Iwatch as the woman snaps at Ezra, her clipped tone sharp enough to cut, though it doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. His devilish grin stays firmly in place, unfaltering even as she trails behind him, scolding him like a mother would a wayward child.
My pulse stirs with something unsettling - disappointment maybe - twisting around my heart like ivy as he reaches for the massive arched doors. He hauls them open with ease, stepping inside without a backward glance, vanishing from sight. I exhale slowly, willing the tension from my shoulders as I drag my case across the driveway and lug it up the stone steps.
I’ve never allowed any man to occupy my thoughts like this before.
‘Yet here you are, nerves frayed, soaked between your legs and wondering what that big slice of man pie might taste like.’
My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips, heat blooming on my cheeks as I try to push the handsome stranger from my thoughts. I don’t get further than the pillared entryway when the woman - my new boss - swings around to face me. With sharp features, legs for miles, and flawless porcelain skin, Matron Lenora Blackwood is pretty enough to have been pulled from the pagesof a top end magazine. But looks can be deceiving—I suspect the sweet feminine exterior is a rouse. Her death-stare penetrates me down to my soul as the awkward silence grows between us. My smiling like a fool is an involuntary reaction to the situation. She positions herself before me, her arms crossed over her chest, rigid as a soldier, barring my entry as if she’s protecting a secret from an enemy. I wait patiently for her to address me. My arms struggling to keep hold of the books and my case that seem to grow heavier with each passing second under her scrutiny.
“Cara Morgrieves, I presume?” Her monotone voice has my teeth on edge as she lazily gazes from my boots up to my face with a disapproving scowl.
“Yes,” I meekly reply, that small word feeling too big for my dry mouth.
“Yes, what?” she goads, pronouncing every syllable as though each letter has the ability to physically burn me. Two minutes in her presence and she hates me already.
Way to make an impression, Cara.
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice falters, unsure if I’m giving her what she has asked for.
“This isn’t the place for creative expression, so let this be your one and only warning. I will be docking your pay for the new uniform. I expect that to stay the colour it is intended. There will be no second chance if the rules are ignored again.”
My lips part, ready to explain about the red sock and the awful morning I’d had at the washing shop, but her glare warns me that she isn’t interested in whatever it is that’s about to fly out of my mouth. Pinching my lips together, I regard her kindly with a simple, “Understood.”
“Understood what?” she snaps, and I suddenly feel like a teenager again being reprimanded by the headteacher at school.
“Understood, ma’am,” I force out, my toothy grin dripping with disdain.
“That’s more like it. Manners cost nothing, Miss Morgrieves, you’d be wise to remember that. That’s simple yes?”
I don’t risk upsetting her again by following up with an answer; instead, I nod my head to let her know I agree, exhaling a sigh of relief when she seems satisfied and turns to walk inside. Her welcome lacks the warmth I was expecting. I note she didn’t offer to help me with my stuff, but why would she? Lenora Blackwood doesn’t seem the type to be helpful for any other reason than personal gain, and right now, I have nothing she wants.
CHAPTER THREE
CARA
“You’ve got this, Cara,” I mumble the sentiment, not entirely believing the words as I drag my case through the lobby of Blackwood Asylum. The high ceilinged, open-plan entryway is exquisite but sparse of furniture, colour, or personality: stark white paintwork, two courtroom-style wooden benches flanking each wall either side of me, and a bare bulb light display overhead with varying lengths of wrought iron chain links hanging from the ceiling. The floor is black and white chequered, polished to the point I could probably eat my dinner off of it. Each step I take echoes around me, bouncing off every surface as though the building needs to be alerted to my arrival. An oriental vase stands tall in the centre of the space atop a weathered wooden round table. It’s filled to the brim with the tallest white lilies I’ve ever seen, a yellow dusting falling from the petals as I pull one to my nose to take in a lungful of its scent.
My eyes lock with Ezra’s from across the room as he chats to a sheepish-looking man behind a reception desk. I can’t make out what they are saying from where I stand, but if the unease washing over the man’s pale face is any suggestion, it isn’t the friendliest of interactions. He exudes power as he leans in towhisper something into the man’s ear, that devilish smile of his, that some might deem affable, making me want to drop my stuff and run to him.
‘Fucking get a grip, Cara.’The order rattles around in my head, and it’s enough to shake the spell Ezra seems to have me under.‘Melting into a horny puddle at his feet isn’t what you need. You’re here to work.’My brain is on form today, and for that, I’m grateful because my body is a greedy bitch, and I suspect where he is concerned, I’ll be in constant conflict with my willpower to stay away from him.
“New blood.” The voice at my back has my skin crawling. A man skulks into view, circling me to stand at Lenora’s side, waiting—silent, expectant. His gaze lingers too long on my chest, his beady eyes undressing me. I steel my spine, lift my chin, and resist the urge to fold my arms, to shield myself. Weakness is not an option here.
“Simon will help you get settled in if you need it.”
I force a tight-lipped smile, keeping my eyes locked on hers. No way in hell am I asking this creep for anything. But something in her expression tells me she’s fond of him, in the same way someone might tolerate an ugly pet spider—harmless to the one that provides their food, unsettling to everyone else. Lenora’s phone rings in her pocket, and she holds up a sharp finger at me as she heads out of the building through a set of double doors. I decide exploring the unknown is preferred over whatever this awkward silent exchange is with Simon, so I hurry off into the next room, hoping he’ll stay put.
Sunlight floods the conservatory style room I wander into, the vibe more homely than hospital. I watch as Lenora paces the garden outside of the open floor-to-ceiling bay windows as she whisper-shouts into her phone. Checking behind me to make sure her pet hasn’t followed me, relief swamps my belly, and I push aside the entire encounter. Deep mauve floral papercovers the walls, and green velvet furniture sits scattered around the room. A sparkling chandelier hangs from the beautifully designed, black-painted gothic ceiling. Everything in this room, from the gilded-framed oil painting portraits to the mahogany round bistro tables looks old. I drag my suitcase behind me, the wheels groaning as I cross the room to get a better look at the acres of surrounding land; the iron bars on the windows doing nothing to detract from the stunning view. A field of impossibly tall lilies, their petals painted gold in the late afternoon sun, stretches to the edge of the forest that circles the property, caging us in away from the surrounding towns.
“Giant Himalayan lilies,” a meek voice whispers ethereally from beside me, making me jump.
When I turn to find a face to match the voice, a squeak of shock barrels out of my mouth. I drop my case with a thud and stumble back into another oversized oriental vase filled with the asylum’s signature flower. Thankfully, this one is bolted to the ground and has no give. I wheeze as I take the hit to my ribs.
“I didn’t mean to scare you; jittery little thing, aren’t you?”
I half expected to turn and find a small child, but instead I have to crane my neck back to take in the six-foot bear of a woman looming over me. She has shoulder-length strawberry blonde ringlets like a porcelain doll, impossibly dark brown eyes, and a mouthful of sharp teeth that look as though a medieval torture device has been used to shave them down into points. I take a second to right myself as I swallow down the unease lodged in my throat.
“I’m sorry, I got lost in my own little world for a moment there.” I smile faintly, hoping the sadness I see tugging at her eyes due to my reaction dissipates. For a second, I wonder if she’s going to hug me or hit me, her unreadable expression now vacant. “That…uh…colour looks great on you.” In a flash, that giddy grin is back on her round face, and the sigh of reliefbursting from my lips hollows out my lungs. She sways her hips and swishes the material of the pink night dress that reaches down to her furry slippered feet, the doily Peter Pan collar adding a playfulness to it.
