Chapter 2
Allister
Dormant dick.
Dormant: having normal physical functions suspended or slowed for a time, as if in a deep sleep.
Well, hibernation is over.
Two weeks ago, the first time I saw her, I tried to tell myself it was just adrenaline and male ego.
White knight syndrome. I've got it. Always have.
But this was different. I opened that dungeon door, found her gagged and tied to her wheelchair in the pitch black, and my knees nearly went out from under me. In the dim light, I could barely make out her face, but it was more than her beauty that shook me.
Thunder rolled through me. Something in me latched onto her in that black room and hasn't let go since.
I can't explain it. It hit me like a bat to the balls.
I couldn't get a full breath as I crossed to her, shoving cops out of my path when they tried to step in front of me.
No way was anyone getting to her before me. I became someone else in that room, something wild.
Two days she'd been down there, barely touched by another living soul. A little bread shoved in her mouth, a few sips of water, just enough to keep her alive. She was weak, shivering, and I wanted to strip the flesh from the bones of the person who did that to her.
Leah screamed at me. She didn't beg for help. She fought.
The second I cut the zip ties off her wrists, she turned into a Gatling gun of fists. And I loved every blow.
I even smiled, which set her off on another round. I didn't blame her, even then. She didn't know me, and I should've let the cops go first, but I knew she was in that room, and the second I found her in the dark, nothing else mattered.
Finders keepers kept circling in my head.
Because that's exactly what I planned to do. Keep her.
She's leaning into my arm, taking slow, measured steps toward the door of Deck's guesthouse, where she's been staying since the rescue. The police have wrapped up their investigation, but with May gone, Leah's in no hurry to set foot back in the estate.
Decker and I met in basic training. He had a decade on the rest of us recruits, so I called him Gramps. While everyone else chased the girl of the day, he never went wild.
Nor did I.
That's what bonded us. Two men with no interest in the one thing the rest of them couldn't stop chasing.
I run Monarch Ventures with him. His nightclubs were my whole life before Leah. Fourteen-hour days, seven days a week, and I never minded. Same as Decker, before May. Now that he's married her sister, he's making noises about handing me the reins for good.
The bulge in my slacks is shoving through the break in my suit coat, and there's no controlling the monster when she's this close. I clear my throat, praying for an ounce of control.
She's got her sable hair in twisted, soft curls pinned at the back of her head, the rest falling straight to the center of her back.
The way it moves against the peach fabric of her dress makes me want to bury my nose in it.
I've known that sweet scent since the rehearsal dinner last night, when I finally got close enough to breathe her in.
When she saw me, she thanked me for helping her. It meant more than any recognition I've ever earned. That soft, simple thank you is a trophy. I'll be carrying it around long after she's forgotten she gave it to me.
I couldn't find a single word to say back. She must've thought I was an idiot, standing there with my hands in my pockets and my mouth open, my cock practically nudging his way out of my zipper to make his own introduction.
Her scent stayed with me all night, the way it's with me right now.
It's nothing I've ever known, sweet but fresh, decadent and innocent at once.
I woke this morning covered in my own cum from the dreams that wreck my sleep, the way every morning has gone since the day I found her.
That day, something inside me snapped. I swore off any more stroke sessions. It just didn't feel right anymore.
But my dreams have a mind of their own. Every night, the hours are filled with her.
My lips on hers. My rough, calloused fingers finding her nipples, twirling and pinching them while I stare into her eyes and watch that dreamy look take over. My arms lifting her, dancing her around the room with her feet on mine, giving her the feeling of moving like a breeze.
Then laying her down and making her body mine in every way.
"Smells great in here." I tip my head back just inside the front door and breathe in the home cooking. Fresh bread, the rich, thick smell of roast beef. My mouth waters for a whole new reason.
"That's Henrietta. Her real name is Henryka, but when we were little, we couldn't say that, so she became Henrietta.
" Leah rolls her eyes playfully, raising her voice so she'll be heard by whoever's milling about in the kitchen.
"She insists on cooking these huge meals for me every day, even though I barely touch a few bites. "
"You need to eat." I tighten my grip on her hand. She tips a questioning glance up at me.
"I do eat." A quick smile brushes her lips, and I want to kiss her so bad my head's pounding in time with the ache below my belt.
