Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE | KATE
My spoon nudges around the beef in my bowl, my eyes locked on the tender meat bobbing in the broth of my stew like it's the most interesting thing in this massive dining room.
All day I’ve meant to ask Preston if he wanted to eat with me tonight, since we usually dine separately in our rooms, but I haven’t seen him.
Not to mention it's a little too late now. Unfortunately, I waited this long hoping I’d run into him, despite my stomach grumbling when I got off work.
I should be hungry, but unease has settled in my stomach instead.
Something monumental changed when he ravenously claimed me in the maze, and I’m starting to crave that deeper connection that only time together can offer. I want those ordinary moments since I said I’d give him all of me if he gave me all of him.
Then, when I woke, the cold sheets from his side soaked into my back, and I knew he was gone.
He had cradled me all night, tucking me safely into his side like a lover would.
That’s where he was when I fell asleep, after he let me ride him until I had us both coming undone again.
At some point, he slipped from the bed, and I haven’t seen him since.
So, I got up and went on with my day at the clinic, replaying everything that happened.
Is he regretting what transpired in the garden?
It wasn’t just that one time. He made good on his vow and carried me back to his room.
He removed my clothes, placing me on his gray duvet that felt like heaven until he took me there with his cock.
He did what he promised and admired the mess he made of my pussy by sliding back into me.
I was leaking with his arousal and my own, and he fucked it back into me.
Then he added more, repeatedly, until I was so drained that I passed out. I think I was holding my breath when that last orgasm shredded through me.
I’ve never been fucked and come that hard in my life. He dragged my soul to the depths with his, then brought me back to consciousness before diving in again until my pussy had memorized every vein in his shaft.
Nervousness blooms in my belly at the thought of him being stressed about whether we took things too far.
Or was it my ugly truth that came out in the middle of the night when we were both awake that sent him spiraling?
Those things are weighing on me; however, I can’t ignore that flicker in my chest that tells me I’m being ridiculous. Just because he was gone this morning when I awoke doesn’t mean anything.
He’s so caught up in whatever mess I found myself in that I’m surprised he’s had time for me at all. Not just to pleasure my body, but to teach me self-defense every morning. But it doesn’t dissipate the eager feeling in my bones, which is impatient to see his handsome face.
There is a large fireplace on one side of the room, the hearth looming and empty since we’re nearing the end of summer.
Various abstract art pieces line the far wall, with spotlights highlighting the masterpieces featuring chaotic brushstrokes and swoops across the canvas.
I used to think I could easily do that. Then I took an art class as a filler in college and nearly put my fist through the canvas.
It's more complicated than it looks.
Now I have an appreciation for that kind of artistic eye and creativity, which I admire whenever I'm in their presence. From where I’m sitting, my attention is drawn to the signatures scribbled in the bottom corner. I wouldn’t be surprised if each painting costs six figures.
Or more.
I’m guessing the latter.
Wiggling my nose, I scoop a potato onto my spoon. I’ve barely touched my stew, my mind wandering to where Preston might be.
The sound of footsteps echoing in the hall has me adjusting my posture and features to appear less bored than I actually am. I peer expectantly at the door, attempting not to slouch when I see Gretta walk into the dining room holding a tray of food.
Is that for Preston?
When Arden enters, my spine aligns unnaturally, despite the disappointment that curls through me. His presence holds the power to command anything in his vicinity. Tonight, I’m that thing.
“Oh, hi Kate,” he says with a hint of surprise.
“Hi—” I’m still not sure how to address him. “Mr. Lachlan,” I try with the confidence of a flea.
I feel like one when he’s in the room.
Gretta places his food at the head of the sixteen-person dining room table, pulling out his chair for him. By the way she veered directly to that spot, I’m assuming he always sits there.
“Thank you, Gretta.” His appreciation for her is sweet.
Sometimes it's flustering to know he’s the head of an organized crime group because you wouldn’t think that otherwise.
On the streets, in that suit, I would’ve pegged him for a real estate agent.
Or a sexy professor who teaches an entrepreneurship class.
Just like the front he puts on for the people of Lachlan Harbor to conceal his illegal activities, he personally has one, too.
If Preston is that unhinged behind closed doors, what is Arden like?
