Over the next week, Tatum barely saw his new boss.

“I’m being ghosted I’m sure of it,” Tatum thought.

Andrew Pearce was like a ghost in the enormous house, always where he was not, and yet Tatum felt his presence everywhere. Perhaps it was the struggle to sleep without dreaming of seeing far too much of his hard, lean body that first morning or the aura of raw masculinity that seemed to permeate this house.

He slept late each day and spent hours in the gym and on the roof—probably swimming in the pool—but he never missed a meal. Tatum had stopped himself from blurting out all the questions queuing up in his head whenever Mr Pearce appeared at mealtimes, in order to keep to the no-talk Pearce rule. But alongside the back-off vibes which emanated from him, Tatum could still sense the wounded animal, not yet willing to engage. And Tatum was far too aware of the sensual yearning that clouded his senses whenever Mr Pearce was near.

A thousand dollars had dropped into his account at 8:00 a.m. the day after he didn’t get fired, with a text from Mr Down that had simply said “Hang in there, kid—you’re doing great.”

By the end of Tatum’s first week, though, he had figured out it wasn’t just the astonishing bonus, his new rent-free luxury pad downstairs or even the beyond-generous salary that made him so determined not to get fired.

Andrew Pearce fascinated him on so many levels—all of which seemed to tug at a place deep inside him…the same place which had been so determined to rescue all those broken wild things as a kid. Or that’s what he tried to tell himself while busy ignoring the ripple of awareness every time Mr Pearce appeared. And Tatum’s avid—and completely inappropriate—fascination with his lean, scarred body, which he was powerless to control.

After the first few days, he no longer bolted his food like a hungry wolf, but he could see the feral light in those pure blue eyes whenever he placed another one of his mum’s signature dishes in front of him. After every meal, he grunted his thanks, then disappeared again, and he’d been grateful at first because he really did not want to get caught staring at his pecks again.

But this evening, he was determined to push back against the no-chat rule.

After all, Mr Down had asked him to become Andrew’s friend. And how could he do that if he never spoke to him?

That evening…

Tatum cleared his throat as he tucked into the Chicken a-la king.

“Mr Pearce, is there anything else I might be doing here? To earn my vast salary.”

The familiar frown formed. “How much am I paying you?”

He didn’t know? Seriously?

Ah, wonderful, Tatum! Now he’ll know he’s overpaying you. Why didn’t you keep your big mouth shut?

One enquiring eyebrow arched, waiting for Tatum’s reply.

“Five thousand dollars a month,” he managed. “Plus the use of the downstairs bedroom.”

“Five grand?” He seemed surprised. “That’s all?”

All? Five grand a month was an exorbitant fee for a glorified cook.

“So, Jonathan’s become a tight-ass in his old age,” he murmured, but the quirk in his sensual lips had Tatum’s pulse rate accelerating. he’d never seen Mr Pearce smile. It did extraordinary things to his face, making his harsh, masculine beauty even more compelling.

“I also got a $1000 bonus after my first day,” he added, not wanting to get Mr Down into any trouble.

“What was the bonus for?” he asked, and Tatum wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Again.

“Something about managing not to get fired,” he blurted out.

“Oh yeah?” he said, his tone so low Tatum couldn’t tell whether he was angry or not.

He nodded, having no difficulty at all keeping his mouth shut now. All the reasons why Tatum’d come within a nanosecond of being sent packing that day ran through his head on a hyperactive loop…and triggered the unwelcome jolt of awareness.

Mr Pearce shovelled in a final mouthful, chewed and swallowed, then pushed the plate across the table. The tension stretched tight between them as his gaze remained locked on Tatum’s. Was he thinking of their first meeting too? And all the reasons why he should fire him after all?

“A thousand doesn’t seem like enough,” he said, so softly Tatum almost didn’t hear him. “After the way I behaved.”

Tatum’s cheeks glowed, the almost apology so unexpected he had no idea what to say.

He stood dumbfounded, aware of Andrew, everywhere, when he leaned across the breakfast bar and hooked a loose tendril of hair behind Tatum’s ear.

