Page 4 of Never Bound

This guy had no idea how to praise me. That was certain. Few people did. Most accepted the notion that slaves, with their inferior, more primitive natures, didn’t respond to praise, only punishment. Wainwright-Phillips was clearly of that old school. Did this mean that maybe, like his daughter, he was evolving? No. He was in business with Langer, so that was impossible. But still.

“And I think it’s safe to say the engineers at Orbital Dynamics are, too. Mr. Killeen, perhaps, not so much.”

Yes. There it was. He was smiling. Well, this conversation certainly had its share of pleasant surprises. Now please let it be over.

“You know—” he began thoughtfully, but stopped. The thought would remain unexpressed. “Well, carry on.” He swept out of the room.

Turning with relief, I ran cold water over my hand, yawned, and glanced at the clock for the millionth time. Well then, only eight more hours until I could sleep, instead of twelve. Small mercies.

HER

Quite honestly, his skill in time management was an understatement. He always insisted I review the chapters first; he would quiz me on the parts he didn’t think I was solid enough on yet and drill me until he was satisfied. And given howhe’dbeen taught, it wasn’t surprising that sometimes it took a lot to satisfy him.

“You’re worse than Mrs. Atchinson, my second-grade teacher,” I said, throwing my pencil down on the desk in frustration when he asked me to practice what felt like the fiftieth elimination reaction. “She made me stay after class and write out the times tables in words ‘to help me learn.’ God, I hated her.”

“Hey, I’m sure poor Mrs. Atchinson would have rather been sucking on your neck, too,” he replied. “But like me, she knew how to put her own needs aside for the good of her students.”

The mental image caused me to stifle a thoroughly revolted laugh in my hands. This time, it was my turn to yawn, stretch, and rise from my chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like? I’m quitting. You’ve completely worn me out.”

“Okay, I’ll go.” He rose from the chair and pointed with his thumb toward the door, and I wasn’t sure whether he was putting his acting skills to use again or whether he actually did, on some level, think I wanted him to leave.

“Slow learner,” I said, the mattress squeaking as I bounced to my knees. “You practice innuendo like it’s a scientific discipline, and then you don’t recognize an open invitation when you hear one?” I grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the bed, rewarded by his surprised smile as he tumbled after me.

He settled himself on one pale pink pillow, his golden hair spilling across it, radiant in the afternoon sunlight. He raised his right arm above his head and I didn’t hesitate to take the invitation, nestling myself cozily into the empty space beside the long, hard muscle of his torso as he reached that hand around in front to entwine with mine. I adjusted the comforter and pulled it over us, then turned so we were nose to nose. To my delight, a sweet, spontaneous kiss greeted me.

“Besides,” I teased, “I know how much you love these sheets.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, settling his other hand behind his head and thoughtfully gazing at the ceiling. “It’s definitely the sheets,” he said lightly before sighing and letting his amber eyes fixate on something in the distance, always a sign the gears in his head had begun to turn. And this time, I suspected it had nothing to do with science.

“Daddy told me that with the gardener gone, you’re going to get stuck filling in for him,” I murmured into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to—”

“Lou, it’s fine,” he cut me off with a laugh. “Hell, I’ve kind of missed working in the dirt all day. Just like old times.”

My heart clenched at the reminder of his past, even though I now knew that whatever was troubling him, it wasn’t that.

“He says he’s looking at hiring a service for the gardens,” I said. “They send a team of slaves over to do the work.”

“Well, here’s hoping.”

“Any idea yet where he went?”

“Not a clue. The housekeeper doesn’t know, either. I asked everyone.” It was clear he didn’t think he’d seen the last of him.

“Do you really think Langer bought him? He doesn’t own slaves. He doesn’twantto own slaves. That’s kind of his whole thing.”

“So he says,” he said darkly. “Look, if he can hold my sister and a bunch of other girls captive without anyone knowing, no doubt he can also figure out how to buy one toothless gardener without anyone knowing.”

Now it was my turn to stare at the ceiling. “Still, the guy’s gone. And you know what they say about gift horses.”

“I was never big on horse-related aphorisms.”

“Well, then I’ll try to rein them in.” His look was priceless, and I collapsed into sheepish giggles. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah, well, you should have, especially because that’s an allusion, not an aphorism.” My work was done, though—his smile had returned. “Am I going to have to tickle you until you learn the difference?”

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