Chapter 6

6

Jack

If it was medically possible to die from blue balls, I’d be in the morgue.

Lord, what this girl does to me.

Maisy. My Maisy.

We’re in the back of my limousine on the parkway and she’s sitting beside me on the leather seat, head lolling against my shoulder, bun askew. Adorably sleepy. Drowsy from the emotional scene in my office. Drained from the act I committed against her tasty little pussy with my mouth. I never would have flipped the switch and let my employees ogle her naked body, but she doesn’t need to know that. The possibility got her off in time, just like I knew it would, and then I ate her out to calm my jealousy.

Putting her on display wouldn’t have been my drug of choice.

I’m too possessive of her.

She loves it, though. Needs it.

So I’ll find creative ways to make it happen. Ways I can live with.

Simple as that.

There’s nothing simple about what she makes me feel. From a distance, I was obsessed with Maisy. Up close? Having the ability to touch her, talk to her, spoil her? This new reality has added a far deeper level to the infatuation. Made it an addiction. A cult of which I’m the only member. And this fixation has no limits now. It’s going to consume me. Swallow me whole.

Three days.

I have three days to show her the real me. But I’m not even sure who that is.

I know for a fact that I’ve always been driven. Ambitious. As soon as I aged out of the system, I was going to prove to those who abandoned me that they made a huge mistake. I masked the hurt with accomplishments. Money. Control and power. The first time I let my guard down, though, it backfired. I spun out, doubled down on being the most ruthless financier in the game. Am I ready to try being open again?

The stakes are way higher this time. They involve Maisy.

Three days. Three days.

What will she think about me by the end of them?

What does she want to see?

And do I even have whatever she’s hoping for inside of me?

My phone is buzzing in my pocket, but I might wake up Maisy if I answer, so I let it go to voicemail. We’re in her neighborhood now, a place I recognize, because I haven’t always been able to maintain my distance. Sometimes the pictures Kirk sends me aren’t enough and I find myself parked across the street from her building in the middle of the night, holding my breath as she walks from the bus stop to her door. Devouring the sight of her. Memorizing every inch of her and bringing home the images like a dog with a bone.

How different things are this time. I’m not parked in the shadows, I’m bringing the girl home myself. Helping her pack for three days at my estate.

No more lies. Only truths, Jack.

Can I keep that promise and still keep Maisy?

The limousine stops along the curb and I turn my head slightly, dropping a kiss on Maisy’s fragrant hair. She lifts her head and blinks several times, clearly disoriented. “Are we there? Or here?” She rubs her eyes with a fist. “You know what I mean.”

My lips twitch. “We are at your apartment, yes. Can you walk?”

Her yawn is almost childlike. “Think so.”

She drops her head back down on my shoulder, letting out a sweet sigh.

Yeah. My goddamn heart is lodged up beneath my jugular. Does she not care that I’m fucking in love here? She has to go around being cute every second of the day?

After a moment of indecision, I lay her down on the seat and cover her with my suit jacket. I take the keys out of her heart-shaped purse and leave the limousine, walking to the black SUV that followed us from the office. It carries my personal security team and I let them know Maisy is asleep in the limousine and to guard her with their lives. And I don’t enter the building until they’re flocked around the vehicle, facing every direction.

When I step into the apartment, that’s when I finally allow my anger to take hold.

I strike a match on the wall and light my cigar with it, striding into the dump where my angel has been forced to live. Most of the anger is directed at me, for not taking Maisy out of here sooner. But oh yes, quite a bit of the rage goes out to her mother.

My deceitful housekeeper.

I’m here to get Maisy’s things, but instead of walking directly into the room that smells like her—sweet eucalyptus—I detour right in the hallway, finding the door of the other bedroom locked. Clamping the cigar between my teeth, I kick it open and stride inside. My attention immediately zeroes in on a small desk in the corner and in no time, I’ve found a one-way ticket to Belize and a fat envelope full of cash taped beneath the bottom drawer. I collect both, stashing them in my jacket pocket, careful to ash my cigar on her carpet on my way out.

Maisy’s room is a whole different universe. Clean and optimistic and full of blues. Baby blue curtains, a deep sapphire bedspread, periwinkle lights wrapped around the four posters of her bed and I make note of everything. All of it. The slippers tucked neatly under the bed, which will be tucked under mine tonight. The firmness of her pillows. The to-do list on her nightstand.

Take a testis scribbled on the very top.

