The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 30

"Mathews is nearby, and I'll only be gone until tomorrow, baby, and you know Mamma will come to check on you if you don't show face." I'm getting the paternal-type lecture from Jake as he gets ready to go to Manhattan. He's looking sophisticated in a flawlessly tailored dark suit and, for once, a tie; one of his clients is sharing his flight to get business out of the way quickly, mid-air.

"I'm sure I can look after myself for a night. You know, I did handle some independence before I had you." I smile sarcastically as he frowns at me.

"Workmen finish up this afternoon, a day early, so by tonight, you'll be chaos free." He continues, ignoring my jibe. He's on a roll in bossy commander business mode, and I revert to PA Emma to listen patiently while he gets it all out of his brain. I remember one of the first things Margo told me about Jake when I started to work for him; she told me he likes information to be repeated back to him and tasks relayed vocally in order of importance. It's nice to think I'm at the top of his list, even subconsciously.

"Good. I plan on a lovely bubble bath, an annoyingly sappy movie, and an early night in our luxurious bed." I lean up and kiss his cheek.

"That sounds much better than going back to work," he grumbles.

"Jealous?" I utter sweetly, leaning in to kiss him goodbye on the mouth this time, always aching to have that intimacy with him.

"No, just wishing I was part of your evening plans, baby. I can't even Skype call this time because I want to get through everything to get back home tomorrow morning. I'm going to miss you a lot." He runs a hand down my jaw and ruffles my hair before the obligatory kiss on the forehead and leaves.

My goodbye waves are rudely interrupted by the chaos of noise starting for the day in the house somewhere behind me. I sigh inwardly as the screeching sounds of a power drill and instant hammering over my head start echoing around the emptiness.

One more day of workmen and chaos and noise, just one more day. You can cope with that.

We've been here a few days and spent most of it locked in our room or the lounge: another perfectly decorated room or next door. We have avoided most of the hired staff renovating and tried our best to escape from Monica when she repeatedly tries to show Jake around the developments. She doesn't seem to take no for an answer and certainly doesn't seem to be phased by his pregnant fiancée hanging on his arm every time they enter the house. I've told Jake repeatedly, much to his amusement, that I think she's one of those older women cougars you hear about, preying on young hot rich men.

I need to grin and bear it for today, and then they'll be gone, dragging all their tools and mess and chaos with them out of my way. I want to start adding some homely touches to our castle finally. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and hug myself, unable to stop an internal squeal of happiness.

I wander through the rooms toward the kitchen in my robe and catch two men walking from the library to the dining area: carrying boxes. I sigh in agitation and avoid eye contact, instinctively pulling my robe tighter around my body; for more comfort. At least, for the most part, they keep out of my way. One of them seems to have an eye for me, though, but it's nothing I can't handle. I've only noticed it the past day or so, and since they're leaving today, I can deal with a couple more hours of this crap, if anything, just to prove to Jake that I can.

I can't seem to settle here yet because of it all. My nausea runs high at the stress of moving into the house and all the upheaval. The constant drilling and banging and heavy sounds drowning out any peace for me mean I can't sleep through the day because of it, so I doubt my little tadpole can. This tidbit brings my annoyance at the workmen boiling up inside me. It tilts my brain off focus with fierce protectiveness. That's why I'll be glad when they leave.

I swallow it down in agitation and walk to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat. I've found that I love cooking since I have all the time in the world to leisurely stand around in this beautiful chef's dream. Sarah would love it. I'm sure she'd be proud of how domesticated I've become, knowing my way around a kitchen. I like not having a cook until she returns at the end of the week. It's somehow enjoyable making meals with love and caring precision for Jake and me to enjoy.

Maybe I'll follow in Sylvana's footsteps and cook for my own family once or twice a week as she does.

Soon the noise of drilling and male chatter and laughter annoys me enough to send me to my room for refuge. At least in here, I can turn on the TV or run a bath and lock them all out. The large hall echoes around downstairs and amplifies it to incredibly ridiculous proportions. Somehow so much louder today. The bed still smells of Jake and has retained some of his body heat locked between the sheets, so I curl into his side and wrap the blankets around me to drown out the chaos and nap.

I am exhausted enough to try to get some sleep. I'm too tired to exchange pleasantries with the workman today, and even Monica isn't around for me to roll my eyes at.

Thank God.

Her overly eager eye fluttering and sexy smiles at Jake every five minutes slowly bring out inner violent Emma lately. The woman simply has no scruples at all. She reminds me of the bored rich bitches Jake and I would meet at every event, those who hung on him and his every word despite their husbands standing close by.

The downside to a popular hot man!

