Page 4 of The Holiday Inheritance

Briggs leans in and gives her a quick peck on the cheek, which she accepts with a faint blush. I guess no one is immune to this man and his good looks. My eyes follow him as he walks up the sage-green carpeted stairs, the lighted Christmas swags casting shadows on the wall. Do I let myself take another look at that delicious ass of his? Yes. Yes, I do. And if Mary notices, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she takes my hand and leads me through the formal sitting room, dining room, and into the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It’s situated at the back of the home and big enough to cook for hundreds of people.

The whole place has been modernized with indoor plumbing and electricity, but the old-world charm is still everywhere. The fireplaces are huge, taller than me and almost as wide as the walls themselves. Old clay tiles line the floor of the kitchen, there are herbs and flowers hanging in the windows to dry, and theheavy wooden table in the middle of it all has seen better days. But because of all this, the kitchen is one of my favorite rooms. It’s like I can feel all the people who have been in here before me: chefs cooking for parties and children running through to grab a snack on their way outside to play.

“I’ve got your tea on the Aga to keep it warm,” Mary tells me, pointing to the range against the far wall. Tea, in Yorkshire, is what they call dinner, and the Aga is a specific brand of oven that stays warm constantly, heated by oil like the rest of the radiators in the home. The last time I was here, I learned the hot plates on top are great for keeping plates of food warm, as Mary would constantly leave me meals in the evening before she left.

“You didn’t have to do that, Mary. I could’ve fended for myself.”

“You could’ve, but it’s nice to have someone around the house again. I’d stay and eat with you,” she says as she grabs the plate with a towel and sits it down on the long table, “but I really need to get home before this gets much worse. I didn’t think to bring the quad bike over, so I’ll be walking.”

“Have Briggs take you over there!” I insist. “That’s too far for you to walk in this weather, Mary. I’ll be worried sick until I hear from you.”

“You think I want to get in that rickety old thing?” She looks at me and laughs as she starts to put on her snow boots. She laces them tightly and pulls her thick socks up over her calves. “I’ll be safer walking.”

“Oh, well, thanks for letting him pick me up inthat old rickety thing.” The chair scrapes against the tile as I pull it out and take a seat. She’s made me a single-serving dish of shepherd’s pie and what looks to be homemade bread.

Mary laughs and watches me take my first bite. I sink back into my chair with a moan, the mashed potatoes and savory gravy warming me up. “I’ll be back tomorrow if I can to check onyou and make sure everything is running smoothly. But it’s just a house, okay? I know how worried you are. But this place is a house just like all the others you’ve lived in. Just a bit bigger, is all.”

“Yeah, is all,” I say around a mouth full of food, rolling my eyes at her.

“Hush.” She walks over and leaves a firm kiss on the top of my head. “You know where the thermostats are. They’re on low for the unused portions of the house and higher where you’ll spend most of your time. If you haveanyquestions, my dear, you give me a call. My number is on the fridge.”

After she leaves, I continue to eat in silence, the fire crackling to my left. Footsteps fall heavy above my head, and then I hear them move down the hall and the stairs. The front door thuds shut as Briggs leaves, and I’m officially all alone. I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts, but that was before being left alone in a house that was built over four hundred years ago.

This home creaks and moans in the snowy wind, the floors creak as they settle, and the radiators crack and pop every time they turn on. Everything has an echo, and it’s a little unsettling to know there are just so many empty rooms. But the exhaustion and time difference is setting in now that the excitement from the flight and drive is over and my belly is full.

I wash the dishes and set them near the Aga to dry, then make my way back to the front of the house and the grand staircase. I could use the back stairs, but they’re skinny and made from worn stone that gives me vertigo every time. So I’ve resorted to only using the ones built for guests. They’re out in the open, relatively level, and aren’t hiding spiders.

The room that has become mine is up the stairs and to the right, flanked on both sides by old paintings of my aunt and her beloved whippet. The whole hallway has paintings dating back to the original owners of the home, and while I’m all fordisplaying art in a home, the eyes kind of creep me out. I have to purposefully keep my eyes on the plush carpet, refusing to watch them watch me as I make my way to my room.

