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EMMA

K laus is away on a trip, but I still feel his presence everywhere. I still feel him watching me. I can’t explain it, but I know that he’s thinking about me too.

I dropped the kids off at school a few hours ago, so I have the rest of the morning to myself.

I would call my friends, but they usually sleep in until noon because of their late shifts. I should make the most of my alone time, but my mind keeps pulling me back to him.

Klaus Sinclair is still so much of an enigma.

But there’s one way to learn a little more about his life.

I still have the diary.

I haven’t opened it yet. I told myself I would return it because it’s the right thing to do. The diary doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to a dead woman.

I should put it back where I found it.

And now is the perfect time to do so.

I walk to the closet where I hid the book. It’s under a stack of folded clothes. The second my hand wraps around the binding, I’m teleported back to that night.

I smell the vanilla perfume in the air. I feel the walls trying to tell me something. I see Klaus’s beautiful sister staring at me with those clear blue eyes.

The writings in the book call to me.

They promise answers that nobody else is willing to give me. Maybe a little peek won’t hurt.

I flip the diary open to a random page. It smells like leather and secrets.

The cursive is hard to read, but I get the hang of it. My heart starts racing the more I read.

This was a mistake. A big fucking mistake. But I can’t stop flipping through the pages.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His husky voice splatters against the back of my neck.

My heart drops all the way to my stomach. He’s standing right behind me. I can feel the heat of his body enveloping me like dark angel wings.

I don’t know how long he’s been standing there.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, turning around to face him. My heart stutters once more before it stops beating.

There are storm clouds in his eyes. There’s so much torment and rage there that it takes my breath away. I never thought I’d say something like this about a man, but Klaus looks even more handsome when he’s angry. Because for once, he’s being authentic. He’s not hiding from the world.

I lower my gaze because it’s too much.

Looking at him feels like staring directly at the sun.

“I didn’t know you were home,” I whisper.

He rips the diary from my hands.

“Who sent you?” he asks.

“What?” I look up at him.

He might be standing in front of me, but he’s lost in the chaos of his mind.

“Somebody sent you,” he says. “Who do you work for?”

My heart starts thumping hard against my breastbone.

“Nobody,” I say. “Nobody sent me. Well, the agency recruited me, but?—”

“Don’t lie to me, girl,” he says.

He moves closer toward me, caging me between his body and the closet. Illicit desire swirls low in my belly. My nipples turn into hard points, rubbing against the silk slip I’m wearing.

I become acutely aware of every breath I take.

I become acutely aware of every shift in his body. Some of his anger fades. It’s replaced by dark desire that mirrors mine.

Right now, there’s no right or wrong.

All that exists is this magnetic force that keeps pulling us closer and closer.

That look in his eyes makes me forget about every promise I made to myself. It makes me forget about every bad thing that ever happened to me.

“Are you going to talk, or am I going to have to make you talk?” he says.

“I don’t know what this is about,” I reply, blinking up at him.

“I know exactly what game you’re playing,” he says. “Sneaking into my bedroom at night. Little silk slip that’s designed to make men hard. That fake innocence in your eyes.”

“I really don’t know?—”

His hand grabs the outside of my thigh. He moves closer toward me, pressing the hard contours of his massive body against my smaller one. The scent of his expensive cologne fills my lungs.

He drags the silk slip up my hip. His calloused hand scrapes against my skin, setting my insides on fire.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” he says in a low voice. “Who do you work for?”

His eyes are fixated on me, but he’s not really here. He’s adrift in the paranoia his mind has created.

“The only reason I came to your bedroom that night was because I heard you screaming,” I say. “I was concerned about you.”

His hand drags up my waist and cups my breast. His large thumb swipes against my nipple, making me gasp. Instinctually, I arch into his touch, filling his palm with my flesh.

It’s so wrong, but I need him to appreciate me. I thrive in the middle of this wicked desire.

“What about this cocktease slip?” he asks.

He tugs on my nipple as he speaks to me, making me see shooting stars and stardust behind my closed eyelids.

“I didn’t know you would walk into my room,” I say.

“Lies,” he says. “All lies. It’s all your kind does. Lie and cheat and break men.”

I don’t think he means to, but with every interaction we share, he shows me little parts of him. He shows me the man he is on the inside.

He’s haunted by past demons. Right now, he’s still under their hold.

“I don’t have any reason to lie to you, Klaus,” I say.

“It’s Mr. Sinclair to you,” he says.

“Mr. Sinclair,” I say. I don’t mean for it to, but my voice comes out smoky and seductive. I shift against his hold, rubbing my belly against the length of his erection.

His hand wraps around my throat, stealing the remaining breath from my lungs. A pulse forms right underneath his fingertips, letting him control whether or not I take my next breath. His fingers apply a light pressure, making heat build inside me.

I’m a pinned butterfly, entirely under his mercy. It’s up to him to decide whether he’ll let me live or perish.

I’m swept up by carnal urges, but at the same time, I see him for who he really is.

He’s a tormented man. The war might be over, but the war in his head never really ended. And I suspect that he’s been stuck in this purgatory state for a long time now.

