Pool House
ESTELLE
Carlos slides out of me slowly, still hard. I grip the edge of the counter to keep from moaning. How can he still be hard?
“Why do you keep fighting me?” he asks, belt buckle clinking loudly as he fixes himself. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
I pull up my panties and pants—along with my decency. Why can’t I tell this man no?
“I don’t need to live here for you to keep me safe.”
He exhales a loud breath. “This isn’t a game, Estelle,” he grips my shoulders, turning me around to stare into his sharp eyes, “this is a bad one. I need you here.”
The usual soft lines on his forehead are deeper.
“I can’t, Carlos,” I breathe out.
His jaw clenches. “What happened, Estelle? Last night you were different, softer.”
I step out of his hold and start plating the food, unable to look at him.
“I told you, I can only be your chef.”
“And I’m trying to keep my chef safe.”
I scoff. “No, you want to pull me deeper into your world.”
“You signed up for this—”
“No!” I turn to glare at him. “I signed up to be your chef, Carlos, not—” I gesture back and forth between us with my hand “—this.”
He steps closer until I forget how to breathe.
“And what do you think this is?” he asks calmly.
I swallow. “Stop.”
“What are you afraid of?” he whispers, his warm breath caressing my skin.
His deep green eyes bore into my own, searching.
“You,” I say hoarsely.
He rears back as if I punched him, his body becoming unnaturally still.
“I have a family. A nephew.” I’m shaking my head. “I can’t—”
“You think I’ll kill them if you don’t give in?”
“No, that’s not—”
“If you believe I’m such a monster, then why did you come work for me?”
His eyes are slits, his voice low. I shake my head, not knowing how to express what’s really bothering me.
I try to tell him. “That’s not what I—”
“If you want to leave—”
“I didn’t say that—”
“—then leave.”
"I’M SCARED YOU’LL DIE!" I shout, my hands shaking, and a lump forming in my throat.
I refuse to cry.
The first tear slides down my cheek.
His features soften, his hand reaching for my face, but I turn, giving him my back.
“Estelle,” he says, “look at me, baby.”
Potatoes, braised steak bites, and asparagus with butter sauce.
Next plate.
Repeat.
“Little dove,” he whispers into my ear, running his fingers over the nape of my neck.
I try to hide the shiver that runs through my body, but I know he saw it.
He always does.
Carlos grabs my chin gently, turning my face to look at him. I stare at the soft beard covering his jawline.
“I have to do this,” he whispers, “but I can’t if I know you’re not safe. This compound is the safest place.” His forehead rests against mine, and I meet his gaze. “Please, stay.”
A shaky breath falls from my lips. “What about Elsa and Micah?”
“I’ll take care of them. I promise.”
“How long?”
He shakes his head slightly. “Can’t say for sure.”
“I’m not staying in your room.”
He chuckles. “I’ll have them set up the pool house just for you.”
I nod against his forehead. “Okay.”
*******************
My beat-up suitcase won’t close. I press a knee on top of the hard body and force one zipper around the side of the rectangular case, then the other one, sighing in relief when they meet halfway.
When I turn around, Elsa is leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom door, arms crossed, eyes assessing.
“Anything you want to tell me?” she asks.
I haul the heavy suitcase off the bed and onto its four wheels. “I sent you a text. I told you I will be gone a while.”
“Not that. Although, I have questions about that, too.”
I almost groan. “Please don’t.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. NDA. Blah blah blah. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then what is it?” I ask, wheeling the suitcase past her to the living room.
Carlos gave me the day to pack, and Ross will be here in an hour. I really don’t want to deal with Elsa’s questioning for a whole hour.
My sister would have done great during the Spanish Inquisition—on either side.
“So you don’t know anything about the anonymous benefactor who covered the security deposit for the new apartment plus three months’ rent?”
Her hands are on her hips, and you would think she was talking about the worst thing to ever happen to her.
I drag the suitcase all the way to the front door, avoiding looking at her. “Nope.”
“Oh, I’m not done,” she says. “Remember that fancy school we tried to get Micah into six months ago? The one that said they weren’t giving out scholarships for another year?”
“Uh-uh,” I say.
“Well, they called me this afternoon, and guess what they said?”
Silence stretches between us, and I realize she’s really waiting for an answer.
I breathe in deeply. “Micah got in?”
“Micah got in. Full scholarship.” She says every word slowly, like she’s delivering an opening statement in front of a jury. “Crazy, huh?”
