Page 11 of His Dark Purpose

“Sir!” Bewildered exasperation rang out in her tone as if she didn’t understand his expectations, but they both knew that was rubbish. The rules of the game they’d established were clear, and she’d had little to complain about until then.

“Better.” His reply was curt. “Now, get into bed.”

He’d tried to be tactful about her need to keep warm, but she’d been blind to his diplomacy. Amy, it seemed, needed his firm hand, and he was happy to oblige her.

Waiting as she complied, he placed her glass with his and slipped out of his jacket. Tossing it onto the covers, he rounded the bed and climbed in beside her.

“This is how you want to talk, sir?” She sounded bemused.

“We’ll both be more comfortable this way.”

It was odd settling between the sheets in his shirt and suit pants, but turning to catch her perplexed expression, he was sure the relaxed situation was the best chance for a calm conversation.

The ferocity of his anger had diminished while he’d been downstairs, and he was ready to talk. Much though he wanted to be honest, he wasn’t sure how far his sincerity could stretch. It was one thing to confirm what she’d already ascertained—that he had been her landlord—but another to reveal his intentions during the intervening years when she’d slid into poverty.

Because it’s none of her business.

His chin rose at the defiant thought, but deep down, he knew insolence wasn’t really the reason he didn’t want to tell her.

I’m afraid.His brows knitted as he pulled the cover up to his middle.What will she think of me if she knows the truth about the years I kept her in my sight, but did nothing to help?

His fearful response was a perturbing revelation. Kyle couldn’t remember feeling genuine fear for a long time. He’d accrued a lot of wealth and had weaponized it, employing it to protect him from just about anything that could hurt him.

Until Amy.

His little girl had broken through his armor. Though she wielded little power and even less money, she’d wormed her way into his affections to the extent that the idea of losing her was soul-destroying. He could continue living in Brock Hall without her, growing his portfolios and keeping his circle tight, but what would be the point?

Without Amy, he had nothing to livefor.

“Okay.” She blew out a breath and turned his way as far as the cuff allowed. He might have enjoyed the look of her plight had the tension in his stomach not been making it difficult to think. “What do you want to talk about?”

As if she doesn’t know.

“You want to know about Aspen Way.” His core clenched at the opening line.

“I wanted to know why you hadn’t told me you owned the house.” She shrugged. “It’s not like you did anything illegal, sir.”

“Right.” So, why did he feel so dreadful at the idea of divulging his version of events?

“Graham didn’t tell me much about who owned the house.” She scrunched the covers with the fingers of her left hand. “And I guess I never asked. I knew we were barely getting by, so digging into the details of our debts hardly seemed helpful.” Her focus rose to find his face. “Did something happen between you and him?”

Staring into her incredible eyes, Kyle found himself on the precipice of something huge. He knew that whichever way he chose to play the next few minutes would have ramifications well beyond that day. He either spun her a convincing web of lies he’d need to stand by in the days and months to come or find the courage to tell her the truth—whatever her reaction.

His attention slid along her body to her cuffed wrist. It wasn’t as though Amy was going anywhere. If she chose to angrily erupt again, he could always make good on his threat to gag her and give her a little more time alone to think things through.

But she might be good.

His heart swelled at the idea. She’d done as he asked while he was downstairs, hadn’t she? And despite a couple of quips, she’d been well-behaved since his return.

Perhaps she was ready to hear who he really was and just how interwoven the last few years of their lives had been.

“Nothing bad happened.” Though, he accepted that ‘bad’ was a relative concept.

“But you worked together?” She tugged at her lower lip, a sign that her nerves were also escalating. Unusually, the gesture did little to quell his anxiety.

“He worked for me…” He paused. “Once or twice.”

“Yes.” She searched his face. “You said that, sir. Was he your accountant?”

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