“Oh, thank god,” I groan as I enter my room, my bags placed neatly to the side of the door and the bed made and turned down for me. I’m ready to crawl into that sucker and sleep for hours. My pajamas are right on top of my biggest suitcase, along with my basic toiletries. I figured the first thing I would want to do is change into comfortable clothes and brush my teeth. Thank god for past me thinking about future me.

It doesn’t take long before I’m crawling between the sheets and curling into the pillows. There’s a TV in my room, but I pull out my phone instead, choosing to scroll on social media until my eyes are so heavy I literally can’t fight them anymore. I send a quick text to Amie, put my phone on silent, and quickly sink into sleep.

Chapter Three

Briggs

ThankChrist I have the keys for the estate. I really thought I’d be able to make it home before the roads got too bad, but this storm isn’t letting up. If anything, it’s doubled down. The Rover got stuck about a mile down the road, and it was either walk the five miles home or the one mile back to the estate.

I figured Florence would still be awake, but I guess it has almost been an hour since I dropped her off and Mary left. Checking the generators took longer than I thought it would. The snow had piled up around the shed we built to keep them out of the weather, and I had to dig my way in. The house is quiet when I enter; the fireplace in the formal sitting room to my left is the only light and sound.

If I’m being honest with myself, I was kind of hoping she’d still be awake. I wouldn’t have hated the chance to get to know her better, watch those pouty lips smile in my direction again. From the moment she walked through the gates into baggage claim, I knew I was in trouble. From her wavy blonde hair to those long, thick legs, this woman was sent to torture me. And then we were in the Rover together, her sweet floral perfume filling the cab. It was a testament to my control not to flirt.

She may be younger than me, but she’s my boss, for Christ’s sake.

I try to be quiet as I make my way to the back of the house. There’s a whole wing that used to be where the servants slept, and we still keep them up for guests or the random tours we sometimes book. So I decide to sleep back there. It’s far enough away from Florence that I shouldn’t disturb her. She needs her rest after traveling all day. She was tense in the Rover, and not just from the roads. It’s like I could smell the panic and anxiety on her. Her foot tapped, and her lip took a beating between her teeth.

Pulling out my phone, I remember that Mary made sure I had Florence’s number in case I needed to contact her for anything when I picked her up today. Hopefully, she’s put it on silent so that I don’t wake her up, but I send her a quick text letting her know that I got stuck and I’m sleeping in one of the downstairs rooms. I don’t want to terrify her on her first night.

I strip out of my wet, cold clothes and turn up the radiator on the wall next to the bed. Tossing my jeans onto it to dry, I climb into the cold bed, shivering until the radiator finally clicks and pops, the heat slowly beginning to fill the room. And when I’m comfortable, my mind drifts back to Florence and those plump lips, that perfectly round arse that sat so snugly in her jeans.

My cock comes to life, and I mentally cringe at myself. What a fucking creep. I’m in a room almost directly below my boss, and all I can think about is how she would feel beneath me. And in this moment of weakness, my hand slips beneath my boxers and grips the base of my throbbing cock. I’ve never been affected by a woman like this before. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is the way her arse moved in those jeans and the way her eyes kept flitting over to me when she thought I wasn’t looking.

Using my thumb to collect the precum that’s accumulated at my tip, I stroke myself from root to tip. Fuck, I should notbe doing this right now. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. Her smile and the breathy moans I know she’d make as I tasted her are swimming through my mind. It doesn’t take long before I’m coming, spraying over my stomach as I groan into my other hand, trying not to make any noise.

Postorgasmic regret is a real thing, and I instantly feel dirty for what I’ve done. I use a tissue from the nightstand to clean myself up and then will myself to get some sleep. I’d like to be up and gone before she even checks her phone. The thought of looking her in the eye in the morning after coming to the thought of her is fucking embarrassing.

I wakeup to a pitch-black room and search for my phone under the pillow. It’s not even 2:00 a.m. Stars flash behind my eyelids as I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand, and I roll over to try and get comfortable. These beds are small, and I haven’t been this cramped since I was at uni. Right as I’m about to fall back asleep, I hear a loud crash coming from the direction of the kitchen.

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