Ruthless King (New Orleans Malones #4)

Chapter 10

10

T his was not what he’d been expecting when he’d told her he wanted to help her with her problems.

He’d expected her to tell him about her bully of a boss. Then he’d offer to take care of it.

Instead, he was in her bathroom, staring at a . . . spider.

Sure, it was a huge spider. But a harmless one. It had built itself quite the web in the corner of the room, right above the toilet.

Regent took a moment to look around, taking in the worn-looking bathroom. The floor tile was old and the grout was missing in some places. The bath was discolored and the basin was chipped.

Why hadn’t he thought about updating the house for her? He essentially owned this place. And he knew she made next to nothing working as a librarian.

The only problem was finding a contractor he could trust to do the work and not nosy around, discovering things they shouldn’t know.

“Can you get rid of Clive?”

“Clive?” he asked, turning to look at Jilly who was standing in the doorway. She was peering into the room anxiously while holding up a folded umbrella.

“What is with the umbrella?” he asked.

“In case you need me to come into the bathroom I need some protection.”

“The umbrella is protection?”

“Yeah, I’ll flick it open to stop Clive from jumping on me and getting in my hair. It’s a big fear of mine.”

“Clive is the spider . . .”

“Well, yeah. Of course he is. Who did you think Clive was? The toilet?” Her eyes sparkled with humor and he got lost in them for a moment.

It was a fanciful thought. He wasn’t the type of man to get lost in a pair of gorgeous eyes.

But Jilly’s eyes were special.

She was special.

“The toilet has a name?” he asked.

“No!” She started giggling, and he found himself smiling . . . just slightly. But it was hard not to smile when faced with such joy. “Of course the toilet doesn’t have a name. Who would name their toilet?”

“I don’t know . . . the same sort of person who might name a spider Clive?”

“Regent! It is completely different. Clive is a living, breathing creature. A toilet is just a toilet.”

“Right. My apologies. And your problem is that you can’t get rid of Clive?”

“Well, no. Because I’m scared that if I try, he will land in my hair.” She shuddered. “I can’t even open this door anymore. I had to buy a new set of toiletries and now I use the other upstairs bathroom.”

“All right, so we need to get rid of Clive. Why don’t you wait in the bedroom?”

How long had it been since he’d gotten rid of a spider? He had to shake his head at himself.

“Wait!” she cried as he moved forward.

“What?”

“You won’t hurt him, will you?”

He turned back to find her chewing at her lower lip, looking worried. “What?”

“You won’t hurt Clive, right?”

“You don’t want me to hurt him,” he said slowly, wondering if he was understanding her correctly. “Just get rid of him.”

“Exactly. Could you just, maybe, relocate him? I mean, it’s not Clive’s fault. He’s just living his best spider life, you know? It’s just his bad luck that he chose my bathroom. Someone else could probably just carry on their business without worrying about him.”

“You think other people would leave him there?”

“Um. No. I guess not. But I don’t like to think about what would happen to him if he was somewhere else. It makes me sad. I mean, I want him gone, but I don’t want him dead. I’m not a monster.”

“Because only a monster would kill a spider?” he drawled. What would she think of him if she knew everything he’d done?

Regent didn’t regret any of it. Regrets were would be pointless.

He wasn’t a good person. There was no fooling anyone about that. He’d killed people. He was involved in a number of illegal activities.

But he didn’t kill innocents.

And he protected his family with everything he had.

That had to count for something, right?

However, for a woman who wouldn’t kill a spider, he wasn’t so sure that it did.

“You’re sure I can’t just kill it.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I really can’t believe you’d consider killing Clive!”

Dear Lord.

“Fine. I’ll relocate it . . . him. Have you got a container I can put it in?”

She nodded and rushed away. Regent turned to look up at Clive. “Well, Clive, are you planning on going easily or making this hard?”

Yeah. He got the feeling that Clive was going to make this as hard as he could.

She winced as she heard a crash.

Uh-oh.

Seemed that Clive didn’t appreciate being evicted.

What was she thinking, asking Regent Malone to get rid of a spider? And not only that . . . she’d asked him to relocate Clive because she didn’t want him harmed.

It was a wonder he hadn’t just walked out on her.

Or laughed in her face.

Another bang. A curse.

She winced.

Yeah, she should have let Clive stay. How long did a spider even live for? She could have put up with him.

It was just the idea of him moving in the middle of the night and setting up a spider nest in her hair . . .

Oh God.

She was going to be ill.

The door suddenly banged open and she jumped, looking at the container in Regent’s hands.

“Is that Clive? Did you get him? Is he all right?”

“Jilly,” he said in a low, dark voice.

Uh-oh.

