Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Isaac
I’m trying to keep it together, but I’m losing the battle. I hate that Amber is in her bedroom and won’t talk to me. I know I said I would give her space, and I will. I would never go back on my word, but I’m frustrated.
I’m mad at myself for inadvertently rocking the boat. I should have stayed out of her room. But she wasn’t responding. What if she’d been hurt or hit her head or something? Was I supposed to stay out of her room and just hope she didn’t die?
Fuck .
I cleaned the kitchen and turned off all the lights in the rest of the apartment for the night. I’m in my room, but there’s no way I can go to bed. It’s early, and I’m pacing.
There is no telling what Amber will do now that I’ve changed the game. Fire me? Maybe. Seems unlikely. But she’s embarrassed. That’s for sure.
Suddenly, I hear her door opening, and I spin around just as she steps into the frame of my door. My girl is fierce and determined with her hands on her hips, her spine rigid, and her gaze narrowed.
She has no idea she’s adorable and can’t pull off fierce and determined. I won’t tell her this, of course. I keep it inside, not allowing anything in my expression to give away my internal mirth.
Before I can say anything, she lifts a finger and shakes it at me. “Erase the last few hours from your head, Isaac. Got it?”
Her words are unexpected. I’ve visualized several possible scenarios. This wasn’t one of them. I give a nod.
“I mean it. Rewind. I’m too tired to fire you and deal with adjusting to a new bodyguard. I don’t even need a fucking bodyguard. I’m not in any danger. My brother is wasting his money on your salary. It’s madness. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself. I don’t need a keeper.”
I don’t dare move or speak. I simply nod again. She needs to get this out of her system. I won’t stop her. It changes nothing. It’s just words. If it makes her feel better to pretend tonight never happened, I’ll go along with it for as long as she needs. Eventually, the rubber band will snap, but it doesn’t have to be tonight.
She continues, “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have someone shadowing you all day, every day? It’s so annoying. I can’t even pee without thinking you can hear it. I haven’t been on a date in so long that I’ve forgotten how to have sex.”
This makes me flinch. There is no fucking way she’s going on any dates. If she’s about to suggest such a thing, I will be forced to shut that shit down. And sex? The thought of my girl having sex with another man makes my blood boil. She’s thirty years old. I’m not an idiot. It’s not as though I think she’s a virgin. Of course, she’s not. But I’d rather not think about her fucking another man. I’m the only man she will ever have inside her for the rest of her life.
After she decides to take her head out of her ass and recognize that she’s mine…
She keeps shaking that finger. She has her other hand on her cocked hip. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Not . “Do not ever mention this evening again. Wipe it from your head. We’re going back to how things were before you barged into my room without permission. One peep and I will tell my brother to fire you. Are we clear?”
If we were in an actual relationship, I would take this Little girl over my knees, pull her pants and panties down, and spank her bottom until she was too sorry to ever threaten me again. But we are not. She is not technically mine. She hasn’t agreed to anything of the sort.
This is not over. Not even close. But I’m not sparring with Amber tonight. She’s hurting. Something happened in her therapy session that snowballed into her curling up in her closet. I wish she would talk to me about it, but she’s not going to do it tonight. She needs me to agree with her so she can go to bed.
I want to say something snarky, but I hold my tongue. It will only infuriate her further for me to say, “Yes, Mistress,” or some shitty response that goes with her threat. I’m a bigger man than that. All I do is nod.
That’s what she needs. She spins on her heels, stomps back into her room, and slams the door.
I blow out a breath and stare at the empty doorframe for a long time. My chest is tight. I hate that my girl is in so much pain and won’t let me in. I could help her in so many ways.
She’s having nightmares. She might think I don’t know, but I do. She cries out, which yanks me out of my sleep. I don’t sleep soundly. I can’t. I’m alert at all times. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her while I was asleep.
If she would just recognize that we’re more than employer/employee, I could help her. If she would let me hold her, it would make all the difference. She needs to let her guard down, let me in, let me carry some of the weight.
If I were in her bed at night, I bet she could sleep better. If she weren’t so sexually frustrated from not dating, she would definitely sleep better.
But the biggest thing of all is that my girl needs a firm spanking. She doesn’t get any release. She has no outlet for her frustration. I’m certain if she let me spank her ass until she was brought to tears, she would feel so much better. She could clear her head of all the shit that seeps in throughout the day.
Another thing my girl could use is some Little time. Now that I’ve caught her curled up asleep in her closet, I'm more certain than ever before. She was stressed when we got home and managed that stress by going into Little space. It relaxed her enough that she even fell asleep. Does she not recognize the benefits of Little space?
My hands are tied. I can’t push her to acknowledge the obvious. I would never betray her trust and tell her brother or her therapist what I believe. I have no choice but to wait for Amber to come to her damn senses and see that what’s right in front of her is a Daddy Dom who would give his life for her.
