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  “Come. We’re going back indoors,” Trenton says, before I can suggest it.

  He places his hand against my lower back and guides me toward the house. As we reach the double doors, he pauses to look out at the blackness surrounding his property, and then ushers me inside.

  Chapter Eight

  I don’t get to finish my pie.

  After Trenton and I enter the house, he takes me on a tour. So far he’s acted like a gentleman with only subtle glances at my body and a firm yet gentle hand against my lower back, but his casual demeanor does nothing to extinguish the flames seething beneath my skin whenever our eyes meet.

  Every room looks like the one before. They’re all decorated with fancy carpets, tapestries, murals, and antique furniture. The style is very masculine, imposing, and not at all my taste. I appreciate the estate as one would a museum—it’s impressive and interesting, but cold and uninviting—not a proper home. It makes me value my shoebox apartment even more.

  In spite of all this, I allow him to continue showing me around because his peculiar lifestyle intrigues me. Also, the rooms we explore are easily accessible, but I notice others—which he avoids—have keypads mounted outside their doors. I wonder if he’ll let me see what’s inside any of them.

  Throughout the tour, I offer basic information about growing up in San Francisco, my decision to become a nurse, and my recent move to Brooklyn. Trenton doesn’t pry, despite what he said about wanting to get to know me better. I wonder if he’s not as interested as he says he is. Or perhaps he knows more about me than he’s letting on.

  Even though I want to give Trenton the benefit of the doubt after his promise that he’s been truthful with me since we met, I can’t ignore my nursing intuition regarding his head wound. This nagging suspicion keeps me guarded.

  We take an elevator up to the next floor and Trenton opens another door. He flicks on the light and gestures for me to step inside. Thousands of books sit perched on mahogany shelves that stretch above us to a glass dome ceiling. A giant globe sits in the middle of the library on a patterned rug, surrounded by four leather sofas. Two ladders on wheels connect to the bookshelves and run all the way up to the top. Although I’m not scared of heights, even I would feel dizzy if I had to get a book from up there.

  “Where did you get all of these books?” I walk to the center of the room and smile as I breathe in the musty scent of old paper. I used to work at a library in college. Although that library wasn’t nearly as impressive as this one, I still feel at home.

  “Most of them have been in my family for years; some I acquired from libraries that have closed down, some from universities. Others I obtained through auction.” He smirks. “Not eBay.”

  “Of course not eBay. That would be so uncivilized.” I gesture to the books. “May I?”

  He nods. “Go ahead.”

  With a squeal, I dart toward the shelves. I don’t care how juvenile I look. I’m in my element right now. If Trenton wants to get to know me better, then I’m not going to pretend his collection doesn’t excite me.

  I drag my fingers along the spines of various books and read their titles. Many of them are first editions. They belong to a variety of genres, so I can’t possibly guess what his favorites are.

  “I take it you enjoying reading.”

  I gasp and spin around, coming face to face with Trenton. And by face to face, I mean his luscious lips are mere inches from mine. How he got from the doorway to right behind me without my Trent-dar going off is beyond me.

  I swat his chest playfully. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  Trenton chuckles. “It’s not my fault you were so preoccupied that you didn’t hear my approach.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and brushes his hand down the side of my face.

  I take a step back before I pass out. “In response to your comment, yes, I do enjoy reading.”

  “Then I’ll give you some time to look around.”

  I giggle. “If I pull out one of the books, will I open a secret passageway?”

  “Just stay away from the Contemporary Arts section.”

  I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

  I spend the next ten minutes or so exploring Trenton’s collection as he watches me intently. We discuss certain titles, and by the time I leave, I feel a lot less intimidated by his home. It’s nice to know that even amongst all of the marble and antiques, there is at least one room where I feel at ease.

  We stop by his theater room—one of three in this manor—and then we check out a ballroom, which apparently housed many opulent parties in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

  Trenton circles me seductively as he recites the ballroom’s history. My eyes remain wide as I take in the elaborate decor, trying to ignore the erotic prowl of my host while envisioning us as guests at one of the swanky soirees; Trenton dressed in a dashing tuxedo, sweeping me across the floor, leading me in a grand waltz or sexy tango.

  After my imaginary Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire moment, Trenton and I head to the West Wing, as he calls it, and he escorts me down another corridor.

  “Why do some of the doors have keypads for entry?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  “Certain rooms require special clearance to get inside.”

  “Why?”

  “I have confidential information on my computers relating to my business and clients, as well as priceless antiques that cannot be replaced if stolen. I wouldn’t want my possessions to fall into the wrong hands. One can never be too careful.”

  “Okay, I get the antiques, but wouldn’t your computers be password protected or something to prevent theft of information?”

  Trenton rolls his eyes. “Any teenage hacker can override computer passwords. Given my line of work, my security needs to be much more complex.”

  We pass one of the doors in question.

  I stop. “What’s in here?”

  “You don’t want to go in there,” he says flatly.

  I swallow hard. “Why not?”

  Trenton grabs my hip and draws me near. “This particular room may not suit your tastes, considering you enjoyed my library so much. Its contents are much more . . . risqué.”

