The Recluse Read online

  The Recluse

  Jenika Snow

  THE RECLUSE

  By Jenika Snow

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  [email protected]

  Copyright © November 2020 by Jenika Snow

  First E-book Publication: November 2020

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Peter P.

  Photo provided by: Wander Book Club

  Cover Designer: Designs by Dana

  Editor: Kayla Robichaux

  Proofreader: All Encompassing Books

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Epilogue Three

  About the Author

  They said I was crazy for taking a job for a recluse billionaire in the middle of nowhere.

  I said it was a reprieve from the world and myself.

  Cooking and cleaning for Finland “Fin” Hawthorne at his secluded estate situated on a hundred acres seemed like just the recharge I needed. No interaction with society, the vast wilderness as my backyard, and the likelihood of having to actually socialize with my new employer was slim to none.

  That sounded like the perfect escape to me.

  He said he liked his space, his privacy. He told me he hoped I liked being alone the majority of the time. Fine by me.

  And then I meet Fin face-to-face. He’s rough around the edges, callous, and aloof, not to mention he’s a gorgeous towering behemoth of a man. And one look at him had me imagining being thrown over his shoulder as he took me to his room and devoured me.

  I shouldn't want my employer, but when my boss looked like him… no one with a beating heart could deny the brutal attraction that poured off Fin.

  Right away, I didn’t miss how he always seemed to be where I was. I saw the way he watched me constantly, tracking me with his eyes like he was starving and I was the only thing that could sate his hunger.

  And God did I want to be his meal.

  I was playing a dangerous game, but knowing I could unravel a man like Fin made it all the more enticing.

  1

  Kitty

  Everyone told me this was a mistake, that taking a job as a live-in cook and housekeeper for a man—a billionaire recluse—who lived out in the middle of nowhere was the worst mistake I’d ever make. They told me I’d regret it, that I was leaving my friends and family. They said I was selfish for wanting to disconnect.

  Maybe they were right, but at twenty-two years old, I felt far too old for my age. I felt like I’d been disconnected for so long already. I felt like they were wrong and this decision was the absolute best one I’d made in a long time. Because it was for me. There were no expectations for this job except cooking edible meals and cleaning one man’s house.

  No trying to excel at school. No trying to make people happy, to laugh at stupid jokes or always put on a smile. No trying to convince my parents that just because I didn’t have a boyfriend—that I’d never had one—didn’t mean there was something wrong with me.

  College wasn’t working out, the city life was too hectic and consuming for me, and I just wanted to escape to breathe. I had no intent to make this a lifelong career, tending to a billionaire’s domestic affairs, but for a short while, it seemed like it would be a good reprieve. It would be mindless work that could let me focus on so many unimportant things.

  Maybe my mind could start to heal from the toxicity that surrounded me from the world.

  To be honest, I hadn’t even expected to get the job. I had no experience with professional domestic duties and had no references to back up that I was this incredible worker who wouldn’t disappoint.

  I’d even been brutally honest in my application, and maybe it was that honesty that had gotten me the job. I’d written that my life was too busy, that the prospect of disconnecting seemed like euphoria. I’d been blunt, not really catering, admitting I needed this reprieve. It had only depressed me more.

  I also noted that I didn’t want to make this my life’s mission, that this wasn’t a career for me. And it was because of that honesty that I really thought I’d be overlooked, seemed unprofessional and not a good fit.

  But then I’d gotten an email saying the job was mine.

  Relocation fees included.

  A sign-bonus included.

  Room and board provided.

  Weekly paychecks directly deposited into my account.

  Honestly? It sounded too good to be true, and I was waiting for the catch.

  A big part of me assumed that my new employer was probably the biggest asshole to ever walk the face of the earth. And after doing a quick internet search, trying to confirm my suspicions, all I’d come up with was that Finland Hawthorne was as mysterious as he was aloof. He was quiet, as he was disengaged with society.

  Antisocial was what he’d been called many times.

  But that worked well for me.

  Maybe it would be like my own little oasis, a vacation where I never actually had to see my employer, where I did my job, got paid, and I wouldn’t have to worry about pleasing anyone face-to-face.

  I turned onto the dirt road, the GPS having absolutely no damn clue where I was at this point, but I had a roadmap spread across the passenger seat. Thankfully, I’d been smart enough to grab one at the last gas station I stopped at when I started to notice civilization becoming scarcer and my cell coverage vanishing.

  The road was bumpy and uneven; long gone was anything paved. Woods surround me on all sides, and I swear the deeper I drove up this backroad—if you could even call it that—I actually felt the temperature drop the higher I climbed.

