Page 41 of House Rules
Most of the attention gravitates to them, while women shy away from Storm, and yet…he’s the most strikingly handsome out of the four.
His looks are unusual…eye-catching. He has natural platinum hair—almost silver in tone—but the chronic scruff on his jaw and his eyebrows are dark. The eyes beneath those brows are a pale shade of crystalline blue, an unearthly, haunting shade. Pair that with his sharp, aristocratic bone structure and a tall, leanly-muscled body, and he belongs on a runway.
And yet, there’s something about him that’s more than just sexy. A sense of danger clings to him, a kind that isn’t as obvious as Maverick’s strength or as in-your-face as Conrad’s attitude.
Storm’s appeal is subtle, cold, and seductive.
The knife he holds in his other hand catches the light again as it arches up and descends, the hilt landing neatly in his palm without requiring so much as a glance from Storm. I look from the knife back to his face, my breath returning with a gasp I can’t restrain.
Since coming here, I’ve had fantasies involving all the men. All of them are kinky; all of them are fun—except the ones with Storm. Those fantasies speak to something much darker and deeper inside me.
Secret desires I pretend not to have, because I’m agoodgirl.
“Who were you talking to earlier?” he asks.
With difficulty, I find my voice. “A maid. She brought up new towels and linens. I was going toput the fresh stuff in your rooms once everybody was awake.”
“You don’t have to do that. We have maids for that.”
“I am a maid,” I return with a tight smile, trying to ignore the way his hand is still gripping my arm, the way his thumb is tracing little circles on the delicate skin of the inside of my wrist. How is such an innocent touch so distracting?
“No, right now you’re not our maid. You’re our…” He pauses, like he’s trying to find the right word to describe what I’m supposed to be to them.
“Babysitter?” I offer, meaning it as a joke.
His eyes narrow, and his grip tightens infinitesimally. “More like our toy. So come, little toy. Let me play with you for a while.”
His tone is flat. But there’s something behind it—like he hates the word even as he says it. Like he doesn’t actually want me to become what they expect.
My heart gives a hard thump as he tugs me away from the table, and I expect him to lead me into hisroom or something. I don’t know if it’s with excitement or fear.
Instead of heading to his room, though, he leads me over to the couch and pulls me down to sit on the floor next to him, using the couch as a backrest.
Why does he sit on the floor most of the time?The stray thought runs through my mind and then disappears again when Storm speaks.
“Why are you here, angel?”
“Angel?” I ask, ignoring his question.
He tilts his head, still studying me with that unnerving stare. “Yes. Every time I see you, you seem to have this…radiance…around you. Clean. Pure. And yet you’re…bold. Not afraid of me like a lot of the other hotel staff. You also don’t look at me like I’m some kind of monster sent to fulfill your serial killer fetish.”
I swallow, sorting through his statements. I extract the most harmless one. “So a lot of women have serial killer fetishes?”
He looks at me for a moment, then nods. “I blame Booktok.”
I laugh, surprised. From the few interactions I’ve had with Storm in the past, he didn’t strike me as the type to make a joke. His humor catches me off guard, but then my laughter dies away, replaced by silence. The way he’s looking at me right now—completely sober and straight-faced—I’m not entirely sure he did mean it as a joke.
At least he doesn’t seem offended by my laughter.
“You’re probably right,” I say with a small smile.
“So, answer my question. Why are you here?”
My humor fades, and I lift my shoulder in a shrug. There’s not much I can tell him, so I stay as close to the truth as I can. “I’m here because you guys requested me, and Conrad’s father is paying me a ridiculous amount of money. That might not mean much to you guys, but it’s life changing for me.”
“Is that what you want, angel? Do you want to change your life?”
Instead of giving him a blithe response, I weigh his question. Do I want to work as a hotel maid forever?No.Do I want to get out of that trailer park, and away from the mob and my father’s ghost?Yes.More than anything, yes, I do.