  I square my shoulders. “Show me. I can handle it.”

  His lips curl into a grin. “You have to promise you won’t run away.”

  “I won’t.”

  It’s not like I’d have anywhere to run even if I wanted to, aside from flagging down a deer in the forest and riding bareback to Brooklyn.

  Trenton shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you’re ready for this.”

  I try to act nonchalant. “If I can handle your weapons room, I can handle another one of your dirty little secrets.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  I stare up at him steadfastly.

  With a smirk, he walks away from me to type a code into the keypad. The control panel illuminates a fluorescent blue color and the door opens slowly all on its own.

  “Welcome, Sara,” he steps over the threshold and into darkness, “to my playroom.”

  Playroom?

  Trenton flicks a switch and the overhead lights illuminate. When I see what’s inside I burst out laughing. The place is lit up like Chuck E. Cheese. There’s a foosball table, chess table, pool table, poker table, four lanes of bowling, a massive flat screen television, lazy boy chairs, arcade games—everything needed to keep a kid entertained for hours. I guess even dominant and sexy CEOs need a little play time—of the G-rated variety.

  I shake my head, still giggling. “Playroom.”

  Trenton grins. “What did you think was in here?”

  “Don’t pretend you’re innocent. You tricked me!”

  Trenton gapes at me in mock surprise. “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did! You led me to believe . . .”

  “Led you to believe what?” He tilts his head to the side.

  Finally, I get my laughter under
control. “Why would you keep this room locked when your swords are so easily accessible?”

  “This room used to serve another purpose before I had all this stuff transferred in, so it needed to be protected properly.”

  “So do you spend a lot of time here challenging Christopher, Sean, or Randall to some hardcore Mario Brothers?”

  “Mario Brothers? This isn’t the 1990s, Sara.”

  I smile. “Sorry. The last time I played video games was on my cousin’s old-school Nintendo. I had to blow on the cartridges to get them to work.”

  Trenton licks his lips. “I bet you were good at that.”

  I’m dying to have a repeat of the sexual banter we shared in his weapons room, but to stay true to my pact, I resist.

  With my smile intact, I shake my head. “I’m not falling for that one, Mr. Merrick.”

  I step away from him and give the room a good once-over. Trenton even owns board games I played when I was a kid. In fact, his collection spans several decades’ worth of fads, minus any action figures or Hot Wheels, thank God.

  Once I’ve seen enough, we exit the room.

  “You’re lucky I’ve already seen your weapons collection or else I might question your manliness after seeing that game room.” I poke my elbow into his ribs.

  Trenton chuckles and shuts the door behind us. The keypad beeps twice. He takes my hand. It feels . . . nice. Normal.

  “Are your other homes decorated in the same style as this one?” I ask as we make a right and walk along another dimly lit corridor.

  “My Manhattan apartment is much more modern, whereas my European homes, for example, are influenced by renaissance styles. This manor is my gothic revival indulgence.”

  “It’s very . . . Bruce Wayne.”

  Trenton cocks his eyebrows. “Bruce Wayne?”

  “You know—Batman.”

  Trenton grins. “Yes, I know who he is. It’s just an interesting comparison.”

  “And Randall is like your Alfred.” I giggle as we enter another marble atrium. “However, if you were a superhero, I couldn’t quite picture you wearing tights and a cape—unless Armani or Prada custom-made them for you.”

  Trenton shakes his head. His blue eyes twinkle. “You read too many books, Sara. Secret passageways, crime fighting. Your imagination is running rampant.”

  “Hey, my ideas aren’t so farfetched. You don’t have to be a superhero to make a positive difference in the world. Your visit to Haiti proves that.”

  Sadness trickles into Trenton’s face. “I’m not the good guy just because I flew to Haiti and helped out.”

  “You’re just being modest.”

  Trenton doesn’t respond.

  I strive to lighten the mood. “Well, I think it’s great what you did there, regardless of your opinion.”

  We ascend a marble staircase, hand in hand, Trenton leading the way. My steps become hesitant as I realize what’s next. The first part of the tour was relatively tame. I can only assume the top floor will be the opposite.

  Trenton stops halfway up the stairs and glances over his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

  I remain on the step below him and pry my hand from his. “I already know what’s up there. I don’t need to see it.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “And what would that be?”

  “Well, let’s see.” I tick off the list on my fingers. “You’ve shown me your dining hall, library, conservatory, playroom, ballroom, parlor, and weapons room—almost every type of room known to man—so I can say with confidence that this wing houses the bedrooms, more specifically, your bedroom.”

  A smirk plays across Trenton’s lips. “Why does visiting my bedroom bother you? Are you afraid I’ll have a better chance seducing you there as opposed to other rooms in the house?”

  I roll my eyes, despite that the notion of him seducing me in any capacity sounds all kinds of amazing. “No, I just don’t think your ego would be able to recover after I refuse you again.”

  My heart leaps as he descends to my step, his eyes dark with desire and determination.

  “Then you leave me no choice. I’ll just have to seduce you right here.”

  I keep my chin up. “What makes you so sure I’d cave?”

