Thayer
Ipush the door closed behind me. There’s either been a robbery or a tornado has blown through the room. Every drawer in the antique highboy is open, contents spilling out onto the floor. The bed’s in disarray and moving. It’s not a natural windstorm but a pile of flesh under the blankets.
I lower my voice. “Emily, which one of your boyfriends are you entertaining in my bed?” Strands of her blonde hair poke out from where the duvet doesn’t cover her.
I’m going to need to burn the sheets. Though the way my dick’s twitching, apparently he doesn’t care.
The thought of Emily doing it with anyone apparently arouses me.
It needs to stop. Both my attraction and other men in my bed.
“Hello, Thompson. Having fun?” I place the bag in my hand next to a brown paper bag on my nightstand.
“Until you arrived, yes. Have you always been such a killjoy?” He raises his chin at me.
He’s my height, maybe an inch shorter. He’s built like Darius, though I’m guessing he doesn’t punch as hard as my brother.
Then again, he’s got as much reason to hate me as Darius does, maybe more.
And boxing can be more of a mental sport than people realize.
“Yes.” I smile. “Do you box?”
“What?” His forehead furrows and his head tilts like the dog Esmeralda kept for Emily’s brother.
“Go for a round in the ring?”
“Weird question. I haven’t in a long time. But yeah, I used to go to the gym with my dad when I was living at home.”
“Good, good. You doing okay under there, Em? I’d hate for my new fiancée to suffocate before the wedding.”
“Don’t call me Em. Are you planning to suffocate me after the wedding?”
“Right, just making sure you can breathe.” I ignore her jab. I’d like to think that Emily knows I could never hurt her.
“I can breathe.” She flips back the duvet, revealing her bare shoulders.
Fuck me, she has the most delectable collarbone on the planet. I want to run my tongue down it and . . . “Good. Cook is serving dinner at seven, and with the rest of the staff back from the other estate, we need to have our game faces on.”
“Heard, coach.” Emily laughs and pulls the covers back over her head.
There’s a playful giggle in her tone, and it guts me that I’m not the one that put it there.
Anders sits at the end of the bed, resting his hand on a lump that must be Emily’s foot.
He’s wearing a pair of my shorts, no shirt.
His hair’s wet from their run in the rain.
But that’s not the reason I cut my day short in London.
I was already on my way home when I got the report from Holloway.
I made a few stops to pick some things up, but that also isn’t the real reason I’m home already.
It wasn’t the other security team coming in early that sent me packing back here.
These first few days have to go smoothly to keep suspicions down.
Tomorrow the doctor’s coming. And then we wait.
Wait to see if anyone leaks it to my father.
It’ll be easy to know. The bastard will be blowing up my phone the second he hears Em—Emily—is expecting.
I sink into the leather chair by the window and cock my head to the side. “Do me a favor, Thompson, put a shirt on before you leave. We have a charade to keep up. One that all our lives depend upon.”
He narrows his eyes at me but picks up an undershirt from the pile on the floor and pulls it on over his head.
He steps into the bathroom and comes out with a towel roll.
One I assume contains his own clothes. “I won’t forget.
When you dance with the devil, you can never forget.
I’ll see you later, Em.” He stresses her nickname, the one I’m not allowed to use.
The one I haven’t earned the right to use.
Only, I said it to her long before him. Em and lots of other things.
He kisses her on the top of her head and closes the door with a soft click.
When I turn back to Emily, she’s staring at me. “He’s not wrong.”
“I’m sure he’s not.” I’ve been called a killjoy before, and it will happen again.
Being the life of the party is something I gave up a long time ago.
It’s for people without the weight of the sins of their family on their shoulders.
It’s for people who don’t understand what the world is really about.
How the world is structured to eat you up and spit you out.
For the careless, the oblivious, and the foolish souls who will never take ownership of their own space. “You need clothes.”
“I do.”
“I like those words on your lips.”
She hops off the bed, the massive duvet wrapped around her body. “Don’t get used to them. They’re not meant for you. This isn’t real. Heck, this isn’t even pretend—not yet.”
“The show starts now, Emily.”
Her eyes roll as she trudges through the pile of clothes on the floor, dragging the comforter. The huge thing does nothing to cover up her backside. Her glorious round buttocks are on full display. I could be a gentleman and tell her. But where’s the fun in that?
“What happened to my drawers?” I ask.
