He wasn’t always there.
“Good evening, Miss Delacourte.” The butler, a large, burly ex-bouncer opened the door for her as she stepped up to it.
Thomas was well over fifty, Tess knew, but he didn’t look a day over thirty-five. He was six feet tall, heavily muscled and sported a crooked nose and several small scars on his broad face. He was Irish, he said, with a mix of Cherokee Indian and German ancestry. His thick, brown hair was in a crew cut, his large face creased with a smile.
“Good evening, Thomas. Is Father in?” She stepped into the house, more uncomfortable than she had thought she would be.
This was the home she had grown up in, the one she had raced through with the puppy her father had once bought her, but her mother had gotten rid of. The home where her father had once patched skinned knees and a bruised heart. The home her mother had taken her out of when her father demanded his rights as a husband, or a divorce.
“Your father and Mrs. Delacourte are out for the evening, Miss,” he told her as she stepped into the house. “Will you be staying for a while?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “My luggage is outside. Is my room still available?” There was an edge of pain as she asked the question. She had learned that Missy had opened her room for guests, rather than keeping it up for Tess’s infrequent returns.
“I’m sorry, Miss Tess,” Thomas said softly. “The room is being redecorated. But the turret room is available. I prepared it myself this morning.” The turret room was the furthest away from the guest or family bedrooms. At the back of the house, on the third floor. The turret had been added decades ago by her grandfather and she had loved it as a child. Now she resented the fact that it was not a family room, but the one she knew Missy used for those visitors she could barely tolerate. Evidently, Tess thought, she had slipped a few notches in her stepmother’s graces.
Tess breathed in deeply. Those weren’t tears clogging her throat, she assured herself. Her chest was tight from exhaustion, not pain.
“Fine.” She swallowed tightly. “Could you have my luggage brought up? I need a shower and some sleep. I’ll see Father in the morning.”
“Of course, Miss Tess.” Thomas’ voice was gentle. He had been with the family for as long as she could remember and she knew she wasn’t hiding her pain from him.
“Is Father happy, Thomas?” she asked him as she paused before going down the hall to the hidden staircase that led to the turret room. “Does Missy take care of him?”
“Your father seems very happy to me, Miss Tess,” Thomas assured her. “Happier than I’ve seen since Mrs. Ella left.”
Tess nodded abruptly. That was all that mattered. She moved quickly down the hall, turning toward the kitchen then entering the staircase to the right. The staircase led to one place. The turret room.
It was a beautiful room. Rounded and spacious, the furniture had been made to fit the room exactly. The bed was large with a heavy, rounded walnut headboard that sat perfectly against the wall. Heavy matching drawers slid into the stone wall for a dresser, with a mantle above it to the side of the bed. Across the room was a small fireplace, the wood was gas logs, but it was pretty enough.
She felt like Cinderella before the Prince rescued her. Tess sat down heavily on the quilt that covered the bed. This sucked. She should get back in her car and head straight back home where she belonged. She didn’t belong here anymore, and she was beginning to wonder if she ever had.
Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands through her hair and listened to Thomas coming up the stairs. He stepped into the room with a friendly smile, but his brown eyes were somber as they met hers.
“Will you be okay here, Miss Tess?” he asked her as he set the large suitcase and matching overnight bag on the luggage rack beside the door. “I could quickly freshen another room.”
“No. I’m fine, Thomas.” She shook her head. What was the point? She had come back, mainly to find something that didn’t exist. It was best she learn that now, before it went any further.
Thomas nodded before going to the fireplace. With practiced moves he lit the gas fire, then pulled back and nodded in satisfaction at the even heat coming off the ceramic logs.
“Would you like me to announce dinner for you, Miss Tess?” he asked.
Her father and stepmother were away. Tess knew the servants would only be preparing their own food. She shook her head. They were all most likely anticipating a night to relax, she wouldn’t deprive them of that. What hurt the most was her father’s absence. He had known she was coming, and he wasn’t here. It was the first time he had ever left, knowing she was coming home. The first time Tess had ever felt as though she were a stranger in her own home.
One thing Tess really liked about the turret room was the bathroom. The huge room was situated to the right of the bed, and held a large sunken tub big enough for three and a fully mirrored wall. Thomas had stocked the small refrigerator unit against her objections. One of his little surprises was a bottle of her favorite white wine. Tess opened it, poured a full glass and sipped at it as the water ran into the large ceramic tub. Steam rose around the room, creating an ethereal effect with the glow of the candles she had lit.
She stripped out of her jeans and T-shirt and setting the wineglass and bottle on a small shelf, sank into the bubbled liquid. Exquisite. She leaned back against the hand fashioned back of the tub and rested her head on the pillowed headrest. It was hedonistic. A wicked, sinful extravagance, as her mother would have said.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had expected her father to be home, had expected some sort of greeting. She didn’t expect to be left on her own. But the sinful richness of the bathtub eased a bit of the hurt. She could enjoy this. This one last time.
She hadn’t come home without ulterior motives, she knew. Perhaps this was her payment for it. It wasn’t her father that had drawn her so much as the man that she knew would arrive sooner or later.
Cole. She took a deep breath, flushing once again at the memory of the phone conversation. She could handle a little sex with him. It wasn’t like she was a virgin. It was the rest of it. Cole didn’t go for just sex. Cole was wild and kinky and liked to spice things up, she had heard. Heard. She whimpered, remembering his promise to tie her to his bed and what he would do there.
She had never had rough sex, though she admitted, she had never had satisfying sex either. It had never been intense enough, strong enough. The hardest climax of her life had been in that damned hallway, with Cole’s fingers thrusting inside her cunt. She had been so slick, so wet, that even her thighs had been coated with it.
Lifting the wineglass from the shelf, Tess sipped at it a bit greedily. Her skin was sensitive, her breasts swollen with arousal, her cunt clenching in need. Dammit, she should have found a nice, tame principal or teacher to satisfy her lusts with. Cole was bad news. She knew he was bad news. Had always known it.
She had known Cole before her father had married his sister. She had heard about his sexual practices, his pleasures. He was hedonistic, wicked. And sometimes, he liked to dominate. He wasn’t a bully outside the bedroom. Confident, superior, but not a bully.
But she had heard rumors. Tales of Cole’s preferences, his insistence on submission from his women. The comments he had made to her over the years only backed up the rumors she had heard.
Tess trembled at the thought of being dominated by Cole. Equal parts fear and excitement thrummed through her veins, her cunt, swelling her breasts, making her nipples hard. She didn’t need this. Didn’t need the desire for him that she was feeling.