Chapter Three

Tempest

He places a full plate in front of me and my stomach growls its approval. I hope he doesn’t hear it over the music.

“Thank you.” I politely bow my head and bring my hand up to touch my hair.

“Something you learned in Cambodia?”

I nod and reply, “A custom in a village I was in a while ago, a habit you learned quickly or you quickly felt a cane strike your bare thighs.” He shifts on the spot and I wonder if I’ve made him uncomfortable. “It’s a habit you don’t forget once you feel the pain of that thin piece of polished wood when it hits you.”

His dark eyes stare at me for the longest moment and then he takes his plate and leaves the kitchen without another word, vanishing into the hall.

Was it something I said?

Moments later Maddox sleepily enters. “Dad’s been cooking?”

I nod, smiling at his nest of messy hair. Yanking the amber beads that dangle around his neck I admonish, “You shouldn’t sleep in those. It’s dangerous.”

He hits my hand away and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”

I finish my breakfast as he helps himself to what’s left in the pan.

“What did my dad say to you?”

“He just offered me breakfast.” And he ogled my body in a way that was so obvious and degrading I wanted to kick him in his nuts. Not that I don’t appreciate the attention of a good-looking man, but not one that so obviously disrespects me based on the fact I have a vagina. Which, by the straining in his trousers, he wants to plunder with his cock.

He’s Maddox’s dad. It’s just wrong on so many levels. I mean, Maddox is twenty-one, so he has to be at least forty, that’s if he was a young father. He doesn’t look old, but he does look handsomely mature. Why do handsome men age so well? I deduct he can’t be older than forty-three.

“Good.” He takes a bite of his eggs and moans. “I’ve missed being home.”

“I’m not surprised, look at this place.” I grin, swinging my arms out. “It’s amazing. What does your dad do and can I do it too?”

“He runs a transportations company. He handles imports and exports for some pretty major businesses all around the world.”

I nod slowly, impressed. “He runs it?”

“With my godfather, yep. They started when they were in their teens and worked hard to build something together.”

“That’s inspirational.”

He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “He missed out on a lot though, building his empire. It’s why he’s so lax with me. He wants me to experience life before I tie myself to his company.”

“That’s actually really nice. I wish I had parents like that.”

His hand squeezes my knee when I tilt my head and spy a fancy-looking camera inside a kitchen cupboard, through a glass panel.

“One of yours?”

“No.” He puffs out his cheeks. “That’s my dad’s. He keeps it there for the memories because he doesn’t get the urge anymore. When he was younger he wanted to be a photographer. He’s the one who taught me all about lighting and angles.”

“Is he good?”

“He’s incredible. He has an eye for images. He never took random shots, even as I was growing up. Every shot was perfect.” He looks to be awed by his own opinions. He really respects and loves his dad. And then he ruins it by smirking while saying, “But I surpassed him quickly enough.”

“Humble,” I giggle, yanking on his necklace again. “Do you think he’ll let me draw him naked?”

Maddox chokes on a laugh and pretends to vomit. “You’re not… digging him, are you?”

“Ew, I mean, no, he’s nice to look at and I’ve got literally every other body shape drawn. Your dad is like, all muscle.”

He shudders. “I’m staying out of this one, I can guarantee it’ll be a definite no.”

I try to hide my disappointment but it sucks because it’s all for the art.

“Besides, I’m all muscle!” Maddox declares, flexing his biceps.

“Yeah, but I already drew you and he’s twice your muscle size.” Well, he’s bigger but not twice as big. “It’s good you follow his workout regime and a shame you don’t pay attention to his good sense of hair styling.”

Feigning offense, he shoves me so hard I stumble off the stool and fall onto my side. We both laugh until I kick his stool out from under him and he joins me on the floor. I screech and scramble on the wooden surface to get away when he grabs my braid and digs his fingers into my sides.

“No!” I laugh so hard I can’t breathe, he’s relentless. He doesn’t stop, pinning me by straddling my chest. “UNCLE!”

He finally stops, climbs off me and offers me a hand as I pant and gasp for breath. I take it and let him pull me to standing. I slap his chest for good measure.

“Morning.” Sargent enters the room with his empty plate. “Sorry for being rude, I had to make a call, are you hungry, Maddox?”

“No,” Mad replies, still beaming. He rubs his hip, the one that he landed on when I kicked the stool out from under him. “I’m okay. The leftovers were epic.”

“Good.”

“When do you want me to start work?” he asks. “The sooner I have a steady income the better.”

As Sargent replies I take our plates to the sink and figure out the weird tap with a shower head that you can move around, I’m assuming it’s to rinse the plates off. I like it.

“We have a dishwasher,” Sargent snaps, no longer talking about getting his son on his own team. “That really isn’t necessary.”

“It’s three plates and a pan,” I reply, looking at the dishwasher door and yanking it open. As expected it’s empty.

“Dad.” Maddox clicks his fingers to get his father’s glowering eyes off me. “Work?”

Sargent

“You can start Thursday,” I reply. “But don’t think we’ll go easy on you because you’re my son.” I look at our guest. Her presence alone infuriates me. “Will you be getting a job?”

“I actually already have one,” she responds, smiling sheepishly and my son looks at her with such adoration.

“Really?” I am intrigued. “Doing what?”

“I’ll be starting at that diner near the freeway on Saturday.”

“Bill’s Space?” I ask and I look at my son who still has that look in his eye. Boy does he have it bad.

“She’s also an incredible painter and even better at drawing.” Maddox twirls a lock of her hair around his finger. I’m not sure he realizes he’s doing it.

“But please don’t worry, I won’t use any paints or anything in your house,” she blurts, looking sideways at my son.

“We’ll find a space for you,” Maddox offers, turning away from me completely. “Maybe in the yard. Right, Dad?”

I don’t reply. As much as I appreciate art, finding her a space will just entice her to stay.

My phone ringing saves me from replying. I walk away, trying not to think about the visual she planted in my mind, of a cane hitting her tanned skin.