  I’d obviously done my research before applying for the job, then more research before accepting the position. He was single, a billionaire in the oil industry, with no children, and wasn’t seen much in the social scene. His home—a three-story gargantuan cabin—was half an hour from any kind of civilization. I didn’t know if he had others who worked for him to tend to such a large place, but I hoped so. Because there was no way in hell I could even attempt to keep it all clean and organized with just myself.

  I came up to a set of massive wrought iron gates. There was a keypad on the driver side of the car, and I rolled my window down to reach out and press the button. I could see the camera pointed directly at me and waited with my heart in my throat as I was granted entrance.

  Only a second passed before there was a buzz, and the gates opened, the doors swinging inward. I rolled my window up and squeezed my hands around the steering wheel as I pressed on the gas and made my way up the winding, narrow gravel driveway.

  The road seemed to go on forever, but finally there was a break in the trees, and the massive cabin-like estate came into view. It was even more gorgeous th
an the images online. In fact, I could easily picture it on one of those home and garden elite magazines that showcased rich and famous people’s dwellings.

  Once my car was in park and the engine off, I sat there a moment and looked out the window. I was nervous, not because of the job, but I’d finally be meeting Finland Hawthorne for the first time. Strangely enough, there hadn’t been one clear image of him that I could find on the Internet. They were either blurry and out of focus... or there just weren’t any.

  So technically, I was going in blind here. Maybe he’d be some scarred and awful man, hater of all things that brought pleasure. Maybe he’d be such a cruel bastard that I’d want to leave as soon as I met him.

  How much worse could he be than some of the men I’d come across living in the city?

  Well, here goes nothing.

  2

  Fin

  When I placed the ad for a domestic professional online, I hadn’t been picky and had little preference and specifications on who I wanted to work for me. As long as they had some kind of experience in the field, respected my privacy, and knew what they were getting into when working for a recluse, I would’ve given them the job.

  But then I’d come across her application, a brutally honest one in the most refreshing way. She had zero experience in this field of work, but was candid about it to the point it should have been deemed unprofessional and an automatic refusal of the job.

  But not in my case.

  My interest had been instantly piqued to the point I couldn’t ignore it. I needed to know more about her, who she was, what she liked. So I researched her, dug up as much information as I could about Catherine Monsieur.

  She was a twenty-two-year-old undergrad for Social Science at Clayton Community College.

  She still lived with her parents and worked at the local pub… well, up until a couple weeks ago, when she’d given her notice after accepting the position from me. She had no significant other and only surrounded herself with a small circle of close friends.

  Her friends and family called her Kitty.

  I had taken one look at her picture, and something in me had stirred, awakened. It was like a dormant, primal beast had felt its heart beat for the first time in its life.

  It was an unexplainable, all-consuming sensation. I didn’t understand it, but I sure as fuck liked it.

  And so I hired her on the spot for the simple fact that I wanted to get to know her, wanted her close.

  Seeing the picture of her instantly made me want her in the most obscene, filthy ways. I’d never felt such irrefutable desire before. I hadn’t been with a woman in so long that I didn’t even know how to be tender, how to be soft and caring to the gentler sex. I was a beast, having been called “inhuman” because of my size. When people described me, they said I could snap bones like twigs in my hands.

  I’d always kept myself away from others, preferring solitude because my gruff nature tended to turn people off, scared them and had them crossing the street to avoid me. I’d been without any kind of companionship for so long it was now a distant dream. But that had been fine with me. I hadn’t needed anyone but myself.

  That was… until I’d seen the picture of her, and that had all changed.

  But seeing her in the video monitor as she waited at the gate for me to let her in, seeing her in real life—as real as it could be at that moment—something primal and brutal awoke within me.

  I sat behind my desk and watched as she drove up the driveway, the security cameras located sporadically around the property giving me every angle possible to watch her. I felt no shame or even guilt at the fact that I watched her every move. And when she pulled up to the front doors and just sat there, staring at the estate, I wondered if I’d scare her away. I did that to plenty of people.

  When she climbed out, I felt absolutely zero remorse in how I devoured her body with my gaze. She wore these little cut-off shorts, ones she’d probably end up changing out of sooner rather than later because the air up here was chillier—which was a damn shame. She had legs that were toned and long, and I imagined them wrapped around my waist.

  Her T-shirt was thin and white, her bra slightly visible under the light material. And her breasts... fuck, her breasts were high and a perfect handful. My fingers itched to be molded around them.

