Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
I grabbed my purse from where it’d been tossed on the floor last night, darted out of the bedroom, tying the drawstring around the waist of the pants as I ran, and took off down the stairs. I unlocked a deadbolt on the front door and then dashed out. The house alarm started instantly and piercingly betraying me. Then I saw the Michael Clarke Duncan-looking guy leaning against a car, doing something on his phone. His chin lifted and then he was looking right at me.
My heart thudded wildly. Damn it; I hadn’t thought this through. He quirked his eyebrows up, clearly aware I was trying to escape and probably taking in my disheveled appearance and probably frantic look. This place was gated all the way around, by the looks of it. The guy stepped away from the car and headed in my direction.
I couldn’t see how I’d get out with the property being gated and even if I’d found a way out, would I be sentencing my father to a terrible fate? I didn’t know the whole story and one wrong move and it could mean he’d be dead. I’d be an orphan without ever finding out the whole story.
I certainly didn’t want to piss this big guy off, so I put my head down, turned around, and headed back into the house.
When I closed the door, I leaned against it, breathless. My mind raced. What could I do? I needed to get out of here. Maybe find a phone and call the police? But that might get me killed, too. Or shipped off to some foreign land to be a sex worker.
I stood there for I don’t know how long, my hands over my ears, and not knowing what to do and then he was coming down the stairs, holding his phone to his ear and wearing just a towel. He casually strolled past me and pushed buttons on a panel on the wall by the door. The alarm’s screeching halted. He looked at me with what looked like an amused look on his face.
“Thanks. Yep, got it under control.” He ended his call. “Looks like you tripped the alarm on your way out for a stroll, huh? Nice outfit.”
He stopped in front of me.
I was sure I was quite the sight barefoot in his track pants, which I could’ve swum in, and a way-too-big men’s t-shirt with no bra underneath. Where the heck was my bra? I’d gone to sleep with it on last night. I covered my chest with my arms and blew my hair out of my face.
“Why don’t you go get a shower and I’ll have my housekeeper get some breakfast together for us.”
I gave a little nod, wide-eyed and started to head for the stairs. As I passed him, he caught me by my upper arm and leaned in,
“Don’t try that again.” His grip tightened painfully. “You get a pass because you pleased me so well this morning. But, try that again, you won’t be able to sit down for a week.” There wasn’t a trace of humor in his eyes; his expression shook me right to the core.
I swallowed hard. This man was beautiful outside but obviously hideously ugly on the inside. He smirked like he’d read my mind and let go of my arm. I went upstairs and took a shower.
I scrubbed myself for at least twenty minutes, almost frantically. I tried to wash him away, but I could swear I still smelled the sex on myself.
When I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I noticed clothes on the end of the bed, which had been made. There was a stack of ladies’ t-shirts and tank tops, a pile of several new pairs of underwear with the tags still on. Yoga pants, a pair of capri yoga pants, and a pair of denim shorts sat in a neat stack. I got dressed and sat on the bed and combed my hair with the small hairbrush from my purse. Thankfully, the tank had a built-in bra. Not ideal on its own for a bigger chest like mine, but better than nothing.
Someone knocked and then opened the door. An attractive Latina woman was in the doorway. She looked to be in her early to mid-forties, about my size with shoulder-length wavy dark hair with copper highlights all through it.
“Oh good, they fit. I’m Sarah Martinez. I’m your housekeeper. Welcome, Miss O’Connor. I’ve put your underthings in the wash. The dress can’t likely be saved, I’m afraid, but I’ll see what I can do with it. You can borrow those things until your things arrive. The panties, they’re new; you can keep those.”
Her kindness was sort of disarming. She reached out and shook my hand. She stared at my left hand for a second, probably noting I wasn’t wearing a ring. Had she actually come into the bathroom while I was showering to get my dirty clothes?