Page 15 of Wanted

Strange how the Count didn’t like windows or the sun. And just as strange that he slept during the day and kept the windows of the house locked down. But then, weren’t the ultra-rich an odd lot, anyway?

I’d just finished dusting the dresser when I heard a door open and turned around, nearly dropping my cleaning supplies in surprise.

It was the Count, standing there, totally naked, his body glistening from a recent shower or bath.

I knew I should look away, make apologies, or run and hide… Hell, maybe all three, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him. His body was a chiseled masterpiece of a sculpture, all hard angles, chorded muscles, and strong lines. God, what would it be like to touch him? Run my hands over those bands of abs? Feel every ripple of strength in him? Small wonder the woman I’d met had been so impressed with him. If he had the bedroom skills to match his looks… Yes, my eyes dropped down. I couldn’t stop them.

Holy shit.

The Count cleared his throat. "I think this room is clean enough for now, Kassandra. Thank you."

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, though it didn't much help. "Sorry, yeah. I didn't know you were in here. I… didn't hear the shower."

"I was in the bath," he corrected.

"Right. Well, um. I'll leave you to it, then," I mumbled, turning to leave.

"I have company joining me soon," he called after me. "Please bring up refreshments when you are able."

"Will do," I said, closing the door behind me. Once out of his sight, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath, and then walked to the kitchen in a daze.

His eyes were so penetrating, like he could see straight into my soul. I crossed my arms over my chest and shivered at the thought. Then, I snorted. Hell, if he could see into my soul, I wouldn't be working here.

I tried to distract myself from the Count and his well-endowed assets, by preparing the refreshments he’d asked for. About ten minutes later, I heard Leonard greet someone at the door.

A tinkle of a laugh announced it was another woman.

As the butler escorted her upstairs, I squashed another flare of jealousy and searched for the wine bottle the Count last used. When I couldn't find it, I gave up and filled two cups with sparkling water instead, that and some fruit, cheese, and nuts and I was ready to take the tray upstairs.

Just as I lifted my hand to knock on the Count’s bedroom door, I heard a moan.

I paused. Then, curious, I flattened my ear against the smooth, polished wood.

The sounds of sex—of really amazing sex—created an instant reaction in my body. I shivered and pulled back then placed the tray by the door and turned to walk away.

But as I passed the bedroom next to the Count's, a bad idea leapt into my mind—a really very bad idea. But I couldn’t stop myself. Quietly, I let myself in, and closed and locked the door behind me.

I could still hear them through the walls, maybe even better than in the hall. The grunting, the moaning, and the slapping of skin on skin. The woman gasped, her voice riddled with pleasure and the sound tipped me over the edge.

I dropped onto the bed and laid back, closing my eyes as I slid my hand beneath the waistband of my pants. I lost myself in the fantasy then, drowning in the imagined sensations of the Count’s hands on my breasts, the feel of his body pressing against mine. It had been a long time since I'd had sex or enjoyed the feeling of someone touching me for pleasure—even if not love.

I stayed there, listening and writhing, and when the girl in the other room climaxed, I joined her quietly, my body releasing the pent frustration I'd been carrying for so long.

I didn't linger afterwards. I smoothed the bed covers quickly and left before anyone could know I’d been there.

The warmth running through my body gave me a little lift as I finished my cleaning shift and grabbed dinner to take up to my room. The instant I sank down on my bed, I knew I wasn’t getting up again for a good ten hours or more.

Even for so much money, cleaning this mansion was a shit ton of work. Something was going to have to give. I’d either have to get faster or I’d demand a different schedule. Maybe if the Count cut back on the women, I wouldn’t have as much work to do.

That thought pleased me far more than it should have—the Count cutting back part, and annoyed with myself, I turned in the bed, preparing to sleep.

But even though my body ached and my hands hurt, sleep eluded me. I spent a few hours tossing and turning, until finally, I gave up and got ready for another day.

When I went downstairs, I found my cellphone on the table in the entryway, along with a key to the house and a note from the Count.

Your servicelast night was appreciated.

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