Page 4 of His Little Stowaway

Still, I have to chew someone out about their tardiness, keeping up appearances, and all that.

The light next to the service window turns green, swishing open to reveal my breakfast. Two minutes late.

Hmmm.

I brush it off, smiling to myself as I munch the last of the dry toast eyeing the financials before getting dressed and heading down to the foyer.

Damn watch.

At a hundred thousand dollars apiece, they keep pretty good time.

But so far today I’m starting to think it needs looking at.

Either that or my driver’s late as well as my breakfast.

“Good morning Mr. Masters.” A voice chimes to my left, which I ignore.

There’s a chorus of a dozen more before I reach the front door, with only the doorman knowing me well enough to simply smile and nod.

I don’t need my ass kissed a hundred times before I even have my morning shit, thank you.

Sensing my own mood, the doorman, I forget his name, checks his watch too and knits his brow.

As if he’s even saving me the trouble of doing that.

It’s not the end of the world, but I can tell already, apart from the unusually cold morning (I couldn’t find my coat either after I dressed), that today is definitely out of the ordinary.

The familiar sound of a V12 rounds the corner, and I can hear the doorman sigh in relief as he tips his hat in equal silence.

Wishing me a very good morning.

The limo pulls up, and I make a point of shifting to the driver’s side window, which slides down in silence.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Masters… Late. Traffic… The car…” the driver stammers.

Simon.

Newish driver. Never an issue. Until now.

I sniff through one nostril and hold up my hand when he moves to get out.

“I’m late enough, I can open the damned door myself.” I stab at him coldly.

It’s my work voice. It’s how I speak to everyone.

Pearce Mason doesn’t say please or thank you. Not out loud.

If I even look at you you’re either in deep shit or you’ve just made me some more money.

That’s the prison I’ve made for myself.

The prison I see, hear, and feel myself about to be busted from as soon as I open my limo door.

It’s hard to describe exactly how I feel when I first see her.

Kind of like drowning, but in reverse. In a good way, I mean.

In the best way.

Like I’ve been holding my breath for twenty years, trying to get my head above water and just seeing her…

It bursts the bubble I’ve sealed myself in.

Like I can see and hear properly for the first time in years.

I stand there, stupid for a second, almost wondering if this is some kind of practical joke.

Wondering if the drivers somehow found the most perfect girl in the world and talked her into my car.

“Don’t call the cops,” she says hurriedly as I slide into the seat across from her and pull the door shut.

I feel the car pull away from the curb and glance through the one way glass divider, I can see at once the driver has no idea she’s in the car.

Opening my mouth to speak, I find that for the first time I can remember, I can’t.

A low sound escapes my throat instead.

Primal, like a growl or an animalistic sound.

I try to clear it from my throat, but the longer I look at her the longer it goes on.

Her eyes widen and her breath shivers. The black of her pupils dilates at my growl, as my presence registers with her.

She’s young.

Blonde, lanky sort of hair. Like she’d been out in the rain we had last night.

But it’s her round face, button nose, and crystal clear eyes that grab me.

And my coat.

She’s wearing my coat. Trying to anyway.

I must’ve left it here last night.

It swallows her whole, and once she sees I recognize it, and registers who I am as well, she lets it fall from her shoulders.

My low growl peters out to a groan as I take in her ample chest, straining against a damp white shirt.

The ridges of her bra straining against the fabric, joined by her thick, pebbled nipples.

I watch, fascinated as her chest heaves. Moving in time with the throbbing in my pants.

The drumming sound of my heart thrashes against my ribs as I greedily rake my eyes from her chest over the rest of her body.

She takes a sharp breath in as I flick the lock button, keeping my large mitt over it as I cock a brow in her direction.

She starts to speak, a million miles a minute. Trying to tell me everything she’s been through to get here.

I hear the part about her mom wanting to marry someone, about her running in the rain and stumbling into the car to escape something or another…

I’ve scanned her body a dozen times already, pleased that her hips, thighs, and ass are equally as ample as her chest. Her lips were full and her cheeks flushed.

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