His (19 page)

“Just to be safe.”

“This is ridiculous. I have my knife.” I pull open the new winter parka Dawson bought me. My knife is strapped to my thigh again, where it should have been all along.

“I’m just following orders, ma’am,” Micah says.

I shake my head. “So I have to show up at a homeless shelter in an Escalade with a driver and a security guard?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say with a sigh. “Just get in.”

“Morning, Miss Jones,” Roy says as he opens my door. I wonder if Andrew’s staff realizes my last name is
not
Jones.

On the ride to the shelter, I open the manila envelope Andrew left on the kitchen island this morning. There’s a birth certificate and driver’s license inside with the name Susanna Hopkins. The photo on the driver’s license is mine. I inhale sharply as I look at it, wondering how the hell Andrew did this.

Money can buy a lot, but this? I decide not to overthink it. This driver’s license is a ticket to freedom for me. I need to do more than sit around the empty warehouse and library all the time. At the shelter, I can meet people facing the struggles I know all too well. I can do something that matters.

Roy drops me off in front of the Helping Hands shelter, and Micah follows me inside. It’s small but bright and clean. Photos of smiling people line the walls. A receptionist asks for my name, and as soon as I tell her I’m Susanna Hopkins, a man wearing jeans and a flannel comes out to shake my hand.

“Pete Larsen,” he says with a grin. “I’m the executive director here. I can’t thank you enough for your donation, Miss Hopkins. It’s going to make a huge difference in a lot of lives.”

“Donation?”

“Mr. Wentworth made it on behalf of both of you. He said you’d like to volunteer as well, which is great. We can always use the help.”

I feel a warm affection for Andrew until I remember how upset I am with him. I think constantly about how he could have gotten my purse back without having anything to do with the mugging, and I come up empty every time.

“Just let me know what I can do,” I say. “And my friend Micah came along to help, too.”

“As long as we can work together, I’m game,” Micah says.

Pete assigns us to the kitchen, where we peel potatoes and carrots. We help serve soup and sandwiches for lunch, and I feel a pang for every young child whose plate and bowl I fill. Their big eyes and warm smiles remind me so much of Bethy.

It’s a good day, and when Pete asks if we can come back later this week to help serve Thanksgiving dinner, I hate to say no. I’d rather be here than spend an uncomfortable day with Andrew and his mother.

I appreciate what Andrew did for the shelter, so I smile at him when he comes into the kitchen after work.

“You had a good day?” he asks, taking off his dark red tie.

“Yes. Thank you for giving to the shelter.”

“Of course. Charitable contributions are a tax write-off.”

“How much did you donate?”

“Two fifty.”

My lips part with surprise. “You mean . . . $250,000?”

“Yes. Is dinner ready?”

I come from a family with money, but I don’t think it’s the kind of wealth Andrew has. He can buy anything he wants. And yet, I wonder if he understands the power of that. Does he know that the money he gave to the shelter was a lot more than just a tax deduction?

“Turner left the roaster set on warm so we could eat when you got here,” I say.

Before the attack, we would have talked over dinner. I would ask him how work was, and he would explain whatever real estate deal he was working on. I’d tell him about the books I’d read at the library that day, and he’d pretend to be interested.

Instead, we eat in silence. When we’re finished, I move the dishes to the counter by the sink and start unloading clean dishes from the dishwasher.

“Leave that for Turner,” Andrew says.

“I’ve got it.”

“This is what I pay her for.”

“You’re paying me, too,” I remind him.

“Not for this.”

My hand stops over the glass I was about to take out of the dishwasher. It’s true. He’s paying me a lot of money, and I’m not earning it.

“What would you like from me?” I ask, not turning around.

I hear him walking across the wood floor toward me. His hands settle lightly on my waist, and I feel the heat of his large frame behind me.

“I’d like it to be like it was,” he says. “When we were getting closer. When you trusted me with your body.”

“It’s not really like that, though,” I say softly. “You can have whatever you want from me physically, trust or not.”

He exhales his frustration. “Is that how it’s gonna be, then? I have to command sexual favors from you?”

I turn and look up at him. “They’re not favors. This is our deal, Andrew.”

“It can be good for
both
of us,” he says, his hands tightening around my hips. “Just let go and enjoy it like you did before. I’ll give you anything you want.”

It feels good, having his hands on me again. That’s some messed-up shit right there. I’m angry at him, I don’t trust him, but the attraction is stronger than ever. It’s like he flipped a switch inside me, and I don’t know how to turn it off.

He doesn’t have to know, though. Maybe I can’t control how my body responds to him, but I can control what I do about it.

“You tell
me
what
you
want,” I say, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I work for you, remember? So just say it, and it’s yours.”

His nostrils flare slightly. “You don’t mean that.”

“Try me.”

His fist tightens around a handful of the front of my shirt, and he pulls me to him,
hard
. I inhale sharply as my hips bump against his muscled thighs.

“I’m a very controlling man, Quinn,” he says in a low tone.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I say, intending it to come out sarcastic. Instead, it sounds breathy and a little desperate.

“You haven’t seen that side of me, but I’ll damn well show it to you if you’re asking me to.”

“That’s how you like it, isn’t it? You give the orders and cut the checks, and everyone does exactly as you say?”

