Chapter 2
Do not think about the way she kissed me, or how hard my cock got when she did.
The mantra is repeated through the next few hours, ever since I drew the line between raging horndog and dutiful guardian. Sleep is out of the cards at this point. Coffee is going to be my lifeblood for the morning—for the rest of the goddamn day and every hour until I’m allowed to drop into my bed and lock the door behind me.
I’d hurried out of her bedroom last night as fast as my legs would carry me, and the second I’d gotten back to my room, despite the hour, I’d jerked myself off, working my cock until the ache lessened. At least she hadn’t seen my erection.
I’d kept my back to her.
Do not think about the way she kissed me, or how hard my cock got when she did.
A simple little kiss, an innocent peck, the kind you’d give to your elderly aunt at a party out of respect. Except Empire wore practically nothing to go to bed, and she’d looked sad, frightened, her hair tousled and her skin sweat slicked, her eyes large, fathomless pools of sadness.
And she’d stared at me like I had the answers.
Not to mention, I had a hot as fuck eighteen-year-old on my lap.
Do not think about the way she kissed me, or how hard my cock got when she did.
Never in my life have I let something as small as a kiss unravel me. I’m nothing but layers and layers of trauma and pain and crap, hardened over the years into something unlovable. Empire doesn’t understand, and she never will. The kiss happened, and there’s no taking it back, but my body’s immediate reaction to her makes one thing clear: nothing more will happen.
The spoonful of espresso slips from my finger and clatters on the countertop when my fingers twitch.
“Motherfucker,” I growl.
I slide my hand through my hair and stare at the scattered mess of grounds. I’ve lost fucking control of myself. Which is ridiculous after spending the majority of my life fighting for every ounce of the stuff. It’s not as hard won as people think, not in this town and not in my business.
If I can’t keep my shit together and figure a way out of this financial hole, not to mention keep my claws off a vulnerable young woman, then I’m going to lose it all.
Never a place I’ll let myself be at again.
I bend to clean up the mess and stop, attention landing on the pair of shapely legs leading all the way up to pajamas short enough to be considered illegal. They’re about an inch shy of camel toe.
Fuck me.
Who am I kidding? Anything an eighteen-year-old starlet wears in the prime of her life should be considered illegal, even if the only skin she shows is a bit of ankle.
There is more than her ankle showing this time, though. Empire hasn’t changed out of her pajamas, and between the high cut shorts, her stomach on display, and the low-cut tank top, my next curse is for a different reason.
“It’s too early to have you cursing over a little spilled coffee,” she says with her nose scrunched up. “Let the cleaning crew do it. They’re going to be here in a little bit.”
I groan as I straighten, a few kinks in my back tightening with the movement. She’s been living in her damn pajamas for too long, stuck in the house when she needs to be out, needs to at least get a little sun on her face. Otherwise, the tabloids will start to gut her.
There’s been too much talk about her as it is, only a small portion of it good.
Once the initial social media tide of condolences wore out, the trolls and haters came forth with a vengeance. How quickly the media attention on her turned negative, always asking intrusive questions about her family. No wonder she started to withdraw.
I purposely turn away and get the espresso poured out again, the machine working and chugging out tar black liquid. “We might need to give the cleaners the boot.”
I see her reflection in the shine of the cabinets, the lift of her dark brow. She’s got her hair pulled away from her face in a messy bun. “Why would we get rid of the cleaners? Marcus, you can’t seriously expect me to clean this entire house by myself.”
“Which is why you should have agreed to move into my place with me,” I growl.
It’s not an argument I’ll win with her, ever.
“It’s hard enough to lose my folks. You want me to move out of the only house I’ve ever known, too?”
I’d consider it an act if she’d actually done any acting. No, the shock and awe were all Empire Stone, the gullible socialite loved by the media for her lineage alone. I shake my head.
“Clearly not, since I packed up my shit and moved in with you.” Easier to move a bachelor than to pack up Empire and all that comes with her.
But I miss having my own space, even though the mansion is huge, a sprawling, Tuscan-inspired villa in the Hollywood hills with a great view of the city below. Here, I’ve practically got my own wing of the house, just me and Empire across the hall, sharing the space with ghosts.
“You need to get dressed,” I say. Sidestepping the grounds on the floor, I grab another spoonful of espresso and press it down with the tamper.
“Why?”
Insolent little—
“Because I fucking said so. You’re the one with a thousand PAs to keep track of your schedule, but even I know you have things to do today.”
Empire sidles forward and hops up on the counter beside the machine, way too close for comfort. She crosses one leg over the other in a slow, deliberate gesture. I keep my eyes solidly on the coffee slowly percolating. “I’m sure you know exactly what I’m doing. Today, tomorrow, the rest of my life.” She pouts—I see it from the corner of my eye. “Remind me what you want me to do?”
I swallow over a groan. I’ve got a few things in mind, but none of them I’m able to voice.
“Come on, tell me my plans for the day, Marcus,” Empire taunts.
