Chapter Eleven
Early the next morning, a soft knock sounded on the door. Boone opened his eyes, surprised to find light flooding the bedroom. He’d overslept.
The reason lay draped across his chest, her knee dangerously close to his balls. Gently, he moved Tilly off his body, but needn’t have worried about waking her.
Muttering softly, she rolled to her side and fell back to sleep.
Boone climbed off the bed and padded to the door, opening it a crack.
Serge stood in the hallway, his gaze lifting beyond Boone’s shoulder to the bed. “I hate to disturb you, boss,” he said, his troubled gaze boring into Boone’s, “but you’ve got visitors—the sheriff and some pencil-neck who’s all up in arms about the fire.”
Boone stiffened. “Give me a minute. I’ll be down.”
His friend arched a brow. “No rush. Beatrice arrived. She’s serving them coffee and crumpets.”
The idea of Beatrice serving anything but a starchy stare was laughable. Boone’s mouth twitched.
He shut the door and turned back to the bed.
Tilly was sitting, the comforter pulled under her chin to shield her body. “Leon’s here?” She rolled her eyes. “Bet he’s checkin’ to see if I’m still all in one piece.”
“Maybe you should put on my robe and join us,” he drawled. “Just to put his mind at ease.”
She shook her head, her lips pursing in a gentle rebuke. “That wouldn’t be the best foot to put forward, Boone. No need to give him another reason to distrust you. The man’s been after me forever.”
“Exactly my point,” he muttered under his breath as he strode toward her. But Tilly’s blush reminded him his agenda wasn’t necessarily hers. “I’ll shower. You can take your time.”
“I have to wear my Daisy Dukes.” She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t exactly prepare for an overnight.”
Boone reached down to take her hands and pulled her forward. The comforter fell, and he glanced down at her naked body, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat at the sight of her pink nipples. Damn, but he wished he had time to savor sucking the tender flesh into full, beady erection. “I think you’ll find clothes in my closet.”
“Wow.” Her eyebrows rose for a second, and then they lowered. “You took a lot for granted. Or should I expect to have to squeeze into someone else’s size two?”
He knew better than to let his gaze dip again, and met the militant gleam in her blue eyes. “I didn’t expect anything, Tilly—I hoped.”
She lowered her head, slowly tugging her hands from his. “Go get your shower, Boone. Leon doesn’t like to wait. He can be ornery when he’s pissed.”
Boone left her, not liking the tension that remained between them, not after the night they’d shared. But then, maybe the distance was for the best. Tilly was a distraction. She tempted him to rethink his plans, and he’d worked too hard to arrive at the point where he actually had the power and influence to set things in motion. So why was his chest tight?
When he entered the parlor fifteen minutes later, he felt as though he’d entered enemy territory.
Leon Fournier stood with his hat in his hand, his uniform pressed with knife-edge creases and his badge shiny. The stare he leveled on Boone was hard and cold. The man who accompanied him was short, bald, and wearing a light, badly fitting suit. He held a large yellow envelope and wore a piggish, self-righteous expression. Neither was sitting or drinking the coffee set on a side table.
Beatrice offered him a thin smile, and then began the introductions. “You know the sheriff, Mr. Benoit. And this is Mr. Gentry from the state’s division of historic preservation. Both gentlemen have some concerns regarding the fire last night,” she said with a pointed glance.
Leon sniffed as though smelling something bad. “Was wonderin’ why you didn’t call in the fire, Mr. Benoit.”
Boone smiled. “The blaze was small, contained. My employees were able to put it out.”
“You do know that every buildin’ on this property is listed on the national registry?” Mr. Gentry lifted his pointy chin. “If it was purposely set…”
Boone winced at the man’s irritating whine. “It was an accident. Wood as old as that.” He shrugged, staring the man down.
“Funny, no storms, no lightning strikes to explain it,” Leon said. “And that particular cabin…You can see why we’d be suspicious.”
Mr. Gentry’s shoulders stiffened. “And there are the renovations goin’ on now. I’ll need to inspect. You didn’t request any variances. I can find no record of a request coming through our office.”
“I can assure you, sir. The house and grounds are being restored to their previous state. If my staff overlooked any documentation they should have forwarded you, I apologize. Beatrice can show you around. There have been a few upgrades to the electrical wiring and amenities in the kitchens and bathrooms, but nothing that should alarm you. I trust you can inspect quickly, because I have a crew eager to continue the work.”
The little man’s jaw jutted.“You should have applied for permits. In advance.”
“This is my home. I didn’t need permission.”
“It’s a public treasure.”
