“Ella.”
She doesn’t wake. Doesn’t so much as stir. Her breathing has gone slow and even. I imagine she needs a deep sleep, but even so I monitor her breathing and when she stirs, fighting the urge to wake up, I let her fall back under, rather than rousing her to consciousness.
She can’t sleep here. I’m quiet as I stand, preparing to take her upstairs and put her in her bed. The idea of putting her to bed is met with thoughts that shouldn’t be anywhere on my mind. Specifically: reddening her ass with my itching palm for hiding alcohol.
Even that small thought has my cock hardening.
Fuck.
Calm focus. Four-count breaths. Four times over. There are eyes everywhere in this house. Cameras. Every move I make needs to be carefully considered, because even if I alter some of the footage, there can be nothing suspicious about the rest, nothing to indicate that my heart is beating out of my chest and I want to kiss her awake. Run roughshod over her boundaries. And punish her ass so she won’t sneak alcohol again.
So damn badly.
More than I’ve wanted anything since Quincy.
But I don’t kiss her. I’m a goddamn professional, and I don’t kiss her. I maneuver Ella into my arms in a chaste carry, her warm body curled against my chest. Her head rests easily against my shoulder. She’s so deeply asleep I have to cradle her tighter than I otherwise would. Far tighter than would be considered professional.
The herringbone stairs leading up to the second floor are dark, but I trust them to be empty in this barren, spotless house. They are. A nightlight in the upstairs hall casts enough of a glow for me to see that Ella’s bedroom door is ajar. I nudge it open the rest of the way with my shoulder and carry her to the bed.
This part takes more planning. I don’t think she’ll stand, so I keep her in my arms and nudge the covers down as best I can, then lower her to the sheets.
Ella’s almost there when she startles, a tiny jerk of her body against mine. Her arms come up and around my neck and holy shit, she can hold tight. Her grip is solid and strong and her forehead presses into the side of my neck, her breath warm on my skin. I feel that all the way down to my erection. It only takes a moment for her to loosen her grasp, falling back into a deep sleep.
I take a ragged breath and force myself to it again. She is sleeping. She’s not aware of what she’s doing, let alone what she does to me. I move to lower her the rest of the way, but even when Ella’s body makes contact with the mattress, she doesn’t let go completely.
“Sleep with me,” she murmurs, her voice tactile on my skin. “Zander. Stay.”
My name. Her lips. That voice.
Fuck.
It takes more strength than I would have thought to untwist her arms from my neck. “It’s time for you to sleep.” I use my professional voice now, firm but not cold. Ella won’t remember that I’ve also used a touch of my Dominant side. She shivers beneath me.
Maybe she will remember.
She turns over and slips one wrist under her pillow. I feel like a monster standing over her like this. Wanting her like this. Wanting, with every last bit of my soul, to crawl into bed next to her and sleep and sleep and sleep.
Then wake to do other things.
It’s torture to stay and wait for her breathing to even out.
Ella rolls over again, her eyes catching the faint light. “Please?” The word is a breath on her lips that must contain witchery. It’s potent enough to cast spells.
I put a hand out and stroke her hair. This is allowed. This is a professional touch between a client and a member of The Firm. This is to provide her with the emotional support she’s desperate for. Calmly I give her the command, “Sleep.”
“Sleepless dreams,” she murmurs and closes her eyes.
Dreamless sleep. That’s what she means. I have dreamless nights now, thanks to the little blue pills, but I know what happens when I go off them. I know what I’ll see when I close my eyes for the night. Memories rush in and try to fill the room. I push them away one by one. We’re not doing this tonight. I am on the clock.
A few minutes of soft breathing, and Ella rolls over onto her back.
It takes everything I have, every ounce of self-control, to do what I have to do next.
I flip up her nightgown. Not so far that it uncovers the soft flesh of her belly—just far enough to access the belt to the robe. I can’t leave her to sleep tangled in the silk garment. I’ve watched her in bed before. I know exactly how she sleeps, although stripping her down entirely is out of the question.