Pricked (Chaos, Nevada Book 3) Read online

  I snapped out from my reverie. "Couldn't be better," I lied, giving her an impish smirk.

  Chapter 7

  Jane

  This place stood out like a mighty landmark on the clearing of Wester Woods. Even in the moonlight I could get a faint sense of how massive and beautiful it was - just why was Michael so hesitant about bringing people here anyway?

  He stepped closer to me, and it felt like the world around me became just a bit heavier. For a second I thought that I might drown in his eyes. He drew in a breath, and his powerful chest rose; the wind ran it's fingers through our hair and an aura of undeniable heat danced between us. Finally, when I felt the fire in my cheeks, Michael broke the silence. "Me letting you inside is putting my trust in you. If there's something that I don't like about you - what you say or do - that trust is broken." He blinked, then swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing down and up his neck. I found myself observing the stubble of his five'o'clock. "Do you understand, Jane?"

  "Perfectly," I said sweet as honey. The truth of the matter was that I wasn't sure what to do now - betraying the mob all the way seemed foolish. But I found myself... not wanting to bring him to the man.

  Michael nodded, even that was handsome weirdly enough. He then turned and gestured with his head towards the door, signaling me to move along with him.

  I made my way up the long, wide granite steps of the mansion, letting my eyes wander to the black ornate railings flanking either side of me. We reached the massive wooden double doors, and Michael produced a key, pulling them open to reveal a gorgeous foyer. Pleasant lights illuminated from the walls and the shimmering chandelier. There were three sets of stairs, one on the far left, the middle and the right of the room. They were richly polished and a deep brown; a blue rug that held black trimming graced each of them. Colorful portraits of flowers, and in particular, roses, hung quietly on the walls - each of them without a signature of the artist.

  I was so absorbed by the sights of the place, I hardly noticed Michael smirking at me. From the leftmost staircase, a voice reached out from the hall just outside my view. "Master Smoak?" It sounded like an older gentlemen.

  Into my vision, not a moment later, came said older man. It was strange to see a butler in the flesh, outside of the romance novels that I used to read and the movies that I would watch when I was growing up. He had very light brown hair that was spiked up, with a noticeably receding hairline and accompanying widows peak. The lines of his face made me think he was probably in his fifties. Or perhaps late forties. His lanky and tall frame moved closer to us, giving me a better look of the black suit jacket that he wore; it was complimented by an equally jet vest, white bow-tie, and a pristine white undershirt. The man was nothing if not fittingly dressed in black pleated pants, a brown leather belt with a stainless steel snake at the buckle; dark brown calfskin comfortably wrapped themselves around his small feet.

  Michael turned to face me. "Jane. This is Josh Redwood. He's been a part of the family long before me, so if he does anything out of line make sure to let me know. I love a good firing." Mr. Redwood descended the stairs and smiled politely, seemingly in complete understanding of Michael's humor. "Josh this is Jane Chatworth. She'll be staying with us tonight."

  Mr. Redwood nodded emphatically, a glint of joy in his old, world weary eyes. "Most wonderful to hear, sir. Should I have something prepared for her?"

  Michael shook his head. "That won't be necessary. We've had supper already, and I think I'll show her to her room." His eyes moved over to me, and then back to Josh. "I swear you sleep in that outfit," he said beneath his breath.

  "If you looked half as good as me, Master Smoak. You would too."

  ***

  This place was truly a statement towards extravagance. Twelve guest rooms, a private bath house, an entertainment room, an inside tennis court. He hadn’t even shown me the ballroom.

  Reaching the end of the hall, Michael and I arrived at my room for the night, and he handed me a silver key to the room.

  There was one room in particular though, that Michael did not speak of - it's door was red, but it was secluded from the other guest rooms. There was something about it that pulled me to it, but by the time we'd made it here I'd decided against sneaking into it.

  His smoldering eyes seemed to look right through me. "You know it's a shame that you were lying to me."