Tatum found it hard to swallow suddenly and stood transfixed.

“The pancakes alone were worth that much,” he said, withdrawing his hand. The strange yearning pounded painfully in Tatum’s chest. What was it about this man that made him so aware of him? The compulsion to lean into the fleeting caress, to press his lips to the hard line of Andrew’s, to trace his tongue across the tight seam and see if he could make him kiss him back.

He blinked and jerked back, breaking the spell.

What the heck, Tatum? Are you mad now? Stop staring at him.

Andrew Pearce was his boss, and so far out of his league, it was ridiculous. And the man had been a playboy before his ordeal ten years ago, and he was not gay at all, the man had a horde of females that were always on his arm.

He was a sophisticated man of the world with a string of high-profile lovers before his kidnapping…

And you’re still a virgin, you moron. As if you’d know how to satisfy a man like him. And you’re a guy to boot.

Having three older sisters “watching out for him”—i.e., scaring the life out of every boy who so much as glanced his way—had made it all but impossible to get past a first date all through his teenage years. And ever since he’d landed in New York—determined to spread his wings without his sisters breathing down his neck—he’d been far too busy earning a living to have the love affair even if he knew where to go to find a gay lover.

“Thank you,” he managed around the dryness in his throat.

Andrew rubbed his hand over his chest, drawing her attention to the way the cotton T-shirt clung to his pecks, defining each tantalizing bulge. “I’ll tell Jonathan to double your salary,” he said, still watching Tatum with that dark intensity.

Could he see how close he had come to attempting to kiss him?

“But…why?” he asked, finally getting a handle on their conversation instead of the need making his sex swell.

“I like having you around.” The gruff, offhand compliment made Tatum’s heartbeat slow and the heat in his pants pulse.

“But I’ve done nothing to earn all that money,” he said.

He dropped his head to stare at his plate, and Tatum wondered if he’d said something terribly wrong. “If you want more to do,” he said, raising his head to trap Tatum in that penetrating gaze. “You said you had three older sisters

“What?” he said, astonished by the request.

Tatum blinked, remembering how he had shut him down before when he’d started nattering incessantly. And now he was actually asking him to talk about his family?

Despite the pragmatic tone, Tatum could see the genuine interest in his eyes and recall from his internet search that Andrew had no family now of his own.

Tatum’s ribs hurt. Compassion pressed against his chest at the thought of Andrew’s own family situation.

“It must have been so tough,” he ventured without thinking. “Discovering the last of your own family, your grandmother was gone when they finally rescued you.”

His smile froze, and the wary watchful frown returned with a vengeance.

“I’m so sorry. That’s none of my business,” he managed, wanting to kick himself again. He reached for Andrew’s plate, desperate to flee.

But he clasped Tatum’s wrist, preventing his retreat.

Tatum’s gaze locked with his, and his pulse went haywire, Andrew’s touch electrifying. Could he feel it, pummelling his thumb?

“There’s no need to be sorry,” he said, his face an implacable mask as he released Tatum abruptly. The echo of his touch still lingered, though, as if he had been branded. “My grandmother and I weren’t a family,” he added, the cynical tone slicing through the heady awareness. “Not in the way you mean.”

Tatum’s heart rose into his throat. “Then, I’m even sorrier for that. Everyone needs family,” he said because he genuinely believed it. When his father had left, his sisters and his mother stepped in to fill the gap. Who wouldn’t need that kind of unconditional support? Especially after what Andrew had suffered?

The twist of his lips became condescending, though, the smile almost pitying. “Do they?” he said, but it didn’t sound like a question.

He left Tatum standing in the kitchen as he walked back up the stairs. Tatum’s heart galloped into his throat as he watched him go.

Jonathan Down had been right. Andrew Pearce really did need a friend. He just didn’t know it yet. And Tatum was the only person available for the job.

Now all he needed was to get the inappropriate yearning under control so he could do it properly.

He sighed, the hardness in his pants still pulsing incessantly, his wrist still branded by Andrew’s touch.

No pressure, then.