The Holiday Inheritance (Naughty and Spice)

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Briggs

Thank Christ I have the keys for the estate. I really thought I’d be able to make it home before the roads got too bad, but this storm isn’t letting up. If anything, it’s doubled down. The Rover got stuck about a mile down the road, and it was either walk the five miles home or the one mile back to the estate.

I figured Florence would still be awake, but I guess it has almost been an hour since I dropped her off and Mary left. Checking the generators took longer than I thought it would. The snow had piled up around the shed we built to keep them out of the weather, and I had to dig my way in. The house is quiet when I enter; the fireplace in the formal sitting room to my left is the only light and sound.

If I’m being honest with myself, I was kind of hoping she’d still be awake. I wouldn’t have hated the chance to get to know her better, watch those pouty lips smile in my direction again. From the moment she walked through the gates into baggage claim, I knew I was in trouble. From her wavy blonde hair to those long, thick legs, this woman was sent to torture me. And then we were in the Rover together, her sweet floral perfume filling the cab. It was a testament to my control not to flirt.

She may be younger than me, but she’s my boss, for Christ’s sake.

I try to be quiet as I make my way to the back of the house. There’s a whole wing that used to be where the servants slept, and we still keep them up for guests or the random tours we sometimes book. So I decide to sleep back there. It’s far enough away from Florence that I shouldn’t disturb her. She needs her rest after traveling all day. She was tense in the Rover, and not just from the roads. It’s like I could smell the panic and anxiety on her. Her foot tapped, and her lip took a beating between her teeth.

Pulling out my phone, I remember that Mary made sure I had Florence’s number in case I needed to contact her for anything when I picked her up today. Hopefully, she’s put it on silent so that I don’t wake her up, but I send her a quick text letting her know that I got stuck and I’m sleeping in one of the downstairs rooms. I don’t want to terrify her on her first night.

I strip out of my wet, cold clothes and turn up the radiator on the wall next to the bed. Tossing my jeans onto it to dry, I climb into the cold bed, shivering until the radiator finally clicks and pops, the heat slowly beginning to fill the room. And when I’m comfortable, my mind drifts back to Florence and those plump lips, that perfectly round arse that sat so snugly in her jeans.

My cock comes to life, and I mentally cringe at myself. What a fucking creep. I’m in a room almost directly below my boss, and all I can think about is how she would feel beneath me. And in this moment of weakness, my hand slips beneath my boxers and grips the base of my throbbing cock. I’ve never been affected by a woman like this before. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is the way her arse moved in those jeans and the way her eyes kept flitting over to me when she thought I wasn’t looking.

Using my thumb to collect the precum that’s accumulated at my tip, I stroke myself from root to tip. Fuck, I should not be doing this right now. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. Her smile and the breathy moans I know she’d make as I tasted her are swimming through my mind. It doesn’t take long before I’m coming, spraying over my stomach as I groan into my other hand, trying not to make any noise.

Postorgasmic regret is a real thing, and I instantly feel dirty for what I’ve done. I use a tissue from the nightstand to clean myself up and then will myself to get some sleep. I’d like to be up and gone before she even checks her phone. The thought of looking her in the eye in the morning after coming to the thought of her is fucking embarrassing.

I wake up to a pitch-black room and search for my phone under the pillow. It’s not even 2:00 a.m. Stars flash behind my eyelids as I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand, and I roll over to try and get comfortable. These beds are small, and I haven’t been this cramped since I was at uni. Right as I’m about to fall back asleep, I hear a loud crash coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Worry sinks into my gut, and I throw the covers back, running out of the room to check on things. Surely it’s just Florence. I can’t imagine someone has chosen the middle of a blizzard to break into the house. But who knows? I’m not about to just let them ransack the place if it is an intruder.

I round the corner and stride into the kitchen. Florence has her earbuds in, and she’s dancing as she digs through the fridge. She’s bent over at the waist, white cotton knickers peeking out from under her long T-shirt. Those shapely legs of hers sway her hips side to side, and I have to pull my eyes away from the sight before I get caught perving on my boss.

