Chapter 4

4

Meg

I wake up in the largest bed I’ve ever seen.

It’s twilight. Windows are open around the room, causing curtains to billow every which way, the sound of waves crashing below reminding me where I am.

I’m inside Koen’s house.

I feel asleep on him in the bathtub. On a stranger! Who does that?

How much time has passed since then?

Hours or days?

I’m drowsy and my body doesn’t want to move from this sumptuous down bedding. Normally I sleep on the floor in one of the kids’ bedrooms or, if I’m lucky, I get the couch. This is a level of comfort I never thought I’d experience. But I’m not here for a spa retreat. I’m here to do a job. Convince this man to return to work for Etta.

How?

I’ve spent one measly hour with Koen and I know if this man doesn’t want to budge, he isn’t going to budge. Although…

I don’t know how it took me a full five minutes to realize you were…

To realize you were so beautiful.

I convinced him to say that, didn’t I? Did he…really mean it?

When I realize my heart is about to pound out of my chest, I sit up straight with alarm, the soft cotton sheet slipping down to my waist. I’m still wearing my bra and panties. They’ve long since dried, reminding me of the fact that I’ve been here too long. My cleaning shift has to be starting soon and if I’m late, I get fired.

With a whine of regret, I get out of bed, finding my clothes in a pile by the door. It is incredibly difficult to dress myself because my pulse is rattling at the thought of Koen carrying my nearly nude body in here, tucking me in. My breath is short thinking of how his body felt beneath mine in the bathtub. That stiff part of him that lay against my stomach.

I’m just shaken because I’ve gone from zero intimacy with a man to straddling one in a bathtub. That’s the only reason my hands are clumsy and my skin is on fire.

I’m not, like, feeling him. Or whatever.

Because that would be a real conflict of interest.

Fully dressed now, I take a deep breath in front of the bedroom door and push it open, stepping out into a dark marble hallway. Violin music is coming from downstairs, and I slowly make my way in that direction, every part of me sensitizing at the scent of Koen that hangs in the air. Hot winter spice. Cloves. Cinnamon. The tiniest hint of apple.

My mouth is only salivating because I’m hungry.

Right. Hungry.

There’s a staff lounge at my cleaning job and I usually steal a granola bar for my dinner. Hopefully it’s not just a bunch of oatmeal raisin—

My thoughts descend into static when I enter the gigantic, high-ceilinged living room and see Koen standing in front of the picture window overlooking the ocean, a violin perched on his bare shoulder. He’s shirtless. Barefoot. In a pair of low-hanging slacks. Just like the rest of him, his back is a haven for ink, but…

Are those bullet holes, too?

Before I can squint and confirm my suspicion, Koen stops playing.

Lowers the violin slowly.

Turns.

The intense way he zeroes in on me nearly melts me into the floor.

That broad chest rises and falls. “Did you sleep well, Meg?”

Is it possible for thighs to blush? Mine turn molten at the deep pitch of his voice, telling me yes, it’s possible. When this man talks and gives me his undivided attention, thighs can blush. “I think that’s the best I’ve ever slept in my life, actually.”

I’m definitely imagining the deep satisfaction that crosses his features. This man is the meanest dude I’ve ever met. He can’t possibly be gratified by my superior nap. “What part of it did you like?” he asks, walking slowly in my direction, gaze intent on my face. “The sheets? The pillows? The temperature of the room?”

“All of it.”

“Nothing you’d like to change for tonight?”

I’m beset with confusion. “What do you mean?” It’s hard enough to trust my father to maintain the kids’ schedules during the days while I’m doing Etta’s dirty work. But missing their nighttime routine and my shift at my second job? That would be asking too much from the universe. “I’m not sleeping here tonight. Could we, like, do lunch tomorrow, or something?”

“Lunch?” A muscle snaps in his jaw. “Why can’t you stay the night?”

“I have a job.” Why do I tremble more and more the closer he gets? I’m not scared, per se. I’m more…giddy? Breathless? What is wrong with me? “I have two jobs, actually, and a side hustle.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Live with the disappointment, I guess.”