My heart aches for him.

Tears rush to my eyes and spill down my cheeks. The second they fall on his hand, he pulls away as if he’s been electrocuted. He blinks like he’s just coming out of a trance.

My body gasps for air as I clutch my throat.

I don’t know if I imagine it, but his eyes flash with horror.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

We stare at each other for a moment.

I want to reassure him that I’m okay, but I can’t find my voice.

“So you found the diary,” he says, glancing down at the book.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“No,” he says. “You shouldn’t have. But you did it anyway.”

He thinks that I have ill intentions against his family. I don’t know how to tell him that it’s the opposite. I just wanted to get to know him better.

What I did was wrong. It was a major breach of privacy, not to mention completely unprofessional.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to explain the riot of emotions I’ve been going through ever since I met him.

His eyes flick over my face like he’ll find the truth written on my skin.

“You were a mistake,” he says, running his hands through his hair.

Those four words puncture my heart, making me bleed against my will. I swallow the pain.

“I should have known better than to hire someone like you,” he says.

My emotions do a deep dive. The desire and compassion fade. Right now, I’m submerged in annoyance.

“Someone like me?” I say. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nosy. Unprofessional. Inexperienced. Naive,” he says. “Do you want me to go on?”

I take a deep breath.

It makes my chest rise, drawing his dark gaze to my breasts. I forget how to exhale. I remain suspended in time, a slave to this man’s erratic nature.

“I made a mistake,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”

“The mistake is mine,” he says. “For letting you into my world.”

“If you want to fire me, just do it,” I say. “I’ll accept whatever decision you make.”

There’s a dark gleam in his eyes as he watches me.

“You’ve read the diary,” he says. “You know too much. I can’t let you go now.”

“What?” My mouth dries up.

He inches closer until we’re breathing the same air once more. His intensity should scare me, but there must be something wrong with my brain because it only excites me.

“Do you want to know what happened to the last nanny I hired?” he asks.

I stare up at him as my heart beats out of control.

“She was a journalist who disguised herself as a nanny. It was right after the car accident. She came into my life because she wanted all the juicy gossip for the tabloids. She wanted to make money off my pain,” he says. “When I learned the truth, I did what I had to do. I got rid of her.”

I search his eyes. He’s not kidding.

“Did you...kill her?” I ask him.

“Worse,” he says. “I took the one thing from her that she loved the most. I made sure that her name would never show up on another article ever again.”

I see torment in the depths of his eyes. Blood and chains and war.

“I promise you I don’t have any bad intentions,” I say. “I was just curious.”

“About what?” he asks.

About you.

“Everyone here seems to know something I don’t,” I reply honestly. “And I thought that I would be able to do my job better if I knew more about this family.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” he asks.

“It’s the truth,” I say. “I keep hearing strange noises at night. Even when I’m alone in my room, I feel like I’m being watched. I know there must be some logical explanation for all of this.”

Something happened here. Something terrible happened to this family.

The diary gave me a glimpse into their lives, but it left me with more questions than answers.

Mr. Sinclair narrows his eyes at me, looking at me like he can read every thought in my head.

A few days ago, the visceral hatred on his face would have made me second-guess working for him. But right now, I see it for what it is—armor. Underneath the tough exterior, I suspect that there’s a world nobody even knows about.

Worse, I suspect it’s the same with the kids.

“You’re the help,” he says. “As the nanny, your job is to make sure that the kids do their homework and eat their vegetables. Don’t try to be anything more than you’re qualified for.Is that clear?”

“Loud and clear,” I reply.

He nods and steps away from me. He’s about to leave.

If I let him go now, I’ll never know the answers to the questions that have been eating at me.

“Sera was afraid of her husband,” I say. “She was afraid that he would kill her. Did he hurt the kids too?”

“Do you think this is some sort of book club?” he asks through gritted teeth. “The contents of my sister’s diary are not up for discussion.”

“I’m here to take care of the children,” I say. “That includes their physical and mental health, too.”

“The children have regular sessions with a child therapist where they talk about their emotions,” he says.

“What about you?” I ask.

Some of the hardness dissipates from his face. He wasn’t expecting that.

“What about me?” he asks.

“Who do you have?” I ask.

“I have my ways,” he says.

I think about him at the gentlemen’s club. The very thought of him with other women awakens something nasty inside me that I didn’t know existed. It bares its wicked fangs before retreating.

“If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here for you,” I say.

I have a suspicion that what happened to the kids’ parents wasn’t an accident. There’s something nefarious about the whole ordeal. The car was destroyed, but no bodies were ever found.

That can only mean one thing—someone wanted to get rid of evidence.

Mr. Sinclair fixes me with the coldest stare he’s ever given me.

“I’m your employer, Miss Turner,” he says. “I’m the one who hands you a paycheck every month. Don’t get it twisted. You will never be anything more to me.”

His armor is tougher than ever, but I see the chinks. I’ve seen the man beneath the surface.

He walks out of the bedroom without another word.

He says that we’ll never be anything more. But it already feels like the beginning of something greater than anything either of us could have ever imagined.

It already feels fated.