Narrowing his eyes a fraction, Boone smiled. “If you’ll check with Mr. Axiom at the office of cultural development,” he said, naming Gentry’s supervisor, “you’ll find he has reviewed my plans. If they weren’t properly filed, you’ll need to take him to task.”
Mr. Gentry swallowed, and then nodded. “I’ll get in touch with his office. In the meantime, I accept your invitation to inspect.”
Boone gave Beatrice a steady stare, telling her they would have a conversation later. She hadn’t been called to the estate and should have been working at the New Orleans office, but he thought he knew why she was here. In the past few months, she’d become possessive of his time. Not something he’d encouraged. Worse, her presence now might prove awkward for Tilly, and he wanted no setbacks in his campaign to seduce Tilly Floret.
When Beatrice and Mr. Gentry left the room, he turned his gaze back to the sheriff.
“Hello, Leon,” came a sultry voice from behind him.
Boone glanced back, satisfaction flooding him at the sight of Tilly entering the room. She wore a casual turquoise blouse with thick shoulder straps and a narrowed waist, white silk capris, and silver ballet flats. Her hair was wet and pulled back into a high, tight ponytail, the barest hint of makeup brightening her cheeks and eyelids. Her mouth was a little swollen, but maybe he was the only one who noticed, because he knew the cause.
“Tilly,” Leon said, his narrowed eyes sweeping her body as she came to a halt beside Boone.
“I see you’ve come to check out all the excitement we had last night. Everything happened so fast,” she said, her Southern drawl a tad exaggerated. “Boone and his workers were all over it, makin’ sure the other cabins didn’t catch a spark as well.” She shivered delicately. “The smoke was awful. Chased me right out of my cottage.”
Leon’s stare lasted a second longer than it should have, but then he blinked.
Boone wondered if the sheriff was equally as fascinated by this Tilly—chicly dressed and smiling confidently.
Leon glanced at Boone, winced, and then returned to Tilly. He cleared his throat. “Mae’s worried about you. Said you left without givin’ her any notice.”
Tilly’s down-turned mouth reflected real regret. “I’m sorry I left her in such a rush, but there was an incident that Black Spear had to respond to. The timing was perfect for me to see the operation in action. It was all very excitin’. I got swept away.”
Boone nearly snorted, but kept his expression neutral, letting Tilly do exactly what he’d hired her to do.
A flush creeping up his neck, Leon cleared his throat again. “Tilly, perhaps you could make time to stop by and speak with Mae. Ease her mind and assure her you’re doin’ well.”
Tilly reached out and touched the hand clutching his uniform hat. “Tell her I’ll be by soon.” She gave him a pat and her hand dropped away.
Leon nodded, his fingers clenching hard around the brim. His gaze hardened the instant it landed on Boone again. “I’ll be outside waitin’ for Mr. Gentry to finish his tour. Tilly, Boone…”
When the sheriff was out of earshot, Boone turned to Tilly. “That was some performance.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Thought you might need a little Southern honey to sweeten that sourpuss. Leon’s not a bad man, Boone. He could be a valuable ally, but if he’s got his back set to keep you under the microscope, he can be a real pain in the ass.”
Bemused by her sudden change from smooth honey to vinegar, Boone’s mouth twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His gaze flickered downward. “I see you found something suitable to wear.”
She leaned closer. “I shudder that someone on your staff knows my bra size,” she whispered. “It’s unnerving.”
Boone quirked an eyebrow. “Join me for breakfast?”
“That might be awkward,” she said, lifting her chin. “Don’t you think if we’re gonna keep this thing under wraps, that we ought to—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “It’s just breakfast. After the night we had, I’m starved. You must be as well.”
Her lips pressed against his finger.
His skin warmed as he remembered her mouth on certain parts of his body. But he quickly leashed the feeling. What he wanted to do—sweep her up and lay her down on the nearest soft surface—and what he should do—protect her modesty—warred inside him. The last thing he wanted was to leave her embarrassed over the fact everyone would know she’d screwed the boss. His people would be discreet, but Leon was just outside…
Her eyes were wide, perfect windows into her pretty head. She was worried about how everyone would treat her today, knowing where she’d slept. But also worried about how he was going to treat her. She’d behaved fiercely proud in front of his company to save face.
Boone dropped his finger and picked up her hand, setting it on his arm. “Breakfast, and then I’ll have you shadow Jonesy for the morning.”
Her breath left in a sigh, rosy color flooding her cheeks. She lifted her head and gave him a sideways glance that was at once kittenish and bold. “Mornin’, by the way.”
