In His Silks by Patricia D. Eddy Read online

  IN HIS SILKS

  PATRICIA D. EDDY

  Copyright © 2014 by Patricia D. Eddy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing by Jayne Frost

  CONTENTS

  Just for you

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Patricia D. Eddy

  If you love sexy romantic suspense, I’d love to send you a short story set in Dublin, Ireland. Castles & Kings isn’t available anywhere except for readers who sign up for my mailing list! Sign up for my newsletter on my website and tell me where to send your free book!

  http://patriciadeddy.com.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The skies opened and let loose a frigid downpour the second Elizabeth stepped out from under the awning. Within seconds, her cardboard box was soaked through. A gust of wind ripped open her coat, exposing her to the worst of November’s dismal weather. She hurried, the large box clutched in her arms, but before she reached the stairs of the T station, the bottom fell out, and her entire professional life spilled onto the sidewalk.

  “No, no, no,” she moaned and dropped to her knees. Her stockings ripped as she crawled along the ground, gathering her papers and precious mementos. A throng of commuters exited the T station and swamped her. When a booted foot kicked her purse and sent her wallet tumbling towards the sewer drain, Elizabeth yelped and dove forward, landing with a bone-jarring impact across a pair of very expensive dress shoes.

  A firm gloved hand grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. Her wallet forgotten, she looked up into a pair of eyes so green she thought they might be emeralds. Trim black brows matched a shock of black hair peeking out from under a gray wool cap. An umbrella bobbed above the man’s head, held by a uniformed driver in an oilskin raincoat. Everything about the man who held her screamed money from those expensive shoes to his soft leather gloves. With his free hand, he took the wallet his driver offered. “I believe this is yours, chérie.” A posh British accent dominated his smooth words.

  “Th-thank you,” Elizabeth stammered. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face. Alexander Fairhaven. The richest man on the East Coast. The entire Fairhaven family—Alexander, Nicholas, and the matriarch, Margaret, had more money than God and at least as many connections. They were famous around the world, but particularly in Boston, as the American headquarters for their multibillion-dollar conglomerate, Fairhaven Business Group, made its home here.

  “Thomas? Her things.” Alexander raised a brow at the man in uniform and released Elizabeth’s arm to accept the umbrella. Thomas ducked his head into the trunk of a limo idling beside them and returned with a large plastic garbage bag. He gathered Elizabeth’s belongings and deposited the entire bag back into the trunk.

  “Wait, that’s my stuff!” Elizabeth protested. “I need—”

  Alexander cut her off with a finger to her lips. “I know what you need, chérie. A ride. Get in.” He gestured towards the limo and fastened his hand around her elbow.

  “I don’t get into cars with strange men.” Elizabeth tried to pull her arm from his firm grasp. “Not even rich and famous ones who save my wallet.”

  “I am getting wet. As are you. I won’t ask you again. Nor will I harm you in any way,” Alexander said. “Get in, and Thomas will drive you home.”

  “I could live in Leominster for all you know.”

  “Yes. And if that is where you live, then that is where Thomas will take you.” He guided her towards the limo, and Elizabeth found herself sinking into a buttery leather bench seat that hugged and warmed her ass. My God. The man had heated seats in his limo. Alexander turned and withdrew a towel from behind his seat across from her. “Dry yourself off, Elizabeth.”

  “How did you know my name?” She took the towel and dried her face and hands as the limo pulled away from the curb.

  He grinned, the flash of white teeth almost predatory as he glanced at the open wallet in his palm. “The same way I know your address. I cheated. Hollander Street, Thomas. Number forty.” A privacy screen rose to seal the two of them in the passenger compartment.

  Elizabeth snatched the wallet and shoved it into her purse. “That’s not fair.”

  “Oh, I think it’s very fair. After all, you know my name, don’t you? I was only trying to level the playing field.”

  Elizabeth glared at him. Alexander was the playboy of the Fairhaven family with a string of conquests as long as Elizabeth’s arm and a reputation for tiring of women after no more than two dates. “Why am I here?”

  “Because you were wet and injured.” He gestured towards her scraped knees. “And I dislike seeing a beautiful woman in distress.” He removed his gloves. “Now, we have a few moments to get to know each other. Tell me who sacked you and why.”

  Elizabeth flushed and shrank back against the leather. “H-how—”

  “Really, chérie. Why else would you be carrying a cardboard box of your personal items through the rain at four in the afternoon?”

  When she didn’t immediately reply, Alexander tapped his palm against a wood panel across from her, and a small door whispered open. He poured two glasses of an amber liquid and then pressed one into her hand.

  “Drink.”

  “I can’t,” she protested.

  “You can, and you will. You are pale and shivering, and I will not have that when it is in my power to fix it.” Alexander set his glass down on the sideboard before sliding across the limo to sit next to her. He lifted the glass to her lips. “Sip slowly.”

