Chapter Twenty-One
The Truth Beckons
Kyle
“I like this.” Leaning back in his recliner, he watched as she bent provocatively over his dresser and swished the feather duster around. He wasn’t certain how much dust she was actually removing, but honestly, he didn’t care. “I missed having my naughty maid around the place.”
“I’m always happy to help, sir.” She peered over her shoulder, flashing him an impish smile as she reached the duster higher. “You know that.”
Five days after Jonah’s departure, Kyle had lost count of the number of times he’d asked Amy to wear the kinky outfit for him. They both enjoyed the wickedness of the uniform, plus the dozens of dirty memories the attire already had attached to it meant as soon as she donned it, he found it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
She was a walking, talking, fabulous wet dream.
“Mmmm.” He nudged his growing cock into a more comfortable position as she purposefully stuck her ass into the air and bent lower. Without panties, Amy was an even more tempting proposition than usual, and that was saying something. “I do know that. I think the filing cabinet over there could do with a good dust as well.”
He glanced in the direction of the old cabinet, grinning as she straightened and walked toward it.
“This one, William ?” She ran the tip of the duster over the top of the cabinet, sashaying her hips.
“Now is not the time to use my first name, little girl.”
She grinned at his growl. “Do you mean this one, sir ?”
“That’s the one.” Jeez, she was driving him wild with her mischievous display. “Particularly the very bottom drawer.”
“Oh.” She turned, her brow rising in feigned surprise. “This one, sir?”
Bending directly from the hips, she hoisted the miniskirt into the air as she exposed her naked behind to him. The look of her reignited the fire burning in his blood.
“Yes.” His voice grew strained with desire. “ All of that one.”
“Very good.” Somehow, she bent lower as she drew the drawer open. “I’ll make sure it’s cleaned, sir.”
“Bloody hell, little girl.” The erection tenting his pants was an overwhelming distraction. “I’ll never do anything productive with you around.”
“Well…” She wriggled her ass teasingly, enticing him with two of the places he wanted to bury his cock. “I can dust somewhere else and let you get on in peace, sir.”
“Absolutely not.” Giving up on the concept of checking his investments, he closed the laptop in front of him. “These dusting sessions are for me and me alone.”
“Yes, sir.” She giggled, skimming the duster around the empty drawer.
He hadn’t used most of the cabinet for years since his investments all moved online, but as his balls ached at the sight of her, he was so happy he hadn’t removed them from his office.
“What about the other drawers, sir?” She waved the duster over the two other levels as she glanced his way.
“It’s the bottom one I want you to clean.” He smirked, knowing she’d understand why. The lowest level ensured she had to bend all the way over and stimulate him as she dusted. It facilitated the ideal position for his growing arousal.
“I see.” Righting herself, she pressed her lips into a hard line. “I’m starting to think you only want to objectify me, sir.”
“You’re just starting to think that?” He couldn’t resist the sardonic chuckle that escaped him. “Well, you may have a point, little girl.”
“Seriously, I’m happy to clean around here for you for a little while regardless, sir.” Her free hand rose to sit on her hip. “I know you don’t have anyone else.”
She was right. Amy’s rapid elevation in status meant he hadn’t even started looking for replacements. He needed a new housekeeper as well as a cleaner.
“That’s not why you’re here now, sweetheart.” Despite his raging arousal, he rose to his full height and closed the space between them. “You’re no longer my employee.”
“I know, but I can still help, sir. After all, I quit both of my jobs, and aside from satisfying my master’s insatiable sexual appetite, I don’t have much to do around here.”
“Is that right?” He wrapped an arm around her. “You poor thing. What a hellish life you must have.”
“I know.” She laughed into his waistcoat as her gaze rose to meet his. “It’s a constant struggle, but I mean it. I’m happy to clean until you have someone else.”
“So long as you don’t think I’m taking too much of an advantage.” His hand rose to skim over her high cheekbones. “It’s one thing devouring you and another using you as a workhorse.”
“I don’t mind,” she reiterated. “Especially if I can entertain you at the same ti—”
Her sentence was cut short by the sound of the bell ringing from the front door, and for a moment, they both turned to stare at the study’s door.
“Shall I get that, sir?” She blinked at him.
“Not dressed like that.” He snorted. “That outfit is only for public consumption when I choose to disgrace you.”
“Right.” Her gaze was knowing. “I guess you’d better go then.” She shrugged. “I seem to recall you don’t have a housekeeper now, either.”
“I really need to hire some new staff, don’t I?” Rolling his eyes in contrived exasperation, he kissed her forehead.
“Yes, sir.” She smiled as he turned and strode for the door.
***
Amy
Without Kyle’s presence, the room was darker somehow. The illumination provided by both the pale light spilling from the huge double windows and the various lamps around the place was the same, but the atmosphere shifted, leaving her lonely and bereft.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she turned, hoping to find something else she could dust. She wanted to keep busy, and Amy had meant what she’d told him. Without employment or either of her sons to occupy her, she was a little lost for what to do a lot of the time. Brock Hall was enormous and filled with a tone and style that was nothing like her own. Even though Kyle had told her repeatedly that the place was her home now, she didn’t yet feel like it was.
How could she?
Everything in the place was his. The decor spoke of his choices, smelled of his scent, and of the years he’d exulted, living there before she’d come into his life. If she was going to stay there with him—and she hoped she was—she’d have to try to make her mark in more diminutive ways.
“I’ll start with the cleaning.”
She spun around, her attention fixing on the filing cabinet he’d ordered her to dust. The bottom drawer was well and truly dust-free, so she might as well turn her feather duster to the remaining ones and finish the task.
