Queen (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (23 page)

With Grant’s approving encouragement I scratch my signature on a check worth more than twenty-thousand-dollars. I scrawl a note for him and fold the check inside the paper.

I loosen his fingers and slide the paper into his palm and push his fingers to hold it in place.

I bury my face into his neck and inhale his scent. Even near death he still smells intoxicating- clean and fresh. I
pull his scent into my lungs.

“I would have fallen in love with you, Roman. I think
I was already in love with you,” I whisper directly into his ear. I gently kiss his dry lips, lingering to feel his breath flutter against my mouth.

I turn to Grant. He’
s leaning on the doorframe. I expect a look of betrayal to mar his face. He heard every word I whispered and he watched me kiss another man. But he looks at me with patient eyes and offers his hand to me. I quickly knot my fingers with his and I don’t look back as we leave Roman. It’s up to fate now.

“If he survives and has the courage to change his life, your offering will make the difference.” Grant tries to reassure me. It’s a nice change. He’
s grown stronger the longer we’re together. He’s always had a backbone- a silent strength. The difference is, is that he isn’t allowing he father to trample it any longer.

“I
’d owed him for all the times he did right by me. He kept the boys away, he bought my mom’s pills, and he was by my side as she drew her last breath.”  A mournful noise erupts from my chest and Grant pulls me into his arms.

“You can’t buy friendship like that, baby. That’s why I’ve kept an eye on him. I knew you would want to know if he was alright.”

“Don’t tell me either way, Grant. I don’t want to know if he lives or dies. It’ll kill me if he doesn’t make it and if he does I’ll want to contact him again. If he dies take the money out of the account so I won’t know either way. Donate it to
Transcend
. I’m a curse on all those I love. If I love them they die. I’m a pestilence.”

“Oh, Regina,” he mutters forlornly.

“I mean it, Grant. Don’t tell me.” I twist my fingers in the front of his shirt and draw him to eye-level. “You tell me and all bets are off. Have I made myself clear?” I demand.

He seals the pact with a kiss.
 

Chapter
Twenty-Three

After six days of this shit I have officially gone insane. I want to scream stop. I want to fix it and I don’t know how.
It doesn’t matter which room of the seventy-three rooms I enter, the chaotic energy has infused the entire estate.

I sit in my office trying to create a website for a client with the children at my feet. It isn’t the ten-year-old or the three-year-old that are happily playing
Candy Land
. The distraction is Grant and Adelaide. I flee from them and they seem to radiate back to me like a boomerang.

Fate and Kristal are just as annoyed as I am- emergency disaster aside- we need some breathing room. It’s been one thing after the other lately.

Last month Fate’s life bottomed out. She’s officially a resident of Whittenhower Estates. Her father was the master criminal of a Ponzi-scheme and he’s currently residing in federal prison awaiting trial. All of their assets have been seized. Her mother’s living with relatives and her younger sister, Faith, lost all her faith in her family and is in hiding. Faith Simpson is now named Cynthia Brooks and fancies herself a Goth character from a book series she’s infatuated with.

It’s a testament to how far the mighty will fall when their precarious house of cards
topples. Needless to say, Mr. Whittenhower has been extra pissy as of late. He was one of Mr. Simpson’s investors. I actually laughed when I found out he lost millions of dollars- serves the arrogant bastard right.

Fate
, with her freshly printed degree in business, is avoided like the plague. I don’t blame the citizens for not hiring a financial advisor who happens to be the spawn of the biggest crook in the city’s history. So we hired her instead. We- meaning Fate, Kristal, and I- are trying to form an internet startup company:
Empowerment.
And it would flow better if we didn’t have the siblings radiating terror into the mortar of this house. I swear I can feel an earthquake building from their energy.

The debacle known as
Y2K
was last week. Ah- a new millennium. I was giddy with excitement waiting for the network to fail that I helped forge. My eyes were fused to my computer monitor as I waited for the time to flip to 12:00 am, 1/1/2000. I was simultaneously disappointed when it didn’t fail and proud that I helped create something so strong that it withstood the test of the new millennium time-clock.

We all watch them pace identical lines across the carpet. It’s as fascinating as disturbing. I’m not sure why Grant is so distressed. I understand Ade’s heartbre
ak, but Grant looks crazed with worry. I wasn’t aware he even knew the boys well. He hasn’t slept in almost a week.
 

Ezra Zeitler vanishes, into the night, without a trace, from his bed. The search for the missing Eighteen-year-old Hillbrook Preparatory student had stalled out until new developments arose. Two nights ago two more residents of ShadowHaven Estates were taken from their beds. The minors names have been withheld, however, their ages are fifteen and seventeen years of age.
If you have any information regarding the disappearance of the three missing teens, please contact local law enforcement immediately.

I’ve read the article over and over in shock. A few weeks ago Adelaide and Ezra announced their courtship to the community. Now my best friend paces the room wondering if she’ll ever see her future husband again. I can’t imagine anyone outsmarting the strong, intelligent young man. I’ve met him once, four-years ago at his freshman orientation. I can see his face clearly and it brings a wave of nausea. I close my eyes and silently pray that he and his friends are returned safely home to their families. We can’t suffer any more losses.

I know
who one of the unnamed teens is- Cortez Abernathy. I remember his poor attempt to charm me and I hope he has the opportunity to grow into himself. I want to weep for those boys, not knowing whether they’re alive or dead at this very moment. I hope they didn’t have to watch the other suffer. I could tell years back that they had a strong affection for each other. I couldn’t imagine if someone made me watch as they inflicted harm on Grant.

