Bella
Stone hadn’t been lying or exaggerating about there being a library in Thorn Hill. I’d half expected a couple of Ikea bookcases in a dusty room, but that was not what I found. A huge room, two levels and open in the middle, housed thousands of books. Long windows overlooked the swimming pool on one wall, and there was a large, ornate stone fireplace on the other. The rest were just books, pages and pages of escapism.
I wandered the rows, looking at the spines. Most were older, leather-bound and somber, but I could see where Stone had added more modern classics. Sure, there weren’t any rom-coms in here, but there was a wealth of literary greats. Staying at Thorn Hill suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.
I selected a slim volume of poetry and went to the fireplace. There was a fire burning in the hearth, and I realized that this room, more than any other, was free of dust. Here was a room that the master of the house used. I wasn’t surprised. There was a cozy otherworldliness contained in the library that was transportive. I loved it.
I curled up in a green velvet armchair by the fire and was just opening the book when Stone appeared beside me, making me jump.
“Geez! What is it with the men in this place? I’m not usually so jumpy,” I muttered, smoothing my hair back.
He was wearing black slacks and a black button-down shirt. His deeply tanned skin glowed gold in the firelight, and his dark hair gleamed. Christ, the man was attractive. The only odd thing about him was the glove. Who wore one glove at home, anyway? It had to be covering the scars on his hand. I hadn’t gotten a good look, but I’d seen enough to know he had some significant scarring on his left hand.
He noticed the direction of my eyes and lifted his hand, studying it as if surprised to see he had the glove on.
“Do you usually wear that at home?” I wondered.
“No. Samuel is well used to the more monstrous parts of Thorn Hill, me included.” He sauntered toward me. Despite hiding his hand, he didn’t seem in the least self-conscious about it.
“So, it’s for my benefit?”
He nodded, sinking into the tall leather armchair opposite mine. The firelight hit him, painting all the hollows of his face in shadow and making him look almost devilish. “It’s the least I can do.”
I thought about that and then shrugged. “You don’t need to bother. I’m not squeamish. I already saw it, remember?”
He nodded slowly, tilting his head to the side and studying me in a way that made me conscious of every feature. It was like he was cataloging me, memorizing me. I remembered when he’d called me beautiful earlier and flushed.
His lip tilted into a smirk. “True. I suppose it’s not surprising that the daughter of Alfie Moore would be made of tougher stuff. I don’t see him winning any father of the year awards anytime soon.”
That rankled, and yet, it was true. I shrugged.
“You can’t choose your family,” I muttered.
“When you’re a child, you can’t. As an adult, you absolutely can,” Stone disagreed.
“Is that why you’re here, all alone?” The cutting question came out before I could help it. I felt vulnerable in front of this man. He knew my father’s shame and, by proxy, my biggest embarrassment. My father was a drunk and a gambling addict, and Stone was well aware.
He shrugged off my implied criticism and offered me another smirk. “I don’t play well with others.”
“You’ve talked about your father, but what about your mother?” I asked.
“She died when I was young. A terrible accident,” he said, turning to look at the fire. The flames danced in his eyes as he flexed his gloved hand.
“An accident?” I thought about Samuel’s words in the garden and the mysterious air of Thorn Hill. What had happened here? What had turned Stone Preston, a rich, handsome, and charismatic man, into a recluse?
“A fire. She died in a fire,” he said at last.
My throat went dry at the look in his eyes. He was staring at the fire, lost in recollection. His left hand, shiny in its fine black leather, was clenched tightly into a fist. My heart beat loudly in my head, and my skin was oddly tight. I wanted to know more about this man. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know what made him tick, what had shaped him… all the dark and secret things. He intrigued me. He saw me. The first person who understood what I endured at home with my father. The first person to notice me, not just as a pretty pageant girl, but as me, guilty, lonely, damaged. Real.
I swallowed my questions. Now wasn’t the time. He wasn’t ready to share it, and maybe I wasn’t ready to hear it. Perhaps the secrets of Thorn Hill were scarier than any ghost could be. But scary or not, Stone Preston was working his way under my skin like a splinter, and I could barely tear my eyes off him. He was beginning to take up all the space in my head, the air in my lungs, and I should be more worried about that than I was. He was older than me, wiser, more experienced, and a fuck ton richer, yet… his appreciative stare revealed that he wanted me. To be wanted by a man like Stone gave me a sense of power I’d never experienced before. It was addictive.
I wanted more.