The Maid's Daughter - S01 E03

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The Maid's Daughter - S01 E03

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 3

Devlyn couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent this much

time in a woman’s bedroom without both of them getting

naked. When Gillian made a surprisingly sexual response to

cookies…goddamned sugar cookies, his sex hardened from

zero to sixty in five seconds.

And she wasn’t even pretty in the traditional sense.

He adjusted himself unobtrusively and ate another sandwich. Maybe if he kept his mouth full he could quit thinking about licking his way down that swanlike white-skinned

neck. Good lord…

“So tell me, Gillian. What do you do for a living…when you’re not smashing cars into trees?”

She stared at him with affront.

“Too soon?” He grinned at her, surprisingly entertained

by the unexpected turn his evening had taken. The quick

phone call to his investor had not been pleasant, but Devlyn

was determined. The outlook might be grim, but he’d fought

his way out of worse situations.

Gillian wiped her mouth daintily with a snowy cloth nap-

kin, leaving a faint trace of pink color on the fabric. Seeing

the stain from her lips, he imagined other oral scenarios. Per-

haps because her lips were the only truly curvy thing about

her. They belonged more to a p--n star than to a quiet, wary-

eyed, little mouse.

She curled her legs beneath her, drawing attention to slim

thighs and a narrow waist. He wondered if he could span that

waist with his two hands.

Gillian seemed blissfully oblivious to his baser instincts.

“Do you joke about everything?” she asked, disapproval evi-

dent in her wide-set eyes.

He shrugged. “I’d rather laugh than cry.”

And there it was again. That pesky, awful memory.

Hell.

He hadn’t meant to bring it up again…or had he?

She cocked her head. “Why did I make you so angry that

day?” she asked. “I’ve always wondered. Was it only because

I saw you in tears?”

Any humor he’d tried to generate evaporated. He leaped

to his feet and stoked the fire, throwing on another couple

of logs for good measure. Leaning an arm on the mantel, he

poked at the embers, wishing he didn’t feel the same prod-

ding at a place that would never heal.

“Sure,” he said curtly. “That was it.”

“You’re lying.”

He jerked around so quickly that he knocked over one of

the andirons. Replacing it clumsily, he sat down hard in his

chair, staring at her with bemused eyes. “I don’t know what

to make of you, Gillian Carlyle. So let’s go back to my first

question. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a teacher. Third grade.” Pride glowed on her face

and in her voice until something stole it away, some weary

acceptance of an unpalatable truth. “Or I was,” she said, her

tone subdued. “The county I worked for outside of Charlottesville cut forty positions last week. I was four years into

a five-year tenure track.”

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Their eyes met, and they both burst into laughter. Devlyn

realized in that instant that he had been wrong earlier. Gillian

Carlyle wasn’t plain. She was a beauty. But it was the hid-

den loveliness of the sea on a cloudy, windswept day. Only

when the sun came out were the emeralds and sapphires and

aquamarines revealed.

His brain whirred with sudden possibilities. “Is that why

you’re back home in Burton?”

“Partially. I begged my mother to move to Charlottesville

with me when I got the job, but she never would. She loves

the house where I grew up, and oddly enough, she loves Wolff

Castle. She’s very proud to be part of the staff here, and she

doesn’t want to leave.”

“So why did you try to persuade her?”

“My dad was a carpenter. He died a few years ago when

scaffolding at a worksite collapsed. Mama was distraught,

and I wanted her where I could keep an eye on her. In case

you hadn’t noticed, there are no teaching jobs around here.

Not many jobs of any kind for someone with my training.”

“But she wouldn’t move.”

“No. And now she’s glad she didn’t. But that still leaves

me in a tough spot, because I want to look after her, but I

can’t even take care of myself at the moment.”

“Something will come up.” He had an idea or two, but now

was not the time. “Would you like another cookie?”

Her lips quirked. “I’m not stupid, Devlyn. I answered your

questions. Don’t you owe me the same courtesy?”

That amazing, adorably boyish smile f lashed briefly. “I’m

a stubborn SOB. Don’t try to analyze me. What you see is

what you get.”

Her eyes widened as she caught the deliberately flirtatious innuendo. As he watched, her cheeks turned pink. And

about the same time, a little frown line appeared between her

brows. “I don’t think you’re a very nice man,” she said slowly.

