I felt weird sitting across from him, eating this lavish breakfast when I really should be cleaning his massive mansion. I didn’t say anything, not after he told me to eat. I didn’t know what to say anyway.

When I’d eaten as much as I could, I leaned back and glanced up at him. He was looking at me, but then again, I’d been feeling his stare on me the entire time.

He looked totally different than the images I’d seen when I searched him on the Internet. No longer did he have the dark close-cropped hair that had been slicked back in a professional manner. He was also not the clean-shaven business tycoon that I’d read about. Instead his hair was longer, falling below his ears. And his beard was wild, just like him, I assumed.

But the truth was I liked his appearance.

And even though he might’ve seemed unkempt to others, I had a feeling he purposefully took on this appearance to hide himself. Even with the long hair and the beard, I could still see the scars that lined one side of his face, and even his neck. God, the pain he must’ve felt, the humiliation he must still be feeling.

Part of me wanted to tell him he had nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed by. I had my own scars, albeit they were internal, but everyone had wounds that might never heal. I wanted to connect with him on his level, wanted to show him that I was the same as he was.

I came from a broken home, my mother having left us when I was just a child. And because my father had been my rock for so long, losing him changed my world… shattered it.

As the years passed, I grew stronger, tried to be surer of myself. But deep down I was still a little girl that had lost so much, that was scared of the world even if I put on a good front.

I took a deep breath, not about to beat around the bush because I wanted to know what this was all about. I wanted to know why he’d asked me here this morning. Was I in trouble? Was I not doing a good enough job? Maybe this was a good-bye breakfast before he fired me, realizing that I really didn’t have the skills that he was looking for. Maybe he just didn’t want me here.

If that’s the case, why is he looking at me so intently? Why is he watching me like he wants to crawl inside of me and find out everything about me?

“Mr. Foxwerth—”

“I want you to call me Rofus.”

Even though it was just his first name, it seemed so personal, so intimate.

I had my hands clasped tightly in my lap, my throat feeling so dry, so tight. “Can I ask why you invited me here? I mean, I’m very grateful and the breakfast was delicious, but you don’t seem like the type of man who invites his staff to join him during meals.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow after I said that. “What type of man do I seem like?”

I really should have kept my mouth shut, trod lightly because he was my employer, the man who gave me my paycheck. So instead of putting my foot in my mouth, I shook my head and smiled. “You seem like a very generous man.” Although I didn’t really know that, and everything I had read about him told me he was ruthless when it came to what he wanted, unforgiving, and powerful in all aspects of his life. I certainly didn’t want to offend him, not when I’d only been here for two weeks.

He didn’t say anything after I spoke, so I stood up and was about to excuse myself and get back to work when I was frozen in place at the sound of his chair scraping across the floor as he stood as well.

“I’d like to show you something.”

My heart was thundering so fast I didn’t doubt he could hear it. I licked my lips and saw that he lowered his gaze to watch the act. “Okay,” I said on a whisper.

He didn’t wait for me to respond, just turned and started walking away. I could either stand there and look like an idiot, or follow him. I did the latter.

We ended up walking for a few minutes before he finally took me into the greenhouse. I had walked past it a handful of times but had never been brave enough to sneak a peek in there.

He opened the door to the garden and stepped aside to let me in. My movements were slow, hesitant. This felt very personal, very intimate. I didn’t know what was going on, but the heat inside of me was consuming. I could feel his stare on me, like he was actually reaching out and stroking my skin with the tips of his fingers.

And I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt. It has been instant, even brutal. He wasn’t like any man I had ever met or seen before. He had this darkness behind his eyes, this torment that he tried to hide but that I could see clearly.

I ducked my head, my hair falling across my face. I was hiding myself from him. I felt vulnerable around Rofus, as if he could look at me and see exactly who I was. I thought I put on a good front, had this wall around me that protected me. But with just his intense blue gaze spearing into me, that wall crumbled to my feet.

When I heard the door shut softly behind me, I lifted my head and looked around. The air was humid, moist, and the walls and ceiling, which were made of glass, allowed the sun to shine through. Despite it being a cold November day outside, the room was warm. And all around me were the most beautiful flowers, the sweet scent filling my head and making me dizzy.

Rofus moved in front of me. He was so much bigger than I was, at least a foot taller than my five-foot-four frame. His body, made up of lean muscle and golden skin, spoke of his power. And his scars attracted me even more to him, made me want to find out who he truly was.

I could tell he was strong even though I had never touched him.

The sight of bright red roses had my attention instantly, and I found myself walking toward them, the color so vibrant that it almost seemed unreal. Droplets of water lined the silky-smooth petals, and I looked up to see a water system above. I brought my attention back to the roses and leaned down to inhale, closing my eyes and moaning at the floral fragrance.

Without thinking, I found myself reaching out and wrapping two fingers around one of the stems. Pain lanced up the digits, and I gasped, snatching my hand away and looking down at the droplet of blood that covered the pad of my thumb.

Rofus was by me an instant later, his big hand cupping mine, his focus on my bleeding thumb. It wasn’t even a bad wound, but the intensity and concern on his face startled me.

“Come on, we should get this cleaned up.”

I wanted to argue that I was fine, that a dab of toilet paper on the pinprick-sized wound would be okay, but I kept my mouth shut and allowed him to lead me out of the greenhouse, down the hall, and into one of the bathrooms.

The feel of his hand wrapped loosely around my wrist sent fire up my forearm. I couldn’t describe the sensation that consumed me at that small touch. My body came alive, this feeling, one I’d never experienced before, consuming me.

He helped me sit on the edge of the claw-footed tub, and then he turned and grabbed the first-aid kit out of the cabinet. I sat there in silence, watching as he tended to me. There was something comforting about watching a man such as Rofus, who exhibited brutality and strength and who made me feel on edge yet wanting so much more, take care of me. This was all so strange but exhilarating. I didn’t know him, yet I felt like I did.

He was tender and meticulous as he cleaned the blood off, put some ointment on my finger, and placed a small bandage over it.

I found the act slightly humorous, given the fact I didn’t need all this attention for a tiny cut from the rose thorn. When it was all said and done, he took a step back and I lifted my head to look up at him. He seemingly filled the entire bathroom, his body so big and muscular.

“Thank you,” I said softly and wondered if he’d heard me. I swallowed and looked at my hand, my flesh still on fire from where he’d touched me. “Why are you doing all of this?” I looked back up at him.

He took a second to respond. “Doing what?”

I licked my lips and broke eye contact for a second. When I looked at him again, I wondered if he saw, sensed how vulnerable I felt. I was so confused, not sure why he was being so nice, why he was paying so much attention to me.

“Why the breakfast, the greenhouse?” I exhaled slowly. “Why are you taking care of me?” I lifted up my hand as if he wouldn’t know what I was talking about.

He took a step toward me again, helping me up from the edge of the tub, and I allowed myself to take his scent into my lungs.

“I did what I did because…” He stopped speaking, his gaze locked with mine. “Because I wanted to get to know you.” The air became thick, heated. “Because I want you as mine.”