Even here, the noise is too much, and I give up. I haul my restless body out of bed and resign myself to getting dressed, every intention of spending today in the solace of Sylvana's kitchen, hoping for some inner calm and serenity … if not for me, then at least for the baby. If I can avoid the last day of banging and hammering, surrounded by strange men, then I will. I'm uneasy here without Jake, so seeing his mamma with her gorgeous welcoming heart will be a comfortable break.

I swear maxi dresses were made for the comfort of pregnant women; in one fell swoop, I'm dressed and ready to get on with the day since I am begrudgingly forced out of bed by the invasive chaos. I tap down the stairs of the stairwell and slip my feet into the ballet pumps I have lying by the entrance to the living area. I can't seem to go anywhere downstairs without a layer of dust settling on my feet; at least after today, that should hopefully be over. I pick up my bag, drop my cell into it, and then leave.

"Miss. Anderson?" One of the burly men calls to me as I'm walking for the door through the main hall downstairs.

"Yes?" It's unusual for them to address me directly. I turn sharply. Jake normally deals directly with the workmen while Monica and I focus on the décor, blissfully ignorant of the construction work going on; that's Jake's kind of thing.

"We should be out of your hair by noon at the latest, ma'am. Just wondering what you'd like us to do with the keys if you're not back?" He regards me with a relaxed, business-like expression, and my insides instantly calm. No danger here. Old Emma always rears up inside me when I face unexpected, strange men.

"Drop them next door if I'm out. I'll either be there or close by. Sylvana is my mother-in-law, so that's fine." I smile gratefully.

"Sure thing." He nods at me and lets me on my way, walking out into the warm day, and I chew my lip a little. I didn't know they'd been gaining access with their own key the whole time. I assumed Mathews or someone at Sylvana's had been letting them in and out, which bothers me a lot. Those random men have keys and access codes to my house, and it's grating on my inner calm, old Emma showing face and trying like hell to point out the dangers in it, in a rather disturbing way, through visions of what those men could do to me. I'm glad to be leaving and relieved that this is their last day.

I'll ask Jake to change the locks and the codes when he's home. That'll make me feel better. How could he have forgotten to tell me that the contract workers have full access to the house? Maybe it's just something that richer people are used to.

I sigh inwardly and head to my second home, a huge smile on my face and a rumbling stomach despite having eaten. Sylvana's cream cannelloni are singing to me across the grassy lane, as is a morning curled on the couch with her like yesterday. Cocoa mugs and daytime soaps, chatting our boredom away. This new way of life is starting to agree with me.

* * *

I leave Sylvana's, not realizing how late in the evening it is, and let myself into the house, the entrance hall is in complete darkness, so I clap my hands to switch on the lights.

Jake and his gadgets.

It's eerily quiet and peaceful in here now I can see my hall minus a lot of tools and mess and protective sheeting. I blink around appreciatively, place my bag on the uncovered side unit, and sigh with annoyance when I notice that damn crowbar. From here, you can spot it between the rails. The workman who left it on the stairs in the first place obviously hadn't realized that Jake had moved it, so here it is still in my house, hanging halfway up my banister where Jake left it.

Every other tool in the place is gone, just not that. Given the color of the vertical dark metal railings, it's easy to miss a crowbar hanging dejectedly beside them; similar in color, it would be easy to slip from eyesight at every other angle in the house but this one.

I head for the stairs to save my beautiful wooden handrail from the ugly metal bar, but my phone ringing distracts me, drawing me back to the entranceway. Jake has kept in contact a few times today, and I spoke to him on my cell at his mamma's before I came home, so it's probably him making sure I managed to walk the fifty yards back home without injury or getting lost. I walk to my bag and fish it out, seeing Mathew's name flash up on the screen. It's strange for Mathews to ring me, so I instantly inhale like something's wrong, internally tensing.

"Hello?" I ask in a friendly tone.

"Miss. Anderson, good evening. I'm just calling to inform you that I'm on my way back."

Oh, of course.

He's been out collecting some things I ordered from a nearby home décor boutique. Sylvana sent him to get them earlier since I was at her house for the day, and he was hanging around waiting for something to do. Since Sylvana has security at her home, it seemed a waste not to let Mathews out for a few hours. He's probably only been gone an hour at most, anyway.

"Okay, that's me home now, so I'll probably go upstairs and take a bath. You can retire for the night." I smile as I say it, so he'll get warmth in my tone. Mathews has a fatherly quality that is growing on me; he makes me feel safe in the same way Jake does, and I'm starting to wonder if that's why Jake has entrusted me into Mathew's care because he knows that I feel this way about Mathews. So, in a way, it's like Jake is watching over me even in his absence.

"Very good, Miss. Anderson. I'll check the house and lock it up before I go to my quarters. Have a good night." His friendly yet efficient tone is as close to unprofessional as I'll ever get with him; the man is all business.