Easing the middle drawer open, she scanned the contents. Unlike the third one, her gaze fell on a collection of old electronics, enough old laptops and tablets to sell and feed a small developing country.
Moving the duster around the space, she sighed. Was she ever going to get used to the luxury and opulence of Kyle’s life? He’d been nothing but generous to her, but the truth was, despite the work she’d done with him to overcome some of her swirling fear around the currency, money still left her feeling fearful and mistrustful.
She supposed those feelings were unavoidable. So many years of toil and contracting where finances were concerned were not going to evaporate in a matter of weeks, but looking around, she acknowledged it was more than only that. She still couldn’t say how her lover had even come into so much wealth, and something about the mystery seemed insidious. She’d expected him to talk about work, but he’d never offered her the information, and based on her suffocating inability to deal with money, she’d never asked for it.
The longer she was around him, though, the more pressing she sensed the matter was. She ought to know him that well, at least, shouldn’t she? She should be able to have the conversation.
“I’ll speak to him.” Dropping the duster, she gripped the cabinet for support.
He’d asked her to be honest, hadn’t he—demanded it from her in a painful and provoking way—so why was it so difficult to comply?
“Bloody money.” Her brows knitted.
It wasn’t the currency’s fault that she found it so problematic, but having allowed it to dominate so much of her life, she refused to let it corrode the joy she’d discovered with Kyle.
“I’ll ask him about it.” She sounded more certain that time, but the trepidation twisting in her tummy suggested otherwise. “I’ll ask him where he got all this from.”
Maybe he’d inherited the money? Brock Hall had the air of an old ancestral home about it, but he’d hardly mentioned his family at all. Certainly, she’d never seen him ‘go to work’ in any conventional sense, which meant there was no obvious job. It was odd that he never mentioned his money, either. The closest he got were the fleeting times he referred to his investments and when he offered to bail her out.
“Maybe it’s just none of my business.” Blowing out a breath, she retrieved the duster and slid the middle drawer closed before she tugged the top one open.
The new compartment was rammed with folders, each filled with paper. Taken aback by the contrast with the other two drawers, she placed the duster on top of the unit and stretched one of the first files apart.
Nervous energy furled as she turned her head to read the filed paper. His paperwork was definitely none of her business, but they were together now, and they were happy. Surely, he didn’t have any secrets to keep from her? Especially in the cabinet he’d asked her to dust and after his speech and the significance of openness and honesty.
Reassured, she scanned the document. Deep down, she knew it was wrong to read things that didn’t belong to her, but the nagging thought didn’t stop her from devouring some of the details.
It concerned someone called Tim Brent. She paused, convinced she recognized that name but unsure why. Throat drying, she continued reading, her brow creasing until a location she recognized jumped off the page at her.
Number Ten Aspen Way.
Her heart skipped a beat. Aspen Way had been the cul-de-sac she’d lived on with Graham and the boys when they were younger. Seeing it written on one of Kyle’s documents was downright perturbing and clawed at her escalating apprehension.
“It’s a strange coincidence.” Her voice quivered as she allowed the piece of paper to fall into its folder, but despite her growing reticence, she found herself skipping through the files to investigate another.
Selecting one, she delved into the file and slid out the document.
Ken Donaldson, resident of Number Six, Aspen Way.
The tension in her tummy tightened until it was painful. Two residents of an identical street—the same street she’d lived on for years—was way more than a coincidence.
It meant something.
Fishing the paper from the open file, she read the information carefully. The Donaldsons had been residents at around the same time as the Kendals, but why did Kyle have paperwork on them? Scanning the document further, the answer smacked her in the face.
The paper in her hand was a record of their tenancy agreement, and Kyle, it seemed, had been their landlord.
The room around her swayed as the line ran through her head again.
Kyle was their landlord.
She dropped the paper into the file, staring at the wood paneling ahead. How the fuck was he their landlord?
Cold dread tingled at her fingertips as she searched through the files again. She hadn’t mentally noted what she was looking for, but as she perused, there was no doubt what letter was on her mind.
K for Kendal.
Nausea stirred her unease, threatening to make it to her throat as she found the last agreement she ever wanted to see—the evidence that proved there was an existing link between her family and her lover—a connection he’d failed to mention once in the days she’d spent with him.
Pulling the Kendal paperwork from its file, she pushed the drawer closed and leaned against it. Her heart was galloping so fast, she had to pull in a deep breath to focus on the tiny, typed font.
Graham Kendal. She couldn’t take in any more air as her eyes stilled over her late husband’s name. Of Two Aspen Way.
Hoping the daylight would reveal she’d been imagining the details, she moved closer to the nearest window and let the pane take the weight of her as she rested her forehead against it. The light, though, only reasserted what she thought she’d seen.
“Fuck.” She closed her eyes, unable to witness the hard truth.
Two Aspen Way was the house they’d raised their children in until, shortly after Graham’s passing, she’d received a hasty eviction notice. Kyle—the man she’d fallen head over heels in love with—had been their landlord at the time. Her. Landlord—for years—but she’d known nothing about him or the connection until that moment!
“Oh my God.” The paper fell from her fingers, fluttering to the carpet below. “He sent the eviction notice that catapulted me into a financial shitstorm.”
Tears blurred in her eyes as she struggled to comprehend the ramifications of what it all meant, and all at once, the attire that had once been so sexy and provocative morphed into something cheap and dirty. Was her lover—the hero who’d swooped in to save her—nothing but a villain, and if he was innocent, why had he never mentioned the fact he’d owned the home she shared with Graham?
“Little girl?” Kyle’s inquiring tone shook her from her woe, and turning, she saw him already inside the room, his arms folded across his chest. “Want to tell me why you’re reading my files?”