His (9 page)

A security guard nods as I walk past his booth. “Evening, Mr. Wentworth,” he says, pushing a button to speak over the intercom. I nod at him through the bulletproof glass.

The garage sits beneath ground level, so I take the elevator up to the main floor. As soon as I close the door into the house behind me, the deadbolt slides back into place.

I’m in the coat room. It’s rather ludicrous to have a room devoted to coats in a home for one, but I figure I’ll sell this place when I’m older, and this might be a nice feature for those who will want to entertain here.

My phone rings again. I pull it out and shake my head as I read the screen. I slide my finger across it.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I knew you were there, darling. Why do you ignore me?”

“I was busy.”

“Too busy for me?”

I walk into the kitchen and open my wide, stainless fridge, taking out a bottle of water. “How are you, Mom?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. Let’s have brunch tomorrow.”

Tomorrow is my first full day with Quinn. “Sorry, I can’t.”

“Well, this is absurd. You never have time for me, Andrew. You do realize you’re the only family I have?”

She’s a master guilt-tripper. It’s made me into a master guilt-trip dodger. “I’ll be seeing you Wednesday night at the fundraiser.”

“If we even get a moment to talk, you mean,” she says.

“I’ll make sure we do.” I open the water and take a long drink. “Hey, I need to go, Mom. See you Wednesday?”

“All right. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I end the call and set my phone and the water on the kitchen island. Dawson texted me when he dropped Quinn off an hour ago, so I know she’s here. But I don’t see her in the living room or the guest room she slept in last night upstairs.

“Quinn?” I call as I walk back down the stairs.

“Hey,” she says, coming down the hall toward the living room. There’s a book in her hand. “I was in the library. It’s incredible, by the way.”

“It’s my favorite room in the house.”

“I hope it’s okay that I went in and borrowed this.” She clutches the book to her chest.

“Of course. Make yourself completely at home here. There are a few doors you can’t open because of the security, and everything above the main floor is inaccessible. I created a code for you to use the front door.”

“Do you lease out apartments on the upper floors? Are there other people in the building?”

I pause for a second before answering. “Not apartments, no. But there is a business up on the next floor. I promised them confidentiality, so I have to keep all aspects of my personal home separate. Even the parking garage beneath the building is divided. Everything is soundproof and the security works both ways, so you don’t need to worry about anyone getting in here.”

“Okay, good.”

“I have a voice-activated security system throughout the house. I have it set to learn your voice over the next few days. If you ever need help, just say my dad’s name—David Alan Wentworth. It has to be all three names. Say it loudly and clearly so the system picks up all the syllables, like this.” I say my dad’s name, and a couple seconds later, I show her the screen of my cell phone, which is buzzing with a new text. “That’s the system alerting me that it’s on.” I type out a message to my security people to let them know I was testing it.

She seems to be taking it all in when I remember one more thing I need to tell her. “Also, please don’t bring anyone into the warehouse. The facial recognition program would alert security before you even made it through the front door with them.”

Her eyes widen. “Okay . . . sure. I don’t know anyone to bring here, anyway.” She meets my gaze and holds it. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why all the security?”

“It’s just my thing,” I say dismissively. “The first business I started was a security program I wrote the code for.”

“Oh.”

I look her over. She’s wearing jeans, a lightweight red cotton shirt that makes the light pink shade of her cheeks stand out, and sleek, dark flats.

“You look nice,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and smiles. “Thank Dawson. He chose the outfit and told me to put my hair in this ponytail.”

“You’ll find it’s nice to be taken care of.”

She shrugs her slight shoulders. “It’s not like I know what looks good these days anyway.”

“Did he mention we’re going out for dinner tonight?”

“Yes. I assume I need to change clothes?”

“A little black dress would be perfect.” I glance at my wristwatch. “We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll get ready,” she says, breezing past me.

I’m not changing out of the khakis and dress shirt I wore to the office, so I go into my home office and pour a small glass of brandy. I need to decompress a bit before dinner. Quinn has a magnetic pull on me that’s hard to ignore. I want that tough, sexy woman in my bed tonight. The thought of being her first has taken over my fantasies.

But it’s way too early. I have to wait until she wants it just as much as I do, and it’s going to take time. She’s different from the other women I’ve been with. Hell, she’s never even been kissed.

I’m swirling the last sip of brandy in my glass a few minutes later when she steps into the open doorway of my office.

“There you are,” she says. “Are you ready?”

She’s wearing a bright green dress that hugs her lithe body perfectly and shiny black heels. I can’t help eye-fucking her for a few seconds.

“You look great,” I say, rising from my leather office chair. “Did my assistant fail to buy you a black dress today?”

She looks up at me as I approach her, a smile threatening to show itself. “He bought me several.”

My cock throbs with awareness. She deliberately wore the green, then. Her resistance to bending to my will is surprisingly sexy.

“You know, I don’t know your last name,” I say, close enough now to smell her sweet, delicately scented perfume.

“It’s Jones.”

“Is it now?” I’m staring at her pale pink lips, trying not to think dirty thoughts about them. I don’t need a hard-on I can’t do anything about for the next several hours.

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s go toast our new arrangement, Miss Jones.” I offer her an arm, and she slips her small hand around it.

