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veranda and watched them while sipping cocktails. I usually found a quiet spot and watched alone or with Frannie.
    I knew it was childish but I loved fireworks. They made me feel like anything was possible, kind of like I did on Christmas mornings as a kid. Before our lives had gone to hell.
    Bringing me back to this particular hell.
    I walked through the room, feeling invisible. Trying to sink into the carpet. Clay had been right. I’d crossed over into a different realm by taking this job. Sure it was just one time, but I felt painfully uncomfortable at the thought of crossing paths with him or any of his friends.
    Thankfully, that had yet to happen.
    I scooted into the servants hallway and headed for the kitchen. My tray was full. I was pretty sure I’d end up doing dishes at some point. I wasn’t really looking forward to that.
    I bumped into someone and looked up.
    My stomach did a little flip flop.
    My luck had just ran out.
    Clay’s bright blue eyes were scanning me appreciatively.
    “I approve.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I was wrong. You look incredible in that uniform. I would let you serve me all day.”
    He leaned forward as I stiffened in shock. One arm braced against the wall and the other reached out to stroke my cheek.
    “And night.”
    “Clay! Not cool. I’m trying to work.”
    He stepped back and toasted me with an overfull glass of booze. Bourbon I thought, not that I knew much about alcohol. I tried to brush past him but instead he grabbed me and backed me against a door. I was trying not to drop the tray of waterford crystal glasses or fine porcelain plates. That’s how I missed him turning the knob and opening the door behind me.
    The next thing I knew I was in a dark pantry. Alone. With Clayton Westfield.
    A very, very drunk Clayton Westfield.
    He took the tray from my hands and shoved it onto the counter. He looked at me hungrily for a spilt second. And then he pounced.
    His hands were on my hips, dragging me against his body. His lips found mine. I opened my mouth for air- out of surprise- and his tongue swooped inside my mouth.
    I stopped thinking at that moment. The feel of him against me was overwhelming. His arms felt so powerful and strong around me. Wonderful really. He leaned over me, molding his body against mine. His hand slipped down, yanking my thigh up to his waist. Then he maneuvered himself between my legs so that I could feel him.
    Oh God.
    Clay was hard.
    Really, really hard.
    I heard a soft, needy whimpering sound and realized it was coming from me. My hands were all over his chest, shoulders and arms. I’d waited a long time to touch him, and even though I knew it was a bad idea, I couldn’t seem to help myself.
    “Jesus Nev, you feel good.”
    He came up for air and was staring down at me. He looked perplexed, hungry and very, very horny. For me. At least I knew for sure now that it was for me.
    He dipped down a little and scooped his hips up, circling his cock against me. I felt him slide the skirt of my maids uniform upwards and grind himself into my panties. His fingers traced the edge of them.
    “I can’t believe I am finding Grannie Panties this fucking hot. Promise me you’ll never wear a thong Nev. I’m not sure I would survive it.”
    “I hate thongs.”
    He laughed and kissed me again, his tongue swirling into my mouth. He had one hand on my ass, holding me in place so he could work himself against me. His other hand was moving restlessly upwards until it closed over my breast.
    We moaned in unison at the contact.
    Then he pulled away a little bit and reached down.
    He was sliding my panties down.
    That’s when it hit me. Clayton Westfield was trying to fuck me in the servants pantry. He was going to try and fuck me. Here.
    Oh hell NO.
    “Stop!”
    “What? I thought you wanted this Nev?”
    His hands froze but his cock was still pulsing against my pussy. I felt naked, exposed. I felt really, really pissed off.
    I reached for his chest and pushed.
    “Get off