8. Connor O’Doyle

Chapter 8

Connor O’Doyle

Calmeth thy titties.

I walk toward the laughter and steady hum of voices, the bustle from the ballroom reverberating loudly through the castle. At least everyone seems to be in good spirits.

I sweep the dark cloak behind me and adjust the fake fangs in my mouth, checking one last time in a large mirror that everything is in place. Today, I am Dracula.

Vlad would be keeling over with laughter if he saw me wearing this—or maybe not, since he’s always had more than enough to say about my suits. But, if this works, it will be well worth it.

Even Felix came back with numbers higher than even I expected from the risk assessment. A Dracula immersive experience would sell and continue to sell for decades. He also mentioned that anything we add to the castle is an asset, so creating a week-long event with two dinners and a gala is going to boost the castle’s success exponentially. If only the staff would get in line.

I pray the choreography lessons go smoothly.

I take a deep breath and open the side door to slip into the ballroom without issue. The light-blue walls are decorated with various pieces of art that I placed haphazardly, and dotted about the room is furniture that I will be storing in the empty catacombs soon. The waiters look like penguins, just how they did more than a hundred years ago.

My mouth creases into a frown. The maids’ dresses seem to be a tad short, but I am sure something can be done or added.

“Excuse me,” I say when I’m forced to sidestep a male flailing his arms widely, and he almost clips me in the jaw.

He moves out of the way, and I stride past him, smiling and nodding in greeting at whoever meets my eyes. The stylist person should be here somewhere.

A scent hits my nose and I sniff the air discreetly with a frown. How does her scent keep changing? I unblock my nostrils fully and groan as her undiluted aroma touches my nose. My gods, she smells exquisite.

I see her in the small crowd of staff, and my brows narrow at her face.

“What are you wearing?” I almost groan, my dick immediately jerking when I notice the glossiness of her lips.

Somehow they look plumper, more kissable, and the last thing I need is to find them so delectable I could start nipping at them in a room full of employees. How she has this effect on me, I’ll never know.

Her lightly tanned skin looks flawless, almost reflecting the smallest glittering highlight. A rosiness that usually isn’t present in her cheeks except for when she’s flushing, makes her appear warmer, as one might be when aroused—like in the dream I had of her. The lightest golden eyeshadow turns the amber of her eyes far more mesmerizing than I remember, and she flutters dark eyelashes at me, making my damn stomach clench.

“I’m wearing what you made us all wear, obviously,” Whitley sings, misunderstanding me. Then she waves to her outfit, and what she’s wearing grabs my attention. “Are you happy now?”

My gaze dips and I know I’m doomed.

Holy shit. I know what all the costumes are to look like, since I approved them with the designer, but she should not look that fucking erotic in it.

Her arms fold over her voluptuous chest, and I have to hold back a growl, unsure if it is at her petulant tone, or because I want to start panting after her skirts like when I was a younger lad back in the 1800s. I take her by the elbow before she can amass even more attention and walk toward the edge of the balcony. I breathe in fresh air, avoiding looking anywhere near her chest again.

“Not particularly, no.” I answer her through clenched teeth, need making my jaw muscles pop. “What will make me happy, Miss Whitt, is for all the staff to present themselves to guests in costume three times a week.”

“I cannot believe you,” she says, and it’s clear she’s trying to keep her ire in check.

At least I’ve managed to distract her from how my blood is boiling... straight into my trousers.

I take a glance at her and can’t withhold my grin.

Her cheeks that moments ago were warm, are now a splotchy red beneath her sexy makeup as rage bleeds from her eyes.

“Is wearing a pretty dress all that bad?” I murmur, admitting that she really does make for a delectable, albeit fiery chef.

“Pretty dress?” she splutters, holding her hands out wide while I avoid looking at anything remotely inappropriate and laugh at her obvious discomfort. “This is funny to you? Seriously?”

“Calm down, woman. It is no different than what anyone else is wearing.”

It’s no different, and yet I want to remove every set of eyeballs that got a look at her before I did. I gesture for her to join me on the balcony, glad she doesn’t make more of a scene and just tips that pert nose into the air. I’ll be damned if I argue in front of the staff with her.

“Come here.” I tug her arm, which she quickly pulls away from me, looking affronted.

Once I close the glass doors, she hisses between her teeth, “I am not wearing this.”

The challenge in her tone makes me raise my head. The wench will come to heel or so help me.

“You will wear the uniform just like everyone else, Miss Whitt.” I level a finger at the stone beneath our feet to punctuate my point.