Warmth spread through him at her husky greeting. “We have stools in the kitchen now.”
She laughed. “I’m almost disappointed.”
* * *
Tilly was relieved Colby Jones, or “Jonesy” as he’d insisted she call him, didn’t seem to mind her company throughout the morning. But then again, he didn’t show any pleasure either. In fact, he showed absolutely no emotion. She wondered if being impassive was a SEAL thing or just the fact they were accustomed to hiding their thoughts. She could only imagine the things they’d all seen.
Jonesy was another ruggedly built man, nearly as burly as Bear, and with a jaw the WWE wrestler John Cena would have envied. Hazel eyes, dark hair that glinted gold when the sunlight struck it—he wasn’t handsome, but he was so masculine that she wondered how she would maintain a professional demeanor when all she wanted to do was simper. She wondered what he’d do if she raised the back of her hand to her forehead and faked a faint.
The thought of his dismay made her smile.
“We’ve been working from photos from the Historical Society, the library, and Boone’s family album,” he said, sweeping a hand across the long table set up in the library next to the French doors that opened onto the backyard patio.
“I remember how it was,” Tilly said, nodding. “The Benoits used to open the estate for Fourth of July. There was a big picnic, then fireworks on the lawn where the helicopter lands now. It’s the only cleared spot in Bayou Vert that’s big enough. I remember the trees along the drive, and the fact that there were always flowers in bloom, but not much else about the festivities.” She glanced down at the printed scan from a photo and then looked out at the garden behind the house.
Workers were busy clearing flower beds and pruning roses. The far side of the garden was a mess. Debris from the rising bayou during some great storm was tangled in bushes and the lower tree branches. Stones framing rose beds were being dug from the debris and stacked to one side.
She gave Jonesy a hard glance. “Looks as though he’s planning to reconstruct the garden exactly as it was. Why’s that?”
“You’ll have to ask Boone,” he said, reaching out to open the doors and then indicating she should exit first.
Ask Boone. She wrinkled her nose. She was getting very tired of that answer. Ask Boone, my ass, she mouthed because she didn’t want Jonesy to hear her disparaging his employer and friend.
They strode toward the gazebo, or what was left of it. The roof was gone, panels of latticework missing as well. “You don’t think it would be easier just to demolish it and start fresh?”
He arched a brow, but his mouth remained a firm line.
“I’ll ask Boone why not,” she muttered. They walked a path recently cleared through the woods, dappled light peeking through the canopy of oaks and sycamores above. The ground grew spongier with a thick blanket of leaves.
The path they followed led to a small clearing beside a dredged canal, a finger of water too perfectly formed to be a natural eddy. Huge oak posts stood at the bank and ten feet into the water.
“This was a dock,” Jonesy said with a wave of his hand. “We’ll do a better job of clearing the path, then rebuild the dock. There used to be slips for a couple of airboats and a pirogue.”
“I suppose guests might like a swamp tour,” she said, shrugging.
Having been born on the bayou, she never quite understood tourists’ fascination with the dank, dark waters and the frightening creatures that lived there. Men in town enjoyed hunting and fishing; they knew every twist and turn of the waterways that fed into the bay.
Before her father had left when she was very young, he had taken her brother and her into the water. She’d enjoyed the hum of the boat engine. But when he’d cut it off and used a pole to get closer to the banks, she’d grown frightened by every wake in the water, imagining alligators ready to leap and clamp their giant jaws around her arm. Her father had laughed at her apprehension and pulled her into his lap to give her hug. One of the few memories she had of her father. Warm, but confusing. How could he have seemed so loving, and yet leave them so abruptly? She remembered grieving when he’d left, more because her mother cried for so long than for her father. Her mother had always been the hub of the family, and Tilly had been comforted, knowing her mother’s hugs would keep her warm and safe.
Listening to the sounds around them, she shivered, glad she had someone like Jonesy near. Otherwise, she’d be jumping like a frightened rabbit at every watery splash or crackle in the underbrush.
“There’s a gator’s nest across the way,” he said, pointing to the far side of the narrow canal where tall grass was flattened over a mound of dirt.
She sidled closer to Jonesy, who gave her a level stare that she returned without explanation.
“I’ll keep you safe, Tilly,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice.
Lord, she liked the way these men talked. “Can we go back?” she asked, rubbing her arms.
He nodded and waved a hand toward the trail they’d come down. “I’ll follow.”
Although the hour wasn’t yet noon, the air was thick and muggy, hard to breathe. By the time they got back to the house, her hair was rumpled and frizzy.