Eventually, I step into the hallway. Her door is still closed, of course. The lights in her room are off. I assume she has gone to bed. I don’t even know what Amber wears to bed. I’ve pictured her a million times in her sleepwear, but I’ve never seen her.
She does her own laundry and is very discreet about it. I’ve never even switched her load to the dryer or emptied it for her. I’ve never offered. It wouldn’t be right for her bodyguard to touch her panties and bras. It’s out of the question.
Does she sleep in nightgowns? Lingerie? Somehow, I can’t picture my girl in lingerie, not because she wouldn’t be sexy as fuck wearing it. She would. I just doubt she would buy it for herself and wear it alone. Maybe she has pajamas or shorts and shirts that match. What color would they be? She’s not a pastel kind of girl.
Perhaps I would be better off putting my energy toward far more important thoughts, but I’ve been plagued by visions of what my girl wears to bed for two years.
I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to sleep. It’s still early, but I think it would behoove me to get some shuteye now. The hairs on the back of my neck are tickling. Tomorrow is not going to be a normal day.
After changing into my usual loose shorts and T-shirt, I climb into bed and stare at the ceiling. The apartment is quiet. I’m so tuned in to Amber that I would know if she were moving around or…crying. I don’t think she’s doing either. And I’ve never known her to cry. She could use the release.
I flex my right hand. I’m itching to spank her. If I spanked her hard enough, she would cry. She would end up sobbing. The amount of stress she could release from a spanking would be huge. If I followed both of those up by plunging my fingers into her pussy until she came, she’d sleep for twenty hours.
But none of that is going to happen. Not tonight. Not in the near future.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. After two more of those, I remember nothing until I suddenly jolt awake.
Sun is streaming into the room. I bolt upright and glance at the clock. It’s seven in the morning. I run a hand down my face, breathing heavily. I haven’t slept that long or that hard since I was about five. I can’t believe it.
It occurs to me that a noise woke me up. I think it was a door. I shove the covers aside, slide my legs over the edge, and rush out of the room. I swear to all that is holy, if I find out Amber has left the apartment, I will catch her before she reaches the first floor, drag her back up here with a hand wrapped around her bicep, and spank her naughty bottom without saying a word.
None of that is true. But it’s what I want to do. I jerk my gaze to her bedroom. The door is standing open, so she did exit that room. However, the room across the hall—her studio—is closed. It’s never closed unless she’s in there.
She’s a sly Little girl, though. It’s possible she shut that door as a decoy to buy herself some time while she plays Houdini. On silent feet, I stride toward the studio and set my ear against the door. I don’t breathe while I wait.
Finally, I let out a long, quiet exhale when I hear movement. She’s probably setting up her easel and paints. She’s very particular about her workspace.
Rarely have I watched her paint. She doesn’t like anyone looking at her. She goes into her head when she works, and anyone watching makes her feel oddly violated. It breaks her concentration so she can’t fully focus. I respect that. I’ve never opened this door when she’s working.
In addition, Amber has never once gone into her studio at seven in the morning. She doesn’t get out of bed this early. She’s far more likely to work at two in the morning, having not gone to bed yet, than get up early.
Apparently, today is a new day.
I’m so relieved she’s in her studio that I lean against the wall for a moment and allow myself to come fully awake. The last thing I feel like doing is chasing Amber around Seattle this morning.
I head back to my room, change into my workout clothes, and get on the treadmill. I’m late, but I need as much of my workout as I can get. I sense a challenge. The air between us is going to be thick. She’s probably not going to speak to me or acknowledge I exist for most of the day. I’m used to it. I refuse to let it bother me.
I up the pace and start jogging. I need to focus so I don’t end up missing a step and falling on my ass off the back of the machine. It’s impossible to keep thoughts of Amber from my mind, though.
Any other man would have said “fuck it” to this arrangement about twenty-three months ago. Some days, I think I’m a fool for sticking around. My hands are tied. I’m in love with her. I can’t and won’t leave her until she forces me to. And she won’t because she’s in love with me, too.
I’ve often asked myself if she’s just using me. She needs me. She feels safe with me. I’m the best bodyguard she’s ever had. Hell, I’m more than a bodyguard. I cook for her, drive her when she wants to go somewhere, and wait for her while she shops or meets with a gallery owner.
I’m like a fucking puppy in many ways. I should be more frustrated than I usually am. This morning, I’m pretty fucking tense. I have to keep reminding myself that my girl is hurting. She’s in pain. She holds me at arm’s length, often farther than that, because she’s afraid to let me get close.
I’ve never fully understood why she won’t let anyone close to her. I don’t think it’s because of the kidnapping. That doesn’t add up. I suspect it has to do with her parents passing when she was only a teenager, but that was so long ago. It’s not as though everyone in the world abandoned her.