“Nice guys finish last. Don’t you know?” He stood and

messed with the fire again, irritated as hell that she put him on

edge. She was a nobody. An unemployed elementary school-

teacher. A starchy, prissy, sexually repressed female.

Perhaps if he told himself often enough, he would believe it.

Gillian yawned suddenly, and he felt a lick of remorse.

She’d been through a hell of a lot. It was long past time for

her to be in bed. But not in his.

He stood up and held out his hand. “C’mon, little lady.

Yo u’r e d r o o p i n g .”

She stood and began stacking their dirty dishes.

“Leave them,” he said, a hand on her arm. “The staff will

get it in the morning.”

Gillian froze, and immediately, he heard how his words

must have sounded to her. Heat stained his throat. “I’m sorry,”

he said gruffly. “That was insensitive.”

Gillian shrugged, causing the fabric of her top to mold to

her bare, small, perfect breasts. He swallowed hard, caught

unawares by a sudden driving urge to unbutton that top and

look his fill.

She smiled wryly. “Don’t be stupid. Your family provides a

lot of great jobs for working-class people. That’s not a bad thing.”

But she didn’t say it was good, either. He sensed her am-

bivalence and her fatigue. “Go to bed, Gillian. You’re beat.

We can talk in the morning, but if you need me during the

night, don’t play the martyr. I’m right next door.”

Gillian tossed and turned for an hour, unable to sleep in a

strange house. The medicine had taken the edge off her various pains, but her body still ached. At last, she climbed out

of bed and went to the French doors, drawing the thick draperies aside and peering out into the dark.

A tiny crescent moon cast a dim light that filtered down

like fairy dust among the trees that surrounded the house.

When Wolff Castle was built, Devlyn’s father and his uncle

had been insistent that as little of the woods as possible be cut

down. Consequently, the forest cloaked the enormous house

like a security blanket, maintaining the privacy for which the

Wolffs were famed.

The late-night scene was serene. Gillian’s emotions were

anything but. She felt trapped, claustrophobic. Even if she

had the energy and the will to do so, she couldn’t leave. Her

car was crumpled at the bottom of the mountain.

Her mother’s voice had been hard to read when Gillian

called her to explain what had happened. Doreen Carlyle

was well acquainted with all the members of the Wolff fam-

ily, including Devlyn. And Devlyn’s reputation with the op-

posite sex was no secret.

Women loved him. And he loved women. But never for

more than a season, at best. Though he seemed like an open

book, dark currents ran beneath his easy charm and his out-

rageous sex appeal.

Gillian curled her fist in a fold of cloth and shivered as her

bare toes chilled on the flagstones that edged the doorway.

Dare she go outside? Would anyone know?

Without another thought, she pulled her thick sweater over

the fancy pajamas and shoved her feet into her boots. Even

without a mirror, she knew she looked ludicrous. But she had

to escape, had to prove to herself that she wasn’t a prisoner.

A small, spiral, wrought-iron staircase at the end of her bal-

cony offered easy access to the level below.

The air was colder than she had anticipated. Rain had fi-

nally moved on, and indigo skies overhead were clear, allow-

ing the temperature to plummet. Fall would soon give way to

winter, especially at this elevation. She followed a pathway

at random, not at all worried about being alone in the dark.

She was a country girl, born and raised in these mountains.

Travelers came from across the globe to see the mystical and

beautiful Blue Ridge, but for Gillian they were more like an

old, comfortable friend.

As she meandered, she thought about the last time she

had visited Wolff Mountain. She’d been a sophomore in high

school, and in her economics class, they’d been doing projects

about starting a business. Doreen Carlyle had asked Victor

Wolff, Devlyn’s uncle, if her daughter could interview him.

Gillian remembered how nervous she had been that day,

but Victor Wolff, despite his gruff demeanor, had put her at

ease. By the end of the conversation, they had been old bud-

dies. He had a keen intellect and a knack for making money.

As she was leaving the house, preparing to negotiate the

long, winding driveway in her fifteen-year-old Volkswagen

Beetle, Gillian had come face-to-face with Devlyn Wolff. She

remembered how her throat closed up, how hot color flooded

her face. Neither of them spoke a word.

Devlyn seemed on the cusp of saying something urgent,

but before he could tell her again that she didn’t belong, she

fled. And until tonight, that was the last time she had ever

seen him in the flesh.

