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Chapter 8

8

Jack

After I put Maisy to bed last night, there was an urgent matter at work, so I was forced to spend the evening yelling in my office, instead of feeding her dinner and bathing her, the way I craved to do. I had a member of the staff bring a tray to her room and draw her a bath, however, and once the matter was settled, I checked in on her.

Nine or ten times.

Seeing her in the guest room bed, fragrant from a bath and exhausted from rough sex, filled me with a bone-deep satisfaction. I can only imagine what it’ll be like to see her sleeping in mine. God willing, I won’t have much longer to wait. She’s mine and her beautiful head belongs on the pillow next to mine. My arms are empty without her there.

With a determined wrist flick, I adjust the collar of my shirt and leave my bedroom.

Of course, I put Maisy in the room directly across from mine—and I’m surprised to see the door open now. The maid is inside making her bed, but there’s no sign of Maisy. Ordering myself not to give in to the sudden panic in my gut, I nonetheless fly down the stairs and into the dining room, slowing only when I see her at the table, sipping orange juice and staring up at the chandelier with an expression of wonder.

Oh thank God. Thank God.

“Good morning,” I clear my throat to say, sitting across from her. The Wall Street Journal is automatically placed in front of me, along with a mug of black coffee. Toast and a sliced hard-boiled egg. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I had cereal with a banana on top,” she whispers, watching the maid hustle around with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

“You slept well.”

She blinks. “Was that a question?”

I give her a glimpse at my obsession. Let it kindle in my eyes until her knuckles are white around her orange juice glass. That’s right, angel. I’m always watching. “No. It wasn’t.”

Maisy takes a slow breath, letting it out unsteadily.

Yesterday when I brought her home, took her down to the game room…we had fun.

More fun than I remember having in a long time. Maybe ever.

The combination of exertion, the challenge and chase, that fizzy giggle of hers…there was no way I could keep my cock locked up. Not entirely. I needed in. Needed Maisy on her back, legs spread, screaming with pleasure. And I got it. Got more than I could ever hope for in a fantasy. But I’m left right on the edge now. Hungry, hard, aching.

How long can I keep myself in check?

Maisy twists her orange juice on the table, appearing steeped in thought, and I find myself eager to pry her apart. To find out what she’s thinking. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says too quickly. “I’m just…” She glances toward the entrance of the dining room. “Won’t my mother be here any minute?”

Jesus.

I forgot where things stood with her mother. Forgot I even fired her.

If that doesn’t prove I’m a heartless bastard unworthy of Maisy, nothing will.

No more lies. Only truths, Jack.

Bracing for the fallout, I take a long sip of my hot coffee and set it down. “She won’t be coming, angel.”

Her startled gaze flies to mine. “Why? Did you…fire her?”

To my surprise, she seems to accept that this was inevitable. “Yes.”

“When?” she breathes, drawing her hands into her lap.

I hesitate to answer, which makes sense, since I don’t want Maisy to be pissed. But it doesn’t make sense, as well. Because I’ve warned her—and proven—repeatedly that I’m an unrepentant asshole. Nothing should be coming as a shock at this point.

“Yesterday,” I say carefully. “She came home when I was packing your things.”

“It happened in person?” She sits forward. “Did you tell her why?”

“Yes.” My throat constricts. God, this explanation is going to require me to hurt Maisy, isn’t it? Yes. It is. Because I promised honesty. I told her no more lies and now I just have to hope that when this conversation is over, she can sort through my steaming rubble and find a man she can tolerate beyond two more days. “Maisy, I went into her room and found a one-way plane ticket to Belize. And money. Taped under her desk. I’m…sorry, angel.”

A beat passes. “Oh,” she whispers, a line forming between her brows. “What happened to all of it? The ticket and the money?”

“It’s in my safe now.”

“You took it?” Her voice raises an octave. “Took it all? And fired her?”

Here it comes.

