The Recluse Page 2

  I stared into his eyes, ones that reminded me of an icy blue tundra. The shade was what I imagined the ocean looked like far north, where it was frigid and barren.

  His jaw was cut severely, square, and couldn’t be called anything but masculine. Although I could tell he was freshly shaven, he still sported a five o’clock shadow, as if every part of his body refused to fall in line, to follow the rules.

  My face was on fire, and I cleared my throat and started rubbing my hands up and down my shorts. It was then I looked down at myself, realizing how unprofessionally dressed I was. I closed my eyes and cursed internally.

  I was so unprepared, but what I hadn’t been expecting was my employer to be so fucking fine he literally made me speechless.

  “Ms. Monsieur, I presume?”

  I snapped my head up to look at his face, the sound of his voice slamming right into the most intimate part of my body. And by that, I meant my pussy.

  My pussy clenched painfully, the inner muscles aching as if seeking something substantial to grip. Like his cock. Like his dick that I could tell was probably massive.

  His voice was deep, so gruff it almost didn’t sound real. I could picture him in some medieval time. Maybe even prehistoric, a caveman, or a Viking wielding an ax, a barbarian about to chop down any foe who stood in his way.

  “Mr. Hawthorne?”

  He nodded slowly.

  He certainly looked like a warrior, a warrior I wanted to be under while he pillaged between my thighs.

  Oh my God. I was losing my damn mind for this man.

  I noted, realizing several seconds had passed where I hadn’t responded. “Yes. That’s me.” Again, I felt like a fool but straightened my shoulders and continued to look him in the eye. I didn’t want to seem like I had absolutely no control over my body, but I had a strong feeling that’s exactly how I was portraying myself.

  He stepped aside and pulled the door open a little bit more, a silent but universal gesture for me to enter. I stepped over the threshold and could instantly smell him. It was a spicy, woodsy aroma, expensive yet wild and free.

  Again, my pussy clenched, and I embarrassingly felt how my panties became damp.

  “Do you have bags in the car?”

  I froze at the tone of his voice, this demand, yet I had a feeling that was just how he was, how he spoke.

  I nodded and licked my lips. He glanced outside at my car then a second later back at me. He held my gaze with his own for an uncomfortable amount of time, as if he could read my thoughts, see the dirty images running through my head.

  “I’ll get them then show you to your room.”

  I nodded in response, but he was already outside, striding—stalking—to my car like a sleek panther moving through the jungle.

  If this was how I felt upon first meeting him, I didn’t know how I’d last or control my libido working for Finland Hawthorne.

  3

  Fin

  I allowed her to ascend the stairs first, not just because I wanted to be a gentleman, but because her ass would be right in my line of sight. Apparently, when it came to this woman, I had zero self-control.

  I adjusted my stiff cock as we took the steps, not wanting her to see how I responded physically to her.

  As I watched the way the perfect mounds of her bottom moved under her shorts, my cock jerked violently. Every time she lifted her leg to take the next step, I got a tiny peek of that crease where her ass met her thigh. I groaned deeply, thought I’d only done it in my head, but realized the sound had spilled from me deep and low.

  I prayed like hell she hadn’t heard it, although when I saw the way her hand tightened on the banister, how her step faltered slightly, I knew.

  She heard me.

  That should’ve made me feel uncomfortable, made me feel shame, but the truth was, I got this sick satisfaction at the thought of her knowing how much I wanted her.

  Once at the top of the stairs, I pointed in the direction for her to go down the hallway. Originally, I had her room set up on the first level. My room was on the second level.

  But after I realized how much I wanted her, I knew exactly where she’d be.

  In the room right next to mine… and eventually in my bed.

  “This one,” I grumbled, pissed that I couldn’t control myself. Never in my life had I been unable to stifle my emotions or keep the apathetic emotions at the forefront.

  But Kitty was an anomaly, one I wanted to delve deeper into.

  I meant that literally and figuratively.

  She stopped by the polished double oak doors and moved to the side to allow me to open them. I knew it was because she was nervous. She kept twisting her hands together in front of her, kept biting her lower lip anxiously.

  I set her two bags down and saw the way she looked at me from under her lashes. I’d been surprised to see only the two bags. I assumed being relocated she’d have packed enough to fully move in.

  I stepped close, my body only an inch from hers, and reached out to turn the handle. I kept my eyes locked on hers the whole time. My teeth were locked tight as I inhaled the sweetness that came from her.

  Then I pushed the door open but didn’t move. “This is your room,” I said, my voice serrated. I should have moved aside to give her more space. It was a bastardly thing to do to crowd her, but I wanted her to brush up against me when she stepped inside.

  And she did.

  It was only the slightest of brushes, but it was there nonetheless.

  It took a hell of a lot of control not to grab her nape, pull her to my chest, and lean down to claim her mouth.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  It was like the very sound of her voice, the way my name rolled off her tongue, held a thousand bolts of electricity. It traveled through my entire body, lighting me up.

  “Call me Fin. Or Finland. Mr. Hawthorne was my father.” I shouldn’t have said that. I should have at least tried to keep things semi-professional, even if I felt like they were anything but in my case.