  She had womanly curves, flared hips, and a round, perfect peach-shaped ass.

  I sat behind my desk and curled my hands around the wood, my nails digging into the top of it. My cock was rock-hard, and I reached down to adjust the fucker, a harsh groan ripping from me when I touched it. I could’ve jerked off right now to the sight of her, come so hard that it saturated the front of my slacks.

  Fuck, when did I become a dirty bastard?

  The moment I first saw her, that’s when.

  She stopped at the stone steps that lead up to the front porch, tilted her head back, and lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Her shirt rose up a little bit, a swatch of her creamy, golden skin coming into view. Another animalistic growl left me.

  Truth of the matter was, I didn’t want her as my fucking cook or housekeeper. I wanted her in my bed, under me, as I plowed between her thighs and made her take every single last inch of me.

  I continued to watch her as she walked up the steps. I adjusted the camera view so it was now pointed at her face. Her pixie-like features were delicate, feminine. I found myself lowering my head slightly yet keeping my gaze locked on her image. I felt so fucking... feral.

  Her long dark hair brushed the center of her back, and when the wind picked up and blew the tendrils around her cheeks, I felt my heart pound fiercely in my chest. I’d never had this reaction before, never felt fire in my blood, this demon clawing at my gut, wanting to get free, wanting to mount her, to fuck her.

  I wanted my mark on her, a testimony to any male who looked in her direction that she was taken. And if they tried to have her, I wanted them to see me and know that with one look I’d tear them limb from limb.

  I forced myself to move away from the cameras, stood, adjusted my raging hard-on, and told myself to bring back that aloofness, that disinterest for the human population and I’d be able to get through this initial meeting.

  She’d have questions; I was sure plenty of them. I had no doubt she’d done her research on me, had seen the rumors plastered across the Internet. And to be honest, a part of me worried what she thought about me. I’d never given a fuck about anyone’s opinion up until now.

  And if she tried to delve deeper? Hell, I didn’t have an actual backstory to why I was like this. I’d never been a “people person.” I always stuck to myself, being an only child with parents who were far too busy with their careers to worry about entertaining their son. But I harbored no ill will toward them, and instead used that time to hone in on skills. I taught myself how to play the piano, learned two languages. I practiced archery, woodworking. I learned the layout of the acreage we owned and studied my father’s business so that one day, after he retired, I could run it successfully.

  And that day had come five years ago when he and my mother decided to finally retire in the south of France. And after they moved away, I built a house on the hundred acres my family owned for the last three generations.

  I exhaled slowly and made my way out of my office, hearing the doorbell ring as soon as I took that first step that would have me descend into the foyer and to the front door.

  The closer I got to the door, the more I felt her. I swore I could smell her, could feel her heat, hear her heart beating. I had no doubt she was nervous. I’d seen that anxiousness written on her face on the security monitor as she bit her bottom lip, her straight, little white teeth pulling at the flesh.

  I imagined doing that myself, marking her body, putting my claim of ownership all over her.

  And then I reached out and opened the door, knowing without even saying an actual word to her, without having seen her in person, that I’d make her mine.

  No matte
r what.

  Chapter 3

  Kitty

  The door opened, and I was instantly taken aback by the sheer size of the man standing right inside the entrance.

  Finland Hawthorne.

  My new employer.

  A giant-sized man.

  My eyes were level with his lower chest. Yes. His lower chest. He was so tall, so wide and muscular that he was like this statue of rock-solid marble in front of me.

  I lifted my gaze up his massive, towering form, my head tilted back, my neck craned so I could look into his face. I’d never in my life felt tinier than I did in this moment. This man was monstrous in size compared to me.

  His shoulders were broad, his arms looking so thick I wondered if he could crush bone with little effort. The dark, long-sleeved shirt he wore couldn’t hide his muscles; in fact, I was pretty sure they accented them. And his gray slacks covered tree-trunk-sized thighs. He had to be well over six-and-a-half feet tall of solid strength.

  The most impure thoughts slammed into my head, ones I shouldn’t be thinking about concerning a stranger, but especially about my boss.

  I actually felt myself blushing at the lewd image playing on a reel in my mind.

  How would it feel to be under him? How much would it hurt to have him inside me? I had absolutely no damn doubt his dick was the size of my forearm, and on that thought—on that image—I broke out in a cold sweat.

  I swallowed, my throat tight, realizing we’d just been standing here, me checking him out, Finland Hawthorne obviously noticing that. I was instantly humiliated that our first encounter was him noticing me all but eye-fucking him. And that was a pretty good description of what I’d been doing.