The little boy jumps down and rushes over to me, clearly excited, while the girl just looks up and rolls her eyes. I smile to myself, remembering what it’s like to be a typical teenager.
“Hello, I’m Samuel.” The little boy smiles as he wraps his arms around my legs. He has dark hair, is wearing glasses, and he’s so damn cute.
“Hello, Samuel.” I smile.
“This is Willow,” he introduces.
I smile at the teenage girl. “Hello.”
She folds her arms across her chest defiantly. “Hi,” she grumbles.
Mr. Masters holds her gaze for a moment, saying so much with just one look. Willow eventually holds her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Willow.”
I smile as my eyes flash up to Mr. Masters. He can keep her under control with just a simple glare.
Samuel runs back to the lounge, grabs something, and then comes straight back. I see a flash. Click, click.
What the hell?
He has a small instant Polaroid camera. He watches my face appear on the piece of paper in front of him before he looks back up at me. “You’re pretty.” He smiles. “I’m putting this on the fridge.” He carefully pins it to the fridge with a magnet. Mr. Masters seems to become flustered for some reason. “Bedtime for you two,” he instructs, and they both complain. He turns his attention back to me. “Your kitchen is stocked with groceries, and I’m sure you’re tired.”
I fake a smile. Oh, I’m being dismissed. “Yes, of course.” I go to walk back down to my apartment, and then turn back to him. “What time do I start tomorrow?”
His eyes hold mine. “When you hear Samuel wake up.”
“Yes, of course.” My eyes search his as I wait for him to say something else, but it doesn’t come. “Good night then.” I smile awkwardly.
“Good night.”
“Bye, Brielle.” Samuel smiles, and Willow ignores me, walking away and up the stairs.
I walk back down into my apartment and close the door behind me. Then I flop onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling.
What have I done?
It’s midnight and I’m thirsty, but I have looked everywhere and I still cannot find a glass. There’s no other option; I’m going to have to sneak up into the main house to find one. I’m wearing my silky white nightdress, but I’m sure they are all in bed.
Sneaking out into the darkened corridor, I can see into the lit-up house.
I suddenly catch sight of Mr. Masters sitting in the armchair reading a book. He has a glass of red wine in his hand. I stand in the dark, unable to tear my eyes away. There’s something about him that fascinates me but I don’t quite know what it is. He stands abruptly, and I push myself back against the wall. Can he see me here in the dark?
Shit.
My eyes follow him as he walks into the kitchen. The only thing he’s wearing is his navy-blue boxer shorts. His dark hair has messy, loose waves on top. His chest is broad, his body is . . .
My heart begins to beat faster. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be standing here in the dark, watching him like a creep, but for some reason I can’t make myself look away.
He goes to stand by the kitchen counter. His back is to me as he pours himself another glass of red. He lifts it to his lips slowly and my eyes run over his body. I push myself against the wall harder. He walks over to the fridge and takes off the photo of me.
What?
He leans his ass on the counter as he studies it. What is he doing? I feel like I can’t breathe.
He slowly puts his hand down the front of his boxer shorts, and then he seems to stroke himself a few times.
My eyes widen. What the fuck?
He puts his glass of wine on the counter and turns the main light off, leaving only a lamp to light the room. With my picture in his hand, he disappears up the hall. What the hell was that? I think Mr. Masters just went up to his bedroom to jerk off to my photo.
Oh. My. God.
Knock, knock.
My eyes are closed, but I frown and try to ignore the noise. I hear it again. Tap, tap. What is that? I roll toward the door and I see it slowly begin to open. My eyes widen, and I sit up quickly. Mr. Masters comes into view. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Miss Brielle,” he whispers. He smells like he’s freshly showered, and he’s wearing an immaculate suit. “I’m looking for Samuel.” His gaze roams down to my breasts hanging loosely in my nightdress, and then he snaps his eyes back up to my face, as if he’s horrified at what he just did.
“Where is he?” I frown. “Is he missing?”