Bradley slammed the door to her room and leaned back against it, gasping for air. Shit, shit, shit. She held out her hands -- they were shaking. She couldn't believe she'd just had a screaming match with her employer. For the past two months she and Parker MacKenzie had coexisted peacefully in the large, empty house. She cleaned and looked after the grounds, and he spent all his time in his office working. Occasionally she'd bring him coffee, a tray of food, and once or twice she'd helped him out with some dictation or filing. They'd developed an easy camaraderie, neither feeling the need to speak much. It was the best summer job she'd ever had, quiet and solitary.
Until she'd been cleaning the master bedroom and found the file with her name on it. Puzzled, she'd sat on the bed and opened it. It was like a condensed biography. Every detail of her life, every foster home she'd been in, every school she'd attended, lists of friends and teachers -- everything right down to her favorite foods. Stunned, Bradley simply sat there for several minutes, trying to figure it out. Why on earth would he have a file like this? Then anger, swift and hot, flooded her. She'd never been so angry in her entire life. Clutching the file, she'd gone up to his office, barged in without bothering to knock, and tossed the file on the desk so that the contents spilled all over the place, some of it cascading into his lap.
Parker glanced at her calmly, the phone to his ear. "Let me call you back, Mike." He hung up and sat back, waiting.
Bradley couldn't believe he was so calm, so cool. "What the fuck is this?" she asked, gesturing at the mess of papers.
"This is none of your business."
Bradley stared at him. "My life is none of my business?"
"Bradley, I do background checks on everyone who crosses my threshold. I'm careful."
"You're invasive."
The argument escalated from there, until they were shouting at each other. Bradley had never in her life had a screaming fight with anyone. Ever. But for some inexplicable reason she found her temper boiling over, completely out of control. Finally, some dim corner of her brain still operating on common sense told her it was time to leave. Turning, she'd stormed out of his office, ignoring him as he shouted her name, and run up to her room.
Now what? She had to pack her things. There was no way she could finish out the summer here. Feeling over heated and overwhelmed, she headed for the bathroom.
Bradley bent over the sink and splashed double handfuls of cold water onto her face. The argument had left her flushed, her dark green eyes blazing as though she had a fever. The back of her neck felt hot, and she trickled water over it, hanging her head down, with her thick dark curls shutting out the rest of the room like a curtain. She took deep breaths. She couldn't believe she'd actually shouted at him like that. Her heart was still racing. She sipped at the water. Her throat was tight and aching.
Shit. He'd expect her out first thing in the morning, most likely. She'd have to find a new place to stay and a new job asap. Sighing, Bradley straightened up, placing her palms on the counter, eyes closed, trying to gather her thoughts. She opened her eyes and looked at her reflection -- and over her shoulder she saw Parker, standing in the doorway.
Startled, she froze, and stared mutely as he walked up behind her, his eyes locked on hers in the mirror. Before she could react, he placed his hands over hers on the counter, and she felt him press against her back. She started to pull her hands away, but he pressed firmly down, holding them in place. He was still looking into her eyes in the mirror, and the expression in them made her stomach feel heavy and tingly with unease.
"What are you doing?" she managed, but it came out strained, almost a whisper.
He turned his head and bit her neck.
"Jesus!" Bradley wrenched her arms free and spun around to shove him back. They struggled briefly, and then he had her arms behind her back, forcing her wrists up between her shoulder blades so that she struggled to stay on her toes to ease the pain. He held her wrists with one hand, and with the other he grabbed a fistful of her hair, and kissed her. Bradley writhed, trying to escape his grasp.
"Stop!" she managed to get out.
Parker laughed. "Impossible," he said. "Walk." And he spun her about, wrenching her wrists so that she cried out and staggered. He guided her out of the bathroom, into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He threw her down onto the bed. She immediately scrambled for the other side, but he caught a fistful of her shirt and hauled her back. She turned to face him, bringing her right elbow up and ramming it into his jaw, and followed it up with a hard left hook. Parker shrugged the blows off. Gathering two fistfuls of her shirt, he ripped it apart and tossed it aside. He fell on top of her, pinning her squirming body to the mattress. They thrashed across it, fighting fiercely. He didn't hit her -- he didn't have to. He was nearly a full foot taller and at least sixty pounds of solid muscle heavier. It was like punching a wall; he never even flinched. In the midst of blocking her wild blows, he somehow managed to unbutton her jeans, and plunged his hand into them. Bradley gave a ragged gasp as his fingers pressed between her thighs, immediately finding her most vulnerable spot. She abruptly stilled, as though if she didn't move he might not either. Their faces were centimeters apart; his dark brown eyes looked into hers with something very akin to amusement as his fingers gently explored her.
