Page 29 of Hearts Held
“Well, any family?”
The question makes me physically shudder and I can feel her hands pause, then return to their duties. She recognizes the question makes me uncomfortable and states, “Well, no need to answer if it makes any unhappy feelings. Only good feelings in here, a’right?”
Her sweet, genuine demeanor makes me crack a smile.
“My parents aren’t lovely people. I do not speak to them unless I must. When I left my abusive husband, they gave me an ultimatum instead of supporting me. That’s why I am here. Miles away. I don’t even know where they are.”
She ceases massaging my arms and comes to kneel by my head. I see her beautiful face peeking through the hole of the table.
She carefully taps my nose with her index finger. “You, my dear, are asurvivor. I’m proud of you. I ’ope you’re proud of yourself, love. It’s bollocks how they’ve treated ya. Count me as someone in yer corner from now on, okay?”
I choke on my words, fighting the newfound tears that threaten to escape. No one has ever spoken to me like that. No one has given as much as a care, though the girls at the hospital don’t know much of my back story. I haven’t told them the details and they have never asked. She runs her fingers through my hair, causing a small moan to escape my lips. The feeling is delightful as each tingle chases my scalp.
“Now, just to find you a boyfriend, eh?”
Chapter 8: Everett
Damn Your Eyes, Alex Clare
After placing Brielle in her new domicile, I find my body is still exuding irritation after watching Carlton’s performance with her. This woman takes too much shit from others. That’s one notation on my tasks for her: teach her to assert herself with others. She people-pleases way too fucking much, yet she had the balls to storm into my office after protesting the Adders’ “stamps.”
Walking down her town house steps, I turn to enter a building neighboring it.
I made sure to vacate the other two townhomes next to hers. Honestly, I am not too sure why, but know I wanted to.
Possibly provide her privacy from others? Make sure any prying neighbors wouldn’t have access to her? Provide myself easy access to the hidden secondary hallways so I may watch her?
Probably the final option.
Feeling the lock click beneath my grasp, I enter the secret doorway, looking around to make sure no one is watching.
I’m appreciative of my men for standing watch in the streets. I sent them to the vacant house next door to sit and enjoy some scones and coffee. Payment for their patience. It isn’t too cold outside. The crisp fall weather has barely set in, but it would be utter bullshit to keep them outside for nothing.
Climbing the stairs to the second floor, I find the two-way mirror and lean my back against the adjacent wall. I place my hands in my trouser pockets and peer up to find Brielle, chest-deep in the grand clawfoot tub. Her emerald eyes are enraptured by everything around her.
Those sweet mannerisms entertain me, as if she has never had anything of quality in her life. Her small fingers tentatively pick up each bottle, readingthe labels and sniffing their contents. With each inhalation she makes a sweet gesture, closing her eyes while a tiny sound of glee escapes her throat. I chuckle under my breath. It will be interesting to see how she fares when I gift her pearls or jewels. It may make her heart stop.
I watch her soak in the tub for a long period of time, then glance at my watch to realize I’ve been here for nearly forty-five minutes.
Taking a long exhale, I curse the fact I must return to work to sort out the drama: stolen goods, and now a murdered massage girl.
No rest for the wicked.
As I turn to leave, movement in the mirror catches my eye. She stands from the tub. I eye her pert ass, then modestly peer to the ground.
Why?Why doIfeel guilty for gawking ather? I see women in the nude because of the massage parlors. Why do I feel that I’m intruding on an intimate moment? Preserving her modesty.
I’ve lost my fucking grip.
I glance from the ground to find her wrapping the towel around her slender curves, watching as it slides across her skin, caressing her hips. I lick my lips, mymind traveling down a dangerous avenue of imagination.
How I wish I could be that towel. Imagining wrapping my arms around her, feeling her body pressed against mine.
Flesh to flesh.
Touch to touch.
I want to paint her skin withme.