I want all her smiles from now on. I want to teach her those lips were made to curve up, not down.
Or open wide.
The sadness lingering in her eyes makes me pull in a slow breath. It takes her a second to let the smile settle. She's forgotten the joy she deserves. Joy I want to give her.
"I don't need these caveman meals cooked for me every single day." She squeezes my hand. "Henrietta is overprotective. Feeding me more than the Knights of the Round Table could eat in a sitting is her way of showing it."
We step into the kitchen, tall windows filling the wall over the sink, everything gleaming in gunmetal gray, glossy white, stainless steel.
This place is Deck all over. Cold and stark. Leah looks warm and lush in the middle of it.
An older woman, gray hair braided and pinned on top of her head, fusses over the stove, muttering in Polish. I know it's Polish because my parents emigrated from Warsaw. She's cursing at whatever she's stirring.
"Hi, Henrietta."
"Oh!" She breaks from her Polish blue streak. As she turns to see Leah, her worn face lights up. "Zabka!"
She twists back to the stove, stirring, grumbling into a fresh Polish tirade. I never learned to speak it, just the curse words, but I can pick out most of what's said, and I'm pretty sure she just called Leah a frog.
I guide Leah to the glass-topped table and pull out a chair with my free hand. She leans on me as I lower her into it, and even with her full weight on my forearm, she weighs almost nothing, and it wrecks me.
I don't miss the shaking sigh of relief when the weight leaves her feet. No arm crutches today, just the leg braces, and I've watched all day what that costs her. I wanted to scoop her up and be her legs, but she stayed on her feet through May and Deck's vows, while I stood there in awe of her.
Henrietta turns back around, jutting out a round hip and narrowing her eyes at Leah. "So?" She jabs the word at Leah. "How was the wedding?" Her curt formality doesn't hide her displeasure.
"It wasn't really a wedding, Henrietta. It was just a ceremony.
Don't be mad at May for not inviting you and Mr. Fredby.
And Wilson. Well, Wilson drove, but he was kind of a grouch about it as well.
It was so quick, like ten minutes, in and out.
Recite the vows and get on with the honeymoon.
That's what she wanted. You know May, you can't tell her anything.
She gets her mind set, and that's that."
I move behind Leah's chair, hands shoved in my pockets, shifting my half-hard monster, praying to God the two of them don't clock the tent in my trousers.
Henrietta huffs and glares at us both.
Then she trades the gravy-dripping spoon for a knife.
She flicks it in the air sharply, then points it at me, narrowing her milky blue eyes as she does.
"Who's he?" She crosses from the stove to stand over us.
The black and white of her uniform is crisp and clean, without a single drop of the meal she's been cooking showing on the fabric. "Hmmm? Who is he?"
She stabs the knife once more in my direction, making no effort to soften her question.
I answer as Leah stifles a laugh. "Allister Marshall, ma'am." I step around the table and hold out my hand. "My family name is Maslak. From Warsaw originally. My parents changed it to Marshall when they came here."
She stares at me and then back at Leah as though I don't exist. "And who is Allister Marshall? Hmmm?"
A giggle escapes Leah. "He's the one that helped find me that night.
He's Decker's best friend. They run the business together.
" Leah draws out each word as Henrietta continues to stare her down with doubt.
"He wanted to make sure I got home safely from the wedding, that's all.
I drank a glass of champagne, after all, and who knows what horrors could have awaited me in my impaired state of mind.
" Leah ends with a smile on those amazing lips.
In the limo, her walls were up, defenses locked down tight. But here, under Henrietta's fire, she's the one coming to my defense, and it warms something in my chest.
"Hmmmph. Okay." Henrietta examines me from my forehead to my feet, then puts the knife down into the front pocket of her white apron and smacks me on the chest before pointing at the chair next to Leah. "You. Sit. Eat."
I start to tell her I'm not hungry, hands raised in surrender, but Leah cuts in with a wave. "No, Henrietta, he's not staying."
"Sit." She stabs a finger toward me, then the table, then looks back at Leah before she continues. "And I saw the empty box of those Pop-Tarts." Henrietta narrows her eyes at Leah. "That's not food."
Her sullen look and the discomfort are gone, replaced by something warm and open.
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, and that just lets me know I'm right.