Page 60 of The Heir

My heart begins to pound as my mind races, trying to remember last night. I don't remember much after we sat down for dinner other than sitting in his lap and then feeling like I was floating on a cloud before being wrapped in the softest, warmest cocoon before…that's it.

That's all I can remember.

I sigh, peeling my cheek off his skin. Not able to help myself, I smile at the feel of it before sitting up and holding the sheet to my breasts. I look over at him again. The intimacy I've shared with this man so far is way more than I've ever had with Christopher. With Christopher, we barely touched in bed aside from the rare occasion we'd have sex,and even though I'm not used to being so close to another person, it doesn't make me uneasy.

Which ironically, makes me uneasy.

My brows furrow at the thought that we fucked last night and I didn't know.

Gasping, I thrust my hand between my legs and press my fingers against my vagina, searching before sighing with relief as I feel nothing. I'm dry, and there's no pain. So, he didn't take advantage of me while I was apparently knocked out.

I pause as disappointment fills me, shortly followed by irritation at being disappointed.

I'mnotsupposed to be disappointed that this man didn't fuck me while I wasn't coherent last night. And by the way, why the hell can't I remember anything? I glance back over at him, feeling my face settle into an expression of disbelief as a crazy thought hits me.Was I drugged?

Did King actually have the nerve to drug me?Why?Would he actually have the audacity? I throw him a side eye before decidingyes,he would.

Because I'm here, aren't I?

Swinging over the edge of the bed, I realize I can't pull the sheet around me the way it's tucked into the mattress so I run naked with Sweetie on my heels, ignoring our napkin just hanging out in its frame on the mantle, pass through the door and into the main bedroom where I see a simple day dress laid over King's bed. Snatching it up I make my way into the bathroom and turn the lights on. Pausing once again at the lavish architecture of the space, I take a second to admire it before stepping into the shower and take my time washing up. Godddd, it's way better than Sensa could ever hopeto be. I take my time, really pampering myself with all the expensive products.

Drying off I go to the vanity, fixing my hair and then moisturizing my body, not wanting to be ashy.

"Aw Sweetie, you don't want to eat this," I coo softly to Sweetie who's trying to lick lotion off my legs. I push her head away gently.

I go to put on my dress and then pause, seeing that I once again am without underwear. I sling the dress over my arm, padding out of the bathroom and into the closet finding what's obviously my side, and spy a feminine, ornately carved dresser. Sweetie jumps atop the dresser and I pat her head.

At the thought of besting him I walk gleefully to it, tugging the first one determined to find a bra. It doesn't move. I tug again on a scowl and try the other ones, sucking air through my teeth at the fact that I can't openanyof the drawers.

He's locked the freaking dresser?

Is this man for real right now?

"He deserves to be knocked upside his head,"I whisper to Sweetie who just blinks lazily at me.

Huffing out a breath, I turn and stomp to the clothes that are hanging and pull down a purple robe. Cinching it around me tightly, I walk out the doors and smack dab into Xavier. I eye him with irritation. Why King has this big ass house, and so many staff when he's only one person is just beyond my comprehension. I plan on having a talk with him about if he volunteers or donates to charity.

All his money should not be wasted on extra staff when he could be doing so much more with it. I won't be held prisoner by a rich asshole. That'd be the icing on the cake for me.

"Ma'am," Xavier greets me politely.

"Where's Marianne?" I demand, tapping my foot impatiently.

"She's in the laundry area, ma'am."

"Okay, can you please take me to her? I need her."

"Yes,Mrs. King.Follow me."

I roll my eyes at the delusion, storming after him. "You know just because youcallme Mrs. King, doesn'tmake meMrs. King."

"Yes, Mrs. King."

I blow out an irritated breath. Because all I need is a bra, not to play games.

After a couple minutes where I ask myself if the bra is even worth it, we turn the corner into an expansive laundry area and I blanch, seeing not just Marianne, but two other maids pressing and starching suits, steaming tablecloths, and packing away what looks like curtains.

All three of them turn to me. "Good morning, Mrs. King."

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