Take the master”. Could he be more of a dick? What the hell was wrong with him, ordering her around like she was a servant?
Damn it.
All he’d wanted was to be away from her—her and the memories of this once happy home.
And then she’d gone and touched him, and all his wants—every single one of them—had suddenly shifted into dangerous territory, one he knew wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
He would be auctioned off to the highest bidder in a few weeks.
He was basically in a committed relationship.
With a complete stranger he hadn’t even met yet.
And lusting after another.
He swore as his mind rewound images of her pert breasts, rosy peaks straining behind nearly sheer lace, and her rain-slickened skin. He’d wanted to run his tongue down the side of her neck. Just a taste, just one, maybe two, three. Hell, he’d been five seconds away from tugging her onto the bed and helping her out of the rest of her clothes.
He cursed as his body tightened painfully, and then he flipped the hot water to the frigid cold he needed to get himself under control.
These were going to be his last few weeks of peace before his grandfather decided yet another element of his future.
He wasn’t going to waste them wanting something he couldn’t have.
If there was anything he’d learned in his life, it was that the minute you got something you wanted, or cared for, it hurt that much more when it was ripped out of your hands.
He knew that firsthand.
Because everything he’d ever cared about had been taken from him in this very house.
The master bedroom.
He hadn’t set foot in that room since his parents’ deaths.
His grandfather had preferred a smaller room—leaving the larger to his parents—and God, it felt like their ghosts were still there.
If he had it his way, he’d re-do the entire west wing of the house and bulldoze the shit out of the walls in an effort to get rid of the memories.
Sighing, he grabbed one of the towels and dried off, then quickly dressed. Maybe being here was a good thing. Maybe he could battle his demons once and for all.
* * *
Somehow he managed to make it out of the shower without jacking off to the vision of a shirtless Jane.
“Fuck.” He pulled a clean T-shirt over his head and ran his fingers through his hair. So she was going to be cleaning the house; it wasn’t like he would see her every second of every day.
And it wasn’t even that dirty—his grandfather scarcely used it.
Maybe she would finish early?
Besides, she was an employee.
Which meant she would be making herself scarce.
That was what he should want.
He slammed his fists against the bathroom counter and glared at his reflection in the mirror. A man of thirty-five stared back at him, but he didn’t see the man. He saw the exterior, the shell, but on the inside, he knew what he felt like.
What this fucking house made him feel like.
A lonely boy.
A terrified lonely boy whose only plan in life was to please everyone but himself.
With a growl he ran his hands over his face. Amazing that all it had taken was walking in the door, and his emotions were all over the place.
Jane’s presence wouldn’t help matters either.
Having her clean things, rifle through his family’s stuff—it wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was—well he wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t like it.
With a sigh, he picked up his phone and called his grandfather.
Of course, the old man answered on the first ring.
“Brock! I take it you’ve made it? How’s the ass?”
Brock paused, then rolled his eyes. “I haven’t had the opportunity to greet the animals.”
“A shame.”
“Yes,” he said in a dry voice. “My thoughts exactly. Then again I’ve been a bit distracted. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?”
“Hmm?”
“Grandfather—”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I taught you that tone, boy,” Grandfather grumbled. “She’s only there helping air out the property and clean the rooms, unless you’d rather tend to those things while you’re there?”
“It hardly needs a deep clean.”
“Of course it does, especially after the chickens got loose in the hall.”
Brock frowned. “Since when did the chickens get loose?”
“New Years’.” Grandfather chuckled. “To be fair, we weren’t actually betting on the cocks, but you know how parties tend to get out of control.”
Hunh?
“Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “She’ll stay mostly out of the way, and I hardly think she’ll be a distraction, all things considered. I mean, you’re practically family!”
Brock froze, gripping the phone with his hand so tightly he was afraid it was going to break in half. “Come again?”
“Family,” Grandfather said in a painfully slow voice. “God knows she could be.”
“What!” Brock seriously hoped this was another of his grandfather’s more senile moments.
Grandfather burst out laughing. “I recognized her last name when I was looking to hire out a cleaning company and did some digging. I knew her grandmother—gorgeous lady, just like her granddaughter. At any rate, she’d been left a widow in her prime and we had several one-night stands. Glorious one-night stands. All before your grandmother, of course, rest her soul.”
