“It’s from the uniform. I think it irritates my skin.”

“Think?” He growls the question. No, I don’t think. I know it does. The rules state that I’m to wear it and after the other night, I want to make sure I follow them. I need this job, and Colby really seems to like it here.

“It bothers my skin. I keep thinking I’ll get used to it.” His hold on my wrist tightens. It’s not painful, but I know there is no breaking his hold unless he wants to let me go. His jaw gives a tick. The scars on his face seem to tense up more too.

“Then stop wearing it.”

“I don’t know why I had to wear it to begin with. It’s not as though other people see me,” I hiss back. His eyes rake down my body and back up. My traitor body reacts. Why are we always ending up like this in the kitchen?

“I see you.” He gives my wrist a small pull, causing my body to be flush with his. My breathing picks up as I wet my lips. He turns his face partly away, trying to hide his scars from me.

“Are you going to kiss my sister?”

I gasp, jumping away from Kale. How did I forget Colby was right here?

“Napkins. Get the napkins,” I rush to say. Colby rolls his eyes at me, changing the subject. I feel my whole face flush, but I’m thankful Colby doesn't say more. He simply turns, heading back into the pantry to do as I asked. I pull my wrist, but Kale still doesn't let go.

“Kale you said—”

“I know what I said.” He pulls me again back into him. His mouth comes down onto mine in a hard kiss that is over almost as fast as it begins as he lets his hold of me go. Colby reappears a moment later, setting us each down a napkin. Before I can snag a seat, Kale takes the center chair so I have no choice but to sit next to him.

All through dinner his leg rubs against mine as he and Colby talk about comics. It doesn't take much to talk Colby into making his own, which is actually a brilliant idea with how much he loves to draw.

I can’t stop watching the two of them. For being such a grumpy jerk, Kale is so good with him. I suck in a breath when I feel Kale’s fingers start to play with the tie of my dress in the back. At some point he moves his arm to drape over the back of my chair. He doesn't even look my way. His attention is focused on Colby as he talks animatedly about all his ideas for making a comic.

I slip my chair over, putting space between Kale and me. I’m not doing this with him again. He threatened my job. He might not know it, but we didn't have anywhere really to go. It is safe here. Or it had started to feel that way.

It doesn’t help that when I got Kale’s attention it opened up this ache inside of me that I didn't know I had. A longing to be close to another person. A need to feel them against me. He put that ache there, and it grows worse each time he gets close and then pulls away again.

“I’m going to start it now. I’ll show you a draft in the morning,” Colby announces.

“Plate in the dishwasher,” I remind him as he hops down from the chair. Kale’s eyes are back on me now. I pretend not to notice as I wipe down the last of the dinner mess. “Wait for me,” I tell Colby before he can dart from the room.

“A word,” Kale requests.

“I need to get Colby ready for bed.” It’s not entirely a lie. He doesn't go to bed for a few hours but still, I’m keeping Colby close to keep Kale at a distance. He wanted me to stay away from him, and that's what I’m doing. I’m not a toy for him to play with when he feels like it. I know Kale has his issues, but I’m starting to notice I have some of my own. Ones that he’s bringing to the surface.

“Summer.” There is a warning to his tone. One that has desire circling inside of me.

“Later,” I say without looking back at him.

I can walk away too.

19

Kale

“How long does it take to put a damn kid to bed,” I grumble. My watch says that it’s been thirty minutes since she claimed she was putting Colby to bed. He’s seven. Why does he need help in the first place? He can wash himself, hold his own peeper to piss, and put his jammies on. She’s probably just doing this to piss me off—or maybe to test my interest.

Baby, my interest isn’t fading just because you decided to make me wait.

I kick out my legs and rest my head against the hallway wall and try to decipher the sounds coming from the west wing, but the walls are so thick all I hear is some shuffling and that might be making it up in my head. I could go and look at the cameras, but that seems wrong now. The two of them aren’t intruders or help, so it wouldn’t be right. What they are—I can’t really put a label on it, but I don’t feel good looking in on them.

It sucks having a conscience. I check the time again. Damn. Only five minutes have passed. It feels like it’s been an hour.

“Oh, you’re here.”

I glance up to see Summer’s frame outlined in the doorway. She looks beautiful even in her ugly uniform. I’m burning that thing tonight while she’s in the orgasm-induced coma I plan to put her in.

“Is the boy asleep?” I ask gruffly.

She nods. “Yeah.”

My hands curl into fists so I don’t grab her and run to the other side of this house. I’m going to have to keep a tight grip on my lust tonight or I’ll scare her off.

“Then let’s go.” I get to my feet and start walking. When I don’t feel her behind me, I stop. Over my shoulder I say, “Are you coming?”

“I’m not a dog.” She frowns.

I frown, too. “Never said you were one. Never thought that either.”

“You were calling me to heel like a dog.”

I rewind our conversation in my head. I asked her to come with me and she didn’t move. “You backing out?”

She drags a hand down her hair. “No, I never said that, but…”

“But what?” Maybe I am going to have to throw her over my shoulder. My cock can’t take another delay. The ache of need for her has blossomed into full-blown agony. If I don’t have her, I’m not going to be able to function—not after the kiss in the kitchen, not after her telling me she wanted to get fucked. Does she need flowers and sweet words? Because if so I’m fucked and not in the good way.

“Maybe this is a mist—”

I’m on her before she can finish her statement. With my mouth plastered against hers, I pin her to the wall. My hand delves under the scratchy material of the maid’s uniform to find her underwear. I pull that scrap of lace off and drop it on the floor. She yelps lightly but doesn’t pull away. I cup her ass and pull her against my hard-on. Her right leg comes up to curl around my hip, trying to get closer. I grind my shaft against her soft pussy, showing her how badly I want her. I tongue her deep and hard and long until her hands are gripping my shoulders and her hips are pushing against mine.

When I release her mouth, she whimpers in protest, but her small delicate noises turn to choked gasps when I drop to my knees.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“This is what I’ve wanted for dinner since you’ve moved in. Not the meatloaf or sandwich or curry. Nah, I want pussy. Yours. And I’m taking it.” I push the ugly skirt up, pull her leg over my shoulder, and spread her wide.