Page 11 of Parker

Chapter seven

Joel Parker's Home, Glasgow

Joel

I wake to the sound of steady breathing beside me. Nicky lies twisted in my sheets, dark curls spread over the black silk. She looks perfect in here, in my bedroom, but I know nothing about her.

The pressure and stress from my father these past weeks have made me insane, to the point of picking up a random woman at support meetings, then bringing her home and falling for her within twelve hours.

The notion is as ridiculous as it is romantic.

But here I am, slap bang in the middle of it, and loving every damn moment.

She stirs a little as I lie, propped up on my elbow, watching her sleep. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman. When I walked into the meeting after leaving my father’s office yesterday, she was the only thing I could look at. It took me a moment to catch my breath.

Most of the women in my life dress for power or pleasure. But Nicky looked radiant sitting in the circle in her white t-shirt and jeans, natural and completely mesmerizing. Nobody had ever taken my breath away with one look until I saw her.

The whole meeting, I struggled not to stare at her, stealing glances whenever I could.

Rhona made the task slightly easier with her endless chatter.

As I nodded along, I could keep Nicky in my eyeline.

I knew I had to speak to her before we left the hall.

If I didn’t, she could walk out of my life and never return. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

I throw myself onto my back and the sheets pool around my waist as I stare up at the ceiling. Nicky stirs again, half words passing her lips, but she doesn’t wake. Her leaving yet isn’t an option. I’m not ready to let her go.

This fantasy romance doesn’t have mileage, it can’t.

She is from a very different world to mine, and it wouldn’t be fair to inflict mine on her.

Judging by her story last night, she’s had a difficult time.

She needs safety and security, not a man like me.

Unable to sleep, I climb out of bed just in time to see my cell light up with a call.

Boyd . It’s always Boyd who needs me in the middle of the night.

With a last look at the girl in my bed, I take the call and step out into the hallway.

“Sorry for the late-night call,” he begins.

“I assume it’s important.”

“Guilty Secrets has had a visit from the boys in blue tonight,” he continues, ignoring my sarcasm. “They’re wanting to speak to one of the family.”

“Call my father,” I mutter. “It’s his club.”

Boyd clears his throat. The suspicion that grinds in my soul every time I go against my father’s wishes, as I did today, rears its head. He always gets the last laugh, somehow.

“Mr. Parker has advised that the clubs are now under your care,” Boyd says. “All correspondence is to be directly with you.”

“Of course he has.” I close my eyes as I stand at the top of my stairs, staring down.

Those clubs are of no interest to me. He knows that.

I never go and have no interest in taking anything from them.

The bastard has put me front and center of the fiasco now, and he knows there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I tell Boyd. It’s not his fault. He’s only doing his job. “What happened?”

“A raid.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I’m assuming someone reported drug use. They have found nothing, but they still want a chat.”

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

After returning to my bedroom, I find Nicky still fast asleep. Pulling on a fresh shirt and my suit, I scribble a note telling her I’ll be back soon and to please still be here when I return. Then I leave, praying she’ll still be here in the morning.

***

The sun has already risen when I return home. The house sits silent, with no sign of life. There is no way to know whether Nicky is still here. Part of me doesn’t want to go inside to find out. If she’s left, perhaps last night was all there ever will be. I’m not sure I can accept that.

The police officer in charge when I arrived at Guilty Secrets was perfectly polite. He explained that someone had tipped them off that drugs, sex, and other things could be bought inside for a fee. They had to investigate.

After what felt like a professional but pointless conversation, I looked at the handful of officers present and recognized at least half from our client list. They know damn well what goes on in the club.

They enjoy it. They pulled me from my bed in the middle of the night for a ruse, a PR stunt, to make it look like they were doing their job.

In the end, they shook my hand, thanked me for our cooperation, and left empty-handed.

Boyd breathed a sigh of relief as we watched them go.

“Good job,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re better at this than you think.”

Boyd is not only head of security, but also my father’s right-hand man.

He looks like a business executive with his sharp suit and clean-cut appearance, but his role in Parker Industries is diverse.

He knows everything that happens and every secret.

Because he’s irreplaceable, my father treats him as such.

I didn’t reply to his compliment. Being able to navigate police raids isn’t something I strive for as an ability; it is just a necessary skill to have.

Now back home, returning to the situation I created for myself last night, it strikes me just how complex my life is, and how bringing someone into that isn’t the best course of action, but I can’t help but hope Nicky is still here.

My feet crunch over the gravel as I make my way toward the house. I find the door locked, so I pull the key from my pocket and insert it into the keyhole. It clicks as the latch gives way, and then I open the door to my home.

I find Nicky where I left her, wrapped in my black silk sheets, fast asleep.

She’s curled into a cocoon and looks incredibly peaceful.

Unable to resist the temptation, I slip out of my clothes and slide in behind her, wrapping myself around her warmth, then clinging on for dear life.

If she wakes, she doesn’t tell me, and I drift off to join her in unconscious bliss.

The kettle’s whistle signals the boiling water. In my kitchen, I’m pulling together what I can for a romantic breakfast with no notice. The bacon sizzles in the pan as I toast slices of bread. When I look up, Nicky is standing by the counter watching me, a cheeky smile on her lips.

“Do all your house guests get special treatment?” she asks, padding over, drowned by one of my shirts, her dark curls spilling in all directions.

“I don’t have many house guests.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me.

My cock hardens in an instant. “Only exceptional ones that are worth treating well.” Our lips connect, and the sparks I tried to convince myself I imagined reignite.

This woman speaks to me in ways I’ve never felt before.

She wriggles from my arms, then sidles over and climbs up on a stool at the counter. Her face splits into the most breathtaking grin as she watches me finish the breakfast preparations. Once done, I place the finished product in front of her.

“I hope you’re hungry,” I whisper in her ear.

“Always.”

As I move to collect my sandwich, I glance at the girl in my kitchen. The entire scene is so fucking domestic—I almost laugh.

We appear like a normal couple sitting down to breakfast after an intense night.

It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, but something I know I’ll never have.

That balance of home life and business is unachievable in my world, and I shouldn’t be pretending it could be.

But even if this is just for today, I’ll savor it. And the taste will last me a lifetime.

“Where did you go?” Nicky asks innocently as I’m taking my first bite.

“You realized I was gone?” She nods, then flashes me a small smile.

“I found your note.”

“It was a work thing.”

“I didn’t realize fashion was a twenty-four-seven business.” Her eyes run over my face as if searching for the truth. I say nothing. “I’m glad you were home for breakfast.”

“Me too,” I agree. “And next time, I’ll make you pancakes.”