Since I can’t find them, fix it, or help out in some way, I want to avoid the situation at all costs. It makes me feel useless and weak. I tried to comfort Adelaide and she brushed me off so she could engage in her nervous fretting. I’ve tried to get Grant to talk it out and I hit a brick-wall. He said
, “I can’t talk about it.”

Now I want to work to forget and since they have invaded my office I can’t work. I have a dozen problems scrolling
through my mind on auto-pilot.

The biggest problem I face is the sinus infection I had two months ago. I wish I had the balls to tell Grant and he could shoulder some of my stress. It compromises operation
Escape Misery Castle.
The timer on my contract is less than six-months.

Mr. Whittenhower was so pleased with the product I created that he was fine with my taking birth control. One strong, thriving grandson was all he needed.

I want to kill the doctors, the pharmacist, and my own ignorance. I feel shame over my ignorance. I can conjure a computer program that changes the lives of millions from nothing, but I didn’t know that antibiotics and birth control don’t mix.  

I rub my swelling tummy and
silently thank my six-week-old fetus for the nausea and wild hormones. My last nerve is about to snap. Unborn baby and I can’t stand it one more second. Sounds pour into me from around the room. Niel squeaks in a high-pitched voice protesting that Whitt’s cheating. Whitt countering it with a deep,
you’re just a baby; shut up.
Kristal’s throaty voice smugly tells Fate about her newest conquest. And feet- four feet annoyingly shuffle across the floor.

“S
HUT UP,” I scream at the top of my lungs until they burn. Six sets of stunned eyes look to me as I grip the edge of my desk. No one speaks, no one dares to breathe as they stare at me and I stare back.

I seethe rabidly for no reason.

Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 blares in its electronic glory from someone’s cell phone. On a normal day that sound is annoying at best, on a day like today- it is smash-worthy.
“Whose is that?” I hiss, eyes roving the room’s inhabitants.

Grant calmly removes his mobile phone from his pants’ pocket as I glare daggers at him from my desk.

“Grant Whittenhower speaking,” he smoothly answers. I grip the desk harder, digging my nails into the pulpous wood. Does he not see how badly I want to hurt something? Is he testing my patience?

“Oh, thank God, Sir.” He collapses into a chair and ends the call.

Now we’re all looking at him, waiting for him to speak, and he doesn’t. Mother fucker!

“
They’re home,” he says in obvious relief. He closes his eyes and his head droops in exhaustion.

“Oh,” Ade shouts and Grant grabs her arm.

“Don’t go over there yet. They’re physically healthy, but that is it. He’ll call you when he’s ready to talk.” His fingers tighten on her arm and she winces. His voice picks up a tone I’ve never heard before. “I mean it, Ade. Don’t interfere. You’ll never make it past the front door.”

She
flees from the room in tears. Grant’s eyes track her movements until he can no longer see her running down the hall. I flinch when they meet mine- haunted, tortured, ruined. Oh, those poor boys. My throat contracts and I manage to lift the waste basket to my lap before I empty my stomach.

“Whitt, watch your nephew.” Grant demands as he pulls up from his seat. “Come, Regina. You’re obviously not feeling well. I need a shower and a nap. And then we need to talk”

I want to rebel and lash out for his tone and his command of me. It somehow douses the fire that’s smoldering inside me. I stand defeated and follow him to our rooms.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I curl up in a cowardly-ball in the center of our bed. I pretend to be asleep. Grant has never used that tone with me. Is he angry at me? I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong lately. Maybe he knows about the little mon
key growing in my tummy and he’s furious. I close my eyes and try to even my breathing when he pads in from the shower. I’m not ready to talk.

The bed dips and my breathing betrays me. Something soft taps on my nose. I still the twitch and continue pretending; another tap, now my eyelids, my cheek, and
my lips. He’s playing with me. He knows I’m awake.

I crack my lids and bust out laughing. He taps the tip of my nose again and giggles at me. He hums a tune and wiggles his cock in my view.

“Why, Mr. Whittenhower, what do we have here?” I lick at him and my stomach revolts. I groan and collapse back onto the bed. So much for playing- baby says no.

“I guess my tummy is
n’t up for that,” I sadly say.

“
Sit up with your back against the headboard, Ms. Regal.” He helps me into position.

“You’re not telling me what to do are you?”
I arch an eyebrow mocking him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mistress; I’m just merely offering a suggestion.” He repeats the phrase he said to me on our first time. I smile up at him and he rewards me wi
th his dimple.

Massage oil magically appears in his hand and he squirts it all over my chest. I meep when the cold, slippery fluid hits my skin. Both of us shutter our eyes in pleasure when his hands massage th
e oil into my quivering flesh.

“It’s been weeks since we’ve touched like this. I could have napped and then we could have gone back to work just like every
other day. Life’s too short for that. I wanted to touch you, connect with you. So I am. The world can wait for us for once.”

I
sigh my agreement as he massages the ache away from my tender breasts. They already feel heavy and full from the pregnancy. I’m sure Grant appreciates it. He’s a titty-man.

I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and enjoy the pleas
ure Grant’s giving me. He groans deeply from his chest and my eyes snap open. I stare down in amazement. I didn’t know you could do that there.

“Ah! I surprised you,” Grant murmurs in delight. We watch in captivation as he rolls his hips causing his length to slide between my slippery breasts. He holds them firmly together and thrusts smoothly.

“I won’t last long,” he groans.

I can tell that he won’t either. I tilt my head back and study his body as he moves in ecstasy. Neck arched, mouth parted, eyes glazed with need as he glides his ruddy length against my breasts and takes his pleasure without giving. I feel so damned proud that he finally gives himself over to his wants and needs without wor
ry what anyone else thinks. He’s a man- a gorgeous, virile man whose body is taught with his coming release.