Page 20 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
When I step back into the dark bedroom, I know that I should go back to my little closet-room. I should sit down at the desk and keep working on the code. Or maybe I should walk out the door, escape while I can. Am I a prisoner? He’s asleep right now, his large body still on the much larger bed. Now would be the time to leave. I have the code memorized. That happened approximately two seconds after seeing the paper. I could continue to work on it from a motel I can’t really afford.
Instead I find myself taking a step closer to the bed. Watching the shadows until I catch the rhythm of his breathing—and realize I’m looking at muscled abs on a naked torso. God.
As my eyes adjust, I confirm he’s not wearing his shirt, his broad chest and strong arms bare. Dark lashes rest against his cheeks, which seems to conceal him more than a three-piece suit ever could. My gaze drifts lower, to where the sheet doesn’t quite reach his hips.
He’s not wearing anything at all.
My cheeks turn hot with the realization. He’s naked right now.
“Like what you see?” he says, his voice startling in the dark.
I shiver, darting my gaze to meet his. “No.”
It’s an instinctive denial—more to being caught than what he looks like. No, I wasn’t— His low laugh rushes along the darkness, raising goose bumps on my arms. He doesn’t look offended. He looks challenged, which is so much worse. “Come here.”
“No,” I repeat, but this time there’s a tremor in my voice.
“Be a good little servant girl,” he says, his voice low.
The word shivers through me, a tactile vibration. Servant girl. It’s like he found my deepest fear, an ancient emotional bruise, and pressed on it—and perversely, so perversely, it feels good.
“That’s who the room is for,” he says. “But I’m sure you figured that out. You’ve always been too clever. Too fucking clever, and look where it gets you. Nowhere.”
I shudder. “I’m not touching you.”
He throws his head back in a laugh so reckless, so pure I’m almost jealous. What must it feel like, to be that carefree, that confident? “I haven’t gotten to that part yet. You’re reading ahead.”
“I’m not having sex with you, either.”
“Come here.”
I take a step closer, hating myself, fearing myself. Who is this creature who obeys Damon Scott? I’m afraid of him—not what he’ll make me do, but that he’ll make me like it.
“A little closer,” he says, coaxing. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or would you like that?”
Somehow I’m at the end of the bed, the fronts of my thighs pressed against the thick mattress. I’ve given up all the space between us, all the distance. But I won’t give in without a fight. “Maybe you’d like that. Maybe it runs in the family.”
He doesn’t flinch, but I feel his recoil in the air. “Is that what you think?”
He’d rip my heart to shreds with that half smile on his handsome face. He would destroy any chance I ever had for a normal life with a regal incline of his head. He was right to put me in that little servant room. That’s all the power I have here. Anything else is only a dream.
“You know what? There were a hundred beautiful women here last night. Summon one of them to your bed if you need entertainment. Because it won’t be me.”
Chapter Thirteen
It’s a relief that he lets me work the rest of the morning, my hands and mind plying furiously on the puzzle at hand. A relief that I can immerse myself in a land of numbers—free from pain and worry and guilt. A knock comes at midday. My heart thuds double-time as I stare at the plain white door.
A tray sits just outside my small room, no one in sight. Did Damon bring this to me? That would make him the servant, not me. No, it must have been someone who works for him. Someone who prepared this roast beef sandwich and fresh potato salad.
Someone who prepared my tea sweet, exactly how I like it.
Instead of eating, I step into the upstairs hallway, listening for footsteps. None.
Only when I’m halfway down the wide staircase can I hear voices. One male. One female. Maybe he did call one of the women from last night. My chest burns with unbidden jealousy. So what if he has sex with someone else? He could have sex with a million women—and he probably has.
“She’s my sister,” a low voice says. Damon. “I have a right to know.”
“And you’re being informed.”
“Days after she’s gone.”
The woman seems unafraid of his low tone. “We all know you only found out about the sibling relationship recently. And you weren’t exactly close.”
“We might have been closer if Gabriel didn’t tell her terrible things about me.”