“If that’s the case, then why are we out here arguing?” She arches a brow, and I glance behind her at the glass double doors.

Everyone inside is waiting with bated breath and watching us like a TV sports spectacle. For fuck’s sake. Okay, instead of dragging her away, I should have just treated her professionally like I would anyone else, but I can’t seem to ignore this petulant woman.

“Because you always have to argue.” How the brat can’t see she does just that is beyond me.

“Me?” she asks, indicating at herself.

“Yes, you. Just do as I ask, Miss Whitt,” I say, turning back toward the double balcony doors. “You are the only one who seems to have a problem with the new attire.”

“Are you kidding me right now? Do you even see the dress in front of you, or are you so thick that you’re deliberately trying to lie to yourself? I cannot wear this in public, Connor.”

Her nose wrinkles as she stares down at herself, and I fight to keep my gaze off her breasts, failing miserably.

My name on her lips does something to me.

My brows draw together, and I scowl as I turn and look at her. Deep chocolate-colored hair falls to her shoulder in waves, so soft-looking I have an overwhelming urge to claw my way into the alluring tresses, and her eyes are a melted caramel that I want to bathe in. My gaze dips lower and bountiful breasts come into sight, practically falling out of her corset. Shit, she needs a fichu—it would give her more coverage. The head chef costume is a bit formfitting, molding around her voluptuous hourglass curves perfectly. Gods, she is a temptress—a foul-mouthed brat of a temptress.

I’ve had this reaction to a human before, where Jekyll has needed to step in with one of his antidotes. Half-magic, half-science in their properties, I stopped asking what’s in the concoctions ages ago, but all of us are more than aware of the issues I have with my nose and the rare instances when a woman rubs me the wrong way. Usually, it’s because a scent is abhorrent to me, not one that makes me drool like a starving dog being dangled a treat.

“Calm your tits,” I blurt rudely, not truly thinking before I speak.

“What did you just say to me?” she asks as her lips part. Rage encompasses her features, and she rushes at me and smacks me in the shoulder.

“Stop that,” I bark at her. “Have some sense of decorum in front of other staff members.”

At least they can’t hear what I’m saying, but they are surely watching her having a tantrum—with her employer, no less!

“God, you are such a dick,” she shouts, causing birds to fly from the trees in alarm.

“Calmeth thy titties,” I say with a snort, laughing at my own joke.

She makes a sound like a wounded bull and charges at me, and my eyes go wide. “Oh shit.”

I grab her arms as she swings them to attack me, then pin them above her head, pushing my weight into her and trapping her against the stone balcony.

“You need to just calm yourself.” I scowl down at her, willing her to obey for one moment in her fucking life as she wiggles and squirms.

“Let me go!”

“ Calm down .” My voice is a rumble, coming from somewhere deep inside me, and the telltale yellow that indicates my beast is near the surface flashes in my mind. Whatever medicine Jekyll had me take has obviously done fuck all.

Her eyes fly wide as her heart clips in her chest, stuttering along with her breath. She gasps loudly and I stare at her askance, wondering if she’s attempting to trick me into letting her go.

“What is it?” I ask, not loosening my hold.

She starts to squirm anew, and I step back, my brows pinching in concern when she begins tapping at her chest. She wheezes, her face a deep red, and I realize what the problem is.

Shit.

“Fuck, I don’t have anything on me,” I blurt, patting my pockets for a knife that I know doesn’t exist.

I whirl her around, blocking her from seeing my claw, and slice through the ribbons holding her corset together, allowing her to breathe.

“Why in the fuck couldn’t you just say it’s too small?” I wince at how that must sound. My face pinches as I pull the laces further when the normal cadence of her heart returns. “That’s not what I mean. Not—not that it’s too small. Y-y-you’re not big, I’m big,” I blurt, before running my hand through my hair. “I am fucking this up. You are perfect. I mean—shit.”

The words flow unbidden, and I’m now certain some force has overtaken my life and proceeded to take a big fat dump on it, because this is by far the worst day of my life. That is including the time Vlad decided to shove me over a waterfall in Elgin because I said it looked like it would be fun.

I try to let her go, but she pushes back into my chest, forcing me to suck in a hard breath.

“Why in the fuck would you cut it back there?” she asks, suddenly tugging her dress to her front.

“If you would have only told me what the bloody hell the problem was, you infuriating woman, this wouldn’t be happening right now,” I rumble out next to her ear, and the skin along her neck lights up with goosebumps. Fuck me.

