Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

I force a smile but stay quiet.

“Everything alright?” he asks, studying my face.

I nod. “Yes.” But I’m just not sure that’s the truth. I feel off, and I can’t put my finger on which part of the night brought that feeling on.

The drive home is made in complete silence, all the way to him opening the front door to his house.

“Goodnight, Miss Brielle,” he says coldly, right before he walks away, making the trek up the stairs to his room. He doesn’t look back and he doesn’t wait for me to respond.

I stand in the foyer, bewildered, watching his body until it disappears out of sight.

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Nine

I finish drying my hair and check myself over in the mirror.

It’s Saturday morning, and we have Will’s soccer game to attend.

I’m wearing black jeans, black ballet flats, and a black singlet with a white linen shirt left open. My hair is down and I’m wearing the smallest amount of natural makeup.

My stomach is alive with nerves. I’ve hardly slept. My mind was racing at a million miles per minute.

I can't believe I did what I did last night. It was like some erotic movie I had no right to be part of. I can't believe it was that good. The credit card makes me feel uneasy, but I guess I did spend one-hundred and fifty pounds on my slutwear yesterday.

I don’t know how I feel about everything, to be honest. I’m going to have to sit on things for a while.

With one last look in the mirror, I leave my room and make my way up to the main house, where I find Willow and Sam eating their breakfast.

“Hi.” I smile.

“Hello,” they both offer, distracted.

“Good Morning, Miss Brielle,” that velvety voice purrs.

“Oh.” I jump. “Hey, I didn’t see you there.”

Mr. Masters is in the kitchen, with his behind resting on the counter and his sexy smile fixed in place. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. My apologies.”

He’s wearing black jeans and a white polo shirt. His dark hair is hanging loosely, highlighting his messy curls. His eyes are piercing, and that jawline could impregnate anything female with one glance. He looks fucking edible.

My stomach swirls with nervous energy. “How was your trip?” I ask, playing along in front of the children.

His eyes hold mine. “Unexpected.”

I smile goofily. Why, I have no idea. He sounds so dreamy when he says the word ‘unexpected’.

Oh, cut it out, you pathetic fool. Unexpected is not a hot word.

“How was your time at home…” he pauses, and a trace of a smile tugs at his lips, “without the man of the house here?”

He’s playing that game, is he?

I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. “Fine, thanks.” I glance at the children, hoping that they can snap me from my drooling state. Especially with the drool being brought on by their father. “Wasn’t it, kids? We had so much fun together.”

They both nod and continue eating, not at all interested in conversing.

“What time are we going to football this morning?” I ask.