“She was going to abandon you.” By the time I hear the chill in my tone, it’s too late to do anything about it. “She lied. Neglected you on purpose.”

“That might be true, but you could have asked me. We could have talked about how to handle this.” Her eyes search the surface of the table. “She’s my mother!”

“And that makes her special? Immune to consequences?”

She throws up her hands. “Kind of. Yes. Don’t you have a mother?”

“No. I don’t.”

Maisy flinches. “Oh, Jack…” A moment passes while she seems to gather herself. I find I have to gather myself, too. I’m too exposed. This isn’t the first time I’ve admitted to growing up with certain challenges, but it’s somehow completely different in front of Maisy. The wound is more tender when she’s the one examining it. She sees more of me than anything. All the shortcomings I need to hide if I want her to love me. “I’m sorry,” she says finally. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I say briskly, adjusting the newspaper.

She reaches across the table and lays a hand on my wrist. “Will you talk to me about it sometime? When you’re ready?”

Unable to look at her, I incline my head. And promptly divert the focus of the conversation. “Are you telling me you’d have let her keep the money?”

Maisy takes back her hand, thinks for a moment. “Yes. I don’t know why she made those decisions, but…I don’t love her any less because of them. And sometimes when you love something or someone, you have to let them fly away, right? You have to accept that the thing that’s going to fulfill them or make them happy…isn’t you.”

I bark a humorless laugh. “Bullshit. In what world, Maisy, are you not the most fulfilling part of a person’s life?”

This simple question appears to throw her for a loop. “Maybe you see me differently than she does,” she murmurs. “Whatever her reason…I don’t want her stripped of her job and future, Jack. My eyes are open now and that’s more valuable than revenge.”

She’s too good for you.

Her heart is too pure.

I’m nasty soot on the inside and she’s clean light.

Is it too much to hope that I can learn from her? Or is too late for me?

I clear my throat hard. “You can return the money and plane ticket to her. In your own time. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes. Thank you,” she breathes, tension draining from her shoulders.

“But I won’t employ her again. Not after she hurt you.”

Maisy nods. “I understand.” Finally, she takes a sip of her orange juice and I watch, rapt, as she licks the excess moisture from her lips, my dick a stiff pike under the table. “I missed work last night. I’ll need to call my boss and explain I won’t be back for two more days.”

“Tell them you won’t be back at all.”

Her eyes flash with challenge. “I don’t know that for sure. I have to give proper notice.”

I grind my back teeth, barely resisting the urge to throw my steaming mug of coffee against the wall. My Maisy might be pure, but she’s stubborn as hell. And I have no doubt that if she doesn’t find and fall for the real Jack within the next two days, she will absolutely go back to scrubbing floors, even with the first hundred thousand in her bank account.

And I’ll turn into a stark raving mad man. “I want to give you everything,” I say, evenly as possible. “Home, comfort, safety. Everything you see behind me.” Deliberately, I let my tone drop way down. “Baby, I want to give you sex. The kind you didn’t even know you needed until I was inside you.”

A flush climbs her throat, her eyelids drifting down slightly. “I know what you can give me, Jack. I’m more worried about what you can’t.” She studies me with a wrinkled brow. “You’re still hiding. Do you want to be found?”

“I don’t know,” I say hoarsely.

After a brief stare down across the table, she nods. “When are you leaving for work?”

“I’m not.” I rear back a little, coffee cup poised near my mouth. “Did you think I would waste my three days?”

Her features register surprise. “What are we doing instead?”

I think back to the arrangements I made last night while she slept and I find myself…nervous about whether or not she’ll approve of my plan. Is this how regular, average men feel before a date? Jesus, am I one of them now? I fucking hope not. “It’s a surprise.”

Spoiling Maisy isn’t the way to her heart.

That doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it.

Excessively.

I just have to remember to carve open my chest and show her the inner workings of Jack Lincoln somewhere along the way…and hope she redeems me.

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