Indecent Encounter: The Silverhaus Affair Read online

  Indecent Encounter

  The Silverhaus Affair

  M. S. Parker

  Belmonte Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Copyright

  Free Book

  1. Chelsea

  2. Chelsea

  3. Alex

  4. Chelsea

  5. Alex

  6. Chelsea

  7. Alex

  8. Chelsea

  9. Chelsea

  10. Alex

  11. Chelsea

  12. Alex

  13. Chelsea

  14. Chelsea

  15. Chelsea

  16. Chelsea

  17. Alex

  18. Chelsea

  19. Chelsea

  20. Alex

  21. Chelsea

  22. Chelsea

  23. Chelsea

  24. Chelsea

  25. Alex

  26. Chelsea

  27. Alex

  28. Chelsea

  29. Alex

  30. Alex

  31. Alex

  32. Alex

  33. Chelsea

  34. Alex

  35. Alex

  36. Chelsea

  37. Chelsea

  38. Alex

  39. Chelsea

  40. Alex

  41. Alex

  42. Chelsea

  43. Chelsea

  44. Chelsea

  45. Alex

  Also by M. S. Parker

  Dom X - Volume One

  Copyright

  1. Xavier

  2. Nori

  3. Xavier

  4. Nori

  5. Nori

  6. Xavier

  7. Nori

  8. Xavier

  9. Nori

  10. Xavier

  11. Nori

  12. Xavier

  Unlawful Attraction - Volume One

  Copyright

  1. Dena

  2. Dena

  3. Arik

  4. Dena

  5. Arik

  6. Dena

  7. Arik

  8. Dena

  9. Arik

  10. Dena

  Also by M. S. Parker

  Free Book

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Free Book

  Get my new book for FREE! Click Here to subscriber to my newsletter and start reading the exclusive 200 pages stand-alone Erotic romance, The Billionaire’s Sub. Only available for my subscribers.

  Chapter One

  Chelsea

  He was out on a date and there was nothing I could do about it. She was a friend of his from the office and he talked about her often. He said it was just dinner, but he put on a tie, and I smelled the aftershave he only wore on fancy occasions. After he left, whistling his way down the front steps of the house, I lay on the couch with a blanket over me like a shroud. I’d begged him not to go, I even cried, but that hadn’t stopped him. I was only eight years old.

  Karl, my younger brother, sat on the floor in front of the television with a plastic Frisbee precariously balanced on the edge of the coffee table. It was his latest obsession and when he had it, nothing else mattered, not even his sister playing dead on the couch. Oblivious to its instability, he spun it anyway and happily flapped his hands like a bird as it went around and around, faster as it started to fall. As soon as it clattered to the bare wood floor and was still, Karl picked it up and spun it again. The repetitive action soothed him, and he could spend hours doing nothing else. Later that week, he would go in for testing and be diagnosed with autism, but that night it was something I hardly noticed, much less worried about. Cindy, our babysitter, worried about it, but she’d learned not to take the Frisbee away from Karl if she had any hope for a quiet evening.

  “Ah, I see the princess is laid to rest. How tragic was her passing!” Cindy mourned, as she came into the living room. Although I couldn’t see it from under my death veil, I knew she carried a large bowl of popcorn. Cindy always made popcorn when she watched us. “If only she was still alive, she could make a proclamation about what show to watch.”

  I lay still and squeezed my eyes shut. All I wanted to do was cry, but I was starting to learn that tears were useless. My father had still gone out on his date, kissing me lightly on the head before he went out the door.

  Earlier that morning I’d fallen off my scooter and scraped my knees; crying hadn’t stopped the stinging pain then, either. All it'd done was give me an added headache. Crying hadn’t helped my goldfish swim again, and crying hadn’t brought back my mother.

  The wonderful, comforting, smell of the popcorn wafted out to tickle my nose and coax me into a better mood. I peeled back enough blanket to peek my head out, and said, “How about the one where the mom is a secret agent and saves the world.”

  “Sure, sweetie, I’ll see if it’s on.”

  More of the blanket fell away as I sat up. Cindy grabbed the remote and sat down next to me. She scooped me up with one arm and hugged me tight. I squeezed my eyes shut and let myself snuggle in closer to her. I knew she was only there because my father paid her to watch us, but I lived for those hugs.

  As Cindy flipped through the television channels, I pretended she was my mother like the ones in the television sitcoms, perfect and always caring. Before I could believe it was true, my mind fired up the growling sound of a motorcycle, and my eyes flew open.

  When I was six, my mother left us. She sent Karl and me to bed one night, then jumped on the back of her new boyfriend’s motorcycle and took off for New York. Just like that. As if she hadn’t even given it a second thought. It was like a knife to my heart. The shattering memory roared through every happy daydream I’d had since.

  “I don’t think your show’s on tonight. Wanna watch a movie instead?” Cindy asked.

