.”
“You shouldn’t go up there because I said so !”
“Don’t ever have kids. You’d be a horrible father. That’s the worst way to tell your kids not to do something.”
“You are not a child. Although I’m beginning to think you could use a good spanking.”
My cheeks flamed—and not just because he was comparing me to a child. I hoped he couldn’t tell that the thought of him touching me below the waist in any capacity was not hitting me the way it should. And I couldn’t find any other words, so I simply glared, folding my arms across my chest, hoping I looked defiant rather than expectant.
For just a moment, though…I thought that he was thinking he might like that too. Before I could test that theory, he spoke again, making me wonder if what I’d seen in his eyes had only been my imagination.
“I’m fairly certain James would advise against that—but he would agree that you are in serious breach of contract—and that will require punishment.”
Now that I knew for certain that a breach of contract didn’t mean harm to my father or sending me back to Winchester to await trial, I felt much more confident. “Fine. Then spank me and get it over with.” I hoped my eyes blazed like his.
There was something there I’d triggered, some shadow that passed over his eyes, but I couldn’t quite figure out what that was. I kept my chin jutted out just like the naughty child he’d accused me of being.
But his voice, now calm, was icy. “Your punishment won’t be quite so easy. Come with me.”
This time, we walked down the antechamber toward the front of the house and I wondered what he could possibly have in store for me.
I should have known his actual punishment for me wouldn’t be nearly as exciting as part of me imagined. Once outside, he’d tracked down Henry and had me pulling tiny weeds inside the flower beds. Because I liked Henry and I was no stranger to pulling weeds, it wasn’t so bad. Henry and I talked while he “supervised” until he announced it was time for him to go.
When we reported back to Sinclair, Henry told him I’d completed my tasks and he was leaving for the day. Although Sinclair was civil with Henry, it was clear that his anger with me hadn’t been mollified in the least.
Since I’d last seen him, he’d changed into casual clothes—a blue polo that made his eyes light up, the sleeves emphasizing the swell of his biceps and the definition of his pecs underneath. I reminded myself I was supposed to be angry with him.
After Henry left, he said, “That was only the beginning of your punishment. It will resume Monday morning.”
“And what—”
“I haven’t figured it out yet. But I believe a week of hard, demeaning labor should knock the defiance out of you.”
“And yet you still haven’t—”
“Would you like me to make it two weeks?”
I got ready to snap again but then clenched my jaw shut. No, I did not want that—because, even though I knew I could survive pulling weeds and cleaning bathrooms, I was actually enjoying the work downstairs. It felt meaningful and rewarding and it was something I looked forward to.
It was the only thing that made my life here bearable—and I dreaded the day when I would be done working down there. Between now and then, I’d have to find some other task to suggest. I considered asking if I could be in charge of the gallery, but there was no way that would be a full-time job.
“In the meantime, try to enjoy your weekend.” Still, I stood there, trying to communicate defiance through silence. But when he next spoke, I decided not to press my luck. “You’re dismissed.”
I went upstairs and showered, feeling dirty and sticky from the overbearing heat outside. As the water washed over me, my thoughts turned dirty in a different way, while I imagined the beads of water flickering down my breasts as his tongue.
Oh, I had to stop this.
He obviously didn’t have those feelings for me—and, if he did think about me in any sort of sexual way, I knew it would be what I’d heard two male students in College Algebra talking about one day before the instructor arrived. I’d known them from high school when they’d both been on the football team, and they’d been talking about our senior year and one of the cheerleaders they loved to hate. One of them said, “She was the best hate-fuck I ever had.”
“I don’t get that, dude. I can’t get hard for a girl I can’t stand.”
“You’ll get it someday. The best part is jizzing in her face. And she licks the cum off like she hates it but you know she loves every second of it.”
Thank heavens the professor came in the room then—but I’d never forgotten it…the concept of having intimate relations with someone you hated.
And yet here I was actually wishing I could lose my virginity to my sworn enemy. I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands and mouth all over every part of my body. Feeling tingly and aroused, I got out of the shower and toweled off.
I needed to avoid the man as much as possible.
I knew I could try to relieve the pressure myself, but I’d never quite figured out the knack to release—so what was the point? All I knew was I was going to avoid him as much as I could. That meant no dinner tonight—and, tomorrow, I would eat breakfast and lunch later. Fortunately, the weekends were a lot more lax and I could get away with eating at a different time.
Still, as I dressed, my thoughts kept going back to him. And that was so stupid. I didn’t know how old he was, but I knew he was thirty or thirty-one, ten years older. He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me for so many reasons—besides our families hating each other, there was that huge gap in our ages. There was also my inexperience, while a man of his age and renown had to have had plenty of sex with his pick of women. And we came from two completely different worlds. He’d probably never enjoyed chicken and dumplings, one of my dad’s staples—while much of the food I’d eaten here was brand new to me.
We would never work—and that was why I had to get him out of my head, because I’d always vowed to save myself for the right man…the perfect man.
And that was not Sinclair Whittier.
As I walked out of the bathroom, a sharp rap on my door made me jump. And I knew who it was. There was only one person who would knock on my door like that—especially now. “What?”
“Your presence is required at dinner.”
I stormed across the room and flung the door open—in nothing more than a towel wrapped around my body, another curled turban-style over my wet hair. My arms, shoulders, and legs from my thighs down were exposed, barely dried from my shower. No doubt I did it because I wanted to evaluate his thoughts on the matter—because, no matter how much I protested, my body wanted him in the worst way, whether he was the right man or not.
His eyes skimmed over me, hungry, and my nipples tightened in response. Part of me hoped he would take me right there, entering my bedroom and forcing himself upon me, taking me because he owned me. The thought made my pussy grow wet, and I could barely swallow.
But then his eyes were on mine again, making me question if he’d even noticed. “Get dressed and get to the kitchen for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Through clenched teeth, he said, “Your. Presence. Is. Required. ”
“There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to eat.”
“I won’t be forcing you to eat. I’m demanding your presence.” When he arched an eyebrow, my pussy clenched. Oh, dear God, I was a basket case. “And I can amend the contract to say so if you’d like.”
“Fine.”
I allowed my anger to help me stop thinking of him in any way other than that he was a Whittier—horrible and evil. I went to dinner and simply sat there, staring at his plate, hoping to ruin his appetite. Fortunately, Edna was long gone for the weekend and didn’t have to deal with the discomfort of serving two angry people.
And I continued that behavior over the entire weekend. He didn’t expect me for breakfast or lunch, so I stayed sequestered in my room, reading books and talking with my father, keeping the conversation light. During dinner, I refused food, daring him to say something—but his eyes were the only thing that communicated at all…and they’d shifted from anger to arrogance.
At night, I turned the television on that was still in my room and found some sitcom reruns, anything to keep my mind from falling asleep while thinking of the man I hated and the line I was considering crossing anyway…