Gentle morning light was pouring in from a walk-in balcony straight ahead, but I also noted the presence of candlelight deeper in the rooms. The stone walls were very bare, the furniture sparse and simple. There was something hermit-like and yet there was a clandestine ambience about the suite. As Mrs. Blackmore had indicated there was a table by the door.
I should have put the tray there and left, but I didn’t.
Chapter 23
Charlotte
As if guided by a secret instinct and a destiny I had no control over, I took a step into the room. My hands were gripping the tray so hard, my knuckles were white. I turned and headed towards the left where the candles flickered and danced.
I passed the first room which was a bedroom with a very big wooden bed. The sheets were crumpled. My progress was silent since I was almost tip-toeing. As I moved halfway into the room I could look into the adjoining room. It was a dressing room. I could see an oval mirror.
I heard a noise coming from there and froze. As I stood there unmoving, terrified, and yet unable to stop myself, he appeared. He was walking across the room to the other side. Without his shirt, he seemed even larger, his torso tight with well-defined muscles, but even more astonishingly, he was not wearing his mask!
My eyes were riveted to his disfigured face. Oh, God! It was incredible. I never imagined it would be so bad. I could not stop staring at the mangled flesh, the raised white scars, the skin stretched so tightly over his cheekbone it looked painful. As I gaped in astonishment, he walked past the mirror.
For just a few seconds, I saw the other side of him reflected in the mirror. The unscarred side.
That man was beautiful beyond anything I had known. The man I had seen in the photo was young. He had taken from life what he wanted. He was at the peak of his achievement and tasted success. He had never known loss or horror, and he looked out to the world with some arrogance. But this man … this man had known terrible, terrible pain and hurt. He had been to the pits of despair, maybe even given up on life, and then forced himself to carry on. His suffering was stamped on the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, on his skin, in his gorgeous eyes.
I felt my heart soar as if it would fly out of my body. Wow! That was the moment I fell in love with the man in the mirror.
When he had passed out of my sight, I turned around and quickly went back out to the room filled with morning light. I placed the tray on top of the polished surface of the table, taking care not to make a sound, and then straightened to take my leave. The sound of his voice reached me before I could get to the door.
“Running away, Charlotte?”
I stopped in my tracks. I knew he had not seen me. He could not have. “No,” I replied glancing back. He had his mask back on his face and he had pulled on a shirt. It hung unbuttoned on his body. I could see his abs, hard and strong and I guessed that must be how he passed his hours of solitude, working out on his own.
“Do you know how to knot a tie?” He held out a blood-red tie up to me and I went towards it like a lamb to slaughter.
I took the tie from him, careful to avoid skin contact. He walked away from me. He said something else before it struck me that he was on the phone and speaking in another language. He turned to head towards his desk as he spoke, his voice low and rapid as he flipped a file open and began to peruse it.
I stood in the middle of the room, trying to keep my attention solely focused on fashioning the tie into a decent knot, but my hands were trembling so much I was making a mess of it. I sensed his conversation was dwindling down and I clumsily tried to undo it and start again.
He finished his call and the room felt silent until I felt him approaching me. “You don’t know how to do it?”
“I’m afraid it’s not very good.”
“Don’t nannies have to learn to dress their charges?” he asked softly.
“Yes, but not while their hearts are racing.” I turned to face him.
“Is your heart racing?” The almost translucent gray of his irises bore into mine.
My heart responded by thumping so hard against my chest I was sure he could hear it. Close up, his nearness was almost unbearable. I wanted to rip the mask off and show him that I didn’t care about his scars and his mangled flesh. I wanted to press my body against his and feel his mouth on mine.
The air between us changed, became thick and viscous. I felt as if I needed to breathe and couldn’t. There was so much I wanted to say. So much I couldn’t say.
“Thanks for bringing my breakfast,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off me.
“You’re … uh … welcome. And I … um … I wanted to thank you for helping me with Mrs. King earlier today.”
“No need,” he replied, his lips twisted. “I know you’ll do a good job.”
I really wanted to stay with him in that room full of shadows, and full of the clean smell of his aftershave, to say all the things I wanted to say to him, to touch his skin and tell him he was beautiful, but I knew I couldn’t. This was the end of the road for me. At least, for now. I came to bring the breakfast and that was done. Mrs. Blackmore was probably having kittens by now. I placed the poorly knotted tie on the table. “I guess, I should go. Zackary is waiting for me.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched me with those extraordinary eyes. I wondered if he watched me as I left. I wanted him to.
Chapter 24
Brett
I wanted Charlotte. Fuck, how I wanted her. While I drowned in those baby blue eyes, the smell of her skin wrapped itself around me, making me crave her taste. It was inappropriate and I felt like a pervert, but damnit I couldn’t help myself.