I leap into action, tugging the back of her laces tight in my fist and turn her back around, trying to touch as little skin as possible.

Our gazes clash, and I hold up my hand to stop her retort.

“Before you open your delectable—albeit foolish—mouth, shut up and listen.” If looks could kill, I would be ten feet under, and yet she still begins to talk. I slap my palm over her mouth, which seems to startle her. “I’m sorry I left my how-to-undo-a-corset-quickly pamphlet at home this morning. I should have let you choke.” My voice is a low rumble as I remind her she couldn’t bloody breathe, and the fight leaves her.

I let her go and grip the laces tightly, trying and failing not to notice how her breasts shove beneath her chin and I want to rub my face all over them.

Bright red paints over her as easily as an artist to canvas, and she goes stock still. My gaze sweeps down over the hills and valleys of her curves and my cock stiffens further.

“Now what do we do?” she asks.

I groan, unsure of her meaning when her layer-covered backside presses against my hip.

“What?” I ask, pushing thoughts of her and her breasts from my mind, shaking my head at the effect her perfume is having on me.

She gestures at the ballroom doors with an empty hand, attempting to hold her dress up as I stand behind her like a bloody servant, her laces wrapped in my fist.

“Shut up for once and let me handle this, alright?” I tell her with unnecessary bite while pushing down my rampant need to dominate her.

“Why not, Connor ? You’ve done so well so far. Lead the way. Oh, right, you can’t,” she says through clenched teeth, and tosses her hair back while holding the dress to her front.

She storms back into the castle, chin held high, and I’m forced to follow her inside, unwilling to stop her little tirade. It’s better for her to question why I cut them that way rather than with what .

Snickers and giggles erupt as everyone sees what has happened. Her dress is in shambles and I trail after her like a buffoon. She stops in the middle of the ballroom, and I almost mow her down.

“Dammit, woman,” I curse under my breath.

“Do you want to say something or should I?” she sneers, and I want to swat her, which leads me to her curvaceous figure and how I would love to swat it .

Fuck me, what is she wearing to do this to me? I will need to call Jekyll as soon as possible. The vial he sent is obviously not working.

“Right.” I clear my throat and slow my pulse to keep my cool. “Ladies and gentlemen, due to unforeseeable circumstances, the dress rehearsal will reconvene tomorrow at the same time in the morning to assess our costume and uniform needs. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to reach out to Allan on this matter.” I glance around the room, trying to find the short man, and pause when I see him walk into my periphery. “I hope to see you all in the morning. In the meantime, steady on.”

“Steady on? Who even says that?” she snort-laughs.

The beautiful termagant does not stop.

“Miss Whitt, if we can get through this with as little fuss as possible, that would be grand. Now, shall we?”

I gesture ahead with my arm—the one not holding a fist full of dress—and of course she huffs at me like all of this is my fault. My nostrils flare as she stomps away, and I can do nothing but follow closely behind.

“Where are we going?” I mutter, accepting that I must follow her until she can right herself.

“Back to my room, obviously, since you cut my dress apart. Or do you have something better to do?” Her tone is hard and cold as she starts toward the grand staircase.

“How the hell did you even get it on?”

“Maria helped me.”

“Does Maria specialize in nautical knots?” I gripe while I tug at the laces.

She laughs. “Actually, I’m pretty sure her dad’s a fisherman.”

“That would explain it.”

We reach the staircase leading up to the north wing, and as she steps up, I get a glimpse of her boots, black, scuffed, and worn. They’re so at odds with the dress that it’s laughable.

“Did you not have shoes?”

She stiffens at that, pausing on the steps, and looks over her shoulder at me. “Shoes were not included.”

She turns back around and resumes ascending the marble steps. I watch, intrigued as her exposed skin pinkens in splotches. She really is a little spitfire—a hellcat.

“I guess we may need to redesign the head chef uniform,” I say by way of apology, ill at ease with how I have treated this woman.

I have never spoken to a woman thusly, and my only excuse is that she has some way of getting under my skin, or better yet, her perfume does. It will be leaving the castle as soon as I find where she keeps the fucking shit.

“You think?” she mutters, and my teeth grind.

We reach the gray-and-blue painted hallway and fall into a stilted silence before she stops at her room. Uncovered skin meets my gaze when I glance down, the back of her dress having somehow fallen apart further.

“You’re coming undone,” I tell her as she opens the door.

