Lure (A Hitman's Bait 1) - Page 14

FOUR

Sixmonthsseemedto have broken me into accepting a twin mattress and a cramped bedroom shared with three other human beings as the norm. Last night, I’d twisted and turned in the queen-sized bed in the guest room of the gorgeous house where I assumed Sullivan lived. I’d rolled over to both sides of the bed and even tried to lie across it, but I just couldn’t get comfortable. I’d pulled the soft blanket up to my chin, then threw it off me again. I’d even turned the ceiling fan on and off, but nothing helped.

Eventually, I’d stacked the pillows and blanket on the floor, which had helped somewhat.

Chances were it wasn’t even any of those physical things that kept me up, but Sullivan Matthews’s proposal. What in fresh hell had I agreed to last night? I should have called Nolan as soon as I woke up to pick me up. I’d reached for my phone to make the call, but I deleted his number instead and turned the device off.

When Sullivan left, I’d had nothing to do. I hadn’t been able to figure out how the remote worked to turn the television on, so I’d been left alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that had settled on working with Sullivan. It was a way out of prostitution. Mostly anyway. At least Sullivan’s way would be more profitable, and if he were to be believed, I would rarely have to sleep with someone. I didn’t mind being paid for sex, but it got exhausting to serve so many different men in a night. It was monotonous. Poke, poke, and come.

The guest bedroom had its own bathroom, and just like everything else I’d glimpsed of the house, it was clean and high-end. From the dark marble countertops and the powerful shower system, it was apparent that the owner had expensive tastes. I took care of my routine, stumbled out of the shower, and dried off with a fluffy towel, then stood in the middle of the bedroom, just staring around me. What did I need again? Drat! Clothes. I would need them before I searched for coffee.

The clothes I had on last night were nowhere in sight. My collar and kitty ears were on the dresser. Last night, I’d found some T-shirts—they looked brand new—in one of the drawers and had worn one to sleep in, but the tossing and turning on the floor under the thick blankets had left the material damp.

The doors of the walk-in closet were ajar, and something dark blue caught my eye. Nothing had been inside last night when I checked out the room. I pulled the doors all the way. A familiar bag sat on the floor.

“Oh, my god.”

How the hell had he gotten my stuff away from Nolan? I couldn’t see my ex-pimp handing over everything unless Sullivan dropped some heavy cash to make up for Nolan’s loss. That man would sell his mother for the right amount. I unzipped the duffel and peeled apart both sides to reveal my clothes. Everything I owned had fit into one bag. I had very little, and it wasn’t worth a lot, but it was all mine.

I sniffed as tears filled my eyes. Who the hell was Sullivan Matthews?

Only one way to find out.

Fifteen minutes later, I ventured out of the bedroom to see what mystery awaited me. And coffee. Definitely coffee before the mystery.

The railing of the winding staircase was gorgeous, and the neutral-hued carpeting muted the sounds of my footsteps. I almost missed a step at the sight of the multitiered chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Holy smokes. I hadn’t caught a good enough glance of the place as he’d huddled me through the house to the bedroom and instructed me to stay there.

When he’d offered me three times what I made on the street, I hadn’t given it much thought, but now, in the light of day, I could see that the man was loaded. Everything was so shiny and immaculate.

At the foot of the stairs, I froze. Which way to go? No one had given me the grand tour yet. The place was quiet, no sign of life. I had two options. I could sit on the stairs and wait for Sullivan to find me, or I could poke my nose around every door with a good excuse to do so.

The kitchen wasn’t hard to find. And it was enormous. A kitchen island, granite countertops all around, stainless steel appliances, with room left for a round table with four chairs that looked right out of Architectural Digest. I bypassed the table and puttered around, opening and closing drawers. Coffee. Coffee. If I were coffee, where would I hide?

Ah-ha. Those double doors could only lead to a pantry. I pulled them open, and the overhead lights automatically came on. And…the shelves were empty.

“What the actual fuck?”

“I see we’ll need to clean up your language.”

Yelping, I released the handles and spun around to Sullivan. The doors slammed back against the heel of my right foot, and I howled, hopping out of the way.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” I cried. “First, you almost gave me a heart attack, and now that damn door almost chopped my ankle off.”

A man only a couple of inches shorter than Sullivan entered the kitchen, chuckling. He was blond, whereas Sullivan was dark from the roots of his cropped black hair to his dark brown eyes and bronze complexion. The new guy also had a grin on his face, while Sullivan’s seemed permanently etched in a frown. If I had a crayon, I’d turn his frown upside down. He’d look so much hotter if he smiled. Then again, I was digging Sullivan’s look, no matter if he glowered.

Too bad he kept reminding me he was straight. Although the way the man watched me last night, I had to wonder. Nah, he’d just been checking me out to make sure I was suitable to be his “bait.”

“What do we have here?” the man asked.

Like I had a clue.

I looked at Sullivan for guidance. Was this a test? Was I supposed to seduce this man for him?

I pouted and moved closer to them. “Hello, I’m—”

“He’s not a client. Don’t flirt with him.”

“All I said was hello. Sheesh.”

Tags: Gianni Holmes A Hitman's Bait Erotic
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