"Mr. King?" I called. "Mr. King?”

His bedroom door was open, but there even I dared not go. I stood a foot away from it. "Mr. King," I called, this time around, louder and more determined and his response came.

“Charlotte?"

"Yes, it’s me.”

He appeared at the door then. The sculpt of his broad, bare shoulders looming like a dark silhouette that slimmed down to his hips. Every time I am near him I am once again conscious of his imposing height. I realized he was unmasked. Even though it was too dark to make out his features, I could sense the incredible tension in his body. Like a big cat ready to spring.

"What's wrong?” he growled.

“Zackary,” I began to say, but as usual, my brain fried in his presence.

"What is it?" he repeated urgently.

I brought myself back to reason. “Zackary had a nightmare. Mrs. Blackmore and I can’t calm him down.”

He stood very still saying nothing.

"He needs you."

"Have you contacted his mother?"

"Mrs. King said I shouldn’t unless it was a real emergency. She advised me to contact you instead."

"I can't come," he said, and I heard the pain in his voice. “He’ll calm down.”

My heart fell at his words, but I wasn’t giving up. “He’s calling out for his … a parent. Neither Mrs. Blackmore nor I can answer to that.”

He turned his back to me. “Leave,” he ordered, closing the door in my face.

I looked around in frustration, the sight of Zackary’s drenched face and snot-clogged nose emboldened me. I went forward and pushed the door open.

“You might fire me for this,” I said. “But I don’t care. Your little boy needs you. Right now, it is not a role that a nanny or a housekeeper can fill in for. If you love him as much as I think you do you’ll go down and make it better for him.”

“Charlotte, get off my back,” he growled, but I wasn’t fazed. I fisted my hands and held my ground. We glared at each other in the dim light, and then he shut his eyes to control his temper.

“What do you want me to do, Sir?” I asked, deliberately using the formal term of address.

“He’ll calm down.”

“Of course he will, eventually … but it would be truly helpful if one of his parents could talk to him. Ask him why he is so damn terrified and listen to him …” I paused. “Or he’ll grow up emotionally derelict.”

“He’ll survive,” he said harshly. “I basically grew up the same way.”

“Are you perfectly happy with who you are?” I asked. “If you are then I’ll leave.”

He came towards me, and without conscious effort my leg took a step backwards. He stopped in front of me. “Why are you backing away?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and truer words had never been spoken.

Again, he took a step forward and I took one backwards. At this point I was sure that he was just testing me.

He stopped, and so did I.

“Answer my question … Sir,” I said to him, “and I promise I will leave and never ask you to talk or spend time with your son again.”

My chest was heaving at this point, my breathing fast and loud. I could feel the goose pimples as they erupted and ran down my skin. I was scared but I was excited too. I had pulled the tiger’s tail. I didn’t know what the tiger would do. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through.

Suddenly he moved. So fast I didn’t know what hit me. I yelped as my back slammed into the wall. Then he was against me, his eyes boring into mine. His heat filled my senses and his breath was hot against my forehead. In the illumination of the moon his eyes glittered and I could almost trace out his scars. We were only inches away from a light switch. If I hit it he would see that I didn’t care about his scars. My hand started moving upwards. His hand closed around my wrist. My eyes slid up to his eyes, then down to his lips.

“Brett …” I did not recognize my own voice. It was so hoarse. It was also an invitation. I wanted him to kiss me.

“What do you think, little Miss Know It All?” he asked me. “Do I seem perfectly happy with the way I am?”

Every part of me was frozen. I couldn’t move, much less speak.

“Nothing to say?” he taunted.

“I want to leave,” I finally managed to croak out.

“Zackary reacting as though I truly am a monster hurts me more than you could possibly imagine,” he said quietly.

I stiffened with shock. How insensitive I have been.

“Try your best to quiet him down. I’ll call his mother and get her to come to him.” He released my hand and walked away. The cold air that replaced his warmth was like a slap. I started shivering. It took a few moments for me to stabilize myself before I fled from his room. I returned to Zackary to meet him in Mrs. Blackmore’s arms, still sobbing quietly. He lifted his head the moment he heard me and kept his gaze on me as I came to sit on the bed.

“Zackary,” I called and he sat up from Mrs. Blackmore’s hold, wiping his red and swollen eyes. It was heartbreaking.

“Why are you crying?” I asked.

“Mummy,” he sobbed. “I think she’s dead.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I shared a look with Mrs. Blackmore.

“What do you mean?” she asked him.

He tried to get his words out between spurts of crying and sniffing. He was truly just a baby and my heart went out to him. “She had … an accident … I saw it … her car … it went over and over and over and she died.”

“It was just a nightmare, sweetheart. Your mother is fine,” I cajoled. To my surprise, he spread his arms out and flew into my arms. I held him to me, wanting to help, and not knowing how to.

“What happened with Mr. King?” Mrs. Blackmore asked curiously.

“He said he would get in contact with Madam and see if she can come back.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “That’s not going to go down too well.”

I hugged Zackary closer to me. My heart was weeping for him. I had grown up with both my parents utterly devoted to me and I couldn’t even begin to understand what his life must be like with a psychotic mother and a father he never saw.

I could tell Mrs. Blackmore wanted to ask more, but out of concern for the little boy still clinging to my arms, she held in her curiosity. Patting his hair affectionately she cooed words of comfort. Soon he quieted down and started to fall asleep in my arms. Mrs. Blackmore took her leave and I settled Zackary down to sleep. I stayed until I was sure he was asleep. Mrs. King never called.

I was actually angry with her. What would it have taken for her to call and tell the boy she was fine? Nothing. Yet, she had not done it. Her fun was more important. I switched off his main light and leaving the connecting door open, I went back to my room. Just as I was settling into bed the intercom began to beep. I knew who it was. I went up to answer it.

I shut my eyes at the barrage of feelings that hit me. This was the man I was in love with. My employer. A married man. A man so scarred he had to wear a mask in public. A man wounded. A man I could not have. And yet I had the memory of how close he was to me. His eyes staring into mine. The warmth of his body encapsulating me …

“Yes,” I answered, my voice was barely above a whisper.

“How is he?”

“Better,” I replied. “He has fallen asleep.”

“Did you find out why he was so upset?”

“He had a nightmare that his mother was in an accident. It scared him. I wanted him to speak to her. Were you not able to get in touch with her?”

“No,” came his response. “I tried, but her phone is switched off.”

“Hmm … Never mind. It’s fine.”

“Perhaps. Goodnight, Charlotte.”

I thought about apologizing for my intrusion earlier. “I’m really sorry about bursting into your room. I don’t normally do things like that. I was just very worried about Zackary.”

“Thank you for caring, Charlotte. It is a rare and extremely precious quality.”

Then he ended the call.