The Boss (Chateau 3)

“Be aware of your surroundings.”

I dropped my shirt back down then clutched my chest as I turned to look at him in the armchair behind me, sitting there in his long-sleeved black shirt and black pants. His bomber jacket was thrown over the couch. It took me a few seconds to catch my breath.

He grabbed his glass of scotch and took a drink, his deep-brown eyes glued to my figure. His eyes were almost the same color as the contents of his glass, like automobile oil with an earthy hue. His eyes roamed over my figure as he licked away the drop that he missed. “Continue.”

My hair was caked with sweat, and my clothes were uncomfortable because they were soiled with a hard day’s work. As hungry as I was, what I really wanted was a shower. There was a lone tub in the corner with a shower curtain. I used to take baths when I couldn’t figure out how to get the fire going. “I’d like to take a shower.”

He raised his glass and slightly gestured toward the tub. He was exactly the same each time we interacted, possessing a quiet hostility with clipped responses. There were no good moods or bad moods.

“Do you mind coming back later?”

His only response was taking a drink of his scotch.

“Then can you at least look away?”

“No.”

I released an annoyed sigh, because I was so uncomfortable in my own skin that I really wanted to rinse off.

He drank his scotch and watched me.

I grabbed my towel and did a quick change, dropping my clothes next to my bed then moving to the tub, a black towel wrapped around my body. I turned on the shower head and waited for the water to get warm.

He held his glass but didn’t take a drink, his eyes piercing me like my appearance in that towel was enough to fuel his attraction. His desire was palpable, somehow in the air like the steam from the shower. It was just a piece of cotton, but he looked at it like it was lingerie.

I got behind the curtain and draped the towel over the edge. The warm water hit me, and I felt all my muscles relax with the heat, felt the clumps of sweat leave my scalp and the roots of my long hair. With the curtain closed shut, I could forget he was there, have a moment to myself after the long day.

When I was finished, I dried off as best I could before I grabbed the clothes I brought with me. I put on the gray pants and the black tank top before I wrapped my hair in the towel. Then I opened the curtain and stepped out.

His look had only intensified in the meantime. His eyes were borderline angry, and one hand had tightened into a fist on the armrest. It was so startling that I actually stilled before I continued to move to the bed.

His eyes followed me.

I sat on the edge then combed out my wet hair so it would be free of tangles.

“You have a beautiful silhouette.”

My eyes immediately went to the curtain, imagining the light from the fire creating a distinct shadow of my body, like it was film on a projector. That was something I hadn’t considered.

It didn’t seem that erotic, but he looked at me like it took all his strength to stay in that chair.

He was the most dangerous man on this planet, but I somehow felt safe in his presence, even when I was wrapped in a thin towel. He had the physical authority to force me to do whatever he wanted, but he never tried. He always asked for permission, and when he was denied, he respected that decision. He was the reason I was there in the first place, but he also gave me more power than anyone ever had in my life. When he’d first come in here, I sobbed because I thought I was about to be raped. But I was given more respect than any other man had shown me.

If they could get away with it, most men would do the unthinkable. Without the law and the police, without retribution, they probably would regularly force women against their will. The boss had nothing to keep him accountable, no repercussions whatsoever, but he still didn’t do it. That actually implied a lot about his character.

I pulled the tray of food toward me. “Why won’t you do it?”

He repositioned his head slightly, but his gaze never flicked away. One hand remained on the empty glass, which he must have consumed while I was in the shower. “Rape and sex are two different things. Rape is about taking. Sex is about giving. I want to give you things, chérie.”

It was a question I shouldn’t have asked, but his answer put me further at ease.