I wanted my son’s nanny.
Her beauty was not obvious like Jillian’s, but was the kind that you grew into. The longer you looked the more you found to admire, and if you allowed it, it led you into deep addiction. That was how exquisite she was.
It began from her voice; the best way I could describe it was mesmerizing. When she spoke it seized you in the gut. You never wanted her to stop. Then there was her body. It was all woman, from her full breasts to those curvy legs it all screamed feast. It was enough to stop any man cold. I watched her hips, in dark jeans, sway gently as though to a tune only she could hear as she left my quarters.
I had a raging hard on. Until she had come I had not even thought of having a woman. Now all I wanted to do was bury my face between her legs, and make her threaten to tear the hair off my scalp as I ravaged her cunt.
Jesus Christ. I couldn’t even sleep at night anymore because I kept thinking of her. I woke up hard and jerked off thinking of her breasts in my hands. Kneading, sucking, nipping. I imagined her begging for my hard cock. I rammed so deep inside her she screamed. In my fantasy, I felt the heat of her tight pussy milking my dick while I fucked her and heard the helpless cries and whimpers ringing around me.
Oh, how I fucked her.
I came in a rush of hot semen. There was so much of it. I closed my eyes, and even then, I thought of her body trembling gently under me … the heat of her sweet breath on my face.
With her I knew I would be able to feel again. Being with her would go beyond just sexual ecstasy, and bring to me the warmth that I craved no matter how brief. It had been so long since I felt anything. For a long time I thought I would never smile again and yet with effortless ease she made me laugh. I didn’t want my darkness to rub off on her, but who could blame me if I wanted a taste of the light that I knew came with Charlotte?
I also knew she was not one to be tasted, then let go. One taste and I would be hooked, but keeping her was not in the cards. My situation was already complicated enough. After what happened this morning, it was obvious Jillian hated her and was probably planning how to get rid of her. Any sign of interest from me would be the final nail in the coffin. Charlotte was good for Zackary and there was no way I was going to put myself before my son’s needs. I had been selfish my whole life. This time I was going to put Zackary first.
/> No matter how difficult it was, I planned to keep my distance. For her sake, and for Zackary’s too. I think I did quite well the whole day. I kept up a tough schedule and only returned after dinner. I planned on going to see Zackary later. For too long that was my only pleasure. Stealing into his room in the dead of night and simply watching him sleep. Since Charlotte arrived I had not seen him and I longed to.
As I walked into my rooms I found myself glancing at the intercom on the wall. So quickly it had become a habit I especially looked forward to. The conversations were harmless, or so I wanted to believe. I would get to know about Zackary’s progress, and briefly hear her voice. I rang her extension.
"Hello, Brett,” she whispered.
I felt myself melt. “Hello, Charlotte.” I paused. Make this about Zackary. “How was Zackary’s day?”
“Good. We had a good day. He got to try out his new playground. He fell once and scraped his knee, but he was very brave about it. He didn’t cry or complain.”
I felt my heart swell with pride. I always wanted him to be brave. “That’s good.”
“I … uh … I was … uh ... wondering if … well, if Zackary could perhaps have dinner with you tomorrow? It’s just that he ate alone today and he looked really pitiful."
I was too stunned to respond.
She went on. "I believe your wife will not be home tomorrow night so I thought that perhaps it would be a good opport—”
Anger coiled in the pit of my stomach. "Do you think that I purposefully choose not to spend any time with my son?”
I thought that she would cower then, especially at the bite of my tone, but she pressed undaunted. "You said that he is scared of you. I know he’s not, but even if he was, maybe if you made a little bit more effort to—”
I disconnected the call and stood there staring at the intercom. How dare she insinuate I wasn't trying hard enough? I tried and tried, but after the accident, anytime I came within sight of my son he would break out in silent tears. And if I insisted on approaching, he would explode into hysterics of fright and horror.
His reaction tore at my heart, but he was only a child and he didn’t understand that just because I looked like a monster I was not one. I left him alone after Jillian got worried that he would become unnecessarily fearful or even develop psychological problems. "As he gets older," she assured me, "he will come to understand. Just be patient."
I ached to spend time with him, but I knew she was right. He needed time. The days grew into weeks, and the months into years, and until Charlotte came I honestly thought he had all but forgotten me.
It was not Charlotte’s fault. She was only trying to help. I shouldn’t have taken my pain out on her. I wanted to call her back to apologize for being so harsh, but I decided against it. Maybe it was better this way. She had too much power over me already. Boundaries between us was a good thing.