Hostile Takeover Hill, W (thriller books to read .txt) 📖

bailed on her, gone on in to work, he would have at least left her a note and some coffee brewing. He might be an emotionally repressed bastard about certain things, but common courtesy wasn’t one of them.

Pushing herself up, she saw he had left her a note, as well as a trio of Advil and a glass of water. A tiny wildflower lay on the note. Take the Advil, drink the water, and do another soak in a hot shower. Get dressed for work. Breakfast will be waiting downstairs.

He’d said they’d spend the day together, preparing to go to Progeny tonight. He’d changed his mind. Or maybe something had come up. It was a weekday, after all, and K&A sometimes needed their lawyer even on a planned day off. Yeah right. She picked up the wildflower, let it tickle her chin. It was a nice touch, but it still felt impersonal, removed. The type of thing a hotel might do. She’d figured out how he dealt with the women in his life, the easy charm that was devastating to their senses but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Cass said he’d worked up some awesome, elaborate dishes for Savannah during her pregnancy, when she didn’t feel like eating anything else. For Nate’s most recent birthday, he’d arranged a paintball party a general would have admired for troop mobilization and attack strategy. When he extended true affection, love, he went all out with it. In the right mood, Ben was more…rough, natural.

He’d have crushed flowers over her sleeping form, covered her in petals. Twined the stems around her wrists, a gentle bondage. But this…this was distance. Her stomach tightened into a cold ball. Surely after everything they’d shared last night, he wouldn’t…

Yes, he would. Exactly because of what they’d shared last night.

She would take the shower, don the clothes because he’d told her to do it. It was her Master’s order and she wanted to be compliant. But if he wasn’t pulling back, work or no work, he would have wanted her to come down completely naked, still smelling of his scent. He would have had her kneel at his feet, fed her bits of breakfast from his fingertips as he read the morning stock reports, glancing at the flat-screen for live business news. She could live on that kind of detached connection like a drug.

Last night…there were no words for it. Until the reality, she hadn’t known exactly what it was she craved, what she could take. Two walls of his shower were mirrored, and even with the steam, they showed her his marks.

She had bruises on the back of her legs from the slapper that had felt like a doubled-over fire extinguisher hose, weighted down inside to make the thud that much more significant. There was stippling on her ass cheeks from the rattan cane. When he went after her with his favorite tool, a flexible paddle, the burning and stinging sensations had come so close together she couldn’t be still. At one point he’d laid his upper body over her back, pinning her down as she squealed from the pain.

She loved those marks, loved seeing them. She only hoped they weren’t the only things that would be around for the next couple days. Suppressing a sigh, she got out, dried off and picked up the bag that Cass had left. She wasn’t going to be fatalistic. She knew what she wanted, and she was going to get it. Ben wanted her to think she was imagining things she craved and he didn’t, but she had to believe she knew what she knew, or her courage would falter.

The convoluted nature of the thought gave her lips a wry twist. Opening the overnight bag, she saw the folded note, recognized Cass’ handwriting.

Jon said to remind you of this: To thine own self be true. This one’s from me: Be careful and know that I love you. I’m here.

It made tears prick her eyelids, but she pushed them back. She was going to be less weepy today, no matter that Ben had torn open every shield she had last night. All but the one guarding her determination to have him as her permanent Master.

Fortified somewhat, she tucked that note inside her bra and went down the stairs. Sunshine was bathing the breakfast nook. Ben was wearing fresh work clothes, charcoal slacks and an open white shirt, green and black tie hanging off the back of the chair. He was barefoot, his shoes polished and waiting by the counter island with a folded pair of socks. He was going to work. He wasn’t spending the day with her, at least not the way he’d said. Which meant he was likely backing out of taking her to Progeny.

She firmed her jaw, came into the kitchen. She’d stayed barefoot as well, but sat her heels down with a quiet click next to his shoes. He glanced up, though she expected he’d known the minute her feet crossed the upper landing. “Good morning. Have a seat and I’ll bring you your breakfast.”

“I don’t mind getting it.” She had to clear her throat, since the hoarseness from last night remained. He gave her a look.

“Sit.” His tone was congenial, but firm, so she sat. She would have moved toward him, tried for a kiss, a caress, but he’d already moved away, gesturing to her chair with detached courtesy.

That cold ball in her stomach was getting worse. Removing a plate from the oven, he brought her an omelet so fluffy it was a couple inches thick. She could smell the mixture of appetizing cheeses, and it was scattered with half spheres of fresh garden cherry tomatoes. A long time ago, he’d told her the key to good cooking wasn’t fancy combinations and syrup drizzled artfully on the plate, but fresh ingredients.

“This looks marvelous. Like the last meal for a death-row inmate.” She shifted her gaze to his face, kept her voice even. “What is this, Ben?”

“Eat your breakfast,