Chapter One
Erin jogged up the steps of the farm-style house in good spirits.
She let herself in using her key and called out, “Mr. Morris! It’s Erin.”
Call me Blake, he always asked, but for some reason she resisted. She wasn’t usually a stickler for propriety, but with him it seemed like a good idea. Maybe his military roots made the formality more correct to her. Or more likely, it was the domesticity of cleaning his home while he loitered near her.
It would be so easy to slip, to let him see how she felt about him. Then she’d feel like an idiot—a dumb, little girl panting after a man old enough to be her father.
She pulled a book from her bag and went upstairs in search of her boss to return it to him. She could probably put it in his bookcase, always neat and organized so she’d know right where it belonged. In fact, his whole house sparkled from the knotted floorboards to the arched ceilings.
It was partly because he was so fastidious, but also because she did a full deep clean twice a week. It was one of the odd habits that made her reclusive employer so strange, and also endearing.
She could replace the book, but she wanted an excuse to talk to him. They’d had a lively debate on the merits of the U.N. in her political science class yesterday and she knew he’d appreciate it.
She poked her head in his bedroom and found him there. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight. He lay spread out on the bed, his skin still damp from a bath, a towel in disarray around his waist.
And he was masturbating. Shit!
She ought to leave. This was clearly a private moment and she the intruder. She really should turn around, walk away and absolutely, positively not watch. Instead she stood there, her eyes riveted to his exposed cock standing up thick from his fisted hand.
“God, baby,” he moaned, his eyes closed, “Suck it, please.”
Her lips parted in surprise, as if she could obey him from across the room. Her clit throbbed to hear his rasping voice say those dirty words, to watch his fist fuck his cock.
“Yes. Yesss. So beautiful. God.” His other hand reached to cup his balls. “That’s right, baby. Lick them. Suck them.”
Her wide-eyed gaze flew to his face, mesmerized by the interplay of shiny, scar tissue and ruddy, healthy skin twisted in a grimace of pleasure. His burns and coarse features might make him repulsive to some, but when she looked at him she saw only Blake, with his brilliant ideas and gruff kindness.
“Touch yourself. Yeah, yeah. Take me deep in your mouth and stick your fingers in your cunt.”
Her thighs squeezed together where she stood, giving herself whatever relief she could. If she moved, either her legs or her hands, she’d have to acknowledge that what she was doing, that being a voyeur was wrong, so she stayed still instead.
Then, shockingly, he moaned her name, “Erin…”
Erin barely had time to process that, and then he came, spurting into his cupped hand.
More than a little turned on, she let out an involuntary sound—a whimper, almost. Heavy lids slid open as he turned to look at her. His eyes widening into a look of shock, even horror.
Mortified, she turned and ran down the stairs. The sound of her name hurtled down the steps after her, not in passion this time, but she couldn’t go back.
Pacing in the kitchen, she battled her embarrassment at being caught in a compromising position. Or rather, she’d caught him in a compromising position. But since it was his house, and she just cleaned it for him, she’d messed up big time. She’d have to face him and apologize, but she couldn’t look for him in his bedroom. Not right then and maybe not ever.
Her hands caught on the stone edge of the countertops, then flitted across the surface. Already clean, as usual. She’d never done anything quite this embarrassing. Watching the man’s private moment? That was low. And even worse, she respected him, so much. She liked him, and she might have ruined everything.
She pulled out the cleaning supplies, thinking that at least she could subvert her nervous energy into something useful. She’d come here to clean, not to moon after Blake and certainly not be a peeping Tom.
Blake bounded down the stairs soon after, wearing his customary sweats. She’d admired him before, the way the loose, comfortable clothing hung on his well-built shoulders and abs, but now all she could see was his naked, damp body. As if she hadn’t already proven herself enough of a coward, she turned away as if to flee.
“Erin,” he said in those low tones that always made her clench. “Wait, please.”
She paused and turned halfway back to him, willing the inappropriate, private, sexy images to subside. A reddened cock. Thick ropes of come. Dammit.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “Don’t … quit. It won’t happen again. Please,” he said.
She’d never expected to see him like this, practically begging—not for anything, and certainly not for his maid to continue cleaning for him. Did she really vacuum so well?
But no, if nothing else, today had shown that he at least thought about her in another way. Is that why he kept her around, why he increased her cleaning schedule and chatted with her about his work? Should she be offended?
But she wasn’t. She was flattered. And turned on as hell.
She stammered, “I don’t understand. Were you…was I…?”
He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “There’s no excuse,” he said, swallowing. “But I won’t—” He broke off and looked away. The part of his face turned toward her was the more scarred half. That gesture more than anything showed his distress since he usually took pains to hide it when possible.
“What can I do so that you will not leave?” he asked.
“I—honestly, I hadn’t even thought of that. Actually, I wanted to apologize. For intruding on your privacy. I’m not going to quit.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly, either in acknowledgement of her apology or her agreement she didn’t know. He paused then repeated, “I’m sorry.” After a curt nod, he disappeared into his study.
She thought maybe she should have told him that he didn’t have anything to be sorry for, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. But it would be too strange to correct him in his assumption. What could she say? Please, go ahead and use me in your fantasies. I don’t mind. That would hardly make this situation less awkward.
Besides, she needed time to think, to process what she had seen him do and her feelings. But she’d just committed not to quit, whatever came of her thoughts.
She cleaned his house as usual and he made himself scarce the rest of the time. She left his bedroom for last and resolutely ignored the way her panties grew damp as she made his bed.
* * *
Thank God she hadn’t quit, he thought, as he fled to the study.
He’d known she’d arrive any minute and he hadn’t been unable to deflate his erection with a cold shower. He’d had to take care of it before she arrived. She couldn’t see his inappropriate desire for her. It would ruin everything. But he’d miscalculated, and badly.
Of all the ways to lose her, that would’ve been the stupidest. Not that he had her, exactly, but seeing her twice a week and getting to talk with her was more than he deserved, and he was damned grateful for it. He chose not to analyze the pathetic factor of that.
It was sleazy of him to use her work to bring him to his house—he’d never had such a clean house in his life—but he could think of no other way to keep her around him. Someone so beautiful and good had no business being around a pissy coward like himself, but damned if he wasn’t selfish enough to force her anyways. Lord knew he had no good looks, no charm, and as evidenced by earlier, no intelligence with which to lure her instead.
The great intellectual, he thought in disgust, thinking with his dick. Not that he didn’t excuse himself to a certain extent—Lord, she was beautiful. Seeing her watching his dick while he’d come had only inflamed his lust for her, but it was best not to think on that lest he require a repeat performance.
It was bad enough to be scarred and ugly, broken in body and spirit, wasn’t it? Surely he didn’t need to add creepy old exhibitionist to his faults.