  She looked concerned when she noticed my hand tight on her arm. I pried my fingers loose and slid off the couch. I found what I was looking for hidden on the bottom of a small stack of our movies. I was sure Cindy hoped we could watch something else, anything else, but she was also the only person I knew who would sit through the entire movie for the eight-hundredth time.

  “Alice in Wonderland,” I said, as I held it up triumphantly.

  I popped the tape into our VHS player, and the movie started where we’d left it the last time Cindy babysat. My father had gone out to a party that night, and I'd made myself throw up so he had to come home early.

  “Don’t you think this is a little scary?” Cindy asked.

  My ponytail swished as I shook my head. I loved this part. Alice had to drink the potion on the table in order to shrink herself down and fit through the tiny door to Wonderland.

  As I turned to launch myself back on the couch, Olympic swimmer style, the front door thundered with an urgent knocking. I froze. The knock was louder the second time, so loud I thought it might shake the foundation lose on the entire house. Karl slapped his spinning Frisbee flat on the ground and listened without moving. Cindy jumped to her feet, a finger on her lips telling me to stay quiet.

  “Cindy?” A muffled male voice came through the thin wood of the front door. “Cindy, it’s Deputy Benson. I’m here with Sharon Wilberger from Child Protective Services. You’ve got Chelsea and Karl with you. We need to talk to you.”

  “How'd you know
I was here?” Cindy asked, leaning an ear closer to the door.

  “Your mother’s the hostess at the restaurant where Mr. Randall…er…their father was tonight. She’s the one who told me you were babysitting.”

  I could hear the man’s words as I hovered in Cindy’s shadow, but my child’s mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening. All I knew was that a peculiar sick feeling began to creep into the pit of my stomach.

  On tiptoes, Cindy stretched toward the peephole, keeping her body as far from the door as possible. “Show me your badge, Deputy.”

  “Yes, of course. Here it is. And this is Sharon Wilberger from Child Services.”

  “You already said that,” Cindy said, opening the door to reveal a huge man and a smaller woman. Neither one of them was smiling. “What’s going on?”

  I wanted to run and hide. Something bad had happened. I glanced back at the television and saw Alice drink the potion. She grew smaller and smaller. Karl picked up his toy and spun it again, fixated on the motion, though I could see a deep frown on his face.

  “Chelsea?” The lady asked as she stepped around Deputy Benson. Her voice was gentle and soft as she held out her hand and motioned for me to come close. “Come here, dear.”

  “There was a car accident. Your father died,” the deputy blurted out. He stood just inside our living room door with a wide stance and one hand on his hip, his words coming out with a hint of a wheezing sound as if the massive stomach that protruded over his uniform belt caused him difficulty breathing.

  “Jesus, Bob, that’s not how you do it!” Sharon gasped.

  I looked back at the television and saw Alice eat the cracker that made her grow. She was too large for the little door that led to Wonderland. Now she was crying giant tears, and I was confused about what was happening in my living room. Why did this strange lady want me to go with her? Why had the deputy said something so mean?

  Cindy dropped to her knees next to me, her own sobs crashing against me as she wrapped me in another hug. On the television, Alice swam in an ocean of her own tears, but I was the one drowning as the shock of the Deputy’s words turned to reality.

  Chapter Two

  Chelsea

  “I still can’t believe you’re going to Holland. You know that’s insane, right?” Clara asked as she flopped down on our sagging denim couch to watch me pack.

  I looked around our small dorm room and tried not to think about how much I would miss it. Portland State University had snazzy, modern campus housing, but Clara and I liked our double studio in the historic Blackstone Residence Hall just fine. Parked between the couch, the over stuffed armchair, and wide window seat was a coffee table made from one of my foster brother’s old surfboards. It wasn't a lot, but it was ours.

  Clara and I had spent many nights on that couch talking about everything from my business classes, to which of the hunky, body-builder twins from the floor above we wanted to date. And sometimes we talked about our brothers.

  “I didn’t have the heart to tell Karl I’m going to Holland,” I said. “I wanted him to focus on going to Rainbow Roads. I’m so glad you told me about it. Now I can get him out of that state run program and get him the help he needs.”

  Clara’s older brother was autistic like Karl, and he was flourishing in the program. It helped him learn how to interact with society, no easy feat for the profoundly autistic, but it offered more hope than most people had given our brothers.

  “I know it’s expensive, Chelsea. Do you really think this job will pay enough?” Clara asked as she flung her legs over the fat arm of the overstuffed chair.

  “Twenty thousand for the summer. Enough for now, anyway. My classes will be lighter next year, and I should be able to work enough to make the monthly tuition payments.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. The truth was, I didn’t really know how I would afford it. I had one more year of college, and then I could work full-time after graduation. I was the new college statistic. Unlike years ago when a student could make it through in four years, I was doing a fifth year, thanks to the budget cuts at state universities. I couldn’t get the classes I needed in order to finish my degree in four years.

  “Twenty thousand dollars in three months and you don’t think this job is a little shady?”

