The big man looked at me hard again, sensing the tears pooling in my eyes and read my mind.
"Can we get the bill?" he rumbled, making eye contact with the manager, and immediately, all the purchases were packaged beautifully to be unwrapped later.
But I wasn't feeling it. Instead, I was morose, silent, as we sat in the car, looking out the window at nothing, seeing but not absorbing. The landscape flew by in a blur, cityscape melting into trees, grass, and finally manors, each estate more imposing than the last.
"You want to tell me what's wrong?" the big man rumbled as we pulled up to the biggest mansion, finally addressing my curled form on the other side of the car seat. "Why you went from a hot little whore to Debbie Downer?"
I should have felt angry. I should have flown at him screaming, clawing his eyes out, calling me a whore like that. But I knew it was true. I was Mr. Black's whore, I wanted him so badly, it was this incredible mix of feelings that was bringing me down. Because I couldn't separate the physical from the emotional, and knowing that we were a temporary item depressed me, snuffed out the light in my soul like a match going out.
So I took a deep breath, reaching deep into my reserves. Because what the hell. I was here for a job, and I resolved to do it well. When you're from hardy New England stock like me, you stick it out, you don't give up. When you're faced with an impossible situation, then it's time to make lemonade out of lemons because I'm a working class girl from the south side of Boston, and grit and determination are my family hallmarks, what helped my ancestors survive in a cold and inhospitable environment years ago. So I wasn't going to be the weak link in a sturdy chain of people, I wasn't going to let my forbears down, no matter how desperate and unsteady I felt inside.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, putting a happy smile on before turning to Mr. Black cheerily.
"I'm so sorry, what?" I asked, feigning ignorance. "I'm sad? No, you've got it wrong, I love the clothes that you bought for me, thank you so much," I parroted. "Come on, let's go inside."
The big man shot me a skeptical look, not fooled for an instant, but unfolded his big form from the car, circling over to my side and pulling me into his arms.
"I know what you're going through," he murmured softly against my lips, seductive, our breaths mingling, looking deep into my eyes. "I know how hard this is for you but I promise I'll make it good. I promise, honey."
And I let out another deep exhale. On the one hand, these were just words and I shouldn't have felt comforted. But on the other hand, every instinct told me to relax, to roll with it, to trust him, to let go for once. Everything Troy had done for me so far, securing my release, buying me clothes, even hinting that he wanted to keep me around for an extra week, meant something, didn't it? I wasn't sure what the meaning was, but the alpha's blue gaze was so genuine, his strong arms encircling me, protecting me, and I melted against that broad chest involuntarily. Because I couldn't resist him, couldn't say no, and making the best of things sometimes means going along with a tide you can't control. And right now, that current meant swimming with Mr. Black, giving into him, indulging in the passion, the comfort, the sensual air that surrounded everything about this man.
So I kissed him back, imbuing the touch with all my hopes, my dreams, my desires, conflicted as they were. Yes, I wanted to be with the alpha, to savor the physical, to get to know him more, his personality, his likes and dislikes, what made him tick and what made him roar. And no, I didn't like how we'd started, him buying me at an auction. But what was done was done, and it was time to take my first step into uncharted territory, tentative as it might be.
So I kissed him back deeply, twining my arms around those broad shoulders, drawing that dark head towards mine, letting him feel my softness, my willingness, the way I trusted and wanted him, giving myself up to his care.
"Yes," I murmured against his lips. "Yes, let's go inside."
And he pulled back for a moment, blue eyes hot, big chest heaving a bit, hands unsteady on my waist.
"Fuck, little girl, you're so beautiful," he ground out, gaze hot my face, the way my caramel eyes were so warm, willing and trusting. But with another harsh rasp, he put an arm around my waist and began leading me up the steps.
"Welcome to my home, Ellie Danes," he ground out, unlocking the door. "Welcome to where Troy Black eats, plays, and sleeps."
And despite the fact that the space was cavernous, much too much for one man, I was curious. There had to be a personal area where Mr. Black relaxed, kicked up his feet and let the world wash over him. There had to be books, knick-knacks, all the accoutrements of a powerful, wealthy man, and I wanted to see them, I wanted to know more about him, what kept this alpha going on a daily basis. I'd been envisioning an office of some sort, dark mahogany furniture, bookshelves filled with tomes, maybe a giant atlas on one side, a tool to guide his travels, his willful wanderings. So when Troy led me to the kitchen and began pulling out ingredients, I was beyond surprised.
"Um, are you cooking?" I asked tentatively, biting my lip, seating myself on a stool at the island. Mr. Black was hauling out pots and pans galore, all of them copper colored and shiny, probably worth more than a month's salary for me. And he grunted, head buried under the counter until he popped up again holding a spatula.
"That's right," he grinned mischievously. "Some guys get off with cigars and whiskey, and shit, I love that stuff too. But honey, when you're six four, you've got to learn to cook because it takes a lot of calories to keep this machine going."
I giggled then. Really? My dark abductor was a master chef? He grinned at me again.
"I didn't always have a cook you know," he said wryly. "Once upon a time, I was a boy with nothing but a dream and my bare hands. Back then, it was either cook or go hungry," he added.
I leaned forward. I couldn't imagine this man poor, couldn't imagine him living in tight circumstances, without anything to his name. It was such a contrast to where we sat now, the huge sub-zero refrigerator, the granite countertops, the fancy brand-name European dishwasher. And he smiled at me again, blue eyes glinting.
"You'd be surprised how far a little sweat equity goes," he said mildly. "I almost broke my back on my first venture, literally broke my back I worked so fucking hard."
I quirked my head at him.
"Were you doing construction?" I asked. "Building beautiful houses?" I could see Troy doing that, he'd be the hot roofer, bare chested on a sunny summer's day, abs flexing as he re-tiled a mansion, all the MILFs and bored housewives coming out to watch.
And he grinned at me.
"Hardly," he said with a wry grin. "I worked in a prison complex. Worked for the County Sheriff herding convicted felons and murderers to and from the mess hall."
I gasped. Oh my god, that sounded like a bad job. And he read my mind, all the while whipping up a concoction in a small bowl, wrist moving so fast it was practically a blur.
"Yeah back then I moonlighted at the Sheriff's Office, working the graveyard shift so I could get my degree during the day. Had to have food to eat while I was studying, so between sleeping four hours a night and fighting with parolees, yeah, I'd say I saw a lot of life in those five years."
My mouth dropped open. He'd been a prison guard for five years? That was a long time in a grim place, I heard the guards basically became felons themselves, dealing drugs to prisoners and taking bribes, even having sex with female prisoners.
But Mr. Black shrugged his shoulders.
"It fucking sucked, yeah, but it paid the bills and I didn't give a shit so long as it was good money. Besides, there was always a plan, an exit route to get out of that hellhole," he rumbled, this time cracking eggs into a bowl. "I made my first investment using what I saved from the Sheriff, and that nugget seeded my second investment, which seeded my third, fourth, and fifth ones. Within a couple years, I'd made my first million, and pretty soon it was multi-millions, and then more than I could ever possibly use."
I gasped. That was a lot of money, and it was the perfect opening to ask about his wealth, the source of his money. But I wasn't that interested because it was his past that intrigued me the most, the key to unlocking this mysterious man.
"But why did you work in a prison? Why didn't you hit up a Starbucks or work as a night security guard somewhere? Wouldn't that be easier and a lot less stressful?" I asked, quirking my head.
Troy shot a thoughtful look my way.