Page 41 of Wilt

Rush stares at me before he finishes his drink. “Wasn’t thinking of touching her, Niko.”

“She’s fine. For now.” I link my fingers together on my desk.

He heads to the door instead of arguing. “Okay then. Well, I’ll stay in Queenstown. Play in the city, I guess.”

I stop him before he can get too far out the door. “Rush, I know you can take care of yourself.” Rush can be as ruthless as me if he wants to be, only he never quite goes there. “But don’t play too hard.”

* * *

I send Sylvie up with dinner for Rosalind, then I give her the night off, along with everyone else in the house. It’s quiet, empty. I have a couple of guards outside, but the place is a fortress—it’s armed and locked down. This is safer than a lot of panic rooms, not that I’m concerned.

I’ve left Rose with nothing to wear but the black button down I had on earlier. I’m not sure why I changed my mind about what she could have. I guess I wanted to keep testing her limits, see how she stretches and accommodates, see what she likes.

The smooth warmth of her ass under my hand is almost tangible, and I can feel how her skin grew hotter. I can see her move, hear that very first moan. Holy fuck, she likes being punished. Does she like being naked for me, too? Deep down, maybe. She hates it on the surface. She’s lost, confused. The only thing that didn’t float my boat was the real hurt in her voice, the emotional hurt that came from a place of vulnerability, misery. I want to punish her, hurt her, but paradoxically, I want her to like it, too.

Sprawled on my bed with just the light from my tablet and the side lamp, I sigh as the old house creaks and sighs. On my screen, my hidden cameras give me views of everywhere in the house, including Rose’s room.

I haven’t locked her in today. After the maid left her earlier, she waited; I could practically see her count to ten before she slid off the bed to pad to the door. She pressed her ear against it, then slowly turned the handle, pulling the door open a crack before closing it.

That was three hours ago.

I keep checking, but she’s pretty much stayed on her bed, that horrible book I found in the library in her hands. My work for the night is done. Now, it’s a waiting game in more ways than one.

At almost eleven p.m., she finally gets up. The black button down is too big for her, and it unfortunately covers her ass and cunt, things I enjoy seeing. Fuck it; I like what I like and what I like is Rose ready and naked.

She eases her door open to sneak out, and I flip camera view so she fills my screen. She tiptoes down the stairs and I follow through the cameras. She pads to my study and takes in the alarms on the windows, and then the armed panel on the front door. She weaves her way around through to the kitchen, where she pokes about, discovers the back door through the big, walk-in pantry, and stares at the alarm there, too.

She tentatively reaches out her hand, but like with every other window and door, she doesn’t touch anything. Instead, Rose drops her hand to her side, her head turning as she looks around. She goes into the kitchen again, finding a glass and pouring herself some water, only to lean against the counter to stare at my knife block. For a moment, I expect her to take one, but she doesn’t. I’m not even sure she knows where my room is, or if I’m home, for that matter.

Suddenly, she looks up, eyes narrowing as she studies the ceiling. Clever girl. She’s worked out I might leave her door unlocked, but I’m not going to fucking leave her alone. She starts to move, quiet, almost silent, only a creak here and there of the floorboards giving her away.

I’m curious about her next move, so I stay where I am, switching views as she climbs the stairs, her hand clasping the rail. At the second-floor landing, she stops, looking from side to side, peering at the floor.

Rose is looking for light.

Now I’m beyond curious as she comes to a stop at my door, where light spills from the crack at the bottom. She reaches for the handle. I close the cover and set down the tablet next to my phone on the bedside table to watch the door.

The brass handle turns.

The door swings open and Rosalind steps in, hovering a moment.

We look at each other, awareness springing to life, thick, fast, and electric. I raise my brow at her. I’m not sure what she’s planning, and maybe she doesn’t either. She’s part rabbit caught in my sights, part femme fatale on a mission, and the mix is intoxicating.

With a breath, Rosalind’s gaze moves over me. I’m in a t-shirt and jeans, no shoes and socks. I’d changed from my suit after my shower. When I work, I’m always ready for action or calls and the suit is part of that, but right now, I’m off duty and she’s… fucking delicious.

Her eyes linger on my tattooed arms, over the t-shirt clinging to my chest. The top button of my jeans is undone, and her eyes catch on it, then the bulge of my cock that’s beginning to stir from her perusal. I don’t say a fucking word.

My button down is haphazardly buttoned and rolled up to my wrists—it looks beyond hot on her, like she’s mine. Like all she does is wait for me, willing, wanting, warm.

I wonder if she’s wet.

Rose takes a breath and climbs onto my bed, crawling until she’s beside me. Our eyes locked together, she draws another breath, sitting up, a blush streaking her cheeks. She pulls her knees up to her chest and hooks a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

“What do you want, Rose?”

She doesn’t answer me, like she’s figuring it out herself.

“Why did you come out of your room and into mine?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.

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