“Why don’t you cool off?” he said, eyeing her hair. “I’ll be back after lunch to show you what we’re doing with the house.”
She thought about heading back to her cottage, but since she had time alone, and access to the house, curiosity drew her inside. Wandering through the downstairs rooms, her jaw dropped as she entered sumptuously appointed rooms—the formal Southern parlor she’d entered earlier with its warm yellow walls and pale green upholstered sofas; a library with teak shelving to the ceiling, a heavy desk, and a thick Persian carpet on the floor; a formal dining room with a table large enough to seat twenty; and a larger living room with antique, Victorian-style raised wallpaper and rich wine-colored fabrics covering ornately carved chaises and love seats. Braiding dripped from the curtains.
This would be the place Boone entertained his special guests. She wondered if they’d make use of the long braided curtain pulls, and then hurried out of the room at the sensual images that flooded her imagination.
All the downstairs floors were deep, honey-colored oak. All the rooms had twelve-foot ceilings with ornate crown moldings and molded adornments surrounding each chandelier. Twin restrooms faced each other in the back landing where the private stairs led to the bedrooms above. A peek inside showed that one was appointed as a ladies’ room, with pink-and-wine wallpaper, a gold-framed mirror, and gold fixtures. The men’s room bore pinstriped wallpaper in navy and wine, and the fixtures were less grand, with a masculine brushed steel.
The stairs beckoned her. She’d only seen his room, but was curious about the rest. And where was his office? There must a room where his security team monitored the estate. Was it inside the house or somewhere else on the grounds?
She tilted her head, listening for any sounds of movement above. She’d hate to meet anyone while she snooped.
* * *
Serge poked his head around the door, wearing a smug smile. “Boss, you’ll want to see this.”
The cause could only be Tilly.
Boone powered down his workstation, set his phone on vibrate, and followed Serge through the connecting door into the security room to the row of monitors.
Behind him, Serge quietly closed the door, which was hidden behind wood paneling in his office wall. And none too soon.
In one monitor, he watched as his office door creaked open. A blonde head peered around it.
“Boone,” he heard her whisper, but she looked anything but disappointed to find his office empty.
Boone took a seat in front of the monitor, glad of the panoramic camera that sat on his desk in the other room, which had a view toward the door. He watched Tilly walk inside, her gaze scanning the room. She stopped at the bookcase and touched a couple of books, a finger trailing the spines, but then she glanced back at his desk.
“If she’s a spy, she’s not very good at it,” Serge whispered. “She hasn’t spotted any of the cameras.”
“That’s because she’s not a spy,” Boone muttered.
Serge grunted, arms crossing his chest, as he stood beside Boone, who used the roller ball to turn the camera and keep her in the center of the screen.
Hands clasped behind her back, she moved around the walls, looking at pictures, every once in a while glancing over her shoulder at the desk.
He could almost see the wheels turning. She was curious. He wondered how long before she gave in to the temptation.
“She’ll need punishment,” Serge murmured.
This time Boone grunted. And his cock stirred. Punishment was something he was looking forward to introducing her to. She was lovely, young, wholesome. Just remembering how she’d snuggled into his groin throughout the night was enough to make him ache.
She finished her circle and walked to the window, standing to the side to lift the blinds and peek outside. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, then straightened her shoulders.
When she circled his desk and sat in his chair, he switched the feed to the camera attached to the bottom of his monitor. Her image appeared, ensconced in the executive chair.
But she didn’t seem interested with what might be on his computer, not that she’d be able to access a thing. Nor did she seem interested in anything that might be hidden in the drawers of his desk.
She sat in his chair, placing her hands on the arms, wrapping her fingers around them, then smoothing them up and down the leather. Turning her head, she drew in a breath that lifted her chest.
“Is she smelling the leather?” Serge whispered.
No, Boone would have bet anything she was sniffing his cologne. He smiled. “Come with me. Be quiet.”
He pushed up from his seat and hurried to the door leading to the hallway, then quietly padded to his office door. He turned the handle and pushed the door open an inch. Pitching his voice loudly, he said, “Serge, I think I left the plans on my desk. This will just take a moment.”
Serge’s eyes wrinkled with laughter, but he cleared his expression.
Boone pushed open the door, hearing a gasp and a scrape. When he opened the door, there was no sight of Tilly.
Only one place she could have hidden.
“They’re on my desk,” he said, again overloud.
He and Serge entered, their gazes going to the desk with its enclosed well beneath.
From the front, she was completely hidden.