"Good night," I breathe softly and hang up, remembering suddenly that we never got the keys back. The workmen must've forgotten to bring them to Sylvana's or taken them home ready to bring in tomorrow. These contract workers are so incompetent. Their inability to follow instructions and keep a clear workspace irritates me. I call Mathews back immediately.

"Miss. Anderson, is there something else?" He sounds very business-like and professional again instantly, never missing a beat.

"Yes, Mathews. The workers have finished here but didn't leave the keys as instructed." I sigh heavily, irritation creasing at my forehead, and I look around, overwhelmed at the high-tech door locks and fan-dangled things that I don't know how to operate. Those keys do everything.

"I'll deal with it, ma'am. I'll collect them before I return; may I suggest, in the meantime, you can arm the house with the code 101? It's a temporary alarm that can only be bypassed with a code that only Mr. Carrero and I have." He is smooth and efficient, and his no hint of worry instantly makes me feel better.

"Thank you, yes. I shall do." I smile, knowing how safety-conscious Mathews is and the thought of that little bit of extra security makes me feel better; at least I won't have to mess with the crazy-looking boxes on the door I assume are locks.

I wander to the digital panel on the inner wall of the entrance and arm the alarm, ensuring the doors and windows down here are shut securely first, then grab my bag and head upstairs in a much more relaxed mood.

I can't stop yawning lately, good old pregnancy fatigue has been my worst enemy, and I can't even imagine trying to work like this. All I do is sit around, eat, sleep, or have sex. It isn't very good when I think about the person I used to be. I know people often talk of baby brain, but I didn't think it affected someone this early. Jake has ruined me for the real world; returning to it will be hell. It's strange, I never imagined I would ever submit to being some pampered billionaire's girlfriend … fiancée, but Jake is the king of pampering. He does treat me like his queen.

God, I love that man.

I know it's temporary, though. Once this little bundle comes and gets a little older, I intend to pursue a new dream, a new career. I have no reason to live life this way indefinitely. There is still a huge part of me that wants my own achievements, my own worth proven to myself by myself. I want to leave some worthwhile mark on the world and a legacy for our children. I want to be more than just a billionaire's wife. I think I owe it to myself.

I get upstairs and pad toward our bedroom, clapping for the lights, but they don't come on. I'm standing in complete darkness with little light coming through into the hallway of doors, the moonlight peeking through the bedroom windows of one open door, splashing little slivers of light through but not enough to see much. I kick my shoes off by the top of the stairs and leave them lying there to feel my feet along the ground, trying to find my way while my eyes adjust. I clap louder, trying to remember where the sensors are in case I'm not close enough.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I snap and clap again, but nothing happens. I don't know where the manual switches are up here. I'm standing in the hall between various rooms' doors, with no windows in the hall in front of me. It's too dark up here to try running my hands around the walls, and I'm internally cursing these God-forsaken workmen. It's just my luck to finally have the house done and empty for a stupid fault like this to show up. Jake will have to call them back tomorrow to fix the damn things, and I'll have to endure another day of them invading my space.

Carefully treading my way across the carpet, my palm runs along the smooth walls slowly until I reach the handle of my door and slide my palm around it to grip it. I know there are switches by the door and at least four lamps in the room. Plus, the huge picture window will allow the moon to cast some light, and I'm sure it'll be much better than standing in a dark hall.

"Don't fucking breathe." A harsh, heavy growl lashes into my ear, hot breath assaults my face, and the metallic smell makes me gag as I freeze like a stone-cold statue; an arm comes around my throat at lightning speed, and my mouth is covered cruelly, blocking out my ability to squeal. Everything inside me thuds with a sickening terror, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.

A rough hand crushes my face, bruising my lips against my teeth. I'm pushed forward against the door with force, my body pinned hard and heavy with a thud so that I don't have any time to react. The solid weight of a big man crushing against me cruelly and restricting my breathing brings sheer fear and consuming panic through my foggy brain. I'm imprisoned with dead weight and can't move a single muscle. My feet, planted on the floor, are pushed far apart with a kick, and a man's disgusting wide body and legs are forced right against me from toe to head. His erection forced up against my ass, making me still and complaint with sheer faint fear. I can sense the aggressive violence pulsing in the air around me, crackling like stars in my vision.

I can't breathe, see, or move, but I can smell, all my other senses in utter chaos. My heart thuds hard as my hands claw at the wood in front of me, instinctively looking for anything to grab. But my sense of smell invokes a memory that has my knees trembling and bile lifting from my toes, a cold sweeping wave of panic and realization hitting me hard.

I smell him.

I know him.

I choke on my own terrified tears as it creeps through me.

Ray Vanquis is here with me all alone.