Page 52 of The First Taste

The lie slips from my lips as easily as can be. Making up lies has always been in my wheelhouse. The truth is a much trickier and harder thing to come by, in my experience.

Her lips pucker for a moment and then she pulls out a small notepad, jotting down a few lines. “Stone and Associates…” she echoes. “Okay.”

“Lord Grayrose?” The chauffeur returns, bowing a little bit. “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.”

Wendy opens her mouth, her brow lowering. But before she can say anything else, she is interrupted by a girlish shout. “No! I won’t do it!”

Isla comes bursting out of the front door, running headlong towards me. I don’t even think she quite sees me. I think she is so caught up in running away and making her pursuer catch her that she plows right into my arms. I catch her and stop her, but not before Ella comes barreling out of the house, looking angry.

“Isla, I swear…” she growls. Then she sees all of us standing outside and she skids to a stop, wide eyed as a frightened hare. Rushing back a long strand of ebony hair, she straightens and tries to dust off her light blue camisole. It’s clear that she was in the middle of getting dressed and decided to chase Isla down, for what reason I don’t know. But looking at the little girl in my arms, I noticed that my daughter is clasping a bright pink scrap of lace in her hands.

“Oh, Keir… You’re home…” Ella says, still looking startled. “Welcome?”

I pick Isla up, brushing her wild massive curls back from her face. She looks at me, her face bright pink, nearly matching the silky piece of lingerie that she has stolen from Ella. “Isla. Do you have something you want to return to Ella?”

My daughters face turns pouty. “No.”

Ella reaches out her hand, gesturing for Isla to follow her. “As well, come on inside. We can talk about it in private. Let’s let the adults talk business.”

“No!” My daughter shrieks, her arms falling across her chest in a sullen gesture. “I don’t have to do what you say, Ella. My daddy is home. You can go back to New York City now.”

“Isla!” I snap. “That’s enough. You and Ella should go inside the castle now. When I’m done, I’ll come and find you.”

She startles, looking at me with wide eyes. But I don’t want to deal with any of her trouble making right now, not in front of the nosy journalist. So I let her slide down my body, setting her on her feet. I look at her firmly.

“Go.” I point toward the castle. Her face screws up in a way that I know all too well. She stomps off, crossing her arms as she goes, a cry already pouring from her mouth.

“I hate you!” My daughter moans, as she disappears into the entrance of the castle.

Something in my chest tightens but I can’t let that sway me just now. I look at Ella, raising my eyebrows. She crosses her arms in a gesture that mimics Isla all too well. But she remains silent as she turns, tosses her hair, and follows my daughter inside. The door creaks closed with a satisfying thud and I turn back to Wendy.

“I would like you to leave now.” The urge to cross my arms is almost overwhelming but instead I keep my hands by my side, my fist loosely forming, readying for battle.

She takes in my stance and pushes her cheek out with her tongue. “Was that Ella Washington? Max’s notes say that he was supposed to meet with you and one Ella Washington, and I guess I just met her.”

Heat spreads across the back of my neck, a prickling sensation. I ignore it but I know that Wendy has sniffed out something.

“This is the last time I’m going to say it. I want you to leave.”

Wendy shrugs. “You can ask me to leave all you want. And I might actually do it. But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop trying to figure out what my partner was investigating when he died. You have to know that.”

I give her the coldest smile imaginable. “I’ve told you all I know. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a household and media conglomerate to oversee.”

Turning on my heel, I walk to the grand oak door leading into the castle. Letting myself inside, I catch a last glance at Wendy. Her lips are pressed together, her hands are on her hips.

Her expression is far too interested for my liking. Shutting the door behind me, I close my eyes and mutter a curse.

Eighteen

In the early hours of the morning, I dream about Keir. More specifically, I replay scenes of us when we were together in New York City. Carnal, lustful, sexy images linger through my sleeping mind.

Despite what I may have thought when I was awake, my unconscious self knows the truth: I am every bit as attracted to Keir’s raw sensuality and power as I was when I first laid eyes on him. That fact was only repeated for me and reinforced yesterday when I came outside the castle entrance and saw him there, picking Isla up. His big body, his brutish form, his dark good looks.

There are no two ways about it. Keir makes me press my thighs together, knowing all too well that little niggle of interest that unfurls low in my body. The second he looked at me yesterday, an electric charge went through me and my interest in him redoubled.

What is that?

I toss and turn in my sleep, remembering just what happened when he spread my thighs open and feasted on me, eating my pussy so well that I rolled my eyes back in my head and dug my fingers into his hair.