“Um, yes?” She glanced up at him, swallowing heavily. He didn’t look happy. And had that red mark on his forehead been there before?

“The spider is fine. It’s a spider. But we’re never going to talk about this again, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

After setting the container down, he moved toward her, crowding her up against the bed. But she didn’t feel alarmed this time.

Nope. She felt a lot of feelings . . . but none of them were fear.

Most of them were centered around thinking about how fucking hot he looked when he was mad. She wondered what it would be like if he just threw her on the bed right now and made angry love to her.

Pretty fucking hot, she was guessing. He might even rip her clothes off and spank her ass.

Bad Jilly.

Concentrate.

“Jilly. Are you paying attention to me?”

Oh shit.

Had he been speaking to her?

Oops.

“Where did you go just now?” he asked.

“Um.”

He eyed her for a long moment, then shook his head. She braced herself for his disappointment. Jilly had received a lot of disappointment from people over the years.

No one understood why she lived so much in her head.

Then again, no one had lived the life she had. Grown up with her father.

If they had, they might take refuge in books and daydreams.

Sometimes escapism was the only thing that kept her sane.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking.”

“About?”

Well, she could hardly tell him that she was wondering how hot angry-sex would be with him.

“How to say thank you for relocating Clive for me,” she finally said.

Something in his eyes changed. They warmed. What was he thinking?

Crap. Now, she had to come up with a way of thanking him.

“You want to thank me?”

“Of course. Um, would you like to come to dinner?”

Shoot.

She was supposed to be keeping a distance from him. It was dangerous for her to become close to him.

And she wasn’t talking about who he was or what he did.

She was talking about her feelings for him. Jilly was worried that the more time she spent with him . . . well, the more obvious it would become that she had a teensy-tiny crush.

Urgh.

At your age, you should no longer have crushes, Jilly.

That was true.

But tell that to the sixteen-year-old still living inside her who wanted this man to come in and sweep her off her feet. To tell her that life was going to be okay because he had her now.

And that she’d never have to attempt a spider eviction again because he’d be around to do that.

But Jilly knew how unreliable a man could be. She’d never had one who had stuck by her, who had even tried to protect her.

Protecting her heart from getting hurt should be her priority.

Yet, all of that logic seemed to fly out of her head when she was around him.

All she wanted was . . . him.

And she was worried that, too, would become evident.

Her shoulders hunched. It didn’t matter that she had invited him to dinner, he was hardly going to accept. Right?

Why would he? He was a busy, important man.

And she was nobody.

“I accept. When?”

“I, um, well . . .” Her brain short-circuited.

Sunday. You have Sundays off.

“Sunday night,” she blurted out.

“What time and what can I bring?”

Bring?

He wanted to bring something . . . to her dinner. That she had to cook.

Oh God! She’d just remembered something!

She couldn’t freaking cook.

“I, um, well . . . nothing! You shouldn’t bring anything. I’m supposed to be cooking to say thank you. And any time after six, I guess.”

That should give her time to make something. Surely.

Maybe she’d just buy something. That would be okay, right?

“I look forward to tasting your cooking.”

Well, rats. Buying something was out, then.

“Me too. I mean, uh, thanks.” Her shoulders slumped.

“I need to go and get rid of the spider before we have our tea.”

Tea?

Oh, shoot. She’d forgotten that he was staying for a cup of tea. And she had all that food downstairs to clean up.

“Sure. Thanks. Bye, Clive. Have a nice life.”

Ten minutes later, she had the kitchen in a semblance of order and the kettle was heating on the stove.

But when Regent walked back into the kitchen, he looked serious.

“I’m sorry, I have to get a rain check on the tea.”

“Oh sure, that’s okay. It will still be here when you, uh, well, when you next want some tea. Not the same tea, of course. I’d make you some fresh tea.”

Dear Lord.

Please let the earth open and swallow me whole. I beg you.

He walked over to her. To her shock, he put his hand over her forehead. She took a step back, but he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Stop backing away from me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I didn’t think you would,” she said. “I just . . . you took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I just wanted to check that you weren’t running a fever.”

Right. Because she was babbling like an idiot.

“No, I’m fine. And you better go.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, Jilly? You would tell me if anything was wrong.”

That last sentence wasn’t a question. It was a demand. And somehow, she found herself nodding, even as she cursed herself for being an idiot.

“Sorry. It’s just . . . you make me nervous,” she told him.

“I can tell.”

Right. Because it was completely obvious.

“Nerves are expected. But being scared of me is not. Understand?”

“Yes. I, um . . . I’ll see you Sunday.”

“See you Sunday. Behave yourself. You have my number, use it if you need to.”

Yeah. She’d never used it before and she didn’t intend to do it now.

But she found herself nodding anyway.