“I don’t give a shit what little brats want to do with their time,” I mutter, my back teeth clenching painfully, my eyes trained on the stream of espresso. Once the shot is done, I start the process again, handing the first cup off to Empire. “The only thing I know is that you’ve got a big appointment this morning. I fucking made sure it was on your virtual calendar yesterday.”
She doesn’t even thank me for the coffee before reaching over to grab the sugar and ruining the shot with an entire tablespoon.
“You have nothing better to do, and no one left to boss around, so you’ve got to pick on me. Or maybe it’s because you didn’t sleep last night, and now you’re a grumpy old man.”
Not wrong. I hadn’t gone back to sleep once her screams woke me. “Whose fault is that?
She lifts the cup to her nose and scowls at it. “You didn’t get me any creamer.”
“Worry less about creamer and more about getting ready for the day,” I warn. “Go take a shower, put on clean clothes, and check your damn calendar. Enough with these games.” My own espresso shot spills out much slower than hers, and a muscle ticks in my jaw while I wait.
“I am clean,” Empire insists.
“About the same as a crackhead on the street corner.”
She gasps, scowls, the expression so ingrained in her psyche that I wonder if she even had to think about it. “Get fucked, Marcus. Maybe it will improve your attitude.”
“My attitude?”
“You heard what I said.”
“I’m having a little trouble believing you, little girl. Maybe you’re out of touch with reality because you’ve chosen to hole up like fucking Gollum in your room and not shower.” I’ve never had a problem getting fucked, by life and by women.
It’s been too long, though, only me and my right hand getting the job done. What I wouldn’t give to have her sweet, plump lips wrapped around me while I gag the sass right out of her.
“I’m not going to shower just because the big bad asshole of Hollywood decided he wants to exert power over me.” She says it with a particularly annoying smirk.
Words won’t work on her. We’ve been around and around too many arguments to count, with her ability to bullshit getting better with age. She comes by it naturally. I never managed to win a fight with her mother, Olivia. The only thing we ever agreed on was the trajectory of her career, and she trusted me enough to allow me to take her to new heights.
Empire has the particular ability to twist whatever I say into whatever she wants it to be and refuses to listen to any nudging, gentle or otherwise.
Rather than allow her to snare me, I haul her off the countertop, grabbing her when she’s not expecting it.
“Marcus!” she screeches directly next to my ear.
I sling her over my shoulder and turn, skidding on coffee grounds. Her fists beat against my back, completely ineffectual, and I swallow hard. Her breasts press against my shoulder, her ass right next to my face, close enough for me to bite. Round, shapely… Fuck me, it has been too long.
I stride with her toward the bathroom, the brat kicking and screaming the entire time.
“Marcus, seriously. What the hell are you doing? Let go of me. Ow!” She whines the last part, but I refuse to let go. “Your shoulder is digging into my ribs!”
“Shut it. You should know by now that I’m not swayed by tantrums.”
Her bedroom is down a short hallway from the kitchen, and within seconds, we’re in the bathroom. I dump her on her feet, dropping my arms to my side while she struggles to regain her balance.
“You’re manhandling me!” Empire crosses her arms over her chest, the movement pressing her breasts higher as she sulks.
I point a warning finger at her face. “Get clean. You’re wasting my time and yours. We’ve got a big day ahead.”
“And if I refuse?” she asks.
“If you don’t shower then I will strip your clothes off and wash you myself. I’m not playing.”
Her chin juts out, lip lowering as though to release the floodgates of another tirade.
“Don’t think I won’t,” I finish.
For a moment, tense silence reigns. She meets my eyes, her head tilted to the side before she growls at me. “Fine! You want me to shower so badly? Fine.” Red cheeked and dark eyed, she starts ripping her clothes off while I turn on the water.
Shit. She’s pissed at me, but with her, it’s all about the game. I have to get creative to get her to do what she needs to.
She shucks off her tank top and bra, tossing both of them at my back. I hold a hand under the pounding spray, ignoring her muttered curses meant to make her feel better.
“Are you happy now? I’m naked. You’re not even looking at me.”
Fuck no, I’m not. It’s damn near impossible not to turn around and see all that smooth, naked flesh. The thought alone has my cock hardening. The gray sweatpants won’t hide anything for long. If I don’t get out of here, my control will snap. I’ll fuck her under the spray, and I’ll hate myself for every thrust into her moist heat. Maybe not in the moment—in the moment, I’ll be in heaven, unleashing all my pent-up aggression and desire for her, but after… after, I’ll regret it.
“If you keep pushing me, I’ll throw your ass outside like this so the rest of the world can deal with you.”
This is one standoff I’m determined to win. But fuck me. Don’t look at her.
My cock jerks and thickens regardless. She moves closer just as I turn for the door, and I catch a single glance of supple thighs right before the V of her pussy.
Shit. That was a mistake.
“You have a half hour to get ready, and then we have an appointment,” I say as I walk out. “If you make me late, you will regret it.”