  But shit, I wanted her to say my name all damn day. It made me harder just knowing it slid between her lips.

  I had to keep reminding myself I needed to act like I had my shit under control, be professional, and pretend I didn’t want to press her up against the wall and fuck the hell out of her.

  I stifled the low growl that would’ve spilled from my mouth again and followed her into the room. No one had ever used it. In fact, no one had ever used any of these rooms on the upper floor.

  I wanted Kitty close. It was an undeniable need. There was no point in even trying to fight. I didn’t want to.

  She glanced around, and I could see surprise written on her expression. She was shocked by her surroundings. The room was lavish, and although I had nobody to spoil, no wife or children, no significant other that I could spend my money on, that didn’t mean I didn't enjoy the fruits of my labor.

  So I built this extravagant home for just myself, decorated the rooms with high-end items, expensive decor. The works.

  I spent my money on other items, other things. Charities, built organizations for victims of domestic violence, donated to food banks to feed the hungry. But even after spending my money on all these things, I still had deep pockets. So deep they were black fucking holes.

  The very thought of dying and not having anyone to carry on my legacy, no descendants to leave any of this fortune to, had never made me feel depressed until right now, until I looked at Kitty and wondered if she’d be mine.

  And if she would never be mine….

  No, I wouldn’t even entertain that thought. I would claim her. It was an easy decision.

  As easy as breathing.

  4

  Kitty

  Mr. Hawthorne—Fin, as he asked me to call him—left me half an hour ago. He’d told me to get situated and comfortable, to “make myself at home.”

  I’d unpacked, put my clothes in the dresser, and now just sat on the edge of the bed looking around. I was a li
ttle uncomfortable, if I were being honest. This room certainly didn’t feel like a place a member of the staff would stay. It was lavish, extravagant. It was opulent.

  The four-poster bed was lush and massive, the mattress like a cloud. The pictures on the walls showed close-ups of flowers, silky-smooth leaves, bright pops of color.

  I idly wondered if Fin had taken the pictures. They looked professional, but very personal, intimate too.

  Tonight, we’d be discussing my responsibilities, but first he told me we’d be dining together. He said after I was settled, I was to come downstairs, that he had the local caterer deliver dinner.

  It was just dinner.

  Yet it felt like so much more for some reason.

  I changed out of my cut-off shorts and T-shirt, feeling that I was too exposed, too unprofessional. Instead, I slipped on a black dress, the hem falling to my knees. There was a white Peter Pan collar at my throat. And the sleeves were these cute little capped ones. Not too much skin showing and hopefully made me look like he hadn’t made a mistake hiring me, that he wouldn’t regret it.

  I was nervous. And I had no idea why. No, that was a lie, a fabrication I told myself to try to make this easier. Because as soon as I’d seen Finland Hawthorne standing on the other side of that front door, something in me shifted. I felt the world tilt under my feet, the air become thinner, the temperature rising.

  He had this raw animal magnetism to him, and it was so potent, so powerful that it gripped its claws into my body and refused to let go. And I didn’t want it to release me. I wanted it to pull me in, to consume me, to take the world and reality away and just let me live in this fantasy.

  I walked over to the bedroom door but stopped before opening it. I closed my eyes and just breathed in and out for several long moments, willing my heart to slow, my pulse to be steady. I could do this, keep things strictly work related, keep my emotions in check.

  But I’d never felt this kind of connection to someone before, and certainly never imagined having it with a virtual stranger.

  And the way he looked at me, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to stare right into my soul, made me feel that maybe this wasn’t one-sided.

  I opened my eyes and cleared my throat, straightening my shoulders and reaching for the knob all simultaneously.

  I made my way out of the room and down the stairs, heading into first the kitchen, seeing it was empty, and then wandering around for a moment before I found the dining room. I noticed the table first. It was long, polished, and ornate. The edges were raw, giving it a rustic look, but the top was glossy, giving it a classy appearance.

  The table was already set, the food under silver trays and platters. I wondered if Fin had done it. He didn’t seem like the type of man to do domestic things, yet I really knew nothing about him aside from the generic business side of Finland Hawthorne that I found online.

  I didn’t see the man in question and just stood there, not knowing if I should take a seat or wait for him to show.

  Only a minute passed before I felt him. He stood right behind me, his very presence rocking me to the core. My awareness was heightened, every erogenous zone coming alive.

  I felt the heat from him slamming into my back and actually forcing me to close my eyes.

  “Ms. Monsieur,” he said in that deliciously deep voice of his.

  “Kitty,” I said before I could stop myself. “Please, call me Kitty.”

  He moved around me then, and I told myself not to shiver as his shoulder brushed against me, to keep myself level. It was hard. So damn hard.

  My head didn’t even reach his shoulders, and I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides as feminine appreciation washed through me at that fact.

  He walked up to the table, gripped the back of one of the chairs, and pulled it out. Then he just stood there and stared at me, this unspoken demand for me to take a seat.