  "Why?"

  "Because you would have been perfect to marry," the way that he said it practically made my heart stop. "On paper at least. But without coming from money, my father would never let it be." His jaw tightened and he swallowed. "Thanks," he lamented as if he had just chewed some glass, "for telling me the truth. That means something to me."

  I couldn't find any words to say, so I simply shook my head in acknowledgment.

  ***

  The warmth of sunlight washed over my face, and a not-so-distant voice called out my last name. It was familiar in a way, and everything was peculiar - had I fallen asleep? I could hardly remember doing that. My eyes fluttered open, and the voice rang out once more. "Master Chatworth," he said dutifully, and the vision of that pristine dressed butler filled my sight. "Breakfast will be ready soon," he informed me, a patient smile gracing the lines of his aged face.

  "Oh," I muttered still half asleep, writhing within the comforts of the lavish bed.

  "Thank you, Josh. You don't--" a yawn sneaked up on me, "have to call me master. Jane is fine."

  Josh chuckled lightly. "Would you prefer Master Jane?"

  I narrowed my heavy eyes at the man and lifted myself up into a sitting position on the bed. "I take it you're used to saying that."

  "Quite," he remarked. "If you're in need of shower, I must insist a trip to the bath house."

  I laughed at that. "No, no, I don't think so. I'm just a simple girl, there's not a rich bone in this body."

  Mr. Redwood placed his hands gracefully behind his back. "Simplicity is a good thing," he admitted, taking in a breath while I untangled some combative strands of my morning bed-head. "But indulging is what makes life worth living. As Master Smoak's honored guest, I do insist you... live just a little." His smile widened, "you might find a couple rich bones in that body, you know."

  I looked at him for a long moment, thinking on his words. "Just once," I finally said. "If only because I'm curious."

  "Curiosity is important," he added casually, "a full breakfast will be ready within the hour. Do enjoy." And just like that he left the guest room, leaving me with just my thoughts.

  ***

  It took me some time to actually find the bath house, but once I did, I was completely happy with indulging. The room itself was pleasantly hot with steam, and there was a section where one could privately change clothes and grab a towel. There were two foot wooden cubicles where one could store their clothes, and the one on the far most right had an inscription of someone's initials.

  MH.

  Looking behind my shoulder, I cautiously looked for anyone watching, even though nobody was there. A nervous habit no doubt borne from Carter.

  Just thinking about him made my insides squirm like eels.

  I stripped off my clothes and grabbed a coral pink towel, guarding my meticulously shaved body with it and gliding over towards the great pool of water. Curiously, I dipped my toes into the warmth. Almost scalding, yes, but in a pleasurable sort of way. I let the towel fall from me, and I sank into the waters. Hot steam danced through the air as I waded towards a great dividing wall of limestone. On that wall were two sculpted heads of lions, and their mouths poured aqua into the bath - their eyes inset with proud and glinting emeralds. Throughout the slice of paradise, there were jets and filters. I let myself drift away as I pressed my back against the limestone wall, admiring the peaceful green waters and the soothing sounds that the fountains made.

  Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that all of my reckless behavior wasn't suddenly catching up with me. The frustration of lost days, and lost opportunities, lost friends,
lost chances at love and happiness - all of it pounded into my head and my heart. There was a deep part of me that hated myself; I loathed that I could not escape the damage that had been done.

  That I couldn't heal.

  The mood in the bath house shifted then, and I heard someone roughly clearing their voice. My heart bolted to my throat when I looked up and saw Michael standing there with his white button-up shirt nearly undone, giving me a painfully tantalizing glimpse of his washboard abs. It was just for a second that I caught myself completely helpless. Drinking in the sight of his prominent V that would surely lead me to his cock. Thankfully he had his dark wash jeans on.

  Without consciously acting, I gasped loudly and immediately covered myself, the water around me splashing.

