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“He’s strict and uncompromising, but you haven’t met his generous, kind side yet. You don’t know him like I do.”
After everything Mr. Bordeaux has put me through, I have no desire to.
Chapter Nine
Since the night he came to my bedroom to confide in me, Loren and I fall into our normal routine of shared duties mixed with moments of conversation that verge on friendship. Mr. Bordeaux is especially busy, even going away for a few days on an acquisition trip.
A rare ruby, or so Loren tells me.
I can’t say I’m heartbroken by my keeper’s absence, or how quickly the days seem to pass with him gone. I’m in my room after lunch, thinking of Liam as I work on a new sketch of a wedding dress with a halter neckline, when my bedroom door swings open. I know it’s Mr. Bordeaux before his shiny black dress shoes come into view on the threshold. Loren warned me he was coming home today, but my heart still seizes in my chest, making breathing difficult as I fling my work aside and scramble to the floor.
He strolls into the room, leaving the door open, and I’m surprised when he takes a seat on the bed, springs squeaking under his weight.
“Loren’s reports on your good behavior have been impressive. I’m glad to know we haven’t had anymore incidents.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bordeaux.”
Pages flutter, and I know he’s peering at my doodles. “Loren mentioned you have an interest in fashion design.” He flips another page. “You’ve got talent. If I win the auction for your hand in marriage, we’ll have to do something productive with your designs. Would you like that?”
“Yes, Mr. Bordeaux.”
“You can speak freely until we leave this room. I think it’s time we had a conversation.”
A few uncertain moments pass.
“You do remember how to speak, don’t you? Loren tells me the two of you talk often.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bordeaux. I’m not sure what to say.” It boggles my mind that he thinks I’d want to say anything to him.
“Tell me what you think of Loren.”
I clench my hands against my thighs then open my fists, once again exposing my palms the way he requires. “He’s been kind to me.”
“He has a big heart. I have to be careful who I allow near him.” He falls silent, and the air thickens with meaning. “He’s very important to me, Novalee. I won’t hesitate to strike down anyone who threatens his happiness and well-being.”
A hard swallow clears my throat. “I won’t tell anyone about your relationship.”
“You don’t like me, do you?”
Is he serious? I’m not even sure how to answer that. Biting my lip, I force the panic down and try to come up with a diplomatic response, but nothing comes to mind.
“You can be honest, my queen. I won’t punish you for it.”
“I wish I could like you, Mr. Bordeaux.” As the words leave my mouth, I realize they’re true. “Disliking someone isn’t in my nature, but you haven’t given me reason to feel differently.” The ensuing disquiet pricks at my nerves, and I gnaw on my lip, worried I revealed too much.
“I appreciate your candidness.” There’s a melancholy softness to his tone, maybe even a trace of vulnerability. “I can accept your unfavorable opinion of me as long as you have a certain amount of respect and fondness for Loren.”
“I do, Mr. Bordeaux.”
“Are you attracted to him?”
Loren’s large, gray eyes flash through my head. His sensual wide smile. The chemistry isn’t there, but I can’t deny I find him attractive. “He’s gorgeous.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m not being obtuse, Mr. Bordeaux. I guess I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”
He rises from the bed and leans down, warm breath rustling the hair at my ear. “Does he make your pussy wet, my queen?”
A gasp escapes my lips. “N-no.”
He settles a hand on my shoulder, fingers grazing the skin left bare from the straps of my sundress. The weather has been warmer these past few days, and with his master’s blessing, Loren gave me permission to go outside. Now I wish I’d chosen a dress with sleeves, because I barely tolerate Mr. Bordeaux’s touch without flinching.
“Has a man ever made you wet before?” His fingers press into my skin, giving a suggestive squeeze.
“Yes, Mr. Bordeaux.”
“Who?”
I hesitate, and his grip tightens, causing me to stumble over Liam’s name. “L-Liam…I mean Chancellor Castle.”
“Is he the only one?”
All I manage is a shake of my head, vocal cords frozen with shame.
“Who else, Novalee?”
“Sebastian,” I choke out.
“Hmm.” Removing his touch, he returns to his full height and wanders to my closet. “Am I wrong in assuming this attraction to our resident artist bothers you?”
“No, Mr. Bordeaux. You’re not wrong.”
“That’s interesting,” he says, hangers sliding on the rod as he rummages through my meager wardrobe. “And unfortunate for you.”
I wait for him to continue, hoping he’ll elaborate, but too many moments pass without a hint of what he meant by that comment. I peek at him from under my lashes as he pulls out a blush pink dress that flows to the ankles. It’s one of my favorites, the fabric light and soft with thin spaghetti straps that leave my shoulders bare. From the corner of my eye, I watch him drape the garment across my bed.
