Page 15 of Stalker

Further proving I was psychotic, lusting after and imagining him in any sexual nature at all was the opposite of helpful, and I needed to figure out how to stop.

Perhaps it was from nerves and hormones. New jobs sucked on a good day. And I hadn’t had one of those in months.

But dinnertime was breathing down my neck, meaning Mr. Bryce would make an appearance any minute. Even if I was so not ready to face him again.

“Ms. Everett.” His deep voice surprised me from behind and I jumped, whipping around to face him as he came into the kitchen from the servant’s stairwell, because even in the year 2021, of course, his mansion had separate stairwells.

“Mr. Bryce.” I wrung my hands together in front of me and questioned my outfit for the hundredth time since putting it on before coming back to the main house after my break. My dress was serviceable and black, but the black silk stockings and semi-modest heels made it feel fancier than a normal outfit. Dinner service felt like the time to impress.

Especially because he hated me.

Maybe he wouldn’t hate me if I was at least physically appealing to him.

Fuck, my plan was so stupid.

If the man found me repulsive while I was naked and orgasming in his hot tub, some expensive stockings weren’t going to make him suddenly approachable.

“Is my meal ready?”

“It is,” I ducked my head stupidly, “I’ll bring it right out.”

“Good.” He walked past me to the dining room where he ate his meals, and I couldn’t help but follow him with my eyes as he left. Same as this morning when he came down for breakfast, he wore a pair of black sweatpants and a casual long-sleeve cotton shirt. He looked better suited for the gym or lazy Sunday movie marathon; not the expansive mansion he was roaming around.

I took a deep breath and picked up the bottle of wine Mrs. Straight noted as a favorite of his and followed him.

He sat down at the head of the fancy table that fit sixteen chairs, watching me as he flicked his napkin out over his lap when I approached. His dark eyes felt eerily haunting as he tracked my every move and a shiver broke out over my skin, raising every hair as I got near him.

I swallowed my fear down and offered him a small smile, “Would you like some wine?” I held the bottle out to him, and he glanced at it before looking back at me.

A long pause filled the space between us before he broke the stare and pushed his glass toward me. “Did you pick that bottle out yourself?”

I uncorked it and tried not to drop it or mess it up as he watched me closely. “Mrs. Straight left a list of your preferred picks,” I replied,pouring the recommended amount into the glass and sliding it back to him.

“Put it here.” He tapped the space on the other side of his plate across the table, catching me off guard.

I knew where a wine glass was supposed to be placed for dinner service but didn’t refuse his demand. Instead, I gently leaned forward and placed the glass where he indicated, trying not to notice how close I had to get into his personal space to do so.

“I’ll be right back with your meal.” Upon my return to the kitchen, I removed the cover from his resting braised pork dinner. I garnished the plate, added the side dishes, and returned to him. “Here you are.” Gently leaning over his arm and catching the woodsy scent in his hair as I stood back up. It was the same scent I caught in his closet when I snooped before he returned.

“Did you cook this?” He asked, eyeing the meal before looking over at me. He was so damn tall that even with my heels on and him sitting, we were still almost level.

“Yes,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the closeness to his perfection and power, aching to get as far away from it as possible while simultaneously wanting to see if it would burn against my skin how I imagined.

“Where did you learn how to cook?” He asked, cutting through the meat.

“Nowhere, really,” I replied and took another step backward to create more space between us, even though he hadn’t released me yet. “Family and self-taught.”

“You didn’t study somewhere abroad?” He took a bite of the pork and chewed slowly before looking up at me.

“No, Sir.” I answered, and then for some stupid reason I asked, “Do you like it?”

He finished chewing and swallowed, transfixing me as I watched the muscles in his neck move. I expected him to ridicule me for seeking his praise, or perhaps even insult the meal completely, even though I knew it was delicious. Instead, he held my stare with his dark bottomless one and licked his lips before saying, “It’s divine.”

I froze in place as he continued staring at me. He placed another bite in his mouth and chewed it. Why did he have to be so damn sexually appetizing and a massive jerk wrapped into one?

One or the other would have been enough torture.

“That’s all. You can leave now.” He interrupted my thoughts where I stood at the side of the table.

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