  His tone brooked no argument, so she parted her lips and a scotch so smooth it was practically caramel slid over her tongue. Since her parents had disowned her and she’d moved to Boston five years ago, Elizabeth could scarcely afford anything above bottom shelf. She barely stifled the moan at the rich taste of the expensive liquor.

  “Good girl.” Alexander tipped the glass up again. Three more sips and a pleasant warmth settled in Elizabeth’s belly. “Now tell me who sacked you.”

  “Carter, Pastack, and Hayes.”

  Flecks of rich cognac danced around the midnight pools of his pupils. “Why?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Didn’t we already establish that you can and will?” When she tipped her head up to meet his eyes, he tucked a lock of wet hair behind her ear. “Tell me.”

  She lowered her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap. The cheap gray skirt molded to her thighs, directly above the blood that oozed from her scraped knees. Under her thin coat, the dark blue silk blouse clung to her breasts, and she shudd
ered. “I, um, apparently I made a mistake,” she whispered. “One of Hayes’s clients had an independent audit done. We didn’t know anything about it. Hayes was out of the office, and Carter pulled the file. Their tax due—what their independent auditor found—was off for each of the last four years. Carter didn’t want me to see the file, but I caught a glimpse. I know I did those returns correctly. But the bill they paid—the one that Carter had—it wasn’t the bill I prepared. I tried to tell Carter that we had to go back over the numbers, figure out what happened. But he insisted they had, and it was my mistake. ‘One of many,’ he said. Last year alone, the discrepancy was almost three hundred thousand dollars. The client was livid. Carter fired me on the spot.”

  “You don’t strike me as a woman who makes mistakes.”

  “I’m not. My track record is impeccable. Numbers…they stick in my head. Always have. I can tell you every phone number I’ve ever had. What I paid in taxes down to the penny. But last year was so busy. I worked my ass off to try to get ahead. Carter’s a misogynist. I handled two hundred clients last year. More than any other accountant in the firm. Carter wouldn’t let me see the whole file. Only one return. But it wasn’t right. I know it wasn’t right.”

  Tears gathered in Elizabeth’s eyes. She didn’t know why she’d confessed all of this to Alexander Fairhaven. Or why he’d care. Her gaze shifted out the window, the gray skyline of the city she loved streaming by. The silence in the car grew until it developed a physical presence all its own.

  A quick rap on the glass alerted her that the car had stopped. How long had it been? Alexander tapped once in return, and the door opened. Thomas held Elizabeth’s bag in his hand, her apartment looming behind him. Even the torrential downpour couldn’t quash the stench of garbage that wafted up from the bins next to the building. Alexander unfolded his six-foot-three frame and extended his hand to help her out.

  She climbed awkwardly to her feet, trying not to flash him as her skirt hiked up her thighs.

  “Give me your key.”

  Elizabeth took a step back, shocked, but Alexander caught her wrist and drew her against him. God, he was hot. Under the gray business suit and crisp blue shirt, he was a mass of sculpted muscle. His arm banded tightly around her back, pressing her breasts against his firm chest.

  “Your key, Elizabeth. Now.”

  She dug into the inner pocket of her purse and fished out her sopping wet keys. Alexander slid them from her chilled fingers and walked her to the building’s door where she punched in her code.

  “I’ll be a bit, Thomas. I intend to see Miss Bennett upstairs. Get out of the rain,” Alexander said to his driver as he took the plastic bag filled with Elizabeth’s belongings.

  “You’re double parked,” Elizabeth murmured as Alexander led her into the foyer and punched the elevator button.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he bit out, distracted, as they stepped into the lift. “This elevator is a death trap.”

  “I usually take the stairs. Fourth floor.” The scotch had loosened her tongue. Or perhaps it was Alexander’s scent, the sandalwood, cedar, and cloves that invaded her nose. And he was warm. So very warm. Her clothes were still soaked through, and she shivered in the crook of his arm.

  When the elevator sputtered to a halt on her floor, Alexander leaned down so his lips brushed her ear. “Which unit?”

  “Four-oh-six.”

  Alexander led her down the hall and then slid her key into the lock. He kept her tight against his body as he surveyed the apartment with a critical eye. All of Elizabeth’s furniture was second hand, well used, and worn. But there wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere. Her orange tabby cat, River Song, padded out of the bedroom, and when she saw Alexander, she meowed once and wound around his legs.

  Stepping over the cat, Alexander urged Elizabeth into her bedroom. “Change clothes. Do you drink coffee or tea this late in the day?”

  “Tea. Left-hand cabinet, second—”

  “I will find it.” The door shut and River meowed. Elizabeth gave the cat an absent-minded scratch behind the ears. “I don’t know, sweetie. But I think he’s trouble.”