“ God , you’re a smartass.” His fingers flex around the violin bow in his hand. “What is your second job? Besides the Uber.”

“I would rather not say. But you can ask me about my side hustle.”

I wait.

His right eye begins ticking. “Well?”

“I make paper planes.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how juvenile they sound, but I don’t let the sudden insecurity show. “I’m something of an expert, thanks to making a million of them for my brothers. There are rich kids in town willing to pay me five dollars per plane. Five dollars . For some folded up paper. Crazy.” I shake my head, warming to the story now, despite his silence. “I stumbled into the paper airplane biz by mistake, you know. I took my brothers to the park one day and everyone had kites. Everyone but us. So I sat on the bench and made a paper airplane so we could play catch with it. Suddenly, every kid in a ten-block radius wants one. But I’m not a charity—my time is valuable, bro. I started charging.”

“I don’t understand this,” Koen says, after a prolonged pause. “Most of the time, when people talk I want them to shut the fuck up. But every time you talk, I only discover more questions I want to ask.”

“Go ahead.” I flip my hair. “I know you want to ask me to make you a paper airplane.”

“I…” He trails off, growing visibly bewildered. “I do, actually.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “Got any paper?”

“This is the most ridiculous day of my life.”

“Thank you.”

He’s still studying me with semi-astonishment. “There’s some in my study. Wait here.” Koen begins striding in the opposite direction from which I came, toward a different dark, marble corridor, but he stops before the darkness swallows him. “You’re not to go in my study, Meg. Ever. Is that clear?”

Sensing now is not the time to make a joke, I nod. “Yes.”

He keeps me pinned with his glacial blue stare another moment, before vanishing down the hallway. A minute later he returns holding a single piece of paper between his thumb and index finger, handing it to me. As I’m wont to do, I immediately drop down onto his buff-shined floor in a cross-legged position and start folding the paper.

“There is such a thing as tables, you know.”

“This is faster. And I really have to go.” The room is silent, except for the gentle sound of paper being manipulated. “You know, if you ever needed a side hustle, you could play your violin at the train station. You’d make a killing.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m good?”

“You’re better than good.” I slide my finger down a crease. “Maybe you should learn one or two happy songs, though. For side hustle purposes.”

“If I learn a happy song, will you come back here willingly?”

“Willingly?” I laugh.

A beat passes. “You’re coming back either way, Meg,” he informs me.

I pick up the finished paper airplane, holding it at different angles to study my handiwork, as if my nerves aren’t trapped in a constant tremor. Because, yeah, I believe this man has just threatened to kidnap me. And avoidance is how I plan to handle it?

Yup.

“Are you ready to witness her maiden voyage?” I ask, tremulously.

He hums, holding out a hand to help me to my feet. I place my hand in his grip, unable to breathe when he hauls me up, his head tilted to study my face when I’m at my full height. His gaze skates everywhere—over my mouth, the crown of my head, down to my throat. Did his eyes always glitter like that? Almost…madly?

“It’s better if I stand on a chair or something to get some height,” I say, wetting my parched lips. “Does this work?”

He nods briskly and follows, helping me onto a leather ottoman. “I suppose I should go stand on the other side of the room, so I can catch it?”

“Yes.”

Koen hesitates, his chest going up and down. “You’re not going to fall.”

“No.”

“Here’s hoping you’re better at balancing than you are at swimming.”

I wrinkle my nose at his retreating back. “You want me to come back here and visit you. Why would I do that when you continually insult me?”

When he reaches the other end of the living room and turns, I catch the barest peek at his expression. It’s regret. His mouth is moving, as if he might even be berating himself. “I’ll say something nice again to balance it out.”

I sniff casually, as if I’m not overcome with anticipation.

What is he going to say this time?

“I guess I’ll accept those terms.” I pinch the body of the paper airplane between my thumb and middle finger, holding it aloft and aiming, one eye squinted. And then I let it fly, crossing my fingers that it finds its mark. The plane cuts a path through the cool air of the living room, soaring beautifully straight, eating up the impressive distance while making a swish sound…and Koen catches the folded paper, just as my creation begins to dive.