  “Geez. Stop being so suspicious,” I said and rolled my eyes. I’d already explained it a million times. “I left the website up on my laptop. Check it out for yourself.” I held up a t-shirt I was about to fold and waved it in the direction of the desk.

  “I did and that’s why I’m worried,” Clara said. She got up from the chair and wound her long blonde hair into a tight bun before she sat down at my desk.

  I frowned and started over, folding the shirt again. “I told you, it’s simple. Homeowners looking for in-home help put up postings, and after you make a profile you can apply for jobs.”

  I longed to have the summer to myself to write – my secret passion – but I had to face reality. I had to earn money. I turned and held up a white summer sundress with a short flared skirt. There was no need for a bra since the top part of the dress was a bustier, with a built-in bra. When I'd tried it on in the fitting room at the store, I was pleasantly surprised at how fashionable I looked in comparison to my usual jeans and faded t-shirt. “What do you think? Should I pack this?”

  “I get it,” she said, ignoring my question. “My problem is, all the ‘homeowners’ seem to be old men and all the ‘in-home help’ are young hotties. What kind of duties do these guys expect?” Finally, she tore her eyes from the computer screen and turned to scrutinize the sundress in question. “And absolutely not. You won’t need any clothes like that. You’ll have a hard enough time keeping the old guys’ hands off your perky breasts.”

  “Clara, you have the dirtiest mind! I’m going to spend the summer scrubbing toilets and dusting cabinets, probably laundry and grocery-shopping too. All the things bachelors don’t like to do for themselves. Seriously, that’s all it is,” I said.

  “Chelsea, you know I love you, but you’re being so naive. Who pays a maid that much money? These are a bunch of sugar daddies looking for a little…hot ass,” Clara said and turned back for one more look at the screen. “I mean, at least your guy is a silver fox. I hope this isn’t a fake picture. What if he just found this picture on the Internet and used it because in real life he has no teeth…or a big hook nose…or no morals for doing such a thing?”

  “Who cares what he looks like?” I asked. “The website verified his identity and the money is already in an escrow account. It’s all legitimate, and all I need to do is housework for a whole summer and I’ll get paid.”

  Clara left the computer screen and came over to dig through my clothing choices. “And what if he wants to give you bonuses?” she asked as she began tossing out my lacy, flirty underwear from the pile of clothes to be packed.

  I laughed. “Ew. Don’t be gross.” I snatched a pair of white panties from her hand and stuffed it into the suitcase. “I think it’ll be the other way around, and the bonus for him will be to simply see me cleaning his house every day because that’s all it’s going to be. No compromising my morals for money.”

  “Who’s compromising your morals?” a voice from the doorway asked.

  Clara and I jumped, and then laughed as Zach sauntered into the room ready to drive me to the airport. I saw Clara’s cheeks turn pink as my foster brother flashed his bright white smile. She’d recently confessed to finding him attractive, and I had to admit, she wasn't wrong. Zach was tall and lean, his muscles built mainly from rock-climbing and surfing. His long, wavy brown hair, streaked by the sun, was pushed back carelessly. In all our years of living together with our adopted family, I didn't think I’d ever seen him use a comb.

  When I'd been sixteen, the foster care program had sent me to live with the Carerra family. They were the type of foster family every child in the system dreamed of. At the peak of my teen years, there'd been fourteen children living under their
roof, and every single one of us called them ‘mom’ and ‘dad.’ Zach had joined us about a month after I arrived, and we'd lived there together until we left for college.

  He produced a fist full of tulips from behind his back and offered them to me with a flourish. I thanked him and handed them directly to Clara. I wished Zach would change his mind about me and notice the way my roommate looked at him. Somehow Zach had gotten the idea that we were the stars in a romantic comedy. Someday we’d overcome the awkwardness of our shared last name and foster sibling background and fall in love.

  The night before I'd left for college we had ‘the chat.’ I'd told Zach that he was a great guy, but I was more interested in my college studies and preparing for a solid career than I was in romance. He told me he would wait until I was interested.

  “Thanks for the flowers, Zach. Clara will have to enjoy them for me. I don’t think they'll allow tulips on the plane.”

  He looked crushed for a heartbeat, and then brightened. “At least you’ll see a bunch more once you get to Holland. They’ll make you think of me.”

  I smiled and turned back to my packing. I really hoped my time away would make him reconsider his crush. I jammed the last few items I thought I needed into the old suitcase, which was just about everything but the kitchen sink. I was the type of traveler who never knew what mood might strike my fancy, so I had a tendency to over pack. But now, I couldn’t get the zipper to close, so I had to reevaluate. When I opened the suitcase again, I discovered a wad of lacy underwear shoved into a corner.

  “What’s this, Clara? A minute ago you were throwing this kind of thing out of my packing pile.” I held up a pink satin bra covered in sheer black lace.

  “I changed my mind. Just in case you want to do a little side work while you’re there,” Clara said with a wink.

  “I told you, it’s not like that,” I said, drawing out the last words, and wagging my head in her face, like, “duh.”