Page 11 of The Spiral
I take my hand from its position on the doorframe and extended it to her, hoping she’ll simply put her hand in mine and leave it there, forever.
“Miss?”
“Cavannagh,” she replies, taking it and shaking it firmly, and then trying to pull away. I don’t let her. I close the distance between us and stare into her eyes instead, waiting for more language to fall out so I can bask in it some more. “Mr. Caldwell, could I have my hand back?” she eventually asks. No, she can’t. “Because it’s a bit strange to be holding your hand on a first meeting.” I’ve met her a thousand times before. Walked with her. Talked with her. Eaten, holidayed, drank with her. I’ve fucked her a thousand times, too, rolled on beds and held her naked skin to mine. Ground myself into her pussy, drank from it. I glare at the internal image, letting my eyes caress the slight pinking of her cheeks as she keeps gently tugging at my hand. “I really think we should….”
“What do you think we should?” I mutter.
She shakes, her whole body trembling in my hand. I feel it travel through her fingertips as she stops trying to pull away and just stands there. The sight makes me imagine all the things we should be doing. It’s been a long time since I felt the desire to bury myself inside something because of sentimental reasons, but she’s so like Selma. Perhaps even a reincarnation of the woman I loved.
“I, well, perhaps the antiques?” Fuck the antiques. Fuck anything but just standing here so I can watch the way she moves, or flinches, or even the way she’s beginning to look amused by my behaviour. “Mr. Caldwell, really. This is flattering, but I’m here to do a job,” she says, bracing her other hand on mine and snatching my hold away. Job. Yes, I suppose she is. Not that she’s taking a damn thing from here. “Shall I?” she says, nodding past me into the house.
My eyes narrow at that, but before I can find the words I want, she picks up her bag and proceeds to duck past me into the hall.
“You have a beautiful home,” she calls, swaying down the hall and dragging a finger along the walls. It’s not nearly as beautiful as the little thing that’s currently striding towards the centre of it, hardening my cock with every footfall. “I’m excited to see the Phillips works,” she says, turning to the right and disappearing from view. Is she? I scowl, surprised at that. They were cheap when bought. I can’t even remember where they are.
I turn the corner and gaze at the sway of her ass, remembering the way I used to smack Selma’s when we fucked. “I was told they’re on the gallery landing. Shall we start up there and...” My feet rush to catch up with her, not hearing the last of her words as I realise where she’s intending to go.
“No,” I snap, grabbing her arm harshly and pulling her away from the spiral staircase. She snatches her arm back instantly and glares as she backs away into the foyer, causing me to sneer at her anger. “No one goes up those stairs.”
“Why?” she immediately retorts, looking confused. Why, is none of her business. I pocket my damned hands again for fear of just throwing her on the floor and fucking her. “I can hardly do my job if you won’t let me see the work, Mr. Caldwell.”
“I don’t need you to do a job.” Her brows rise as she rubs her arm, making her seem aloof and capricious. Possibly about to bolt for the door.
“Then why am I here?”
I can’t think of an answer apart from the fact I’m not letting her go. And the fact that she’s so direct is becoming an issue for my ability to think rationally. I just want to look at her, watch her, and listen to her. Fuck her, actually. I want to fuck her. And kiss her, kiss Selma again. I want to feel her on my skin, trace my tongue with hers and remind myself of Selma’s love.
I glance around, unsure what the fuck to do.
“You want a drink?” I eventually mumble out, hoping it will go some way to apologizing for manhandling her.
“No, thank you.”
I hover at the bottom of the stairs, sneering at the black carpet and chastising myself for my inadequacy. The silence carries on, something I’m normally comfortable in, but not this time. I frown, flicking my eyes across to her and not attempting to make the atmosphere any more relaxed as she stares at me. She’s so like her—the way she stands, the slight raise of brow, the haughty disposition. Long legs, tight waist, slender fingers that will grab on, no doubt. Dig in. And her lips echo kisses from long ago. God, she’s beautiful. So beautiful. Like a sculpture of the perfect creation.
“It’s cold,” she eventually says.
Is it? I hadn’t noticed.
Blowing out a breath and straightening my back, I pull at my tie and try to find a way to make her stay a while longer at least.
“Miss Cavannagh, we should start in the ballroom at the back,” I offer, pointing back past her towards the kitchen.
“You have a ballroom?” she says, startled as she uncrosses her arms in anticipation and brightens her frown into a smile.
“I do,” I mutter, walking past her and crossing through the back corridors towards it.
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she asks, her heels clattering on the wooden floor behind me. “More physical.” I stop and turn back to her, holding my hand up instantly to stop her colliding into me.
“I shouldn’t have touched you. I apologize. It’s just the spiral staircase, it…” It what? Holds criminals at the top, ones covered in blood and wallowing in their own excrement?
I look at my hands, checking the bruising around the knuckles, and then frown at the thought of what I did yesterday to dog number two. What’s upstairs is no one’s business but my own. Nothing else needs to be said. “No one goes upstairs. It’s not safe.”
She opens her mouth. I stare at it, waiting for her to dare questioning me.
“That’s okay,” she says, smiling so widely I nearly stumble back at the brilliance of it. “You’re forgiven. Just this once, though, Mr. Caldwell.”
I smile back, desperate to hold her hand to my face and hear my name whispered from her lips. She tilts her head, still smiling and beginning to giggle a little at something. “Are you okay? You’ve got that look you had outside going on again.”