I’m well aware that Spence didn’t flinch. He took custody of his sister, helped her get through high school, and set her up at the local university. She was there for two years before she dropped out. After the kidnapping, she never went back. I suspect Spence insisted she could only return if she had a bodyguard, and she told him to fuck off. That adds up for Amber.
I wonder if she had a bad relationship or two before or after the abduction. She was almost too young to have had her heart broken before she was twenty. Maybe she had a boyfriend at the time, but he didn’t stick around to help her through the aftermath. Spence never mentioned anything like that, but it’s possible he didn’t know.
I don’t have the answers I want, and I don’t have anyone to ask, either. All I can do is wait for Amber to let me in and tell me. What if it takes her five years to see what’s in front of her face? What if she never does?
I know the answer. I’ll still be here because I’d rather have a tiny piece of her than no piece at all. I’d rather have angry, stomping Amber sassing me and rolling her eyes as a means of communication than never see her again. Leaving will never be an option.
Perhaps I’m a schmuck, but I truly believe she will cave one of these days, admit her feelings for me, and we can move into a far more pleasant stage in our relationship. I just need to be patient.
While I run, I suddenly have an idea that percolates in my head for the next hour through my workout and shower. When I come out of my room, I glance at the closed studio door. Amber is still in there, so I head for the farthest corner of the living room, keeping my eyes on the hallway. I would know if Amber opened the door to her studio. She doesn’t usually come out for hours, but today is odd. She also doesn’t usually go into her studio this early in the day.
I lift my phone and call Spence. When he answers, I explain to him what I want.
“Why…?” Spence asks me.
“Does it matter?” I respond.
Spence sighs heavily. “Yes. It matters a lot. We’re talking about my sister. I’m not an idiot, nor am I blind. You’ve been in love with Amber for almost as long as you’ve known her. Why are you doing this? Did something happen?”
I draw in a deep breath. “Yes. I’d rather not talk about it, though.”
A few seconds of silence pass before Spence speaks again. “Does she know about this?”
“Fuck, no. And you’re not going to tell her, either.”
“I don’t like it. I think you should talk to her first.”
“Not going to happen.” I shake my head even though Spence can’t see me. I was hoping he could okay this request without going through twenty questions, but I should have known better. This is Spence I’m talking to. He loves fiercely, and that includes his sister. He would do anything for her.
“She’s been upset lately. I assume that’s because of Jacob’s release,” Spence says.
“I agree. I’m not inside her therapy sessions, of course, but I suspect that’s making her nervous.”
Spence takes deep breaths. “No one has ever asked me to do something like this, Isaac. It could backfire terribly. Why don’t you ask her to marry you or something?”
I chuckle. Marry me? Is he on drugs? I eye the hallway closely to make sure she’s still not able to hear me. “Spence, your sister barely tolerates my presence, and you think I should drop down on one knee and pop open a jewelry box?”
This conversation is awkward. I don’t discuss Amber with Spence. Well, that’s not true. I talk to him about Amber often—at least once a week—but it’s always regarding her welfare, not my relationship with her or lack thereof.
After the request I just made, there’s no way to hide the fact that Amber is mine. I just don’t want to discuss it further with her brother. I have the oddest relationship in the world with Amber. I don’t even understand it. I’m certainly not going to try to explain it to Spence.
Spence sighs again. “I’ll do this for you, but the only reason I’m going to do it is because I have the power to undo it. I own Golden Alliances.”
“You can’t undo signed documents,” I point out. “That would be illegal.”
“True, but I have unlimited funds. I can send bank transfers from my account without your permission.”
I stand taller, hand on my hip. “Don’t you dare. If you do, I’ll fucking donate it to charity.”
“Jesus. You’re serious about this.”
“Deadly. Make it happen. Let me know when the papers are ready, and I’ll come sign them.”
“You gonna bring Amber with you for that and lie to her about what you’re signing?”
“You know I wouldn’t leave her alone. She’s with me no matter where I go. Maybe you can invite us for dinner or something. Keep it discreet. I mean it.”
“How about I have Cassandra invite her over for a playdate when the papers are ready,” he says with a hint of teasing.
“Sure. You do that,” I retort. It’s high time Amber let her Little out. If she won’t do it with me, maybe she’ll do it with Cassandra. As long as it’s not my suggestion, she might go for it.
“Speak of the devil,” Spence says, “your woman just texted me.”
My woman. Ha . Interesting. “What’d she say?” I ask far too eagerly.
“You want me to tell her about the conversation you and I just had?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Then I’m not going to tell you about the one I’m about to have with her.”
“Fine.”
“Later.” Spence ends the call. I’m left standing in the silent living room, wondering how my life got this far off balance.