All. Only. (A McDade Brothers Novel Book 1) Read online

  “Take off your dress.”

  Her throat twitched and began to tingle. She’d never known a man to be so direct and didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. Having never been in official employment, she didn’t know what was normal, what was expected. Shyla doubted that a boss could ask an employee to strip. But it was late, they were alone, maybe this was less of a professional order and more of a personal request.

  Denying that she was attracted to him would be crazy. Despite never admitting it out loud, her desire wasn’t in doubt. She’d never been able to breathe right when he was in the room and struggled to look him in the eye without blushing. It terrified her to think he might see straight through her into the insane and wild fantasies she cast him in. Until meeting Score, Shyla hadn’t known she was capable of having such vivid carnal dreams.

  She struggled to claim each shallow breath. “I… I don’t think I should,” she said, sensitive to the pace of her chest rising and falling.

  Her own panting filled her ears. Sealing her lips in an attempt to stifle the sound forced the air through the narrower passages of her nose, amplifying the noise.

  “I’m not suggesting we fuck… Just take off the dress.”

  Also by Scarlett Finn

  MCDADE BROTHERS NOVELS

  ALL. ONLY.

  ONLY YOURS

  WRECK & RUIN

  RUIN ME

  RUIN HIM

  GO NOVELS

  GO WITH IT

  GO IT ALONE

  GO ALL OUT

  GO ALL IN

  GO FULL CIRCLE

  EXILE

  HIDE & SEEK

  KISS CHASE

  THE BRANDED SERIES

  BRANDED

  SCARRED

  MARKED

  THE KINDRED SERIES

  RAVEN

  SWALLOW

  CUCKOO

  SWIFT

  FALCON

  FINCH

  THE EXPLICIT SERIES

  EXPLICIT INSTRUCTION

  EXPLICIT DETAIL

  EXPLICIT MEMORY

  RISQUÉ SERIES

  TAKE A RISK

  RISK IT ALL

  GAME OF RISK

  HARROW DUET

  FIGHTING FATE

  FIGHTING BACK

  MISTAKE DUET

  MISTAKE ME NOT

  SLEIGHT MISTAKE

  STANDALONE ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  RELUCTANT SUSPICION

  RESCUED

  STANDALONE CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  GETTING TRICKY

  HEIR’S AFFAIR

  MAESTRO’S MUSE

  REMEMBER WHEN…

  RIVALS ON AIR

  SWEET SEAS

  THIRTEEN

  XY FACTOR

  Copyright © 2020 Scarlett Finn

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  First published in 2020

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.scarlettfinn.com

  CONTENTS

  Until that week, Shyla Bellamy had never been to a single job interview.

  At that moment, she was on her way to her third. Her baptism of fire would continue until she acquired a job. Tough as it was to be optimistic, she had to keep going. Without work, she wouldn’t be able to secure an apartment or pay her bills. She’d be homeless and destitute. She had to keep going.

  As pep talks went, that wasn’t the most inspiring. Every interview had been a bust, so believing the next would be any different wasn’t easy. But there was no alternative. Anyone who’d agree to see her was a potential employer. All it took was one person willing to take a chance. Just one.

  Shyla didn’t make the best first impression. Knowing that didn’t do much for her anxiety. If anything, that made it worse. At that moment, relaxing was all the more difficult because she was on her way to interview for the role she wanted most.

  Walking through the entrance into the glass lobby and seeing the valet parking intimidated the hell out of her. While travelling up in the elevator, she reminded herself not to be nervous. Nerves meant rambling and that was unprofessional. She would nail this. Nothing but potential. Nobody rewarded a quitter.

  With few vocational skills, and no formal education beyond high school, Shyla wasn’t a catch for any employer. But time was of the essence, she needed a job and had to believe that it would happen. Succeeding in the next interview would put an end to her problems. That was easier to focus on than the opposite.

  Losing her job and home had happened almost overnight. Caring for the elderly could be that way. Three years ago, her grandfather’s sudden death hit her hard. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. Adjusting to being without him took time, she’d been caring for him since her teen years.

  The person responsible for getting her through that loss was her grandfather’s best friend, Stanley Sedgwick. Caring for him and her grandfather, Bernard, had given her purpose. The three of them had lived together in Stanley’s home. If it wasn’t for Stanley, Shyla wouldn’t have known what to do with herself after her grandfather died. In the years since, Stanley had been her crutch. They’d leaned on each other.

  Five days ago, Stanley passed in his sleep. Life as she’d known it was over. Shyla was out in the world on her own, really for the first time.

  While in the midst of grief over losing the only person she could count as a friend, Shyla was also coping with being evicted. Stanley’s good-for-nothing son wasted no time in storming into the house to announce that he was selling. Being a generous type, he’d given her a week to vacate.

  There were three days left on the clock.

