“Sometimes we reveal ourselves
when we are least like ourselves.”
—Anais Nin
My fists tighten, pumping once, twice, at my sides as I pace up the stairs and down the hall. My adrenaline is still going haywire, but it’s a vast improvement from last night—when I’d stood outside my bedroom door, knowing who was on the other side. Images of her on my bed, under my covers, turning my blood hot and tempting me to twist the knob.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
So I called Griff and had him do an impromptu pickup. He wasn’t exactly thrilled—the moans in the background made it clear why—but when I told him who was up on the list, it was enough to shift his perspective.
It was a long time coming for Baldy, anyway.
We prepped to pick him up weeks ago, but plans changed when Frederick Fergusson popped up on the grid again. I wasn’t surprised to find Frederick became an elementary school bus driver. Not a big stretch from having been Misha’s transporter all those years ago, picking up street kids and delivering them to the storage room. They really need to do better background checks.
I reach my door and swing it open, stopping in my tracks when I spot Emmy asleep in my bed, a thin sheet the only thing covering her small frame. I grit my jaw, double-check the time on my watch. Nine o’clock. She’s supposed to be in the dining room by now—the only fucking reason I chose precisely this time to enter my room.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I’m reminded of the dried blood caked under my fingernails. I need my room to myself, and I need a goddamn shower. The sink in the basement only cleans so much.
With a growl, I make my way to the bathroom, lock the door, and ignore the nearly naked woman on the other side of the wall. I take my time washing up and shaving, being intentionally loud enough to wake her. She has plenty of time to get dressed and slip out before I finish.
Once I’m done, I wrap a towel low around my hips and open the door. Emmy is awake, barely, and sitting up on my bed. Her eyelids are heavy from sleep, her hair is a mess from her scalp to her waist, and her little nighty is bunched up at her thighs.
My cock stirs to life on its own, straining against the towel, and the fact only pisses me off more. My shoulders pull tight when she shifts and parts her lips, her sleep-ridden gaze drifting downward.
My eyes turn to slits.
I had a lot of time to think during my therapy session last night.
After more than a decade of being a slave to my demons, I’m damn close to ridding the world of Misha completely. Too close to let trivial temptations like women fuck with my head. Raife might think Emmy Highland is different—my cock certainly agrees—but in reality, she’s just another woman. A woman who pulled our number out of thin air and who I caught sneaking around my house. A woman who apparently has an agenda of her own—which is the only reason I’m risking keeping her this close.
Anything else is just a distraction. A distraction I have no interest in wasting any more of my attention on. Raife can do that on his own.
“Get up.”
She starts at my rough voice, but soon she’s stumbling from the bed, tripping on the tangled sheet and barely managing to right herself.
I flick my gaze to her closet. Her very temporary closet.
She gets the point. After grabbing what she needs for the day, she hugs the items to her chest and slowly glances up at me below long lashes.
There’s the little mouse.
“You have five minutes to shower and dress. Then go to the ladies’ quarters, where you’ll eat breakfast with the other secretaries at exactly eight-thirty every day from here on out. Aubrey has a list of jobs for you. She’ll stay at your side from start to finish, and you won’t do anything more than a bathroom break without her beside you.” I pause, giving her time to absorb my instructions. “Do you understand?”
She licks her lips and nods. “Yes, sir.”
Fuck.
“Four minutes.”
Her eyes widen, then she rushes past me and closes the bathroom door behind her. Her floral scent hits my nostrils, and my lungs tighten at the feminine smell lingering in the air.
I’ve never had a woman in my room. Not even when I’ve fucked them.
My eyes drift back to the bed’s rumpled sheets. The skimpy lingerie hanging in her closet. A bottle of contact solution sits beside a pair of black-rimmed glasses I’ve never seen before.
I rub a palm over my freshly shaven jaw, frustration burning inside me and pulling my muscles taut.
I gotta get the hell out of here.