Page 10

REILY

I sweep the last of the broken glass into the dustpan, my hands trembling.

The room looks spotless now, the granite countertops gleaming, the furniture polished.

Not a single speck of dust dares to linger.

I straighten the last throw pillow on the couch and step back, surveying my work.

It’s perfect. Too perfect. Why do I care so much? I don’t owe this man anything.

I think about the way he grabbed me, the way his skin felt under my fingers—rough, almost…scaly. But that’s impossible. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory. Maybe it’s just some kind of condition, like psoriasis or something. Yeah, that’s it. A skin condition.

“You’re losing it, Ray,” I mutter under my breath, pacing the room. “Focus. You’re here to find dirt on him, remember? Not to play housekeeper.”

But I can’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes when he grabbed me. There was pain there, deep and raw, like I’d shattered more than just a window. What could I have broken that would make a man like him come undone?

A noise outside snaps me out of my thoughts. My heart leaps into my throat. Is it him? My stomach does this weird flip, and I hate myself for it. I shouldn’t be excited to see him. I should be terrified.

I creep toward the window, peeking through the blinds. My breath catches in my chest.

There’s a monster out there.

I duck down, pressing my back against the wall, and clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. My heart hammers against my ribs. What the hell is that thing? It’s huge, maybe seven feet tall, covered in dark red scales. Its eyes glow like embers in the sunlight.

I peek again, my hands shaking so hard I can barely hold the phone steady. I need a picture. Susan would kill for this.

But when I look back, it’s gone. Instead, there’s Gary, shirtless, chopping wood like nothing happened. The sunlight glistens off his sweat-slicked skin, , I’m transfixed.

I blink hard, rubbing my eyes. Did I imagine it? Was it some kind of…stress hallucination?

“Get it together, Ray,” I whisper, crouching back down. “You’re losing your damn mind.”

The door creaks open, and I freeze mid-sweep, the broom hovering over the floor like a lifeline. Gary strides in, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. My stomach knots as his eyes sweep the space, sharp and calculating. He snorts, a sound that’s half disdain, half amusement.

“I did what I could,” I blurt out, fidgeting with the broom handle. The maid uniform clings to me like a bad joke, and I feel absurdly exposed. "But I don’t know how to repair masonry, or, um, have the tools to do it, so…"

My voice trails off as he circles the room, his boots thudding against the hardwood. He’s searching for something, anything, to criticize. I can see it in the way his eyes narrow, the way his jaw tightens. He wants a fight, and he’s going to find one.

Then he stops. Bends down. My heart sinks as he brushes his fingers under the edge of a bookshelf, coming up with a faint streak of dust no wider than my pinky. He holds it up like evidence in a court case.

“Sorry,” I mutter, my tone dripping with sarcasm. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to reclaim some dignity, but the uniform makes it impossible. I feel ridiculous, and I hate him for it.

He glares at me, those red eyes burning like coals. “Is there something wrong about your boss telling you that the job you did was insufficient?”

Boss. The word grates on me, but I bite my tongue. Fine. If he wants to play this game, I’ll play.

“I was expecting maybe some praise for everything else,” I shoot back, gesturing at the room. “I mean, except for that one little bit of dust, it looks pretty good, right?”

His lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s a warning. “My praise is earned, never given,” he growls.

I stiffen as he snaps his fingers and points at the floor. “Now get on your knees.”

Heat floods my face, and I hate myself for the way my stomach twists at his command. I don’t move, though. Not yet. My chin lifts, and I meet his gaze head-on.

“You know, for someone who talks a big game about earning things, you sure do like giving orders,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?”

His eyes narrow, like he’s trying not to laugh. But then it passes, and his expression hardens again. He takes a step closer, his presence looming over me.

“On. Your. Knees.”

The words are low, almost a growl, and I feel them reverberate in my chest. My legs move before my brain can catch up, and I hate myself for it. I sink to my knees, the hem of the ridiculous skirt riding up, and I stare up at him, defiance burning in my gaze.

“Happy now?” I ask, my voice tight.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares down at me, his eyes unreadable. The air between us crackles with tension, and I can’t decide if I want to punch him or…no. I shut that thought down before it can fully form.

