Chapter Twelve

Exposure

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T HE SILENCE AT THE table was deafening. She’d taken her seat immediately after his say-so, horrified at both the fact she’d needed to ask permission and the way her body had responded to the call to submit. Heat had grown between her thighs, making it impossible for her to sit still, and her nipples grazed the thin back lace covering them, as though the buds longed for his attention.

No . She pressed her palms against the table, trying to distract herself. I don’t.

I can’t...

It was one thing to lust after the man bailing her out of the deep pit she’d fallen into, but quite another to dress as his maid, serve him dinner, and still yearn for him.

He’d said he liked how easily her complexion blushed, but as she nibbled at a piece of pigeon, he made no comment of her obviously coloring cheeks.

“Very good.” He placed down his cutlery and pushed his empty plate away as if he expected her to leap up and clear the table. Hell, based on her current situation, perhaps he did. “You haven’t eaten much.”

“No, I’m...” She reached for her water, resentful that she hadn’t been offered any of the wine he seemed to be quaffing. “I’m not that hungry.” The recent dose of humiliation had stripped her of most of her appetite and honestly, she had found the game too rich for her tastes.

Kyle frowned. “I don’t like wasting food in this house, Amy.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Shame bubbled amidst her confused indignation. He was chastising her—again—and even though she was loath to admit it, the telling off commanded hot arousal to flood her pussy.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she was inclined to agree with him. Used to eating whatever was available, her lack of money had ensured not being wasteful was a rule she still lived by. Remorse flickered in her as she spoke.

“I’m not used to eating pigeon.”

“There’s a lot of game in this house.” His tone was unapologetic. “If you stay, you’ll need to acquire an appetite for it.”

“Okay.” She glanced at her lap, unable to process the myriad of competing emotions assailing her.

Kyle had the power to intensify every situation. Whether it was the way he talked to her or the way she reacted to his approach, she’d felt constantly out of her depth in his presence.

“Clear the plates, please.” He blew out a breath as though the conversation was exhausting. “Chef should have the second course soon.”

“Should I leave them in the vestibule, sir?” She was on her feet, piling the plates for her to carry.

Even as she worked, she knew it was wrong for him to treat her that way. She merited more respect. Yet the consistent pleas to stay and endure—her financial hardship and the allure of her enigmatic boss—were strong. She knew Kyle would have to do something far graver to derail her from the fifty thousand, and she hadn’t yet given up hope of sticking around to earn more. He had the kind of money that blurred boundaries, especially for a woman who’d spent her life struggling with the currency.

“Take them to the kitchen.” He looked weary as he explained. “Cook can advise you.”

She took the plates away without waiting for further comment, though she noticed how her head hung a little lower than it had on her last journey. Shame compelled it south, perhaps, though whether it was the weight of her own moral compass or his apparent disappointment, she couldn’t say. Passing through the small hallway, she pushed open one of the huge double doors to the kitchen and carried the starter plates to the steel basin.

“Are ya going to clean those for me, lass?” Leonard glanced up from the dishes he was standing over.

“No,” she snapped, hoping beyond reason that he hadn’t just described the next role on her seeming neverending list. “I’m only clearing the table.”

“Right. You can take these through while you’re here.” He barely suppressed a chuckle as he collected the next course and carried the two plates out to the waiting table.

Scurrying after him, she concurred. Limiting the number of times that she and the cook had to interact was just fine by her.

“Duck l’orange.” He motioned curtly to the plates, his Scottish accent grating. “Get them in there while it’s still hot.”

Fuck you.

She glared at the idiot as he stalked away, painfully aware of her scantily-clad attire. She might have been foolish to dress up for Kyle, but she certainly hadn’t done so for Leonard. The rotund asshole was creepy, and as far as she was concerned, he could go to hell.

Waiting until he’d returned to the kitchen, she collected the plates of food and served them to Kyle. She had to admit, the duck looked good and as she placed down his dish, the tasty aroma of the food goaded her empty stomach.

This time, she didn’t wait for the degrading dressing down. Instead, once she’d placed her plate down, she shuffled into position and braced for what was to come.

“Sir, please, may I sit and eat at your table?”

It was still an absurdly humbling thing to have to ask, but strangely, she noticed how it jarred a little less than the first time she’d been obliged to speak.

“Yes...” He strung the word out into one lengthy syllable. “But I’d like to see more of you first.”

More of her?

Their gazes locked. Was he mad? There really wasn’t much more she could display without being half-naked.

“Sir?” Her throat dried as she prompted him.

“Those wonderful breasts of yours.” His right hand rose, skimming over the thin silk separating his fingers from her nipple. “Let me see them.”

