Page 10 of Mysterious Mate

Every room she entered seemed to tell a story, each piece of furniture and art a chapter in a long history of affluence and sophistication. She ran her fingers lightly over the back of a velvet armchair, admiring the intricate woodwork. The curtains were heavy, the kind that muffled sound and provided absolute privacy. The air was filled with a faint, pleasant scent, a mix of polished wood and aged paper.

She had just reached a large room filled with ancient-looking books when Weston reappeared, carrying a plate on a tray. He set it down on the table with a practiced ease, every movement precise and deliberate.

“Cook thought you might enjoy a little something more so he sent you grapes, cheeses, and some biscuits—some savory, some sweet.”

“Biscuits? So, you’re British. In the States we call them cookies.” She expected him to either confirm or deny his nationality, but he said nothing. “Well, thank you," Willow said, her voice a little steadier than she felt. "Would you sit with me for a bit? I have some questions."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "If you wish." He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, his posture as impeccable as ever.

“What if my wishes have nothing to do with this castle or why I’m here? What if they have more to do with seeing you with your clothes off?” Nothing. He said absolutely nothing, and his face betrayed even less. Taking one of the grapes, she sucked it into her mouth provocatively. Nothing. “All right then, tell me about the staff here. Who feeds them? Where do they sleep? How many are there? How do you get supplies?"

Weston regarded her coolly. “I don’t know that you need to concern yourself with any of that.”

“Indulge me. After all, haven’t I supplied the Resistance and Interpol with enough information to put Frank and his allies away for a very long time? Don’t you think I deserve something more than a grape to suck on?”

Ignoring her provocative chatter, Weston answered her questions about the staff with a bored but patient air, as if he were indulging a spoiled child. Willow wondered what he’d do if she straddled his lap, pulled off her silk-knit sweater and bra, and offered him her stiff and swollen nipples to feast on. Better yet, if she stripped herself naked and kneeled between his legs, releasing what looked to be a highly aroused cock from his black trousers before going to town on that thing?

Nothing.

"The staff are well cared for. We have our own quarters in a separate wing of the keep. There are about twenty of us, including security. In order to avoid detection, some of our people go over to an open market on the mainland by boat twice a week to discreetly buy what we need and don’t grow ourselves. No one comes or goes from this island without our knowledge."

His voice was smooth and steady, and Willow found herself entranced by the sound. Sometimes she thought she detected the trace of an American accent—perhaps from the northeast? And sometimes he sounded like the very model of a perfect English butler or perhaps a modern major general.

Willow was beginning not to trust him—how could she? But if she was going to survive on this island, she had to pretend to. Besides, she loved listening to him. His voice fueled her fantasies at night. Too bad he might be a killer.

"Do you enjoy working here?" she asked, genuinely curious.

The butler's lips twitched slightly, almost a smile. "I don’t normally work here at the castle, but I do find my work fulfilling. It can be lonely and demanding, but it's also rewarding in its own way."

Willow nodded, sucking another grape into her mouth. "And what about you? Is Weston your real name?"

He paused, considering her question. "It doesn’t really matter, but yes, Weston is my real name."

"Weston," she repeated, rolling the name over her tongue. It suited him, she thought. Elegant, refined, with an undercurrent of strength.

"Do you have any other questions, Ms. Carlyle?" Weston asked, his eyes meeting hers.

She held his gaze for a moment, feeling a strange connection. "Not right now. But thank you for answering."

Weston inclined his head. "My pleasure. If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to ask." He stood and retreated to the doorway, standing just inside the closed doors, and leaving Willow to her thoughts.

As she watched him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Weston than met the eye. The idea that he might be an assassin sent by Frank was both terrifying and oddly thrilling. She had to be careful, had to stay on guard, but for now, she would enjoy the small comfort his presence brought. Even if he might be a killer, there was something about him that made her feel a little less alone in this beautiful prison.

CHAPTER 6

WILLOW

Willow was bored and antsy. Days on the island seemed to stretch on endlessly with little to do except sunbathe, wander the house and grounds, and watch Weston. Weston was becoming something of an obsession. She found herself doing provocative things just to try and get a rise out of him. Sometimes she thought she could see his cock stiffen behind his fly, but his face betrayed nothing.

The man was hot, as in sex-on-a-stick hot, even in his impeccable butler’s attire. His presence was a constant reminder of the simmering tension she felt. She needed to find something to do to pass the time, something to keep her mind off the restless energy coursing through her. She was tired of living like a fucking nun. Frank hadn’t touched her in a long time, and she needed to feel alive again—not just in her dreams, but in reality, as well.

Willow's fingers trembled as she tentatively touched herself. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, but somehow, she just couldn’t seem to stop. The need that had started as simply wanting to feel something had quickly evolved into wanting Weston in the worst way. Knowing he could walk in at any minute and find her only made the need pulse more brightly.

Feeling powerful, yet vulnerable, Willow let go of convention and began to surrender to her deepest fantasies. She pushed her top up above her breasts to expose them. What would Weston do if he found her like this? She moved her hands over her body, her fingers brushing over her breasts and tugging at her nipples.

Slowing her movements, she used her fingers to trace over her belly, pausing momentarily before slipping inside the waistband of the bottom of her swimsuit and dipping into her soft and wet folds. She wondered if the sight of her, so exposed and aroused, might send a jolt of lust through him. She could easily imagine his cock twitching in response, lengthening and hardening, needing to be inside her.

Her fingertips moved faster, thrusting inside herself as she moaned softly. She was lost in the pleasure she was providing herself. Her breath hitched, and she increased the pace of her fingering, her other hand coming up to tug and pinch her nipples.

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