“I do like that, yes.” He leans down so his mouth is just an inch above mine. I feel his warm breath on my lips, and my body heats in response.

He’s going to kiss me. I’m going to like it. But he doesn’t have to know it.

“Strip for me,” he says. “Everything off but your bra. Then bend over the kitchen counter and give me a nice view of your gorgeous ass.”

I force myself not to let my shock show. “Strip?”

“Ask and it’s mine, right?” His lips curve in just a hint of a smile.

Asshole. He wants to make me eat my words. It won’t work.

“You got it, boss,” I say, stepping out of his hold on me.

I take a steadying breath as I walk across the large kitchen to a counter a safe distance from Andrew. Safe for him or safe for me, I’m not sure.

I toy with the hem of my shirt, my heart racing. And then I realize it may not just be Andrew watching me right now.

“Are there cameras in here?” I ask.

“No. Not in this room.”

“Where, then?” There’s a note of panic in my voice. “In the bedroom?”

Andrew shakes his head. “I’d never do that to you. There are cameras in certain rooms, but nothing’s being recorded now.”

“When do they record?”

“Only when I want them to, which is rare. They’re in rooms like my office and the living room, nothing private.” He leans back against the counter, and I can swear I almost see him smirking. “Now on with my show.”

It’s only skin
, I remind myself. I’m just flashing some skin for the man.

Unless he decides he wants more . . .

I slip off my socks and pull the shirt up and off over my head. If I was supposed to tease him by making it slow and sexy, I failed. But he seems to be enjoying the view of my breasts in a lacy turquoise bra.

My eyes stay locked on his as I unbutton my jeans and wiggle my hips to slide them down. His gaze is dark and intense, and his hands grip the counter he’s standing in front of.

With way more wiggling than needed, I get the jeans off. He’s a very controlling man, as he said. But right now, I feel like the one with the power. His dark blue eyes seem to be telling me he couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

I give him a sultry smile and then turn around and shake my ass just a little as I slide the panties down slowly. I hear his deep exhale as I reach my thighs and let them fall to the floor.

Bend over
, he said.
Give me a nice view.
I steady myself with my hands on the counter and bend down.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters softly. “Yeah. Raise that ass in the air for me.”

I can feel his gaze on my bare skin. I should be cold as I stand here naked in the kitchen, but I’m warm all over. His approaching footsteps make me shiver with awareness.

“So sexy,” he says from behind me. He touches a single fingertip to my spine and runs it down, making me moan softly.

“You don’t have to admit how much you like it, baby,” he says. “I already know.”

I’m trying to think of a snarky comeback when I feel his fingertips at my wet entrance, sliding back and forth. I let out a shaky gasp because I have to. It feels too good to deny.

It’s all I can do to hold on as he puts two fingers inside me, groaning as they slide in easily. He’s rubbing my bare ass with his other hand.

My body doesn’t care how pissed I am at him or whether he lied to me or even if he’s a good guy. I’m pushing my hips back against his fingers, only thinking of wanting more, more, more.

When he bends to my ass cheek and gives it a soft bite, followed by a kiss, I let out a long, loud wail as I come on his hand. It’s primal. Andrew can manipulate my body to meet his will, and we both know it.

He slows his fingers, only stopping when my body goes limp against the counter. He presses a soft kiss to my shoulder.

“You were right, baby,” he says against my skin. “I do love giving you orders. Let’s do this again soon.”

I can’t look at him right now. I know what I’ll see on his face: smug, satisfied victory.

And why does that piss me off? I can’t deny his victory feels pretty damn amazing. But we both know he proved his point—his control over me isn’t just something I allow begrudgingly. It’s something that, at times, I actually crave. When Andrew looks at me with lust in his eyes, I’m powerless to fight what it does to me.

Quinn

The past few days have made me question a lot of things. Mostly I’m wondering just how much of myself I’m selling to Andrew here.

I just keep wondering . . . Why do I stay here when I suspect he set up the mugging just so he could play hero? Is it only for the money? How did I survive more than four years on the streets with little more than a scratch, only to let my guard down so hard I could have been beaten to death or raped in that alley? Did I already have this sexual hunger lying dormant inside me, or did
he
create it?

I consider these things and always come back to thoughts of Andrew. He takes me to bed every night, and we push our boundaries a little further each time. I’m surprisingly eager for him to take things all the way. His cool demeanor, powerful frame, and piercing blue eyes have gotten to me. I’m feeling something for him.

Never did I think I’d develop feelings for a rich man who exudes such power and control. It reminds me too much of the man I’m running from.

“You’ll pay for that, you little bitch.” His evil laugh rumbles. “Run all you want. There’s no escaping me.”

I’m sitting in Andrew’s library, lost in thought rather than the open book on my lap, when I hear male voices in the other room.

I get up and walk that way and find Steve, the security guy, talking to a man in jeans and a T-shirt.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks me.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

I walk into the kitchen to get some water. Turner is there, chopping vegetables for the dinner she’s making.

“How you doin’, girl?” she asks.

“Pretty good.” I slide onto a barstool at the breakfast bar and open my water. “How about you?”

“Can’t complain,” she says with a smile. “My baby’s graduating from high school soon. I’m in party planning mode.”