“I know. I’ve been holding it this entire time. If you had cut the front instead of the back, this wouldn’t have happened,” she huffs, and I can easily imagine smoke curling from her nose as if she’s a pissed-off dragon lady. “Now let’s just get one thing straight here, bud. The only uniform I need to be wearing is my chef uniform, not some silly dress. I don’t need to be worried about ruining it while I’m cooking and doing my job, and I don’t need you to tell me what I should wear in my kitchen.”

My humor evaporates as heat flashes through my body when her heady aroma spills thickly from her room, and my heart begins to pound. She would argue with a fucking wall.

My blood simmers and I breathe in lightly to control my temper. “You will do as I tell you, Miss Whitt . I understand that a new uniform may be in order simply because of today’s predicament, but make no mistake, I run this castle. No matter what happens, and whether you wish it or not, I require cosplay .”

“I’m sorry, but what? Why all of a sudden, after a month, do you insist on cosplay?” Her cute face scrunches up adorably and... I have got to get out of here.

She fumes and tugs her dress away, pushing inside her suite, and I foolishly follow her.

I could tell her it was all Aubrey’s idea, but she doesn’t need to be informed of jack shit. She just needs to do as she’s told.

“Sorry to disappoint, little love.” My nostrils flare and my gaze hardens. “You will perform all the responsibilities required, or you can forget your bonus.”

Whitley Whitt

I gasp. The thought that this is some cruel joke rings in my ears with deliverance. Oh, this motherfucker is such a dick .

“This is because you don’t like me, isn’t it?” I ask, skillfully holding the front of my dress while the back gapes open without his assistance, threatening to fall from me.

“What?” he says with complete affront, his broad back turning around just as his hand reaches for the bedroom door. “What are you on about now, you daft woman.”

“Daft?!” Oh my god, I will kill him! I search my room for a weapon, but maybe I can just choke him to death with my bare hands.

He blanches, wincing in apology. “You asked if it was because I didn’t like you.”

“Excuse me?” Heat rises off my skin and my scalp burns. “You would force me to make a hazard in my own kitchen and then you have the audacity to call me daft?”

He shakes his head, his face blushing a bit, but no way am I taking pity on the bastard.

“And I cannot believe you told me to calm my tits.” My nostrils flare as I grip the silly dress.

My thoughts go back to how he laughed earlier on the balcony, thinking it was funny. I guess it is kinda funny but fuck him. He smirks, his lips curving up on both sides, and I lose it.

I pick up the first thing I can and throw it at him. He catches the pillow with ease and sets it aside.

“I think there has been some miscommunication. Don’t get mad at me. I’m not the one who didn’t start the email with ‘cannot breathe, need adjustments’—that is all you had to say.”

He stands inside my bedroom, telling me how I should have worded my email to him?

“If you could keep your mouth shut and listen for five minutes, this wouldn’t be a problem,” I yell, snatching up my bathrobe and wrapping it around my chest.

Piercing blue eyes darken, his lips thinning as he straightens his suit and starts adjusting his tie. “Go on?”

“You’re upset with how I worded my email.” I stab at the ground with my pointer finger, uncaring that I probably look like a lunatic and should tell him to piss off so I can get dressed. “When you’re not the one being forced to try to do your job wearing a corset.”

“It’s only for a few hours a couple of days a week. What’s the big deal?” He holds his hands out, his gaze wild like he can’t believe what I’m saying. “It’s for playacting. Most everyone thinks it’s fun, except for you.”

“I didn’t sign up for being put on display for people. This”—I gesture at myself—“was never in the fine print.” I am far more comfortable in my uniform and my sweats, but not only that, it really is a fire hazard—I wouldn’t joke about that. “Not to mention, I don’t know how I’m expected to cook in it when I can’t see over my own boobs.”

“Ah. I can see how that would be an issue.”

I turn and his gaze lands on the open cleavage of my robe, as I pull the corset out from under it. I shuffle to hide my breasts, on the verge of having a nipple slip out.

“I hate you,” I yell, throwing the next thing in my hand, the destroyed corset.

He catches it and flips it around. “See you did up the laces incorrectly. And, if you hadn’t tied it so tightly—Oh my.” His eyes go round as they focus back on me.

I can just imagine how I look with my boobs almost out for him to see.

I have never been madder in my life. “Get out.”

“Fine. I will meet with the stylist to discuss what we can do about your wardrobe,” he says, still standing in my bedroom, his gaze squarely on my chest.

“Get the fuck out , Connor!”

At his name, he tenses, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He doesn’t say anything else, just pivots and strides to the door, his shoulders straight-backed, rigid anger lining his frame.

My body is shaking, my heart thundering in my chest with rage.