“But...” Time protracted as the room around her started to spin.

Except, nothing was spinning. She knew that.

“Perhaps I’ll see more of your tight little butt later, too.” His smile was dangerous, and all at once, the answer to the riddle that had been dancing around her head, plaguing her since the prior night, burst into her mind.

He was dangerous.

His smile, his easy self-assurance, his house, and his money—all of it was one giant stop sign she should have run from, but for some reason, she tripped straight through every one of the red flags and found herself there. At his table. At that moment.

“But first, Amy... your tits, please.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal, sir.” She was already in far too deep, but standing there, she swore she sensed the tide rising higher over her head. “That wasn’t what we agreed.”

She couldn’t believe it had to be said. It was one thing to dress like a maid to satisfy his whims, but actually stripping? She wasn’t all right with that. There was nothing all right about that.

“Clause seven, Amy.” His expression was hard as he held her gaze. “ Remember what you agreed to?”

“Yes,” she started, “but—”

“Let me help,” he interrupted, reaching into his jacket pocket.

She watched, panting, as he unfurled the sheets of paper he’d stored there, smoothing them out on the table in front of her. As though he’d expected the exact conversation they were having, she noticed he’d already highlighted the clause he was referring to in bright yellow ink.

“Here it is. Clause seven.” He pointed to the appropriate words. “Mrs. Kendal will be responsible for all and any other duties Mr. Kyle deems appropriate for the duration of the contract.”

Shit, she had agreed to that.

“Yes, but I didn’t think you meant anything like this.” She motioned to herself, realizing she was close to tears. “It doesn’t say I have to undress!”

Kyle had managed to systemically humiliate her since she’d arrived, and while a part of her had reveled in his dominant attention, another part was struggling to cope. She might have been poor before they’d met, but at least she’d had some self-respect. What kind of woman exposed herself to meet contractual requirements?

The answer floated around her mind in reply.

The kind who dresses up like a kinky maid to please her boss.

The kind who likes it.

Me.

“It meant anything I said,” he replied flatly. “Maybe I should have added a line about wanting your unquestioning obedience, as well?”

She closed her eyes, fighting the well of tears threatening to break. She couldn’t pin down if the emotion was derived from embarrassment, disgust, or self-awareness. She did like the way he made her feel, but she hadn’t been ready for his crude order.

“So, the choice is yours.” His resignation echoed around her. “Either comply, or you have the right to end the agreement and walk away. I’ll ask Stevens to take you home.”

“I don’t have a home.” Despite her defiance, her voice crackled with her emotion.

“Of course.” His brow rose, as though he’d forgotten her plight. “To a hotel, then.”

I don’t have any money for a hotel, and you know it.

She managed to hold that line back.

“What happens to the money if I leave, sir?” The knotting in her tummy said she already knew the answer.

“There is no financial remuneration unless you complete the seven-day trial.” His finger trailed a line to the relevant clause in the blasted contract. “It says so right here.”

Of course, it does.

“I have another question.” Her fingers clung to each other as she waited for his verdict.

“My food is getting cold, Amy. Make it fast.”

“I just wondered why.” Why do you want to disgrace me?

“Why what?” He collected the clean cutlery and started work on his duck.

“Why must I be topless?”

He smiled as though she was nothing but an amusing child. “Because if your tits are anywhere near as good as I think they are, I want to see them.”

She flinched at the back-handed compliment. So, he thought she was attractive but wanted to demonstrate his admiration by forcing her to strip during dinner. Kyle was a living contradiction.

“At d-dinner, sir?”

“Any. Time.” He emphasized the point by punctuating the words. “All the time if I wish. That’s the point, Amy. The contract you signed gives me complete control over you for its duration.”

Complete control.

She squeezed her eyes closed, knowing she certainly hadn’t agreed to that, yet was oddly affected by the idea. It made no sense to her, but she was aroused by the dominant state of attention he offered her, even if she didn’t love the implications.

“Oh.” She didn’t have an answer for his candor. The words tangling in her head were impossible to force past her lips.

“So, what’s your answer?” he demanded. “It’s getting late.”

Glancing down at the plate of food, she wished she had the will to resist. Wished that she could tell him to shove his maid’s outfit up his ass before she walked out of his exquisite house and never looked back. But she wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

Without Kyle and his money, there was no hope for the future, but scarier still was the thought that if she walked out of his house now, she might never meet another man who made her feel the way he did.

“Okay.” Tears blurred her vision as she scooped her breasts from the fabric and exposed them to the air. “You win, Mr. Kyle.”