  I licked my lips and took that first step, each one after becoming harder for some reason. And when I finally sat down, I felt him push the chair in a little bit more. I felt him so close to me, and I swore I heard him inhale close to my ear, as if he were taking in my very essence.

  I couldn’t breathe as I watched him walk around to the other side of the table, taking his seat across from me. He seemed worlds away, and after a second, it was as if he realized that too, because he let out a rough grumble before taking his place setting and standing.

  He walked back over to me, and I felt my eyes widen when he took the seat right beside mine. The air became hotter, thicker, the room feeling like it was closing in on me. Then he just stared at me again. I felt so on edge, so bared to this man despite being fully dressed, even though we hadn’t said more than a few words.

  “You’re not hungry?” he asked in that deep rumble that did wicked things to my body.

  I clenched my thighs under the table, trying to calm myself. I had my hands in my lap, thankful the table blocked his view from how I dug my nails against my thighs.

  Why did he make me feel so damn unsteady?

  “I am, thank you.” I glanced at my plate then for the first time since sitting down.

  There was a piece of steak—which looked juicy and thick and cooked to perfection. Mashed potatoes with gravy, a buttered roll, and green beans that were all perfectly arranged on the porcelain plate.

  A side salad was beside the plate, and a small olive oil and vinegar carafe for the dressing was next to it. There was a glass of water to my left, and a glass of red wine to my right. There were so many pieces of silverware that I had no idea which fork I was supposed to use.

  “Eat and then we can discuss business matters.”

  For being such a larger than life mountain man, Fin spoke eloquently, as if he’d been running boardrooms all his life. I supposed he had, and so I listened to him, picked up one of the forks, and started eating the food that was so good I actually had to hold in a moan of pleasure.

  The steak was tender and juicy, the mashed potatoes buttery with a hint of garlic. The green beans had the perfect amount of crisp to them when I took a bite.

  There was no rush as we ate, and I was surprised by the small talk he initiated, and even more shocked that it was comfortable and not at all forced. I found myself really enjoying this time with him.

  He cleared our plates once we were finished and left for only a moment before returning, a plate in each of his hands. He set the dessert down in front of me, the cake looking decadent and moist.

  “I hope you enjoy lemon raspberry cake. I get it frequently from Tosco’s, the little bakery in town. It’s called something fancy, but nothing I can ever pronounce accurately.”

  I smiled and it was genuine.

  That first bite had me actually moaning, the cake sweet but not overboard. It was rich but not too much so. It was thick and soft, spongy, and the raspberry sauce tasted so fresh it was like I’d picked the raspberries myself just this morning.

  I was almost halfway finished with the cake when I felt Fin watching me. I snapped my attention to him, saw his eyes locked on mine, and swallowed the cake I had in my mouth almost roughly.

  His expression... it was primal.

  He watched me with his head lowered and his eyes seeming to glow with something that I couldn’t quite place, but also something that had my entire body coming alive all over again. It was a look that said one thing.

  I like what I see.

  I don’t know how I knew that, but it was so loud it was as if he roared it to me, demanding I admit that I was his.

  I’m losing my damn mind, projecting what I feel and want onto this man.

  Once we were finished with dessert, he took those plates as well and then refilled my wine glass. I was already feeling a little lightheaded, unused to drinking alcohol despite having worked at a pub back in the city. This was my second full glass, and I couldn’t help but feel more at ease, relaxed, drinking the liquid courage.

  So I took another hearty drink and then set the glass back
down, keeping my fingers around the stem, letting the pads move along the smooth crystal.

  “I’m an easy man to work with,” he finally said.

  I snapped my gaze in his direction, not realizing I’d been focused on my hand as my fingers played along the bottom of the glass. “What?” I prompted softly.

  “I’m gruff, like things a certain way, but aside from that, I won’t be in your way.”

  How wrong was it that I wanted him to be in my way?

  I couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t quite mean that last part. It was the pitch of his voice, how low and deep it was, the way he flicked his eyes in my direction as if daring me to listen to the underlying message.

  “I read through the contract fully, if that’s what you’re worried about?” I grabbed the napkin and wiped my mouth. “I assure you I won’t let you down, Mr. Haw—”

  “Fin. Call me Fin.” He said that so… demandingly. He cleared his throat and shifted slightly on the chair. “You’re welcome to make up your own times, and you’re not required to do all those duties.”

  “But the contract—”

  “It’s standard. A formality. I make the rules.”

  A shiver of… something so dark and demanding, so potent, raced through me.

  “I don’t expect for you to tend to the entire house alone. I have a professional service come in once a month to deep clean.” He stared at me right in the eyes.

  I nodded, thankful he pointed out that I wouldn’t be responsible for this gargantuan house.

  “You’re able to prepare meals daily?”

  I nodded again. “Of course.”

  “Light cleaning would be essential. I don’t go in many of the rooms, so it would be nice to have those checked to make sure things aren’t getting... stale.”

  “Of course,” I repeated.

  For the next twenty minutes, we continued talking about what he expected me to do. Although he said I could make up my own times, that two days of the week would be for me to do with as I please, I knew I’d be strict with how I conducted myself here.