She swings the white comforter around, clearing a swath of clothing like an alligator’s tail moving through swamp water—slow, but fast as hell when she wants to attack.
Her blue eyes light up her face. With one hand pressing the duvet to her chest, the other one pops to her hip.
“If you must know, I was looking for condoms.”
“And the Boy Scout didn’t have any?”
“No, he got on a plane to come rescue me because someone stuffed me into a cleaning cart.”
“You were not stuffed into a cleaning cart.” I hold her gaze.
There is no way she will ever figure out how Holloway and I got her out of the Saint Redford.
Lord help me if she does. I cross the room and pick up the bag of clothing I bought her and snatch the card case from the nightstand.
I haven’t brought a woman to my estate since back when Oliver and I were .
. . prowling. I hold the case out for her. “Here.”
She takes it on reflex and stares at it. “I don’t think I need a business card, Thayer. I’m not going to be emailing you anytime soon.”
“That’s a shame.” The words hang between the two of us. “But it’s best if you don’t email me. I would ruin you for the rest of your boyfriends. Here.” I hand her the bag too. “I’ll get you some more later,” I say and pivot away. I have a good six hours of work to do in my office.
“Condoms or clothes? Because I’m going to need both, and I’m not using your condoms.”
I stop and clench my eyes shut for a moment, then spin.
It shouldn’t bother me. She’s right; this isn’t real.
The card carrier bounces and lands in a nest of rumpled sheets.
I snag it from the bed and place it back into the drawer.
“I assure you there’s been no tampering with them.
But being skeptical is a good trait when you’re dealing with a Zambrano.
Well done. I suppose it would be easier for all of us if you were truly pregnant.
But I’m not planning on bringing another victim—another pawn—into this family.
So you don’t need to worry about that from me. ”
“But I am,” she says, the duvet scrunched around her waist. “I’m a pawn. I’m in your game.”
“You could never be a pawn, Emily. You’re the queen. The one with all the moves.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.” Her blue eyes flash at me.
“It’s the truth. Put the clothes on. I won’t be at dinner.”
“Won’t that be suspicious?”
“My staff knows me. They know how I work. It would be more suspicious if I was floating around like a lark, singing to birds and smiling.”
“Heaven forbid, not smiling. What would the neighbors think?” She says it with a sweet Southern drawl. “That you’d fallen in love with the woman you proposed to?”
“Zambranos don’t love; they use. Don’t forget it.” I lock the mask back over my face. “Be in the sitting room at nine. That’s when the security changes over to the night shift. We can put on a bit of a performance.” I’m out of the room before she can counteract my proposal.
The little sun the day held vanished hours ago, and my dinner plate is still untouched when the door to my office opens.
“Get out,” I say without looking up. I have another 300 pages of reports to review before I eat.
“You really are working,” Emily says, her voice soft and husky.
My attention snaps to her. “Yes, what did you think I would be doing?”
“I don’t know. World of Warcraft?”
My lips twitch up. “I don’t play games anymore, Emily.”
“Not computer games.” Her steps are slow across the room until she takes the tall oak chair next to my desk. Her head cocks, emphasizing her point.
“No games. What’s happening now is unfortunate but necessary.”
“I see. You know what else is necessary?”
“No.”
“Eating.” She nudges my plate toward me.
“Now you’re sounding like Esmeralda.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“I eat when I’m done.”
Her eyebrows go up. “And when is that?”
“When I finish,” I intone.
“Right, well it’s nine-thirty, and I’m going to bed.” She stands and claps her hands against her jean-covered thighs.
And instantly I’m transported to another den.
My father is sitting behind a desk similar to the one I’m at now, the soft red glow of the office light shining through my mother’s red hair.
“If you aren’t ever going to eat with us, James, we’re going to the house in Switzerland.
There’s no purpose in us being here if you won’t even look at either of us. ” I was maybe four.
“Thayer?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said if you want to start the show, it’s time. Or I’m going to bed.”
I glance at the computer screen, the only light in the room, and back to Emily.
“I’ll take that as your answer. Like you said, your staff knows who you are.” She stands and grasps the arm of the oak chair, her long fingertips curled around the polished wood. It’s a dream she’s here. “Right, I’m going to go.”
“Emily?” I stop her at the door. “Those aren’t the clothes I bought you.”
“No, no they’re not.” She taps the side of the door and closes it silently behind her.