Page 16 of Make Her Mine
I must’ve needed to get laid pretty badly if a fantasy about screwing the sassy housekeeper had me going. And to get a hard-on just seeing her, too? I was out of it!
Maybe it was all this change? Or all the wealth? Perhaps a combination of the two? What had gotten into me? But I had to get into some other woman, or I’d sure as heck dip my dick in Ella’s hot pussy.
She’d be in my bed before she knew what happened. She might not have known that, but I did. And I couldn’t let that happen, no matter what I had to do to stop it.
Chapter Eight
Ella
Sunday brunches were my favorite. Christmas was the only other time Chef Todd prepared more food than his famous Sunday brunches. To top it, Sunday was my day off.
Feeling happy for no other reason than the free time and the tons of splendid cooking, I skipped to the dining room—dubbed the Brunch Room. The smell of smoky bacon, cinnamon, and coffee was in the air. My mouth watered as I made my way down the long corridor.
“Wow, what a spread,” I heard Clayton remark.
I stopped, not wanting to see Brandon after seeing him wearing nothing but a towel the day before. A towel that had tented over his boner. It was quite intriguing—but mostly repulsive.
I was glad Darleen hadn’t been paying attention and she missed it. Well, most of it. She did see him running away though, and we both cracked up.
“Do you think Brandon will come down to eat?” Dyllan inquired.
Clayton answered, “I don’t know. He got pretty lit last night at The Watering Hole. And he was dancing with anyone who’d let him. He’s probably worn out. We might not see him much today.”
I fisted my hands at my sides. The Watering Hole was a bar in town. It was a pretty rough place—bikers went there on occasion. The women were promiscuous. And Brandon had been dancing with them. Who knows what else he’d done?
Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry. I was livid; I turned around and hurried back up staircase. What am I doing? Why am I doing it? At his bedroom door, I paused and pounded on it.
About the fourth round of consistent knocks, I heard his gravelly voice, “What the fuck?”
Then it hit me. I had temporarily gone out of my mind. I ran down the stairs as fast as lightning. In record time, I made it to the Brunch Room and stopped to catch my breath before going inside to join the others.
Walking in like I hadn’t just run the length of the entire mansion, I said, “Good morning. How was your night?”
Clayton turned away from the buffet with a plate piled so high it defied gravity. “Morning, Ella. We had quite the time last night. We found this bar called The Watering Hole and had a few drinks, danced with some nice ladies, and then came home. And what did you do?”
Picking up a plate, I looked at the vast array of foods. “I stayed home. Watched some Netflix. Sounds like you guys had fun though.”
“Brandon mentioned he invited you to come along, but you turned him down,” Dyllan commented as he took a seat with a plate stacked equally as high as his brother’s.
I waved a fork to gesture at their plates. “You guys know you can come back for more, right? No need to pile those plates so high.”
They looked at the amount of food they had, and both laughed, then Clayton acknowledged, “We don’t have a refined bone in our bodies.”
Mom came in, carrying a carafe of fresh-squuezed orange juice. “Good morning, everyone.” She looked at the two men who sat at the big table. “Where’s Brandon?”
I took a seat a few chairs down from Dyllan and looked at them for their reply as if I had no clue to why Brandon wasn’t there. Dyllan shook his head. “He probably will not be coming down, Miss Finley. He imbibed a bit too much.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Mom said as she put the juice down, then made herself a plate.
Dad and Kyle came in; both had dirt on their jeans already. “Morning,” Dad stated, sounding gruffer than usual.
Clayton caught on right away. “Are you having troubles this morning?”
Kyle nodded. “One of the cows had a stillborn calf—a male. Two more are in labor now. It’ll be a stretched day, I’m afraid.”
Clayton looked at Dyllan. “Hey, maybe we can help them out?”
“Sure.” Dyllan looked at my father. “Mr. Finley, would it be alright if we came along with you guys after breakfast?”