  "You're on the wrong side," he informed me in an effortlessly husky tone, one that made my body feel delightfully bound. How long had he been there? Surely he saw more of me than he ever had any right of seeing.

  "What are you doing here!" I called out.

  Michael strode his way towards me, still some distance away, with a face that burned with a cool fire. "This is where I bathe," he explained. "I see you're not so familiar with lions. The one with manes are male."

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  He pointed to the other side of the pool. "That's where the ladies go. At least, when they're not preoccupied with me." His eyes glimmered with mischief, and the beginnings of a grin graced his face. “Back when I still brought them over here, at least.”

  Still keeping myself covered and feeling the red starting to form in my cheeks, I turned my head over my shoulder to look at the wall. After a moment of consideration, I brought my head back. "Turn away so I can go over there," I demanded, trying to ignore the tightness between my legs.

  "Where's the fun in that?" Michael asked. I glared my eyes at him, and a beat of time later he pushed out a breath. "As you wish," he conceded, turning away from me lazily.

  I swam over to the other side, the sound of water rushing as I did. Sure enough when I made it, there were twin lion statues without a mane. I breast-stroked my way to the wall, between the heads, and kept my mouth shut.

  "I hate to tell you I told you so," Michael said, a playful tone that registered not the slightest bit of regret in rubbing my nose in it.

  "It's not like I would've known that," I replied. Resting on the limestone where one could sit, if they so wished, were shampoos and bars of soap, rose scented oils and various other little things. Wisps of steam rolled lackadaisically through the air, and I found myself looking over my shoulder to the wall. In that moment, for some reason, I wished that I had some sort of super vision to look through them. I was unsure if I was supposed to feel awkward, aroused, or annoyed - possibly all of the above. The sound of Michael on the other sound was intoxicating. Every movement that he made my ears honed in on. I pictured him with his arms splayed out in a relaxed pose on the wall.

  "Did you sleep well?"

  "Yeah," I said, "I hardly remember even hitting the bed."

  "Pleased to hear. I've got two people from the company last night, they're going to make sure you can get around safely given your... predicament. Romero and Felix will meet with you in due time. Shadow you to ensure your safety." His words hung in the air for a moment, and the tension that I'd felt last night returned as I let the water from the statue spicket wash my hair. "You're not going to be involved with them anymore. Are you?" His tone was pointed.

  Seconds passed as the water sifted through my soaked hair, down my neck and back, trickling down past my butterfly pierced belly-button and to my thighs. I was quietly happy that my watch was waterproof. "No," I told him sternly, internally unconvinced. "Not anymore."

  "That's good," Michael replied, a hint of relief in his voice. "Because if you were, even if I didn't do anything, it wouldn't end well for you. Those people? They're a cancer to this city." That's not the picture they painted for me. But then again, why would they tell me otherwise.

  "I know."

  "Better not to dwell on it," he said, and I could hear him wading through the water. "Now," his voice came out from my left, and I turned my head to look for him. I could feel my heart tapping against my breastbone. Was he intending to cross over to my side?

  "What are you doing?" I called out. I could see his fingers holding on to my side of the wall now, and a squeak of embarrassment escaped me as I waded towards the opposite end of the wall.

  "Just having some fun. You do know what fun is, don’t you?” He paused. “What have you never seen a man naked before?" He started to peek over towards my side of the pool, and I managed to rush over to the dividing point, hiding the opposite end of him.

  "Go away!" I bubbled, laughing. It wasn't the nervousness that I'd been so used to since I was a young adult. This was a joyful kind of fear, if there ever was such a thing. "You're being a pervert. And I don't answer questions like that."

  "Ah," Michael said, peeking his head over the wall and locking eyes with me, an infectious smirk etched on his hard face. "So you have been laid before then."

  "Again. None of your business."

  "Are you sure you don't want me to make it my business? The way you were acting last night, before I caught you at least - you seemed a bit... ensnared."