  The elevator didn’t ding, it just came to a stop. After a moment of anticipatory silence, which Shyla speculated may have been programmed in for maximum suspense, the gleaming silver doors opened.

  As the view was revealed, it took her breath away.

  On the opposite side of the room, a glorious vision of the gleaming blue ocean was laid out before her. It wasn’t like she’d never seen the ocean before, but at this elevation, she got a real sense of its vastness.

  She stood there dumbfounded for so long that the elevator doors began to close. Inhaling her panic, Shyla grabbed one to hold it in place while bounding out onto the grey ash floor that spread through the sleek modern space. One wall, to the right, was smoked mirror. The wall on the left was a warmer brown color. A low marble shelf, around knee height, ran along that wall and around the corner.

  Between her and the view that had first captured her eye was a large square lobby area with a dining table beyond and a terrace on the other side of the full height windows.

  The residence was incredible. The ad for a housekeeper said the job included room and board. It said nothing about the room being in an amazing condo. Jumping to conclusions could lead to disappointment. Maybe she was wrong and wouldn’t be living there at all. Shyla didn’t want to get her hopes up. It could just be a business premises used for interviews. They might be miles from the location of the job.

  She tiptoed forward to take in more of the open plan space. The living space opened out to stretch far to the left. The terrace wrapped all the way around, as far as the eye could see.

  Her mouth dried.

  The gleaming white marble kitchen next to the dining table was separated from a hallway by a wall. Contemplating where that hallway might lead, she peeked at the light glowing from the end and wondered if the terrace wrapped around that side of the apartment too.

  “Miss Bellamy?”

  Caught in her pondering, she whipped around, her anxiety cresting again. Someone appeared at the other end of the apartment. Figuring there had to be another hallway or room down there, she was sure no one had been sitting in either of the two separate seating areas of the living space.

  “Yes,” she said to the well-groomed, if somewhat frantic, suited man hurrying toward her. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure where to wait.”

  It was a sad state of affairs. At twenty-nine, she was less experienced than most nineteen year olds in how to conduct herself at interviews.

  “No, my fault; I was using the restroom. It’s been an insane day, I have to apologize,” he said, coming toward her, his hand outstretched.

  Hoping that he hadn’t been too rushed to forget washing his hands, Shyla shook his hand because it was the polite thing to do. She didn’t expect him to tug her toward the closest seating area, guiding her in his haste. More than once, she almost lost her footing. Face-planting hadn’t featured in her interview experience… yet. That would be a brand new low.

  Winding around the end of the couch that had its back to the dining table, he let her go and spun around. “Will you sit down,” the businessman said, gesturing to one end of the couch as he sat at the other. “Please.”

  Sitting on the edge of the couch with her knees tight together, Shyla clutched her purse in her lap. The heavy chess board in the middle of the central glass coffee table snagged her attention. The pieces appeared to be hand-carved wood. Shyla was impressed. Bernard, her grandfather would be elated to see such craftsmanship.

/>   Frantic Man shifted an inch closer and opened his hand. “Do you have your resume?”

  This was the part of the interview process that she hated. Not that she’d found an enjoyable part yet. Most online vacancies required her to attach a copy of her resume. So far, not one of those employers had got back to her.

  Opening the front pocket of her purse, Shyla slid out a folded document that she handed over. “Uh… sort of.”

  He unfolded it and began to read. Just as she expected, his optimism began to fade fast. “This is…” He turned it around to show her what she’d given him. “Your birth certificate.”

  “Yes,” she said, trying to make her smile seem genuine. No matter how hard she tried, her anxiety must have been obvious. She pushed her interlinked fingers together and raised her hands, pulling and twisting at her fingers as she did. “It is… I… I did try to make up a resume, but after I got past name and date of birth, well… things get a little… sparse.”

  “Did you graduate high school?”

  Shyla grinned. “Yes!” Nodding, she squeezed her twined fingers around each other. “Yes, I did that. I did graduate high school.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding too like they were making progress. “That’s good, that’s… something. College?” Wincing, Shyla kept working her fingers and shook her head. He sort of cringed, but was polite enough to try to hide his reaction by glancing down at her birth certificate. “According to this you’re… twenty-nine.”

  “Yes,” she said, showing her teeth in more of a grimace than a grin. “I am twenty-nine. I did graduate high school. I didn’t go to college… and I’ve never had a real job.”

  “Let me guess,” he said, folding her birth certificate and handing it back to her. “Knocked up by your high school boyfriend, married young, pushed out a couple of kids, and now he’s split… probably dumped you for another teenager.”

  “No!” she exclaimed, pointing her index fingers to the ceiling in firm disagreement. “No, I have never been married. I don’t have any kids.”

  The businessman frowned at her. “So what the hell have you been doing for the past decade?”

  Inhaling, Shyla held her breath for a minute. She shouldn’t be disappointed, it wasn’t like the interview had ever been on course to go well.

