Page 27 of His Property

It had a sunken floor, the carpet a deep pile the color of slate. Two of the walls were completely covered with built-ins, books and knick-knacks, and trophies and all sorts of various sundries crowding the shelves.

It was totally at odds with what I expected from somebody like Mr. Winters. This room looked almost… lived in. On the third wall was another television almost as large as the one in the living room. There were several sumptuous couches, two recliners, and even a few ottomans scattered across the floor here and there. With patterned throw pillows and thick woven blankets tastefully added to the mix, it was a supremely comfortable room. More than once I was tempted to have a seat and take a little break.

But that wasn’t how it worked.

I took hold of my shirt, trying to air it out. I’d chosen a long-sleeved baby blue T-shirt, because it was so cold out this morning, but now after several hours of work it was stifling. My skin-tight gray yoga pants, while cute and comfortable, definitely did not help in that matter at all. Back in my old job I probably would have been written up for wearing something like that. But I wasn’t at my old job anymore.

One of the minor perks of working for yourself now, right?

Then I heard a key rattling in the front door lock, and I tensed, immediately snatching up the spray bottle and the chamois that I was using to dust all of those shelves. My heart instantly began to pound as I thought about what it was I should do.

Should I greet him at the door? Should I just act like nothing is happening?

There isn’t anything untoward happening here, Lola. Or is there?

The door opened, and filling the doorway, the gray of the afternoon behind him rendering his figure into nothing but shadow, was the hulking form of Mr. Winters. He had a briefcase in his left hand, a thick coat draped over his right. Even though he was little more than a silhouette, I could see the brilliant eyes intently staring at me even though he was more than thirty feet away. I was in the family room still debating whether I should walk down the hall, but there was really nothing there for me other than his office—which I was strictly forbidden from going inside—and the master bedroom, which I hadn’t even been assigned to clean that day.

He strolled slowly into the room, staring me down the entire time. He looked much less than happy.

“Um, hi, Mr. Winters.” I felt like an idiot saying it, but I had to saysomething, didn’t I?

“Have you cleaned as I specified in the note?”

I offered him a bright smile, putting on the best face, even as I had no idea what it was he was up to here. “Of course! It’s all done. I was just finishing up the last of your shelving here…”

His glance slid across the room to those same shelves. “Hmm, we’ll see about that.”

“What, uh, what does that mean?”

But he didn’t answer me, instead walking into the kitchen. I heard thethunkof what I assumed was his briefcase being dropped on one of the counters. A cupboard opened, then closed, followed by a soft grunt. Then he returned, and my mouth dropped open in shock.

On his right hand he was wearing… a white glove.

“It’s a little cliché, don’t you think?” I regretted the words the instant I said them, wincing at the almost physical pain of the stupidity of me uttering such a thing. “Crap. I’m sorry, that was a smart-ass thing to say.”

He was deadly still as he stood there looking at me. “Or perhaps you should simply keep that mouthshut.”

It was a rebuke, and an effective one. I stared at the floor, nodding miserably.

And yet a hot trickle of tickling moisture was gathering between the lips of my sex.

Oh, my God.

I watched, dumbfounded, as Mr. Winters made a beeline straight for the shelving that I’d just finished dusting. He ran a long gloved finger upon the plane at one, then another, and another. He made a soft tsking sound, and held up the finger for me to look at. His eyes were alight, his lips pulled back into something between a grimace and creative satisfaction. “What do you think this is, Ms. Grant? Is this your idea of just finishing up?”

“I’m… I guess I missed that spot. Sir.”

I wasn’t sure why I called him that, but it seemed the prudent thing to do. I was in trouble, and I was embarrassed. But it wasn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. What was amuchbigger deal though was the fact that I was getting physically turned on at seeing him inspect my work as if I were some disobedient delinquent.

Yes, a much bigger deal indeed, Lola.

He stepped toward me slowly, still holding up the finger as if it were a crucifix before him, warding off the vampire of my shitty work ethic and careless attention to detail. I almost giggled at that absurd thought, but it did serve to break the tension ever so slightly, at least for me. “Look, Mr. Winters, I’m really sorry I missed that. I’ll make sure I do a better job next time. I’m usually very thorough. It won’t happen again.”

But he was standing directly in front of me, towering above me. “Oh, I’m quite confident it won’t happen again. But this has to be addressed; it’sgoingto be addressed right now.”

Still holding up the gloved hand, with his other he fished in the front pocket of his deep blue slacks, not even bothering to undo the matching navy suitcoat. Then he held it up, the metal gleaming in the light. It was a quarter. “Follow me, Ms. Grant.”

Oh, shit.

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