Page 7 of King of Desire (Kings of Las Vegas #2)

CHAPTER SIX

Honeyeh

Mrs. Raith’s eyes slide down me as I model the uniform she’s provided. It’s a simple black Oxford dress with a collar and buttons down the front, but it’s darted in such a way that it hugs my curves.

It’s paired with black Keds that are supportive but cute.

“During events, we trade out the sneakers for heeled shoes. They’re less comfortable but more appropriate for the events. A few of the black-tie events, like the one this Friday, you’ll be provided with a simple knee-length black dress with a square neck.”

I saw the cleaning crew, the ones that really scrub the house. They had on white pants and a white shirt with the same Keds in white.

“We ask that you wear other shoes when travelling to the house and bring these to change into, so that they’re only worn in the house.”

I nod, it makes sense that it keeps the house cleaner.

“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask,” she finishes, handing me a sheet that looks like a schedule.

“What is this?”

“It’s Mr. Smith’s comings and goings during the work week. Your job is to dust when he isn’t using a room. He’s still down in the gym, so if you’d like to start with his room, you should be able to get it done before he’s back upstairs for his shower.”

“I will,” I take a deep breath as Mrs. Raith hands me a cleaning basket with all the supplies I’ll need.

“And remember, Honeyeh, we don’t miss spots. Everything should be perfect.”

“Perfect,” I repeat. Making my way up the back stairs by her office, I crack open the door to Triston’s bedroom and do a quick scan to make certain the room is empty before I get to work.

I start with the bathroom, running the duster over surfaces like the sills, the top of the mirrors, the light fixtures.

I can only assume these surfaces are not touched by the cleaning crew, but I’ll double check with them later.

Finishing the bathroom, I make my way into the bedroom.

The room is done in muted but masculine tones of taupes and greys. The large bed has all white bedding. I can’t even imagine keeping something like that clean.

My mouth twitches down as I dust the greige end tables, moving the few items placed on the top to make sure I’m getting the entire surface.

The bed sits in a wooden frame with modern lines, and I dust the edges, making my way around the entire bed.

The room is so quiet, my mind is free to wander as I work, mostly filled with thoughts of the man who lives here. Is it wrong that I’m picturing being in this bed with him? The way his hands would feel, the way he might bend me over the edge…

I keep dusting, moving around the windows to a streamlined dresser with a cityscape painting over the top.

Wiping down the dresser with a polish, I pull the duster back out, standing on tiptoe and partially bending over the bureau to reach the duster over the top of the picture frame.

I still can’t get one corner so I bend even further, really pushing up on my toes to get the spot.

“Interesting.”

I nearly scream as I jump back.

Triston leans in the doorway, glistening with sweat, a small towel around his neck as he watches me.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Smith,” I gasp. “I’ll get used to the schedule.”

His brows lift, as his eyes run down the length of my uniform. “I’ve never seen one of those dresses fit like that.”

I look down at myself, trying to keep the heat out of my cheeks. “The next size up was far too large in the waist.”

“Hmmm,” he hums out as he enters the room, crossing the room to come stand in front of me.

His T-shirt stretches across the breadth of his shoulders, and I find myself licking my lips as he comes closer. I have no idea what thoughts my face might be expressing so I duck my chin to hide the interest I’m sure is shining in my eyes.

He stops a foot away from me as I clutch the duster in front of me like the feathers will somehow protect me.

Instead, they tickle my nose, and I pull my chin up. But that means my gaze meets his.

Unlike me, his expression is completely unreadable.

“As I said, Mr. Smith?—”

“Triston.”

“But…” I swallow, needing to address this name thing. “The rest of the staff…”

“You are not the rest of the staff, Honeyeh. You call me Triston. And as you will be the staff member to enter and exit my room freely, I can assure you, I don’t mind walking in to the sight of you bent over my dresser.”

My brow furrows. Why would I have that kind of trust or freedom in his house? I think back to his brother Killian’s comment. The one about polishing something or other…

What did that mean?

I could ask Brittany. She’d likely know.

“I…I have to confess, I’m confused as to why the rules are different for me.”

He lets out a long breath and then he reaches for the duster in my hand, gently taking it from my fingers.

“I need to let a few people have access, a bridge between the staff and a life that feels more…authentic. It’s been lacking in my life, honestly.

Mrs. Raith has filled that role, to the best of her ability, but she has a great many management duties, I hate interrupting her to complete the small tasks in my private spaces. ”

My eyes light up as I understand. And honestly, I feel a bit of relief, tinged with the tiniest bit of disappointment. He doesn’t want me in that way.

He just needs me to create a buffer between him and the rest of the staff.

Which is great. That is a job I can do. I push aside that twinge that tells me I want more. I know Triston’s reputation. But as I look down at his large, masculine hands, I wonder if I’d be willing to make the trade.

A month in his bed for the inevitable heartbreak.

“If that’s all, I should probably start on the next room…”

He turns the duster in his hand before he finally hands it back to me, our fingers touching as a jolt of energy shoots straight to the apex between my legs.

Grabbing the duster, I scoop up my basket and scurry from the room like the scared little rabbit that I am.

But it means that I nearly crash into one of the members of the cleaning crew.

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” I gush, dropping my basket, the contents scattering on the floor.

“My fault,” she whispers. “I forgot to put in the new shampoo in Mr. Smith’s shower when I cleaned, and I’ve been hovering here in the hall, trying to figure out how I correct the mistake. Thank goodness you’re still here.”

I blink at her in confusion before I realize, I am one of the few people who has an all-day pass to his bedroom. It’s my job to bring the shampoo to him.

Me. The woman who just scurried from his room. But if I don’t go back in…

She looks at me anxiously and I know I have to go back in. I can’t be making enemies on my first day of work and I need to do my job. “I’ll take it.”

“Thank you,” she gushes, pressing the bottle into my hand. “I’ll pick up the spilled basket while you bring it in. I’ll leave it here in the hall for you.”

I turn back to his door, drawing in a deep, fortifying breath. Triston is surely about to take a shower and then he’ll notice there is no shampoo. Not to mention he’ll be naked.

The idea of him with no clothing makes a flash of heat run down my body even as I knock on the open door.

No one answers.

Shoot.

Is he in the shower already? He said I had access whenever I wanted but this…it feels like I’m intruding. “Triston?”

He doesn’t answer.

I step into the room. “Triston?”

“Honeyeh?” he calls from in the bathroom.

“It’s me. I have, umm, shampoo for you.”

The bathroom door swings open and Triston appears, a crisp white towel draped low on his hips.

My mouth falls open as I take him in. The rippling muscle, the washboard abs, the strong cords of his neck.

I freeze in my spot, halfway to the bathroom.

He’s got one hand over the knot of the towel as he opens the door wider.

Behind him, I can hear the shower running, steam already filling the room. It makes my mouth dry as my tongue darts out to lick my lips.

He sees it, his eyes narrowing as he steps out of the bathroom, stalking toward me.

That’s when I realize, I’m clutching the shampoo to my chest, just like I did the duster.

I thrust my hand out, like a barrier between us. He stops, muscles flexing, as he reaches for the shampoo. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I breathe, my voice breaking as I try to maintain control. I can’t help myself. My gaze travels down him again.

His fingers dance over mine as he takes the bottle from my hand.

For one second, I revel in the touch before I scurry away, practically running from the room.

Because I am in way, way, way over my head.