“Come to me in pieces and exist inside me whole.”
—Christopher Poindexter
I wipe a hand over the fogged up mirror and stare blankly at my reflection. A shiver runs through me as water pools on the tile below my feet. I let the steam soak into my pores and watch as droplets drip from my hair to my waist, sticking for a second before running along the curve of my hips, looping around my thigh.
I close my eyes and slowly chase the water with my fingertips.
Beneath the cold tingles on the surface of my skin, a layer of heat pulses through my veins. I still feel Adam Matthews on me. His strong hand pressed between my thighs, his firm grip on my hair and warm breath on my neck. But it’s more than that.
He’s everywhere.
Danger sings to me within the depths of his eyes like a long-lost friend. His shadow reaches beyond my skin and summons something deep inside me, something I’m not allowed to feel. Not allowed to be.
I grip the edge of the counter as my eyelashes flutter open.
He gets into my head without even trying.
How did you do it, Frankie? Were you strong enough to keep these brothers skirting around the outside of your mind, where they belong? Were you pure enough?
Or did they find your secrets? Did they break you?
Don’t worry, silly, Frankie once told me on a quiet laugh. Only fragile things can be broken.
Releasing a shaky breath, I hope to God neither of us are made of glass and grab a towel from the door hook. It’s still early, and I have secrets to discover. After drying off, I tie the gold scarf around my neck and slip on an ebony silk nighty—the only functional nightwear provided—letting my damp hair hang down my back. Finding no shoes in my closet except four-inch heels, I pad barefoot toward the bedroom door.
Icy nerves claw at my chest, but I reach forward and turn the knob. Then I pause, pushing my shoulders back.
I’m going to get caught. With cameras in every corner, there’s no escaping that. For all I know, someone is watching me right now. I swallow back the urge to double-check my room for cameras and step into the hall, forcing my expression to be casual. Innocent.
There are no rules about leaving my room. And I’m the new girl, after all, which is my only hope that whoever catches me will listen to my made-up excuse and let this slide. In the meantime, I’ll just have to cover as much ground as possible.
No pressure.
I suppress the shudder trying to work down my spine when I slip by the first camera at the end of the hall. Making a right at the corner, I exit the ladies’ quarters.
Instead of a square, the mansion is a really long shoebox. An impeccable, shiny shoebox that keeps its lid secure and snug at all times. The ladies’ quarters—holding our bedrooms, dining room, and spa—is on the main floor of two, tucked away at the far right end. Hallways are everywhere, leading from one closed door to the next, until you reach the expanse of the lobby, which I just did.
My nerves squeeze when the clicking of heels echoes to my right. With a thick swallow, I remind myself that I’m an innocent newbie and continue padding across the white marble. There’s only one window. It’s large, eating up most of the front wall, but heavy curtains cover every corner of the glass.
I don’t miss it—the sunlight. The sky. I can’t ignore the surge of comfort that soothes me at the bleakness. Even so, I have to wonder why the Matthews work so hard to keep the curtains drawn and the lights dim.
Peeking through the curtain, I stare past the moonlit, manicured lawn and at the wall of shrubbery dividing this building from the front house. It’s quiet out, not even a breeze to stir the leaves. Seems odd to have two mansions so close together, especially with one hidden so carefully behind the other.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
I jump at the unfamiliar voice and release the curtain, whirling around. My gaze lands on two blondes in black dresses. I recognize one of them from when I was chained to the chandelier. The other woman I haven’t met yet, but both of their scarves are dark red.
Griff certainly keeps busy.
One of them quirks their brow, and I shake my head. “No. I was looking for Aubrey, actually.”
“She’s tied up at the moment.”
I find myself wondering if they’re speaking literally or figuratively, but decide not to ask. “Okay. I’ll just . . .” I start to step around them, but they both frown, so I stop and point to the bandage on my left foot. “Needed a new bandage. It’s not a big deal. I can find one myself.”
The girl I’d never seen until now leans down for a closer look. “Is it a cut?”
“A burn.”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh, yes.” She lifts the hem of her dress and points proudly to a scar on the back of her thigh. “Easy to get carried away, isn’t it?” She winks, and I smile and nod because I don’t know what else to do. She lets out an easy laugh and gestures behind her. “Go back through the ladies’ quarters, to the spa. You’ll find some extras stored in the supply cabinets.”
“Thanks.”
Leaving them in the lobby, I make my way back to the endless halls, but I have no intention of returning to the ladies’ quarters until I see what’s on the second floor, besides Raife’s office. I reach the staircase and lift my foot when a cracked door a few rooms down catches my eye. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I contemplate. It’s possible someone is in that room, which is why the door was left slightly ajar. If that’s the case, I could be sent back to my bedroom before I find out what else is upstairs.
Then again, there’s a chance no one’s there. It’s not often a room is left open in this house, and with my luck, all I’ll find upstairs are locked doors.
Decision made, I turn and head toward it. When I reach the room and hear only silence, I nudge the door open with my elbow and the pitch-black entrance envelopes me.
A scream catches in my throat when my next footstep swipes through the empty air, and I go tumbling forward. My full weight crashes into something solid. Large hands lock around my waist, and I’m lifted off the ground. Finally I can see again when I’m back in the hallway and released so I’m standing on my own two feet. A burst of air rushes from my lungs, and I look up to see who caught me.
“Lost?” Adam’s voice is low, calm, as usual, but his eyes are a full blown midnight storm when I meet his gaze. My attention wanders on its own when I take in the tension coiled in his stiff shoulders, his tousled hair reminding me of when I ran my hands through it.
A tremor rolls between my thighs, and I swallow. Hard.
“Sorry. I was looking for the, um”—I point awkwardly at my foot—“for a bandage.”
His gaze flicks down. Then he drags it up my bare legs, past the edge of my skimpy nighty, and lets it drift up my curves before landing on my lips. “In the basement,” he says dryly.
The basement? My eyes narrow on the now-closed door behind Adam. Of course. That isn’t a room; it’s a staircase. I return my attention to his and almost shrink back at his dark expression. “I was trying to find the spa.”
A muscle ticks beneath his stubble. “Of course you were.”
Warm fingers grip my scarf, and I gasp as I’m tugged forward. I trot behind Adam’s long footsteps, my heart thumping against my ribcage as I trip over my own feet, up the stairs and down another hallway.
“Wh—where are you taki—”
He storms inside another room with me at his heels. Stopping once we reach the desk, he pushes a button on the phone but doesn’t release my scarf. The heat of his skin sears my neck, and I inhale a sharp breath.
“Yes, Mr. Matthews?” Stella’s voice rings through the speaker.
“Bring me a black scarf. Then have Emmy’s things moved to my room.”
All the air is sucked from my lungs. What did he just say?
“But, sir, our guidelines state that all secretaries are to room in the ladies’ quar—”
“The guidelines just changed. Now bring me her scarf.”
There’s a pause, then, “Right away.”
The line goes dead, and Adam finally releases me, but he doesn’t look at me. He turns away and swipes his palm over his mouth, then yanks the collar around his neck until it opens up. I watch as he takes a breath, the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing, then he slowly exhales and faces me.
He dips his hands in his pockets and sits back against the desk, watching me closely. “From now on, you’ll go where I tell you to go. You’ll report to me and only me. You’ll address me however you want, I don’t fucking care, but you do not, under any circumstance, call me Master.” Something flashes in his eyes, and my breath shortens with the beat of my heart. “Do you understand?”
My throat goes dry. I wet my lips with my tongue and nod. “I understand.”
I wish my voice was strong, but it’s just as weak as the rest of me.
If there ever was a time not to be fragile, this is it.