“Crazy. But good crazy, right?”
“Oh yeah. Freaking miraculous.”
Silence.
“So, when do you move into your new place?”
“Estelle—”
“You could go tonight and set everything up.”
I try to sound casual, but I’m cleaning now, wiping down the counter, and one thing Elsa knows about me is I clean when I’m anxious.
“Estelle—”
“I can’t tell you, okay?” I turn to look at her. “Can you just stop looking a gift horse in the mouth and enjoy it?”
She walks closer to me. “Can’t you tell me something? I’m thinking the worst-case scenarios here, and by that I mean imminent death or you’re in trouble. The bad kind of trouble.”
I sigh. “Is there a good kind?”
“Yeah. Vegas.”
We both chuckle, and the tension somewhat eases.
I look at Micah, who’s drawing with earphones in his ears, his feet swinging back and forth under the table, not even reaching the ground.
The truth is I have nothing to tell her. I didn’t ask Carlos for details, and if I tell Elsa there’s a war coming, she will have questions.
And I don’t have answers.
I just want her safe.
“Carlos made arrangements to keep you and Micah safe. He doesn’t want his enemies to know about me, so I’m laying low for a while, and that’s why you have to leave here, too.”
Her eyebrows are so close they almost touch. I brace for more questions, but she surprises me when she releases a long, drawn-out breath, and her features smooth out.
“I can live with that,” she says. “Promise you’ll be safe?”
“Promise.”
Except I can’t promise her that.
Not even Carlos can really promise that I will be safe.
Scenes from the news keep replaying through my mind as we drive to Calabasas. That was just one shooting.
What kind of damage will a war do?
Driving through the gates of the massive property feels different this time.
Who knows how long I will be staying here. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the reality that this palatial house with its sprawling compound and dozens of security guards is supposed to be my temporary home.
Ross grabs my suitcase, ignoring the wheels, and leads me around the side of the house, first through a path in the manicured lawn, then past a patio with a large circular beige couch on white stone floors, before he opens a wrought iron gate.
The ground shifts from the stone path to red brick floors. He keeps walking, past the impressive pool, and stops in front of a modern cottage. At least, I think that’s what it is.
It’s all stone walls, redwood, and glass.
“Here we are,” Ross says, sliding the glass door open and waiting for me to go in first.
I can’t keep the shock off my face. "This is the pool house?”
He nods. “If it’s not to your liking, I can tell the boss.”
Is he kidding?
One side of his lip twitches, and his eyes shines with a gleam of amusement.
I sigh dramatically. “I guess it will have to do.”
He chuckles low. The interior looks like an extension of Carlos’ study: leather couches, muted colors, and antique-looking wooden furniture.
Ross sets the suitcase down outside a door. “I’ll let you get settled,” he says and leaves.
I don’t know how long I stand there in the middle of a living room three times the size of the one in my apartment, but when I look back toward the entrance, Carlos is right there, watching me.
My heart stutters.
My core tightens, remembering how he fucked me roughly over the kitchen counter yesterday.
I break the silence first. “Is this your man cave?”
He looks around, his brows furrowed. “I don’t have a man cave.”
“Do you like coming here alone to relax, drink, and watch whatever sport you enjoy?”
He’s silent for a moment before answering slowly. “Maybe.”
I smile. “Man cave.”
Carlos says something under his breath too low for me to catch.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Yes, I do,” I say. “It’s very...you.”
He walks toward me casually but his eyes are fierce.
Heated.
Hungry.
“Carlos,” I whisper, my body responding to his even before we touch.
“Estelle?”
He’s so close.
I force myself to take a step back.
“You wanted me here, and I came, but I have conditions.”
One thick eyebrow raises high. “Conditions?”
I bite my lip. “Only one. No sex.”
Sharp eyes travel across my face before meeting my gaze. “Why?”
I almost chuckle. Of course, he would ask that.
“I think we need to figure some things out first and not just fuck like bunnies.”
“What’s wrong with—”
“Don’t say it.”
He presses his lips together.
“You have a war to fight. Do that first,” I say softly.
“I can multitask.”
“Carlos,” I sigh, frustrated.
He smiles. “Okay.”
I’ve heard that okay before in his study. It’s an okay that says ‘I will tell you what you want to hear but no.’ I’m not falling for it again.
“I’m serious," I say.
He groans, then steps closer, his hands now stuffed in his pockets.
“Fine. Not unless you ask.”
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