  Alexander could barely contain his anger. He knew of Carter, Pastack, and Hayes. His family even used them for some of their holdings. Not his division, but his brother’s. Carter was an ass, but he’d thought they were a reasonable company on the whole. Still, there was no reason for him to harbor such anger towards them over a woman he’d only met half an hour ago. Why was he even here? Elizabeth Bennett was nothing. A low-level accountant. But there was a spark in her eyes that hinted at a dizzying intellect. She spoke with the refinement of one who’d had a top-notch education, but she lived in a ramshackle building with second-hand furniture. There was obvious pride, both in her demeanor and her flat’s cleanliness. She carried herself as if she belonged in his social circle, but no one he’d ever associated with lived in such conditions. One of his suits probably cost more than her monthly rent. Even in Boston.

  Withdrawing his phone, Alexander dashed off an email to his brother. As part of the business agreement between Fairhaven Exports and Carter, Pastack, and Hayes, Nicholas had easy access to their basic employee information.

  While he waited for a response, Alexander set a kettle on the tiny two-burner stove, then casually inspected the contents of Elizabeth’s cabinets and her fridge. She had good taste in tea, he’d give her that. And she liked grilled cheese sandwiches and red wine.

  Withdrawing two mismatched mugs from the cabinet, he took his time preparing the Fortnum & Mason Queen Anne tea.

  As the floral aroma wafted up, his phone buzzed with Nicholas’s reply. Apparently, Elizabeth had worked for Carter, Pastack, and Hayes for five years. She was Harvard educated, but her salary was a mere sixty thousand a year, barely enough to live in Boston.

  “You’re still here,” Elizabeth said as she emerged from the bedroom. She probably thought the oversized green sweatshirt and ill-fitting gray fleece pants hid her figure, but in fact, they enhanced it. Her breasts would be heavy in his hands, and she had a small waist, which gave way to the generous curve of her hips. He’d caught a glimpse of her long legs in the limo. Perhaps she was a runner. Her hair, the color of spun gold, was now dry and secure in a knot at the back of her head, and her makeup was gone.

  “Sit down,” Alexander said.

  Her blue eyes narrowed, but she did as he asked, watching him warily as he carried the mugs of tea to where she sat on a threadbare sofa.

  “I hope you do not mind. I took the liberty. I am sorry to say that you’re now out of tea.” He lifted his mug in a small toast, and she nodded.

  Alexander could read her body language easily—the defensive set of her shoulders, the furrow between her brows, and the tiny lines around her lips. So expressive, though he’d bet she thought she gave away nothing.

  “Why did you stay?” she asked, eyeing him over the top of her cup as she took a sip.

  “You are quite direct, Elizabeth.”

  “People call me Lizzie.”

  Something about the way she said the nickname made him think she didn’t like it much. “Elizabeth suits you better.” He lifted a brow, challenging her. “Does it bother you?

  The tiny quirk of her lip gave everything away. “No.”

  An honest answer. In fact, she liked the use of her full name. He filed that information away for later. He’d already decided he was going to need it.

  “What will you do now? Your position?” He sipped the light, fragrant tea as he crossed his legs, watching Elizabeth. She fascinated him. The insipid women who moved in his usual circles held no sway. They’d fuck him if he did nothing more than nod in their direction, but it had been years since he’d found a woman who aroused his more unconventional desires or held his interest for more than a single date. Elizabeth Bennett was born to fill that role. Spirited, with a strong vein of submission running through her. He wondered if she even realized it.

  “I don’t know. No one’s going to hir
e me a week before Thanksgiving. The busy season doesn’t start for another two months. I’ll hold out until then. Find somewhere to volunteer through the holidays while I look for work.” She slumped, losing the fight she’d displayed ever since she’d fallen over his feet outside that pitiful company.

  Alexander drained the last of his tea and then returned the cup to her kitchen. Elizabeth didn’t move from the couch when he returned and stood over her, pinning her with his eyes. Would she look away? No. A smile tugged at his lips, but he schooled his features into a stern mask. Withdrawing a gold case from his jacket, he removed a single business card, setting it on the small table in front of her.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. If there is anything I can do for you while you look for work, please do not hesitate to ring me.”

  “Thank you for your help, Mr. Fairhaven. I’m afraid you did not see me at my best.” She unfolded herself from the couch and held out her hand.

  Alexander brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “You will call me Alexander or if you must, sir. Nothing else.”

  Her lower lip caught between her teeth and her breathing stuttered. What would she do? In truth, Alexander did not enjoy being called sir, but if she used the word, he’d know his suspicions were correct.

  “Elizabeth, did you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alexander smiled, intrigued. “I hope to see you again soon, Elizabeth. Lock the door after me.”

  He waited in the hall until he heard the rasp of the tumblers. The lock was a joke. He could kick the door in with no effort or pick the lock in under five minutes. Like most boarding school brats, he’d learned how to nick a bit of the headmaster’s scotch from his locked office.