He winked at Serge and walked around the desk, standing behind it and shuffling pages. “Ah, here,” he said, picking up a newspaper and sliding it across the surface before taking his seat.
Being careful to give her time to scramble backward, he spread his thighs and rolled his chair closer, trapping her.
He could imagine her expression, cheeks reddened with mortification, nibbling her bottom lip as she tried to figure out how to gracefully get out of her predicament. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. When had anyone amused him so much?
Fierce satisfaction burned through him. She’d provided him the perfect opportunity for him to teach his first lesson in obedience.
While Serge picked up the paper and began a nonsensical monologue, Boone thrust his hand between his legs, palm up, and waited.
Her fingers stroked his palm, and he captured her hand. “If you’ll take the plans and speak with Jonesy, I have some business to take care of here.”
Serge’s grin stretched across his face, and he pointed to the security room door, indicating Boone wasn’t going to have the privacy he wanted, and knowing Boone wasn’t going to give up the game to tell him otherwise.
Boone gave him a deadly glare, waited for the door to close, and then let go of Tilly’s hand, placing both of his on the surface of his desk before speaking. “Should I even ask?” he said, adding a dangerous edge to his voice.
“How’d you know I was here?” she hissed.
“I’m the only one who’ll be asking questions.”
A dragged-out sigh was followed by a mumbled “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it.”
Fingers played with the crease of his trousers. “Are you gonna fire me?”
Boone glared into the monitor, knowing Serge was likely chuckling away. “No, dear, but there ought to be a punishment, don’t you think?”
She snorted. “What are you gonna do? Spank me?”
“Funny you should mention that…”
Her breath caught.
He waited, wanting to see if she’d begin to backpedal nervously. But she remained silent, likely thinking hard about what he meant.
Boone schooled his face into a neutral mask and rolled back his chair. “Crawl out of there, sweetheart.”
On her hands and knees, she came forward, her eyes the first thing he saw because they were wide. And curious.
He almost relented but was hard as a post and far too eager to test her. He hadn’t left her enough space to straighten, not without touching him.
Tilly swallowed, placed her hands on his thighs, and slowly rose to stand in front of him, trapped between his spread legs and the desk. Her face was pale except for wild color balled in the centers of her cheeks. Her eyes were round. Her lips parted, the bottom one swollen as though she’d bitten it.
Boone eased back in his seat, setting his chin in the L formed by his forefinger and thumb, his middle finger riding the seam of his mouth as he studied her.
He noted the curls framing her face and escaping her messy ponytail, the healthy glow of her tanned shoulders. The lace of her bra didn’t hide the constriction of her nipples, pressed against the turquoise top.
“Turn around, Tilly,” he said, keeping his voice even.
Her chest rose around a deep inhalation, but she inched around in the small space.
“Open your pants and drop them. You may keep your panties on if you wish.”
Her gasp was light but audible. “What about the door?”
“No one will interrupt us. I promise,” he said, aiming another glare at the camera beneath his monitor. So Serge would see more than he might wish. This was too important an opportunity to let pass.
With her breaths shortening, she raised both hands in front of her. Her clothing rustled, and then her capris eased over her lush bottom and pooled at her feet. She’d left the pale lacy band of her panties in place.
“Bend over my desk.”
She placed her hands on the mahogany top and leaned over it.
“Your chest against the wood. Place your hands behind you and clasp them together.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “This feels awkward, Boone.”
“Sir. Call me sir.”
Her bottom tightened. The thin silk hugging her fleshy globes provided next to no protection from his hungry gaze. Already, he noted dampness at the crotch of her panties.
He’d said she could keep the panties, but he was eager to see how far she’d let him go before her modesty interfered. Serge could see the sleek, pale sides of her hips, but not the interesting bits behind. Knowing his friend watched was no impediment to Boone’s pleasure. In fact, knowing he was watching added to his enjoyment. Serge would quickly come to understand his fascination with this woman.
With a gentle move, he plucked at the elastic band at the top of her panties and slowly slid them past the crease of her thighs.
Her p-ssy was wet and beginning to turn pink. He rested a hand on one round globe. “Have you ever been spanked, Tilly?”
A noisy exhalation sounded. “Not since I was a child, and then only a scootch on the butt from my mom.”
“What do you think about receiving a spanking from a man?”
“I think…it’s humiliatin’,” she said, her voice getting smaller.
“Is that all?”
Her p-ssy tightened. More fluid oozed from inside her. “I think…that since I did something so grievous, that I deserve it…sir.”
When she added that one little word at the end, Boone was lost. He’d thought her perfection before. She’d just sealed her fate.