The press, however, was another story. Devlyn’s exploits

both in and out of the boardroom were legendary. He’d bought

baseball teams, had at one time even dabbled with driving his

own race car. The two Wolff patriarchs had put a quick stop to

that, but even so, Devlyn deserved his reputation as a billion-

aire playboy…an out-of-date term, perhaps, but one that fit.

His wilder party days had tempered as he approached

thirty, perhaps because he was being groomed to take over

the reins of the family business.

Victor and Vincent Wolff started their families late in life,

both of them at least fifteen years older than the beautiful

wives they eventually lost.

Now, they were at a point where they wanted to enjoy re-

tirement. So Devlyn was in control of everything. Nothing

short of brilliant, he worked as hard as he partied.

Gillian was not immune to his appeal. But he was way

out of her league. She preferred bookish, intellectual men,

guys who were more like house-trained pets than wild, night-

roaming creatures.

Devlyn was incredibly dangerous and yet so very attractive.

She hugged her arms around her body and decided she

had had enough. Her limbs trembled with fatigue, and it was

time for another dose of painkiller. Things always seemed so

much worse at this hour…her bleak employment future, the

lack of male companionship in her nunlike life…the hole in

her emotions left by her father’s passing.

Blinking back tears of self-pity that she refused to let fall,

she turned and immediately tripped over a root, stumbling to

her knees on the cold and muddy ground.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Devlyn’s outraged voice startled her as much as the fall.

In an instant, his hands were under her arms, lifting her ef-

fortlessly to her feet. Seeing the state she was in, he cursed

beneath his breath and shrugged out of the thick, fleece-lined

jacket he wore. He wrapped it around her and scooped her

into his arms.

“You can’t spend all your time carrying me around,” she

muttered. But it was a token protest at best. His warmth sur-

rounded her even as his strength filled her with an odd contentment.

It was a false sense of security. She knew that. But for this

one moment, this single, unlikely and unsettling reunion, she

decided to pretend that she had a right to be here in Devlyn

Wolff’s embrace.

She had left the double, glass-paned doors to her room un-

latched. After negotiating the narrow stairs, Devlyn depos-

ited her on her feet long enough to remove her muddy boots

and his shoes, before urging her inside, locking the doors and

drawing the drapes.

Gillian had left a single lamp burning. The confusion in

Devlyn’s eyes mirrored her own. “I’m sorry I disturbed you,”

she said, the words stiff. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same here.” Still he stared at her. “Sit down on the bed,

Gillian.”

He stepped past her, and moments later she heard water

running in the bathroom. When he returned, he had a damp

washcloth in his hands. “I said sit down.”

She sat.

Why was she enabling his bossiness? She was a mature

woman with a life that clicked along quite well. She didn’t

need a man to take care of her.

He took her fingers in his and gently wiped away the mud

where she had landed, hands down. His touch was gentle

but firm, removing the bits of leaves and grass that clung

to her skin.

Next he removed his coat, the one he had wrapped around

her. His eyes went to the muddy knees of her pajamas, and

her stomach clenched. Surely he wouldn’t—

“Lift your hips.”

Like an automaton, she obeyed, watching the tableau un-

fold as he bared her legs and dragged the pants down to her

ankles and away. “Get under the covers,” he said.

Her face flaming with color, she obeyed, painfully con-

scious that he didn’t even bother to avert his gaze. When she

was covered from the waist down, she removed the sweater,

managing to tangle her hair in the process. Devlyn disap-

peared into the bathroom a second time and came back hold-

ing a brush still wrapped in cellophane.

He sat down beside her, opening the package. “Turn away

from me,” he commanded.

She felt one hand settle on her shoulder. With the other,

he dragged the brush through her hair. Her eyes closed and

a whimper of delight escaped her lips. Her head lolled on her

shoulders as the simple pleasure unfolded.

Occasionally, as

he encountered a knot, she felt his fingers sift through her

straight, thick tresses.

Gooseflesh erupted all over her body, and her breasts grew

heavy with arousal. Did he try this on all his women? God,

the man was a genius. He never seemed to tire. The gentle

pull of the bristles against her scalp went on and on. Sleepi-

ness gradually replaced sexual excitement.

Dimly, she heard him speak soft words as he eased her

onto her back. She felt hard, warm arms encircle her.

After that…nothing.