Page 3

William

CHAPTER THREE

I try to keep my anger in check as I stare at the naked woman who doesn’t even try to cover herself.

It takes me ten seconds to take her in from head to toe. I’m a plastic surgeon, and even though reconstruction—not cosmetic perfection—is my specialty, I’ve been with enough partners in my life to know a goddess when I see one. And she’s all-natural, too, because the hair between her legs is the same color as that wet mass of red on her head.

I grab a towel and toss it to her. “Cover yourself. Don’t you people have any shame?”

“What?”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“My father, the bastard.”

“Why would your father be here with me?” she asks, wrapping the towel tightly around herself and looking at me as though I’m insane.

I’m not buying the innocent act. A woman involved with my father can be many things, but virginal isn’t one of them.

“You’ve got five minutes to get dressed and get out of my grandmother’s house, or I’ll throw you out myself. Maybe I should call the police for trespassing.”

“ Trespassing? I only know who you are—or rather, I assume I know who you are—because you look so much like your father. That’s the only reason I’m not the one calling the police. I know I was wrong to take a shower in the bathroom of the place you use as an office, but it was your grandmother who suggested it.”

“You want me to believe my grandmother told my father’s mistress she could shower in the library of her own house?”

“ Your father’s mistress? Not only are you out of your mind, you’re rude too. I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately so I can get dressed.”

I glare at her cynically. “Isn’t it a bit late for modesty? If I hadn’t thrown you the towel, you’d still be naked right now.”

“Look, Mr. William, I need this job badly, but if you don’t give me some privacy right now, I swear on everything sacred I will start screaming. I’m beginning to believe you really are completely insane.”

“What’s your name?”

“My name doesn’t matter at the moment. I just want you to let me get dressed so I can leave this house as quickly as possible.”

She looks genuinely offended, and for the first time, I feel uncertain.

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

The redhead presses her lips together as though she’s holding back a retort, struggling not to say anything more.

Five minutes later, she appears at the bathroom door wearing jeans and a white tank top. Barefoot, with no makeup and her hair loose, she no longer looks like the seductive woman I saw a moment ago—she seems more like a girl.

“Where is he?” I ask again, although a voice in the back of my head warns me I may have made a mistake.

Even so, I stick to asking about my father because my reaction to this young woman—now that my anger has eased—is completely absurd. Women barely out of their teens, which is what I assume she is, probably in her early twenties, have never turned me on, but maybe because I know what’s hidden beneath her cheap-looking clothes, my body is reacting in a way that makes me even angrier.

I watch her draw in a deep breath, and that movement makes her breasts push against the thin fabric of her top.

“I don’t know what your issue is with Mr. Marshall the Third ,” she says, a faint tinge of sardonicism in the way she numbers my father, “but I have no idea where he is. My name is Taylor Jarvis. I work for your grandmother—or worked , because I’m going to see her right now to quit.”

“What?” I ask, mostly to buy myself time because I heard her perfectly.

Fuck, Maryann will lose her mind when she finds out I confused her employee with one of my father’s lovers. In my defense, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s messed around in my grandmother’s house. The incident that nearly ended my parents’ marriage a few years ago happened right here at a Christmas party, when he thought it’d be a great idea to fuck one of my mother’s friend’s daughters in the wine cellar.

“You heard me, Mr. Marshall. I adore your grandmother, and this was my dream job, but I refuse to stay here another minute.”

“You were naked in my bathroom,” I insist.

“I was, because . . .” she starts, as if ready to explain further, but then seems to decide I’m not worth it. “Excuse me.” She heads toward the door leading to the hallway.

“No.”

“No what?”

“I’m not letting you leave until you explain what you were doing here.”

I see her clench her tiny fist, and only then do I notice she’s carrying a dusty bundle of clothes and a backpack in her other hand.

“You’re not one of my father’s lovers,” I say, finally admitting my mistake.

I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t her defiant stare.

“Are you sure?” she asks, sarcastically.

“You’re not, or you’d already be hitting on me. That’s what they always do.”

She looks stunned. “So they move from father to son?”

“They try . I’ve never been interested.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally formed a positive opinion of me, Mr. William Marshall the Fourth ,” she says, every bit as sarcastic as before, “but I still haven’t heard an apology.”

I stare at her, hardly believing she said that. But she doesn’t even blink. She exudes dignity from every inch of her body.

I’m a bastard in many ways, but I’ve never been called rude by a woman before.

“I misunderstood, Miss . . .What’s your last name again?”

“Jarvis.”

“German?”

“Yes. Go on. You were getting close to earning my forgiveness.”

I focus on her face to see if she’s joking, but in a couple of seconds, I realize she isn’t. Taylor Jarvis really wants me to apologize.

“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.”

“You’re forgiven,” she replies, though without much warmth. “Just don’t tell your grandmother about this, or I really will have to quit. Pretend you never barged into the bathroom and saw me naked. Can you do that?”

No.

“Yes, we should forget this ever happened.”

She starts for the door again, without another word or glance.

I haven’t even seen my grandmother yet. I came straight from surgery, hoping to shower and then spend a few hours with her.

I follow Taylor to Maryann’s room, and before going in, I hear my grandmother talking to her companion, who arrived only seconds before me.

“You’re eleven and a half minutes late, Taylor. I almost ate your cookies without you!”

“That water was amazing, Mrs. Marshall. I think it was the best shower of my life,” she says.

She doesn’t sound sarcastic; she sounds like she genuinely enjoyed it. And there’s nothing special about that bathroom—it’s small and basic. Yet the girl just said it was the best shower of her life?

I can’t recall many times when I’ve felt embarrassed, but that’s exactly how I feel now. Especially because, now that I’m no longer angry, all I can think about is that pale, milky-white body, naked and wet.