  Trenton brings his hand around the back of my neck and pulls my face closer, resting his warm lips against my ear. “Because your blush gives you away, Miss Peters.”

  My hand flies out to steady myself, landing right in the middle of his chest. The corners of his mouth lift triumphantly. I close my eyes as he strokes the back of my neck and presses his lips to mine, softly and sensually, though his embrace feels purposeful.

  Soon, he eases me backward and presses me against the wall. My breath hitches as he lifts my hands and pins them over my head.

  “Damn it, I want you.” He lets go of my wrists and runs his fingers up my bare thighs to my butt, hiking up my dress. “You have one hot body, you know that?”

  He pulls at the back of my thong and lets it go, snapping the strap against my skin.

  I yelp and drop my arms to my sides.

  He smirks. “Nice panties, too.”

  “Make sure those hands don’t wander beneath those nice panties, got it?”

  Trenton moves his hand back to my butt. “That’s your loss, Miss Peters.”

  With a devious smile, I tug on the ends of his loose tie and bring him closer until our noses touch. “No, I’d say the loss is all yours, Mr. Merrick. Now please obey my rule and kiss me.”

  A low growl reverberates in Trenton’s throat as his lips capture mine. They aren’t reunited for long. My head falls back against the wall with the commencement of his thrusts, and within moments, my legs are wrapped around his waist and my hands are buried in his hair.

  The rhythm of our bodies is a divine blend of desperation and all-consuming passion, Trenton’s dedication to my pleasure dragging me into a sweet abyss of desire where I lose my bearings, willing to completely let go and trust him to take care of me at my most vulnerable.

  “Tell me how I make you feel, Sara.” Trenton drifts his lips across my cheek, kneading my ass with his strong hands.

  I struggle to reply through my panting. “What about how I make you feel?”

  “This isn’t about me,” he says, dispensing hot kisses down my neck. “I will always put you first . . . always.”

  I gasp from the sensation of his tongue venturing lower . . . teasing . . . swirling.

  “I want to take you to my bed, Sara.”

  Another hot kiss to my neck. Another brush of his tongue along my skin.

  “Let me do this right, like you deserve.”

  I smile and shake my head. “Not going to happen. Not tonight.”

  Trenton presses me firmer against the wall. “Then I’ll finish this right here.”

  He removes one hand from my ass and massages my breast over my dress. My head flies back on a whimper; my hands make a mess of his hair.

  “I want you to come for me, Sara.” His thumb and forefinger tease my nipple while his mouth stakes claim to my throat. “You want that, too, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes!”

  I close my eyes as his sensual kisses and the feel of him between my legs usher me toward my release. Then someone clears their throat.

  And it’s not Trenton.

  Chapter Nine

  I loosen my legs from around Trenton’s waist, my flight toward orgasm crashing almost as soon as I achieve liftoff. He lowers me carefully until my feet touch the stairs. My legs shake. I press my back to the wall again so I don’t lose my footing and somersault all the way back down to the first floor.

  “Mr. Merrick, sir.”

  Randall.

  I struggle to straighten my dress, ensuring I’m properly covered. Trenton doesn’t look fazed at all. He steps away from me and runs his hand through his hair as I gasp for breath, my body begging for the pleasure to continue while my mind grapples with utter humiliation.

  “What is it, Randall?�
�� Trenton knots his tie.

  “A phone call, sir. I suggest you take it in your private study.”

  Randall and Trenton share a silent exchange.

  “Excuse me, Sara,” Trenton says without looking at me. He fastens a button on his suit jacket and bounds down the stairs two at a time before disappearing around the corner, leaving me alone with Randall.

  Well, this is awkward.

  Patting down my hair, I step away from the wall to the center of the step. My face burns. I imagine I look a complete mess after having Trenton’s hands all over me.

  I exhale a deep breath and look at Randall.

  “Would you like to wait for Mr. Merrick in the parlor, Miss Peters?” It sounds more like an order than a suggestion.

  “Uh, sure.” With my eyes to the floor, I join Randall on the landing.

  I feel completely disoriented as he leads me down unfamiliar corridors. Even after Trenton’s tour, there is still so much of his estate I haven’t seen.

  My humiliation lingers as Randall ushers me into a different parlor from the one I was in earlier. I have no idea how I’m going to carry on a normal conversation with him after what he just witnessed.

  Randall remains professional. He offers me a glass of wine, but I decline. I feel intoxicated enough after my hot and heavy make out session with his boss.

  Thankfully, he excuses himself and I’m left alone to get my hormones in check and distract myself from thinking about what happened. The tasks prove to be impossible. I can’t get over the memory of Trenton pushing me against the wall, grinding between my legs, and his surprising confession:

  I will always put you first . . . always.

  I recall the vulnerability in his voice as he declared those words to me; how I tumbled into the depths of his promise and he afforded me—whether purposefully or not—another unguarded view of the man behind the money, power, and poise.

  Trenton is volatile, confident, and controlling, but also respectful; a maze of mystery more complex than the labyrinth of corridors that comprise this vast estate. As much as I learned about him over dinner, he remains enigmatic. But the crazy thing is he called me fascinating.