“Clean it,” he says finally, his voice cold. “Again.”

I grit my teeth and reach for the dustpan, my fingers trembling. This isn’t about the dust. It’s about control. And right now, he’s winning.

My knees hit the floor, my palms flat against the cool hardwood.

I can feel his presence behind me, a wall of heat and tension.

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears.

I grip the dustpan tighter, my knuckles whitening.

The tiny speck of dust mocks me, sitting there in the middle of an otherwise immaculate floor.

“This is bullshit,” I mutter, my voice low but sharp.

The words are out before I can stop them.

I can feel his gaze burning into the back of my skull.

My jaw tightens, and I shove the dustpan aside, standing on shaky legs.

The skirt of this godforsaken uniform rides up, but I don’t care anymore.

I turn to face him, my hands clenched into fists.

“No,” I say, louder this time. My voice cracks, but I push through it. “This is bullshit . I’ll clean this little bitty dust pile up, but not until you acknowledge that I busted my ass for two hours while you were galivanting shirtless through the woods!”

My breath comes in short, shallow gasps, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just run a mile. His eyes narrow, those red irises pinning me in place. The air between us feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. I can’t tell if he’s going to explode, or if he’s just… waiting.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I don’t move.

I won’t. My legs feel like they’re made of lead, but I keep my chin up, my gaze locked on his.

His nostrils flare, and for a second, I swear I see something flicker across his face—something that isn’t entirely human.

It’s gone before I can process it, replaced by that same cold, calculating expression.

“It is time that you learned full and well that I am in charge here,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, like the growl of a predator.

Before I can react, he’s on me. His hands are like iron, gripping my wrists and pulling them behind my back. I stumble, my balance thrown, and he spins me around, my back pressing against his chest. One hand moves to cover my mouth, his palm rough and warm against my lips.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, but the words are muffled against his hand. My heart hammers in my chest, a wild, panicked rhythm. I struggle, but his grip is unyielding.

“Silence,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “You will learn to speak with proper submissiveness and only when required.”

His voice sends me on a dizzying trip,I hate myself for it.

I hate that part of me that responds to his commands, that feels a flicker of…

something when he speaks like that. I twist in his grip, but he doesn’t budge.

My pulse races as he looms over me, his size a constant reminder of how outmatched I am.

The apron strings dig into my wrists, rough lace chafing against my skin.

I test the knot— tight . Gary's fingers linger just a second too long against my pulse point before he finally pulls away.

His reflection glares back at me from the polished glass of a framed hunting trophy, eyes like banked coals.

"You're—" My voice cracks. I swallow hard, tilting my chin up. "You're enjoying this."

He exhales through his nose—sharp, unamused. "You assume my aims are petty." One hand settles heavy on my shoulder. His fingertips graze the exposed nape of my neck, calluses scraping. "This is correction ."

Correction. Like I'm a dog that pissed on his rug. I huff a laugh that doesn’t sound as steady as I want. "Funny way to spell revenge ."

His grip tightens. A warning. I should shut up. But my mouth keeps running.

"You tied me up like a damn Christmas turkey over dust ," I snap. The more I talk, the more my breathing evens out. The more I ignore how my nipples are stiff little points under the stupid bodice. "Next you'll spank me for not fluffing the pillows right?—"

A low sound rumbles in his chest. Not quite a growl. Something darker.

"Keep running that mouth," he murmurs, leaning in. His breath gusts hot against my ear. "See where it gets you."

My thighs press together. The brush of the garter straps against bare skin is maddening.

Gary steps back suddenly, leaving me swaying. He circles in front of me, gaze dragging down my body like he's cataloging every tremor. His tongue clicks once against his teeth.

"On your knees."

A full-body shudder. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper. "Make me."

His mouth curves. Not a smile. A predator baring teeth. "Or what? You'll throw another brick?"

I lunge?—

—and he catches me by the waist, effortless. My bare knees hit the hardwood. Breath punched out of me. His hand fists in my hair, tipping my head back.

"You are infuriating ," he grits out.

The heat between my legs is obscene . My pulse jackhammers where his thumb presses against my throat.