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Alesha twisted amongst her blankets, the cool fabric rubbing against her freshly shaved legs. She couldn’t believe she’d actually fallen asleep with so much on her mind. Now she felt rested and her level head had returned.
That wasn’t such a good thing.
She began to replay the events in her head, over and over, trying to make sense of everything. Xavier had been her boss for a few months now, and she’d never had a single issue until last night, so it wasn’t a pattern. She wanted to believe he’d just screwed up and drunk too much. And had a crazy imagination. But she knew better.
After dragging him to bed, stripping him, and washing his chest, she’d done some snooping. His wallet had numerous IDs for multiple aliases. His back was scarred, and not from a few childhood mishaps, but deep lashes that had left permanent grooves on his skin. Xavier Moreno wasn’t your average man. His crazy story about murder and mayhem was starting to sound more plausible.
But if she didn’t believe what he’d told her this morning, the alternative was too scary to contemplate. She wanted to keep her job, wanted everything to stay on the status quo. Alesha decided it would be best to keep her mouth shut. Even though he’d never brought women home, he claimed to be a playboy who partied hard. It made sense, even if she didn’t want to believe it.
She opened her eyes, the sunset giving her bedroom a wash of pink. How would she face him again?
Her peripheral vision noticed the slightest movement. She clutched her blankets and looked toward her door. It was open, and Xavier leaned against the doorframe.
“Where’s my gun?” he asked, his tone clipped.
“What?”
“I was wearing a harness last night. You undressed me.”
She wiggled up to lean against her headboard, her blankets up to her neck. Alesha licked her lips. “I put it away for safekeeping.”
There was no way she’d leave the loaded weapon lying around when he was drunk. What if he’d woken up in a rage and tried to use it against her?
He crossed his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Do you plan on giving it back to me?”
“Y-yes. I’ll just get dressed first. How long have you been standing there?”
He ignored her question. “And the clothes I was wearing?”
“They’re in my bathtub soaking. I’m hoping I can scrub the bloodstains out. I have a few tricks I can try.”
He strode into her room without asking, pushing open her en-suite bathroom door. She heard him draining the water from the tub, then he came out with the bag from her garbage can, his wet clothes in it. “They’re not salvageable.”
“I didn’t even try yet.”
Xavier didn’t look like the man she’d seen last night. That man had been broken, lost, torn down the middle. Now he was showered, confident, the same boss she’d seen every day since being hired. Could alcohol mess up a person to that degree, or was there some truth in the things he’d said yesterday?
What did he do for a living to afford this mansion?
Why the weird hours?
She’d never questioned anything about him or his lifestyle before, but now her imagination was on overdrive, her mind trying to piece so many things together. Maybe he wasn’t a reclusive businessman. Maybe he did work for a secret group of assassins. Alesha almost laughed out loud at her own ridiculous thoughts. If anything, he was probably just a dirty businessman.
He stared at her, his knuckles holding the bag of wet clothing turning white. His intensity made her nipples pebble. God, the man was gorgeous. Why wasn’t he speaking?
“What size are you?”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Dress size. Shoe size. What are they?”
Her hackles went down slightly. At least he wasn’t making fun of her weight. She gave him the numbers, expecting him to grimace, but he didn’t. “Why do you need them? For a uniform?”
“I’m taking you out with me tonight. Fine dining. We leave in two hours.”
What the hell is going on? She ran a hand through her hair, the blanket falling to her waist. His eyes darted to her chest, and her cheeks instantly flushed. She needed to get thicker pajamas. “I don’t understand.”
Xavier stepped closer to her bed. He only wore dark gray joggers and a fitted black tank top. He worked out like a fiend every day after coming home, usually for hours. She could hear the heavy weights clang and his fists making contact with a punching bag. That was all she could decipher since she wasn’t permitted in the basement.
