Wishing Well(36)

I trembled to realize Maurice was inhaling my scent, and lowered my eyes to see his hands clenching into fists at his sides. On an amused voice, he whispered, “Es-tu diabolique ou divine? ”

Clearing his throat, Vincent said, “Penelope was just saying hello before going up to her room. Weren’t you, Penelope?”

“Yes,” I managed to choke out. “Hello, Maurice.”

“Hello,” he greeted me in return, his accent thick, his voice penetrating.

Without waiting another second, Vincent directed me away from Maurice, lightly shoving me onto the cobblestone path that would take me to the hotel’s back entrance. “I’ll explain tomorrow,” he promised before turning around to return to his brother. I didn’t hesitate, and was practically running by the time I turned a corner to be out of sight.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


I woke late the following morning, dreams haunting me with images of two men, both beautiful and so bizarre. Both frightened me for different reasons, both crawling beneath my skin, scratching at my nerves until my body buzzed.

It was confusing how fear tasted like desire, how desire carried the hint of pain, how pain left a woman thrashing over soft white sheets tucked over a comfortable bed.

Crawling out of bed, I took a shower and wrapped myself in one of the plush robes the hotel stocked in the rooms once my skin had turned pink and I could breathe easily again. I craved a cup of coffee from the small cafe in the lobby, but was wary to leave my room for fear of seeing Vincent before I’d had a chance to get my thoughts in order.

Maurice had been an experience, a deep shadow cast over the happiness I found in Wishing Well. I’d only seen him twice now, both times at night, both times in the garden. Where was that man during the day? A tremor coursed through me as I stepped into the living room, a note catching my eye that had been slipped beneath my door.

On heavy vellum paper, a masculine font swirled in black ink told me I wouldn’t be hiding like I’d planned.



My office. 11:00 a.m.

~Vincent



It was never a request with him, always an order. Cursing the way my breath caught, the way my heart picked up its pace, I glanced at a clock to see I had fifteen minutes to be in his office on time. I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a loose black shirt I’d purchased with the money Vincent had given me to use. Slipping on the Converse I’d worn the night he met me, I made my way to the elevators, my head leaned against the wall as it carried me down to the first floor. My feet dragged as I crossed the lobby, my eyes darting to Vincent’s secretary as I approached.

She simply smiled and said, “You can go ahead inside. He’s expecting you.”

I opened his door to find him standing behind his desk, his hands folded together behind his back, his legs held at shoulder width apart and his attention focused out of the floor to ceiling window. Unable to speak without croaking, I choose to clear my throat. He didn’t bother turning to face me.

“Have a seat, Penelope. We need to talk.”

“Am I in trouble?” I asked, my voice soft, mousy.

Glancing from over his shoulder, he shook his head just slightly. “There’s nothing for you to be in trouble for.”

Spinning slowly to face me, he pressed his palms against the surface of his desk, his shoulders wide as his white, pressed shirt stretched to span the breadth of his chest. “I wanted to apologize about Maurice,” he explained as I slipped into my seat. “My brother is somewhat of a thorn in my side and I never intended for you to meet him.” Pausing, he breathed out. “Now that you have, I must request that you never speak a word of his existence to anyone.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and when he finally did open his mouth, it was to ask his own question. “Did he frighten you?”

“Yes,” I confessed, the word slipping so easily from my lips that I couldn’t have kept from saying it if I’d tried.

His green eyes glittered, drawing me in. “Maurice has some issues, to put it mildly. None that you’ll have to concern yourself with. I’m only asking that you stay silent. Not many people know about him and I prefer to keep it that way. It seems, we now share a secret.”

“Okay,” I agreed, my stomach clenching as Vincent straightened his posture, rounding his large desk, and leaned against it to stand in front of me. His knee brushed mine and a spark shot through me. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

“I was impressed with your behavior, Penelope. So much so, that -“ his voice trailed off before he could finish the thought. For several seconds, we stared at each other, my heart beating erratically.

Breaking the tense silence, Vincent asked, “Why do I get the feeling I frighten you as well?”

He’d caught me off guard with the question, my cheeks heating, the pink color chasing down my neck and chest. “Because you do,” I admitted. Attempting to cover up the true reason for my reaction to him, I quickly explained, “You’re my boss. You can fire me at any time and I need this job.”

“Is that all it is?” Lips pulling into a knowing grin, he watched me, saw through me, touched me without so much as lifting a finger.

If desire itself had a voice to speak, it would sound like this man.

“You should go,” he suggested softly. “Before either of us end up making a mistake.”