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Somewhere since we last saw him, he lost his suit coat. I’d guess he discarded it so he could more effectively deliver a beating, or… whatever it is he settled on.
But now, without the benefit of a coat, his folded sleeves reveal strong, tanned arms laced with muscle. I’m helpless to stop my gaze from traveling the length of his bare arms to the bulge of his biceps, to the swell of his shoulders against the expensive fabric.
My breath freezes when I realize he’s storming in here like he’s charging into battle, and he’s walking straight toward me. I wildly remember I’m wearing too-big pajamas that reveal copious cleavage under this blanket and not much else.
Despite his size, he moves with graceful strides. I don’t know what he’ll do when he reaches me, and half expect us to collide. But then he stops and bends toward me. I’m dazzled by a whiff of expensive cologne, by the sudden nearness of him.
“Es-tu blessé?” he asks. When I don’t immediately respond, he frowns, and likely thinks I don’t speak fluent French, because he asks again, this time in English, “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I say, “I’m fine.”
He stares at me with warm, compelling brown eyes, stern beneath heavy brows. A scattering of scruffy beard across his rugged jaw makes him all the more intimidating, as if he couldn’t be bothered to do something as civil as shaving.
I freeze, not even breathing, when he reaches a hand to my jaw and brushes his thumb softly across my cheek. “He hurt you.” Behind him, Gwen’s eyes are comically large. I’d giggle if I could breathe.
I shake my head and draw in a ragged breath. “Not much. I’m—I’m fine.”
Crouching in front of me, his gaze holds me captive. “Tell me what happened.”
I tell him in a rush of words. It takes all of my self-control to make sure my voice doesn’t waver. I watch his eyes darken when I tell him the full story and how I was threatened.
“He deserved what he got, then,” he says with decisiveness.
I swallow and don’t respond, because I don’t know what he got and it’s becoming harder to talk.
I watch, my breath frozen, as he stands to his full height and steps back. I breathe freely again.
He begins to pace, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “This weekend, we’ll install heavier security measures. Gwen, you did the right thing in alerting me immediately. But I’m rarely here, and it’s become clear we need heavier security when I’m not. You’ll be rewarded for your quick decision and attention to detail.”
Gwen smiles and flushes a little. It’s the first time I think I’ve ever seen her blush. “Thank you, sir.”
It’s almost unsettling. Gwen doesn’t call anyone sir. If anything, she’s the one men hire to dominate them when that’s their flavor of kink.
“Your name?”
I realize with a jolt that he’s talking to me.
“Nicolette.”
“Nicolette.” Something I can’t quite identify flares in his eyes, terrifying yet enthralling. My heart swells at the sound of my name on his lips even as my instincts scream at me to retreat.
I will not retreat. I’m here for a reason, and I’m not backing down now.
“A beautiful name,” he says, almost thoughtfully.
If anyone else said that to me, I’d think they were flirting. But from him, it’s somehow the highest of compliments.
Something tells me he doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t need to.
“Thank you.” Now I’m blushing.
No matter my purpose, deep down inside I can’t shed the good girl I was raised to be.
“Do you have any other clients tonight? Gwen? Did you get my message?” She blanches. Though he’s coated his question in civility, his words are laden with an undercurrent of a threat. I shiver and shake my head.
“Take the rest of the night off, paid,” he says. “I’ve got business to tend to. I’ll check on you again later tonight.”
Cosette draws in an audible breath. I realize I’m not breathing again myself as he stands and turns toward the door. “If you need anything at all, Gwen will show you where to find me.” He pauses. “Nicolette. A lovely name for a lovely woman. And Gwen, I want an answer for why I didn’t get a response to my message.”
When he leaves, the room feels oddly colder, as if someone’s blocked the sun. I shiver. I have a strange, inexplicable need for him to come back.
“Whoa,” Joëlle whispers when he’s gone.
“My God,” Gwen says, collapsing on the bed. She pulls out her phone and opens the secure messaging app we use for work communication. “No. Oh, shit.”
“Gwen, what the hell?” Cosette asks.
She sighs. “He told me to clear your calendar tonight, Nicolette.”
“What?”
Cosette makes a sound that resembles a squeak. “He told you not to book her a client, and you did it anyway?”
Gwen nods, abashed. “I—I didn’t see this message.” She looks quickly at me, then at the other girls. “This is not good. This is not good.”