“It’s late,” I say as a gentle nudge to let her know I’m here. But her music must be too loud. So I take a few steps closer just as she stands up with her arms full of food. “Hey, it’s Briggs.”

When I reach out to tap her shoulder, she freaks. Her bloodcurdling scream is loud enough to pop a damn eardrum, and when she turns, all the food drops to the floor. Because she punches me. Right in the fucking eye socket. And then, with a swiftness I didn’t expect from her, she knees me right in the fucking crotch.

“Fuck!” I shout, the pain excruciating. I fall to my knees right next to the fridge and then curl up in the fetal position on the floor as I watch her run around the table to turn on the light. It floods the room, making me wince and pull my eyes shut. Fuck, I’m going to vomit.

“Briggs?” she squeals when she finally sees it’s me. I peer up at her, and even through the pain, I swear to god I fall in love. She’s standing there, butcher knife in hand and hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes are wild as she takes in the scene of spilled food and me clutching my balls.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me,” I manage to grunt out as I press my forehead against the cool tile floor. A sick sweat breaks out on my forehead and down my back.

“Oh, god. Oh, Briggs!” I hear the knife get sat down on the counter and then her feet shuffle across the floor before she kneels down next to me. Her soft hand runs up and down my bare arm. Even when I feel like shit, her touch does something to me it shouldn’t. “I’m so fucking sorry! I thought you were someone who broke in! Why the fuck are you here?”

“Please, lower your voice. I’m trying to concentrate on not throwing up. Give me a second.” I try to push her away. If I do vomit, I don’t want her to see it. She swears under her breath, and I hear her stand and walk away. There’s water running, and then she’s back, laying a cold, wet cloth on the back of my neck.

I let her take care of me for just a moment. It feels nice to have her fingers running through my hair as she tries to make me feel better. When I take a deep breath and roll over onto my back, she scoots back a few inches, giving me some room.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip.

“Stop that.”

“What? Apologizing?”

“No, you can keep doing that,” I tease, winking in her direction. The pink on her cheeks deepens. “No, I meant biting your lip. You’ve been doing it since I picked you up.”

“Oh…” Her eyes trail downward from my face, roaming over my half-naked body. Instinctively, I flex, which is such a vain thing to do, but I find I want her to keep looking, and I want her to like what she sees. I’m no gym rat, but I work with my hands on this land every day. It keeps me healthy and strong. Her eyes dance over the tattoos that scrawl over my chest and down my stomach. They dip down into my boxers, and I notice her pupils dilate just slightly at the noticeable bulge.

I clear my throat as I sit up, causing her to snap back to attention. “I did text you,” I tell her. “But I’m sorry for scaring you. Rover got stuck about a mile down the road, and figured walking here would be better than walking home.”

“Makes sense. I left my phone upstairs, just threw a playlist on and came down. I’m so sorry.”

I reach up and gently touch my eyebrow. My fingers come away dotted with blood. “Christ, you really got me, didn’t ya?”

“I’m so fucking sorry. Are there ice packs?” She turns and pulls open the bottom door of the freezer, giving me another good look at her panty-covered arse. I have to fight myself not to take her right there, face in the frozen dinners and knickers around her knees. She pulls out a bag of frozen corn and catches me staring at her when she turns around. I don’t even try to hide it. I’m sitting here on the floor in my boxer briefs with a blackening eye and sore balls. There’s really not much to hide behind.

“Thank you,” I say. She gives me a weak smile as she holds the corn against the eye she clobbered. “You have quite the reaction time.”

The cutest snort escapes her lips. “Took like three self-defense classes a year ago.” She shrugs. “Guess some of it stuck.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not really. The time change has me fucked-up. I was going to make a grilled cheese. Want one?” She gives me another one of her shy smiles. “It’s the least I could do.”

I should thank her but tell her no. I should get up, walk back to my room, and ice my nuts for the rest of the night and leave her alone. But there’s something in her voice that gives me pause. She sounds sad, and maybe she is. It’s close to Christmas, and she’s in a new country with no friends or family. I’m sure it’s a shock to the system. I give her a smile that makes her blush all over again, and I find that I really like being able to do that.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

“Okay,” she says, grinning. “I’ll get started.”