  “Caring for my grandfather and his best friend,” she said. “He just died last week.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “His best friend… My grandfather died three years ago. He raised me,” she said, twisting and squeezing her digits again. “And my brother…” Her next admission had a tendency to cause her to hyperventilate. “Who’s in prison…” Taking a shot at laughing it off was her go-to maneuver. As always, she got nothing from the blank person seated in front of her. No one ever reacted well to that part. Her desperate, last-ditch effort was begging. “I can cook, and clean, and sew… I know how to get red wine out of soft furnishings and blood out of bedsheets…” Rubbing her lips together, Shyla kept working her fingers and raised her shoulders. “I work hard. I work long. I can do anything that’s required of me. Anything… All I need is a safe place to sleep, that’s it… and maybe an allowance for food and medical. I can take care of everything. I live frugally. I don’t drive, so there’s no expenses there. I don’t smoke or do drugs. I don’t have any addictions… I…” The guy hadn’t stirred, even his expression was static. “I’m not getting through, am I?”

  She sighed, coming to terms with the truth. The interview was another waste of everyone’s time. All she needed was for someone to give her a chance, but she didn’t blame anyone for being hesitant. Anxiety was not her friend. When she was fidgety and rambling, she might not give herself one.

  “Hire her.”

  The deep voice came suddenly from the recesses of the apartment.

  It was so unexpected that even the man opposite her jumped. “Jesus, Score, do you have to loiter like that?”

  Twisting around, Shyla didn’t see anyone. Only a slight movement in the mouth of the hall she’d been peering down earlier proved there was someone there. The wall between the kitchen and that passage created an angle of shadow. This Score had used that cover to his advantage.

  With his arms still folded, he moved into the light at the end of the hall, and propped a shoulder on the wall. Shyla was stunned by the picture he presented. Her wide eyes couldn’t remember how to blink. The view of him didn’t even compare to that of the ocean. She forgot about the watery dullness in a flash.

  At least six foot four or five inches tall, the broad man was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt that didn’t seem to know how to contain his biceps. His hair was thicker on top than at the sides, and he had stubble across his jaw. Nothing about him appeared forced; nothing about his look or manner gave the impression he’d made any effort at all.

  Shyla kept her lips clamped shut to ensure her tongue didn’t roll from her mouth. How could a guy look so mean and dangerous just standing there, leaning on a wall?

  “Where’s your brother at?” Score asked, his expression registering nothing.

  He was talking to her; he’d asked a direct question. His eyes weren’t wide like hers, but Shyla guessed he was looking at her too.

  After a couple of false starts, Shyla got her tongue to respond and forced her reluctant mouth to open. “Raiford,” she inhaled the word in a desperate breath.

  “Florida State.”

  “Haven’t had the pleasure, have you, Score?” the businessman opposite her asked.

  Staring was rude, but Shyla couldn’t tear her attention away from the man at the end of the hallway. So tall and dominating, so powerful and so… unlike any man she’d ever seen in real life. Though real life for more than a decade had featured men enjoying their retirement.

  “No,” Score said, though she didn’t see his lips move.

  His response was more like a sound than a word.

  Amusement bled into the businessman’s words. “Of all the things she said, how come the only word you heard was prison? Her brother could be a rapist, you know? A kiddie fiddler. Don’t other inmates pound on guys like that? You want to cut some slack to the sister of a pedophile?”

  “Oh no,” Shyla gasped, turning back around to address the businessman. “It’s nothing like that. He would never… It was just burglary, he got a seven year sentence and…”

  Twisting to ensure Score could hear her too, she stopped talking when she discovered he’d vanished.

  The businessman sighed. “Okay, well, I guess you’re in…” Suffering whiplash, Shyla was still trying to orient herself and barely registered his false smile. “I’m Amos Beeks, Score’s lawyer…” He continued by muttering, “Among other things.” Before Shyla could react, he returned to his smile. “Everyone just calls me Beeks, so Beeks will do… What do we call you?”

  “My… my name is Shyla Bellamy.”

  “Well, I suppose, that’s, uh… what we’ll call you then.”

  Which he would know because he’d read her birth certificate; Shyla wanted to kick herself. He was asking about nicknames and preferences. She’d done what she always did and said a stupid thing by opening her mouth without thinking first.

  With Bernard and Stan, it hadn’t mattered if she’d spoken without thinking. Even if she said something shocking or ridiculous, the pair laughed it off. Shyla had lived quite a closeted life; she knew that. Being on call required her to be at home night and day in case either of the elderly men needed her. They came first. Shyla’s primary responsibility was to them.

  That meant no social life. No nightclubs. No boyfriends or lunches with friends. Shyla had dedicated herself to caring for the men who’d always been there for her. Stan had been like an uncle, and had been there as often as her grandfather for school shows or life events. Losing him was going to be a difficult thing to get over.

  “Miss Bellamy?”