A lump builds in my throat. At this very moment, Maisy could be pregnant with my child. My son or daughter could be growing in her belly. I know jack shit about being a father, but when I get my chance—because I have to believe she’ll stay or I’ll go insane—I swear I’ll figure it out. I’ll never abandon a child. Never put them through an uncertain youth or force them to rely on the pity of others. I could…have my first family.

The sheer amount of hope that thought gives me is almost too much.

I have to put the thoughts aside and focus, mostly because I don’t want to leave Maisy downstairs much longer. Want her back leaning on my shoulder again, too.

Cigar still lit in my mouth, I find a suitcase in the back of her closet and fill it with basics. Pajamas, shoes, socks, dresses. If I have anything to say about it, she’s not going to be wearing this thrift store shit much longer anyway. I’m making good time, but when I reach the underwear drawer, God help me, I get a little distracted.

“Mmmm.” I finger the crotch of some light, white panties. Identical to the ones she’s wearing right now. I bring them to my mouth and inhale roughly, groaning over the knowledge that she’s worn them over her pussy. Slept in them, crossed her legs in them, giggled in them.

I drag them down my chest and rub the bunched material against my cock, tipping my head back and imagining Maisy humping me through her panties, rocking her hips and trying anxiously to get off. “God yes, baby…”

I’m not going to come. Not until she decides my punishment has fit the crime. But God it’s so tempting when I’m standing right there in her bedroom, her bras and panties at my fingertips. How easy it would be to put a pile of them on the bed, unzip my pants and ride the thick mound of them—

The front door of the apartment creaks open.

I hear a gasp and it isn’t Maisy.

I don’t pay a lot of attention to my housekeeper. I’m almost always at the office when she’s at my home. Occasionally I pass her on the way through the door if I’ve knocked off earlier than usual—and we say a quick hello. But I’ve definitely employed her long enough to recognize her voice.

“Who is here?” she calls, nervous.

Instead of answering, I wait until she comes into view in Maisy’s doorway.

Her eyes almost bug out of her head. Whether it’s my presence alone that alarms her or because I’m holding a pair of her daughter’s panties, I can’t say, but her attention swings from me to the open suitcase on the bed.

“Mr. Lincoln.” She opens her mouth, closes it. “What is this? Where is my daughter?”

Call me a bastard, but I take great pleasure informing her of the situation. “She’s coming home with me. Permanently, if I get my way. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure I do.”

If possible, her eyes widen even more. “I-I don’t understand.”

I take a handful of underwear and drop it into the suitcase, followed by Maisy’s headphones, some toiletries and a framed picture of her in a graduation gown. Then I close the lid and engage the buckles. “I’ve been abandoned, Miss Whitaker. I know what it’s like to think it’s your fault. To wait and wonder and be disappointed when no one shows.” My lips pull back from my teeth. “Knowing you were going to force that kind of baggage on her…”

What I’m implying dawns on her, but instead of looking ashamed over her plans to make for greener pastures and leave her daughter behind, she sprints for her bedroom, wailing in frustration when she finds her stash missing. There’s a loud crash, the sound of fists hitting the floor, drawers slamming.

“You can’t do this!” she screeches, sprinting back down the hallway and throwing herself at my feet. “I earned that money. It’s mine!”

I pick up the suitcase and step over her, perfectly content to walk out the door with not so much as a single glance back. “You’re fired.”

It’s not until I reach the limousine that I start to feel shitty.

There’s my angel, curled up and trusting that she’s safe and sound, which she is. I won’t have it any other way. But how would she have handled her mother? A lot different than I just did, I’m guessing. She’s already shown me how forgiving she can be, allowing me three days to win her over after I broke an important promise.

And put her money into a twenty-month trust to benefit myself.

Man, I’m a bastard.

When she sits up and smiles at me through a yawn, I can’t even bring myself to tell her what happened. That I just fired her mother without letting the woman plead her case. Took back what I consider rightfully Maisy’s without a second thought.

A cutthroat attitude is what makes me a nightmare when negotiating a deal or making risky investments, but I’m starting to worry I could have used a little more finesse. Or understanding. The way Maisy would have done.

Especially when we’re halfway home and she slides her hand into mine between us on the seat, placing trust in me that I’ve already started to bend without thinking.

I have to do better.

Starting now, I will be the kind of man who deserves her.

I’ll figure out what that means.

And pray it’s not too late.