“You’re leaving the knife behind, I hope?” I ask on the way to the door.

“Yes, but I have a small switchblade in my bag.” She holds up a tiny black purse.

I arch my brows. “I don’t think there’ll be any street-fighting at the steakhouse I’m taking you to.”

She doesn’t acknowledge my comment. I help her into the dark coat she hung over the back of the couch, put on my own, and then take her out a back door of the warehouse, where my driver, Roy, waits for us in a black SUV. I open the door for her, and she slides in.

From the moment I get in the backseat next to her, I’m thinking about taking her hips and pulling her onto my lap. I want her straddling me so she can feel just how badly I want her. If she’d let her guard down, she’d find my hands and mouth can take her to places she’s never been. Dirty, sexy, mind-blowing places.

She’s clutching the purse in her lap.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Yes, very.”

“Where’d Dawson take you for lunch?”

“We didn’t have time for lunch.”

“You didn’t have lunch?” My aggravation bleeds through in my tone.

“We had a lot of shopping to do.”

“I don’t care. None of that stuff is worth skipping lunch for.”

It’s important to me that Quinn eat. The poor woman is too thin, and she’s been hungry for too long.

“Don’t say anything to Dawson,” she says. “Please. I should have told him I wanted lunch.”

“His job is to care for you. That doesn’t just mean buying clothes and shoes. I expect him to treat you the way he treats me.”

She laughs. “You’re his
boss
. I’m his boss’s piece. It’s different.”

“My
piece
, huh?” I can’t help but smile at how direct Quinn is.

“Well, I’m sure I will be soon. I mean . . . that’s the idea, right?”

Not fucking soon enough. This conversation is giving me a boner, so I shift in my seat and adjust myself.

“We’re going to a fundraiser Wednesday night,” I say. “You’ll be meeting my mother.”

“Oh, God. What am I supposed to say to her?”

I wave dismissively. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

“No photos,” she says in a serious tone.

“You mentioned that.”

She holds my gaze, and I have to adjust myself again. “When you’re at work, should I be doing something? Cleaning the house?”

“No. I have someone for that. Just relax. You like reading, right? I have more than a thousand books in my library. And there’s a workout room if you like to exercise.”

She nods. I can tell she’ll need time to adjust. It has to be tough to transition from the streets to a life where all your needs are met by others.

We ride in silence as she stares out the window. I have to break the ice.

“I can ask Ty to go check on your sister again if you’re worried about her,” I offer. “The doctor I sent over.”

Quinn turns to me with a sharp look. “I knew you’d use that as an opportunity to pry. Don’t ever mention her again.”

“Ty called to tell me how it went. Why did you tell me you had a sibling if you wanted her to be a big secret?”

“I thought I’d never see you again when I said that.”

I can’t help a slight smirk. “And now? What exactly is it you’re worried about?”

“I mean it, Andrew,” she says coldly. “Don’t go there.”

“This is going great so far,” I mutter.

We both resort to staring out the window. I wish I would’ve ordered dinner in because there’s no way this night will end well.

Quinn

Dinner was uncomfortable, to say the least. The restaurant was so expensive there weren’t even any prices on the menu. I was thinking the whole time about how many people could have eaten a decent dinner on what Andrew was spending on just the two of us.

I suspect the sex part of our deal will be easier for me than the part where I pretend to feel like Cinderella being swept off to a ball. If you ask me, Cinderella put up with her stepmother’s bullshit for way too long. She should have rescued herself well before that prince showed up.

As soon as we got back to the warehouse, I went to my bedroom to put away the mountains of clothes and shoes I’d gotten earlier.

On Sunday, Andrew was in his home office with the door closed when I woke up. He came out for a sandwich at lunch and barely even said hello, then spent the rest of the day in there.

It’s Monday now, and I’m reading my fourth book since getting here. I heard Andrew leave around sunrise, and I got up, too. I spent much of the night tossing and turning because I’m worried about Bethy and Bean.

Is she still sick? Is the cash allowing them to travel without identification? Have they drawn suspicion?

I won’t be able to stop worrying like this until I know they’ve safely crossed the border into Mexico. It’s killing me that Bethy’s safety is in someone’s hands other than mine, even if it’s Bean, whom I trust completely.

If they get caught, it will all be for nothing. All the cold nights, the hunger, the people I fucking
stabbed
to keep us safe, will be a waste. I won’t have a life left here or anywhere else if Bethy gets sent back home.

A little after ten AM I’m trying to read a page in my book for the fifth time when the front door opens. I walk into the living room and see a biracial woman with a pretty smile and graying hair.

“Hi there,” she says. “I’m Turner. Mr. Wentworth’s chef and housekeeper.”

“Oh, hi. I’m Quinn.”

Finally
, someone I can talk to. Part of the reason I’m worried sick is because I’m all alone in this huge place with nothing to do.

“Pleased to meet you, Quinn.” She walks over to a pantry in the kitchen and opens the door, taking an apron from a hook and putting it on. “I’ll be cleaning and cooking, so don’t mind me.”

“What can I help with?”

She chuckles lightly. “Thanks for offering, but I’ve got it.”

“No, really. I’ll do anything.”

She meets my gaze across the vast space between the wide-open kitchen and living room. “Mr. Wentworth would not approve of that.”