Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
HAYAMI
PRESENT
“I’m going to head up and take a shower,” I tell the Beast, sitting in the chair opposite me in the sitting room. He looks like a statue, his shoulders hunched, hands clasped under his chin.
It’s been two hours since I told him I’d dropped off my only other bodyguard at the airport. Two hours of him probably catastrophising about what could happen to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I value life. Just not my own. You have to have control of something for it to be yours, and my life has never belonged to me. It’s bound in a direction I can’t allow it to take, hence why I floated facedown in the pool.
But I know this: If I die on Willa’s watch—or even the Beast’s—it won’t just be my life that ends. It’ll be theirs. And I don’t want anyone else’s blood on my hands; my father has enough on his for us all.
I put my romance book down and push myself to the edge of the sofa. “You should check out the library.”
“What?” I swear I hear his neck creak.
“I said you should check out the library,” I repeat. “Did you read the book I bought you?”
“No” is all he says, but his mouth remains open as if he’s going to add something. He must think better of it, as he closes his lips.
I’m not disappointed that he hasn’t read the book. Maybe thrillers aren’t his thing. Plus, he’s never struck me as a bookworm. But I’d never pass up the opportunity to introduce someone to the world of books.
“Then you should check out the library,” I say for the third time.
“Why do I need to check out the library?” The Beast furrows his brow, and I marvel at how the scars down the left side of his face don’t move.
“Because for the last two hours, you have just sat in that chair and stared at me.”
“It’s my job, and you just sent your other bodyguard away.”
“Yeah, well, it’s boring, and also, I don’t have any opportunity to pick my nose or scratch my bottom. When am I supposed to do these things if you’re constantly watching me?”
There’s a little quirk at the side of his mouth, the one I love to see because I know it takes a lot to make it appear.
“What’s that got to do with me checking out the library?” he asks, the smile quickly fading.
“You should try reading a book.” I wave mine at him for emphasis.
“I don’t have time to read,” he scoffs.
“There’s nothing else to do up here,” I tell him. “You’re going to die of boredom if you don’t find something to occupy you, and then who’s going to protect me?”
He appears to consider this before speaking.
“The last book I read was in school, and I don’t even remember it, so it must’ve been boring.”
“More boring than sitting in this room staring at me, waiting for something that isn’t going to happen?” I want to add. How does this guy unwind? No wonder he doesn’t sleep.
“You’ve been reading the wrong books, then,” I say as a devilish feeling comes over me.
I’m not sure what I expected now that the Beast and I are alone in the house.
The dynamics have certainly changed between us over the last six months, but I still don’t know how I feel about him.
I can’t deny there’s something about him that fascinates me.
There have been moments when he’s made my skin heat and my core flip, but there have also been times when I’ve wanted to strangle him.
And what about the Beast?
Maybe he doesn’t feel at all. He’s gone all professional on me, reminding me that I’m a job, an assignment, and nothing more. But we’re going to be stuck in this house together, and I can’t stand the tension that’s settled over the last two hours.
The naughty feeling begins to swell, so I flick open the pages of my book and select a paragraph.
I clear my throat and put on my best husky male voice as I read aloud. “‘You want me, don’t you, Kylie? Are you wet for me, baby? Do you want my big cock in your mouth—’”
I don’t get any further, as he snatches the book out of my hand and scans the rest of the page, his face giving nothing away.
“No wonder you read so much,” he says. “This is fucking filth.”
“Yeah, well, this filth beats sitting around here doing nothing.”
“You found this in the library?” He’s still reading, his eyes roaming the words.
“No. Nita must have packed it for me.”
The only time I’ve fallen in love is within the pages of a romance book. I’ll never forget my very first book boyfriend. He did things for me and taught me things I would never have learned in real life. These books became my escape, became the only way I could live the life I wanted.
“It’s porn,” the Beast says with a tut.
“It’s not.” I snatch the book out of his hand. “And even if it was, we all have our needs. Don’t tell me you don’t have a stash of porn or a favourite website.”
There’s a ripple across his features, and I picture him, eyes closed, his hand working himself into a frenzy.
“I don’t need porn,” he says at last, his face darkening.
I’ve tried to embarrass him, tried to make him feel uncomfortable for my own amusement, and now it’s going to royally backfire like all the times before when I’ve pulled this little stunt.
His gaze intensifies, and I swear I feel his eyes caressing my body before he says, “I have a very good imagination.”
I gulp, heat flaring over my skin. What does he think about when he touches himself?
As if answering me, he says, “I thought you were going to take a shower.”
Words escape me, so I just slip from the sofa and make my way up the stairs, knowing he’ll disappear into the small security room to make sure no one attacks me when I’m in my room.
But is that all he’ll be doing?
Entering my bedroom, I don’t feel the release of his stare as I look at the corner of the room where the camera blinks. He’ll be sitting there now, behind his desk, watching me.
A tingling awakens between my legs.
Maybe it’s because of the book I’ve just been reading.
Maybe it’s because of the conversation we’ve just had.
Or maybe it’s because I’m thinking of him.
I turn my back on the camera, bravery coursing through my veins as I pull my jumper over my head before easing my sweats over my hips and sliding them down my legs.
Is he watching? Is he gasping as I bend over to pull my feet through the legs of my pants? Is he stroking himself whilst looking at my backside?
And more importantly, do I want him to?
Kicking my discarded clothes away, I then turn to face the camera, letting him see me in my underwear. Letting him take in all of me. Letting him know that this is just for him.
* * *
FENRIR
There’s no comical blowing of a kiss this time as Hayami turns to stare at the camera. She’s enchanting. Her skin’s the palest eggshell, her hair the darkest black. My cock twitches as she turns and disappears into the en suite.
She’s just messing around. Just toying with me.
This is nothing but a continuation of the conversation we were having downstairs about the type of books she reads.
Nothing more than the flirtatious shit she pulls daily, right?
I know the kind of clubs Hayami has been trying to get into these last few months.
The kind where hands get busy under tables, where people go to have more than a drink and dance.
They’re the types of places where people go for one thing and one thing only.
And I still don’t know what game she’s playing or what goes through her head sometimes. But I sure as hell know that something is going on with her, something between us. Or am I imagining it? Is she just winding me up?
Maybe it’s all wishful thinking on my part. Because there’s no way Hayami could ever want me. Only weirdos are ever attracted to me, and people who see me as a morbid curiosity—the ones who want to tick “fucked a freak” off their bucket list.
I fight the urge to stroke my cock. I won’t stoop to that level whilst I’m supposed to be working. This is a job. But after the revelation that Willa isn’t here, I’m going to find it hard to remind myself of this.
After Hayami explained why she’d sent Willa away and my anger had settled, I realised what she was saying was right: Willa needs to be with her family, and Hayami has never taken her safety very seriously.
I can’t help admiring her for having the nerve to defy her father, and for standing up for what she believes in and what she thinks is right.
There are grown men who won’t stand up to the likes of Barrett Devall.
The en suite door opens. I lean over the desk as Hayami emerges, towel-drying her hair, eyes on the floor. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge the camera as she throws the towel over the back of the small sofa before she climbs into bed and flicks off the light.
Show’s over.
I settle back in the chair and replay her stripping in my head over and over and over again.