Gretta strolls out of the room, leaving us, while Arden peers at the bowl of stew on his plate, accompanied by a slice of freshly baked bread.
The head of the table is a few chairs down from mine, but I watch in fascination as he picks it up and approaches me, pulling out the seat next to mine.
As he settles down, I try not to notice the way the tendons in his strong hands move as he places and folds his napkin across his lap.
When I’m pulled back to the moment, I look up, seeing him peering at me inquisitively. “And you can call me, Arden, Kate.”
A faint, uneasy smile pulls at my mouth. Did he catch me looking at his hands? What can I say, they are nice.
I fumble the words. “Yes, sir.” A few heartbeats pass before I interrupt the silence stretching between us. “Is Preston going to join us?” I ask a little too eagerly.
He picks up his spoon, digging around in his stew. “I’m afraid not. He has some business to deal with in the park tonight.”
Business.
Lachlan Park or Megalley Syndicate business?
I try and fail miserably to hide my disappointment. “Well, thanks for keeping me company.”
He places a piece of beef in his mouth, chewing slowly. I do the same with a potato.
“I take it that you’ve been settling down nicely and everything is going well at the medical center? Imogen is a very talented woman. She has saved my life more times than I can count.”
“I love it, and she is,” I agree, in a rush. “And yes, to the settling in. Thank you so much for letting me invade your space.”
Arden waves a hand before hitting me with those whiskey eyes. “How’s searching for a place coming along? Preston told me that you had just moved here when you got hired, which is why you are staying on the estate.”
My stomach sinks. We never talked about that.
It takes a second, but I remind myself that this was our ruse before everything started feeling all too real.
I don’t know what facts Arden knows about me, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand much about my past or what brought me here.
From what Preston has said about Arden’s power, it’s better that way.
Preston may not completely trust me yet, but he knows I’m not involved with whatever is going on out there that I’m still oblivious to.
I still don’t fully understand why he brought me to the estate—I’ve almost asked more times than I can count.
What I do know is that he gave me a death threat unless I came with him for a month so he could validate my honesty about being in the wrong places at the wrong times.
In that same first week, he thought I was working with whoever was responsible for the attack that happened in Virginia, and I assume for what happened to his mother and sister.
Not even Imogen or the other staff will tell me why that is or what’s going on.
Believe me, I’ve asked. They say there are too many ears listening, and it's not their place to clue me in.
“I’ve been looking.” Shit. Why are my hands so clammy?
My breath is strained as it comes from my lungs. Somehow, He’s sucking the oxygen out of the room to make space for his intimidating energy.
He nods slowly.
Picking up the knife from the butter dish Gretta had given me, he glides some over his bread. My focus is drawn to his movements. “I’ve been meaning to mention, did Preston have you sign the contract and complete your paperwork in your first week?”
My hearts swoop violently. “Yes, he did.”
Why does this conversation feel like it's tightening around me? Something is off, but I can’t sense why. I didn’t have much of an appetite before, but I was still eating a little. Now the emptiness in my stomach is replaced with concern.
“Hmm. Maybe I just misplaced it.” The way he says that makes me think he never misplaces anything.
The air shifts in the room.
The floor below my feet turns soft and muddy as if I’m going to start sinking into it.
Alarm is a painful spark skittering in my veins, raising the hairs on my arms. When I meet Arden’s gaze, I swear his irises somehow shift to black.
His jaw is set. Those eyes, framed by dark salt and pepper brows, pulsate into mine with a fervor that has me trying not to tremble.
Static fizzles in my head.
I blow out a shaky breath. “It was a long day at the clinic. I think I should head to bed.” Placing both palms flat on the table, I push to stand.
Abruptly, the man in the chair beside mine thrashes a hand out in front of me. A bang reverberates through the dining room, stopping my heart entirely to a point I don’t think it will ever restart.
Dropping my gaze in horror, my eyes zone in on the butter knife, speared into the wooden table between my outstretched fingers. A hair over and he would’ve severed my pointer finger.
But Arden’s too controlled for that. And he knows it.
I bite my lip, my eyes welling with tears.
Slowly, I drag them back to his, void of emotion, as an entirely new definition of fear materializes. “If you lie to me again, the last sound you’ll ever make will be gurgling through this knife lodged in your vocal cords before I remove them from your neck.”