“All right then.” Brock tried to stop the flow of information from his grandfather but the old man wouldn’t stop talking.
“The things she could do with that body of hers,” Grandfather sighed longingly. “Such a shame, such a shame.”
“I hope you’re done traumatizing me now.”
Grandfather coughed. “Never.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“The point I’m trying to make is, she shouldn’t be a temptation. I’m sure she’s a pretty girl, but like her grandmother, quite completely out of our league.”
“I think you mean we’re out of her league,” Brock corrected him.
“No.” Grandfather sighed. “I said it correctly. Now, make sure the cock stays in the barn and the ass has enough food and water.”
Brock groaned. “That’s what the ranch hand is for—”
“Oh, I sent him on vacation; didn’t I tell you?”
Brock froze and then wheezed out a choked cough. “What?”
“You need to get used to taking care of the animals. After all, it’s your house, or will be soon. If you can’t manage a few cocks in the henhouse, you truly have no business getting married in the first place, am I right?”
“Please stop saying ‘cock’.”
Grandfather made a weird clicking noise with his tongue, sneezed, then uttered a curse before mumbling. “Cock.”
“Are you day drinking again?” Brock asked.
“Of course not.” Grandfather sounded offended. “Though I may still be drunk from last night. Bentley had another one of his parties and what type of guardian would I be if I didn’t attend and keep my eye on him?”
“The normal kind,” Brock said with an irritated edge. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to keep your ass out of the newspapers now as well.”
Grandfather laughed out loud. “Silly boy, when have you ever needed to watch out for me?”
Groaning, Brock had a brief vision of slamming his cell phone against the nearest wall and following it with his fist, then his head.
“Now then, make sure to check in on those animals. It would be a shame if they died because you were too busy flirting with Jane. Remember, out of your league.”
With that, the conversation ended. Brock was met with silence as a stab of irritation hit him square in the chest.
“Did he just hang up on me?” Brock stared at his cell then glared at himself in the mirror.
Could it really be a coincidence that his grandfather had just happened to hire Jane and her company? It had to be. There was no damn name on the list when he’d checked. He let out a frustrated sigh.
Regardless. It didn’t matter.
He walked into the living room and nearly groaned aloud when the Grandfather clock chimed nine at night—just another reminder that he was literally his own ticking time bomb. He opened his mouth to say something to Jane—anything that would put them back on even ground rather than the shaky as hell situation that had him ready to ram his fist through a wall.
What he’d expected to find was a woman doing her job.
What he found instead?
A woman on her hands and knees cleaning the very same floor that his mother used to clean. In the exact same position. Only there was nothing familial about Jane.
Raw lust pounded through his system as she moved her hands back and forth over the wood. And then, his gaze lifted to the side table where a few vases and pictures lined the wall.
One of the vases was missing.
There were always three.
Always.
And then he noticed a piece of crystal on the ground. “What happened here?”
Jane’s hands jerked on the rag she was using for the floor. “Sorry, I bumped into the table.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring back the vase,” he heard himself saying.
“I can replace it.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “It was an accident. I was moving some of the pictures.”
That, of course, made him look at the pictures, then back at Jane. “It’s not replaceable. Just how long have you been cleaning?” Great, now he was questioning her. And from the angry look in her eyes he knew he’d pushed her too far.
“Four years,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Four years what?” He shook his head, clearing the memories of his mother arranging and rearranging those vases. One for each of her sons.
“You asked how long I’d been cleaning.” She stood to her full height. She wasn’t very tall but she somehow still managed to make herself look menacing as she jutted out her finger. “Did you want to see my references, Mr. Wellington?”
Hell. He didn’t have the energy to fight with her and the longer he stayed inside the more he felt choked by the memories—the louder they screamed, begging to be dealt with.
“I’ll be outside,” he snapped, turning on his heel. “Try not to break anything else, or I’ll be forced to take it out of your paycheck.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath as the screen door slammed behind him. She was probably plotting his murder right now, and he’d deserve it. But she was the one moving things.
Cleaning out ghosts.
Even though she didn’t realize it.
And his reaction was instinctive—even if it was wrong.
A cool breeze picked up, and now, thanks to his grandfather, he had animals to find.
A cock, to be exact.