Who Will Save Your Soul - Skye Warren Page 0,4
lie, too?” He must see the shock on my face; his smile is smile and smug. “Yes, I know about you. Poor little Emily Coulter, can’t tell the truth to save her life.”
A knot around my throat, pulled taut by thick dirt-stained fingers. “How would you know that?” That’s my family’s dirty little secret, but not the worst one. Not by far.
“I know lots of things.”
“And anyway, why are you back already? It’s only been three days. The hedges don’t need to be trimmed every damn day.”
His smile comes slow. “You don’t trust me?”
“Not as far as I could throw you.”
There’s something strange about him, something a little dangerous.
Unfortunately that only makes me like him more.
“In that case my name is Niko. And I don’t think you’re going to tell your Mom a damn thing. Not when she’s drunk half the time and gone the rest. Not when she wouldn’t believe you anyway.”
“How do you know anything about her?”
“And your dad,” he continues as if I didn’t speak. “Well, he’s barely ever home. I wonder if that’s why your mother drinks. Or maybe it’s because her daughter is a liar.”
My eyes narrow. “What I tell my parents is none of your concern. They aren’t here right now. You’re in my house, and I’m your employer.”
His dark gaze calls me on the bluff, sweeping over me in from my neck to my ankles, the space in between flushing warm as if he can see through thick towels. He can’t, he can’t. But my nipples bead tight beneath his perusal, and God, I think he can see the points of them. His smile is blinding white mischief. He can definitely see them.
“My employer,” he says softly. “What will you make me do?”
The question runs through every nerve ending, a flame on dry wood. I’m left burning with the suggestion of all the things I could make him do. The things his dark eyes challenge me to say.
There’s only air in my head, only water in my veins. I’m made from earth, swept away by the wind of him, made into something new. “I’d make you clean off your boots.”
He doesn’t even glance down. He must know they’re caked with mud. That he leaves large black marks across the marble. He must feel how heavy they are as he walks.
“And you have to address me—” My words falter under the weight of his amusement. “You have to address me with respect. My name is Emily.”
“What if I like calling you princess?”
A hitch in my chest. Longing. Fear? “It doesn’t matter what you like.”
He takes two steps toward me, unstoppable, the glint in his eyes more of a warning than a promise. “What if you like me calling you princess?”
“I don’t,” I say, closing my eyes against the lie. More is at stake than the garden or the front room, than the help or the household. It feels like I’ve been fighting this my whole life.
Air brushes my arms as he circles me. His voice comes low and hard, almost a growl. “You’re lying, princess.” A calloused finger pushes my wet hair back, strokes down my temple. I imagine a darkened line over clean skin, something to hold onto when he leaves.
A tremor shakes my voice. “I would definitely make you leave the house. You belong outside.”
Outside where it’s sunny and beautiful and free.
“You’re probably right,” he says, his lips almost touching my shoulder. I can feel the heat of his breath as if that sunshine is bottled up, as if he releases a little bit just for me. “But I think you like me inside. I think you like me calling you princess. And I think you like me dirty.”
With a soft gush of cool air I feel him leave the room.
It’s several more minutes before I can open my eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
The mobster turns to look at me, his eyes dark. “What grade are you in?”
Even I have to admit it’s a little creepy to have him talk to me like I’m a little girl. Meanwhile the woman next to him has skin like porcelain and wide brown eyes. Her dark hair falls in ringlets. It feels almost weird to check out her body, even though when I do, it’s clear she’s all grown up.
She might be older than me. But only by a year or two.
“Emily’s a sophomore at Tanglewood College,” Dad says, waving a hand like it’s not worth discussing.
I know the real reason he doesn’t want the conversation on me.