  I moved to the other side instinctively, and I got a jaw dropping glimpse of the man's backside. I cursed beneath my breath, and the water splashed around me as I jerked back to the position previous, feeling the heat of the moment stinging all of the sensitive parts of my body.

  Michael stretched against the wall, most of his body obscured from my vision. But the image of what I'd just saw was burned into my skull. "This could be the last time we ever see each other," Michael articulated, grabbing an ankle and pulling his leg upwards from behind. This let me catch sight of his hard, toned muscles. No inch of his body was left unsculpted by meticulous work and diet. "Maybe once more." I could feel my fingers pulsing with electricity. "I think we could part ways with a couple good memories. Don't you?"

  "I t-think we've made enough exciting memories." I couldn't take my eyes off of his, and the heat of his gaze held me prisoner. The sense of disappointment from him was palpable. My body wanted one thing, and my head wanted something completely different. My heart? Well, that bastard just didn't know who to side with.

  Michael kept his gaze on me, and after a moment longer of silence and unbearable sexual tension, he stopped his stretching and moved fully into my view, advancing towards me slowly. "You know this won't go away."

  A pebble formed in my throat as I swallowed without thinking. "What won't?"

  He made another stride, and much to my embarrassment and basic delight, my eyes weren't able to look away from his naked form. There weren't any tattoos, surprisingly. His shoulders were broad and majestic in the sense that you would expect a king or a ruler to have such beautiful structure. There was a spot on the underside of his forearm that caught my curiosity. Tiny white, flesh-colored scars the size of pins. Michael's chest was powerful and toned; beyond that, his wet six-pack was tantalizing enough to envision my tongue running across it.

  The very thought made me shiver.

  When my eyes dipped to his crotch, I caught sight of his half-hard cock in all of it's nine inch glory. Had the sight of me aroused him so much? Still, the basic instincts of my body were equally repulsed with the parasitic trauma - escaping myself wasn't an option. Facing my past only felt painful. Not freeing.

  Michael made another step, wading through the water. "This attraction," he growled with a sinful hunger. "You can't tell me you don't feel it." He stopped advancing then, trying to gauge if I was truly willing to go through with this.

  I kept myself covered, and leaned in closer to the end of the wall, trying to make myself smaller. "I should grab my clothes," I said softly, feeling like there wasn't any air in my lungs to speak any more than that. "Thank you for the entertaining morning, Mr. Smoak." Watching his jaw clench, I
lingered a second longer, like my mind was made up before my body could agree. After that lustful reverie, I retreated through the water, looking over my shoulder as I did. He wasn't trying to leer at me.

  There was a long day of work ahead of me, and I'm not going to let someone like Michael Smoak distract me.

  Chapter 8

  Jane

  Michael had seen me off before he had to go to work, exchanging cell numbers with me and sending my new security detail, Romero and Felix, to retrieve my vehicle. I was standing outside of Michael’s picturesque manor when they arrived, the morning sun peeking just above the grand line of trees. Felix was driving my, now off-white, 2003 Honda Accord LX. Hundred thousand miles and it still treated me right. Meanwhile, Romero kept his black Cadillac’s engine idle. He waved his hand outside of the window, motioning for me to get inside of the passenger seat.

  Clearly he’s the impatient of the duo.

  I hurried myself along the rocks and dirt, opening the door and sinking back into the seat, letting him know where the station was located within the city. Before long, we were off, cruising down with the highway traffic. Romero looked like he was in his late thirties, his face marked with pocks and a few barely noticeable white scars. He tapped against the steering wheel to the beat of some classic rock music while we drove, turning his head to look at me. “Nice contacts,” he gruffed, pushing out a smile like one would pull teeth. “Long you had those for?”

  “Practically my whole life,” I told him, fiddling with the volume on the radio as we changed lanes. “You’re usually not so chatty with your clients, I presume.”

  “Not what I excel at,” he confessed, gripping the wheel. “Smooth talking is Felix’s game.”