Page 56 of His Dark Hunger

“I don’t mind,” she reiterated. “Especially if I can entertain you at the same ti—”

Her sentence was cut short by the sound of the bell ringing from the front door, and for a moment, they both turned to stare at the study’s door.

“Shall I get that, sir?” She blinked at him.

“Not dressed like that.” He snorted. “That outfit is only for public consumption when I choose to disgrace you.”

“Right.” Her gaze was knowing. “I guess you’d better go then.” She shrugged. “I seem to recall you don’t have a housekeeper now, either.”

“I really need to hire some new staff, don’t I?” Rolling his eyes in contrived exasperation, he kissed her forehead.

“Yes, sir.” She smiled as he turned and strode for the door.

***

Amy

Without Kyle’s presence, the room was darker somehow. The illumination provided by both the pale light spilling from the huge double windows and the various lamps around the place was the same, but the atmosphere shifted, leaving her lonely and bereft.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she turned, hoping to find something else she could dust. She wanted to keep busy, and Amy had meant what she’d told him. Without employment or either of her sons to occupy her, she was a little lost for what to do a lot of the time. Brock Hall was enormous and filled with a tone and style that was nothing like her own. Even though Kyle had told her repeatedly that the place was her home now, she didn’t yet feel like it was.

How could she?

Everything in the place was his. The decor spoke of his choices, smelled of his scent, and of the years he’d exulted, living there before she’d come into his life. If she was going to stay there with him—and she hoped she was—she’d have to try to make her mark in more diminutive ways.

“I’ll start with the cleaning.”

She spun around, her attention fixing on the filing cabinet he’d ordered her to dust. The bottom drawer was well and truly dust-free, so she might as well turn her feather duster to the remaining ones and finish the task.

Easing the middle drawer open, she scanned the contents. Unlike the third one, her gaze fell on a collection of old electronics, enough old laptops and tablets to sell and feed a small developing country.

Moving the duster around the space, she sighed. Was she ever going to get used to the luxury and opulence of Kyle’s life? He’d been nothing but generous to her, but the truth was, despite the work she’d done with him to overcome some of her swirling fear around the currency, money still left her feeling fearful and mistrustful.

She supposed those feelings were unavoidable. So many years of toil and contracting where finances were concerned were not going to evaporate in a matter of weeks, but looking around, she acknowledged it was more than only that. She still couldn’t say how her lover had even come into so much wealth, and something about the mystery seemed insidious. She’d expected him to talk about work, but he’d never offered her the information, and based on her suffocating inability to deal with money, she’d never asked for it.

The longer she was around him, though, the more pressing she sensed the matter was. She ought to know him that well, at least, shouldn’t she? She should be able to have the conversation.

“I’ll speak to him.” Dropping the duster, she gripped the cabinet for support.

He’d asked her to be honest, hadn’t he—demanded it from her in a painful and provoking way—so why was it so difficult to comply?

“Bloody money.” Her brows knitted.

It wasn’t the currency’s fault that she found it so problematic, but having allowed it to dominate so much of her life, she refused to let it corrode the joy she’d discovered with Kyle.

“I’ll ask him about it.” She sounded more certain that time, but the trepidation twisting in her tummy suggested otherwise. “I’ll ask him where he got all this from.”

Maybe he’d inherited the money? Brock Hall had the air of an old ancestral home about it, but he’d hardly mentioned his family at all. Certainly, she’d never seen him ‘go to work’ in any conventional sense, which meant there was no obvious job. It was odd that he never mentioned his money, either. The closest he got were the fleeting times he referred to his investments and when he offered to bail her out.

“Maybe it’s just none of my business.” Blowing out a breath, she retrieved the duster and slid the middle drawer closed before she tugged the top one open.

The new compartment was rammed with folders, each filled with paper. Taken aback by the contrast with the other two drawers, she placed the duster on top of the unit and stretched one of the first files apart.

Nervous energy furled as she turned her head to read the filed paper. His paperwork was definitely none of her business, but they were together now, and they were happy. Surely, he didn’t have any secrets to keep from her? Especially in the cabinet he’d asked her to dust and after his speech and the significance of openness and honesty.

Reassured, she scanned the document. Deep down, she knew it was wrong to read things that didn’t belong to her, butthe nagging thought didn’t stop her from devouring some of the details.

It concerned someone called Tim Brent. She paused, convinced she recognized that name but unsure why. Throat drying, she continued reading, her brow creasing until a location she recognized jumped off the page at her.

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