“Okay, fine.” He dips his chin. “That’s a superior paper airplane.”

Pleased with his compliment, I hop down off the ottoman. “Did you play with them when you were a kid?”

His gaze remains locked on the floor a moment. “No, Meg. I didn’t play, period.”

I don’t know what compels me to cross the room and stand in front of Koen. He’s mean, insulting, bossy and has threatened to kidnap me (I think). But there’s a mournful note in his voice that strikes a chord in me and suddenly, I’m just there. I’m sliding my arms around his neck and holding him tightly, my cheek resting on the space between his pecs while his breath accelerates. Faster, faster.

As much as I’d like to believe I’m trying to get closer to him, so I can convince him to return to his job, I’d be lying to myself.

I’m touching him because I’m drawn to him. In an undeniable way that scares me.

You must stay objective. There’s so much on the line .

But as soon as I attempt to pull away, he crushes me into his embrace, lifting me off the ground and burying his face in my neck, inhaling so deeply, it’s a wonder the air isn’t sucked from my lungs. “Where the hell did you come from?” he rasps.

I can’t stop trembling. “A couple of towns over.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

His head lifts to study me with those mad, blue eyes, fingers shoving into my wild hair and gripping, tugging my head back. “Every little thing you say and do seals your fate, you know,” he says, slicking his tongue up the curve of my throat…and oh my god, oh my god, my sex grows wet, as if he’s commanded it with a single lick. A lick I didn’t even know I wanted. Or that I would like. I whimper and turn damp between my legs, the suddenness of my body’s first response to a man making me shy.

“Koen…”

He lays me down on the couch and peruses the length of me like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, his jaw snapping with tension. Watching his own hand with fascination, he slides two fingers beneath the waistband of my jeans and draws it down slowly, slowly, nearly to my privates, before lunging at the flesh just beneath my navel and lapping it roughly. “Everything I lick becomes mine,” he informs me in the darkest, most resonant voice I’ve ever heard come from a human. And then he proceeds to lick every inch of my skin. My face, my neck and throat, my cleavage, my fingertips, my thighs.

Although he stops just short of licking anything covered by my bra and underwear, within minutes, I’ve soaked through my panties and sobs are firing up from my belly when he flips me over with a snarl and gives my back the same treatment. Licking my entire spine, bottom to top, with a long groan, pulling down my pants and underwear so he can lick the cheeks of my backside, down the backs of my legs to my ankles, locking his teeth around them and growling. I’m covered in wet love marks by the time he tears himself off me and begins to pace in front of the couch, the front of his slacks clearly tented, a fine sheen of sweat covering his tattooed torso.

Why does the sight of his arousal make me yearn so deeply?

As if I would know what the heck to do with a man.

You’d learn for him , says a new, sultry voice in the back of my head. For now, his visible unrest is making my chest feel tight.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He swipes a hand down his face. “I’m trying not to fucking terrify you.” His laughter is dark and humorless. “Hell, I’m trying not to terrify myself.”

“You don’t terrify me,” I murmur.

“Oh, Meg.” He stops pacing in front of me and leans down, whispering two words against my ear that make me wonder if I’m the most na?ve human being alive. “ I should .”

Suddenly, I’m very aware of his tattoos.

The utter violence woven into them. The mayhem and horror.

How many times the artwork includes a scythe. The kind carried by Death.

I was in such a hurry to do as Etta asked, I didn’t stop to consider I’d be putting myself in a whole shitload of danger. She’s asked me to persuade a man who is not to be messed with. Or fooled. And my body is magnetized by him. More than my body.

All of me. Every second that passes, I’m drawn deeper.

“Koen?”

His mouth is still against my ear. “Yes.”

“How did you get this big house? What do you do for living?”

Silence.

“Go to work, Meg.” His hand wraps around my throat. “One way or another, you’ll be back later.”