Lord of Rain (The Dragon Demigods Book 5)

by Charlene Hartnady

  “A duck?” I laugh. “How bizarre.”

  “It was bizarre…and for no apparent reason. It just went at her. My uncle was working in a field nearby. Back then, he was an olive picker. He saw her running with the duck after her and ran to her aid. He took the brunt of the attack. He said he was ready to wring the bird’s neck, but my aunt kept shouting not to hurt the poor thing.” Giovanni laughs.

  I laugh too. I notice that even Bolt is smiling.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “The duck eventually lost interest. My uncle was bleeding. The duck was apparently huge.”

  “Fat,” I say.

  “Exactly. My aunt was grateful. She invited my uncle to her house so that she could tend to his wounds…and the rest is history.”

  “The fat duck,” I whisper. “I love that story. It’s so romantic. I can picture the whole thing.”

  “They’ve been together for thirty-nine years.”

  “It’s a cute story,” Bolt says, looking deadpan.

  “My aunt is much better at telling it, but I’m afraid they’re busy cleaning up for the night. I’m sure you want to hit the road, so here are the damages,” Giovanni says. He starts to hand the bill folder to Bolt, but I take it out of his hand.

  “This one is on me,” I say.

  “Don’t be silly, Miss Shaw.” Bolt leans forward.

  “A gentleman should pay for a lady,” Giovanni agrees.

  “Listen to our waiter.” Bolt is frowning.

  “You paid for dinner.”

  “This is a business trip.” Bolt’s voice is a deep vibration.

  “You said we’re not on the clock,” I say, digging in my purse. I dip into the side-pocket and pull out some cash. “You’ve been fantastic, Giovanni. Thank you for everything. I noticed you didn’t charge us for the wine, the rice balls, or the tiramisu.”

  “As I said, those are on the house. We would love to see you again.” I’m relieved when he speaks to both Bolt and me.

  “We’ll be back…” Bolt clears his throat. “We’ll be in LA again soon on business,” he says to me. “I wish you’d let me get this, or at least use the company credit card.”

  “We’re not on the clock right now. I’ve got this.”

  Bolt gives a tight nod. I can see he doesn’t like it at all.

  We say our final thanks and goodbyes and head to the car. Our driver is smoking. He takes a big drag when he sees us and then puts the cigarette out under his shoe. Within minutes we’re inside the car and on our way to the hotel.

  “I’m so glad you took us to I’anatra Grassa,” I say to our driver, trying hard to pronounce the name correctly.

  “Isn’t it fantastic?” He looks in the rearview mirror.

  “Did you know that the name means the fat duck?” I ask.

  “I did.” He nods. I think he’s smiling, but I can’t tell in the bad light.

  “Do you know why that is?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t say I do, even though I’ve been going there for years. My ex-wife was the one who found it. The fat duck…” he says, and it sounds like he’s trying to figure it out or think back to see if he maybe knows but needs to jog his memory.

  “It has to do with how the owners of the restaurant first met,” I say, launching into the story. I’ve definitely had too much to drink. I’m not normally this chatty. I tell our driver all about the attacking duck. “After that, they fell in love,” I say. “I think it’s so romantic,” I gush. Maybe one day, someone will save me from an attacking duck. “It’s proof that true love exists,” I add.

  “True love!” Bolt snorts. “Not necessarily,” he mutters.

  “They’re still together after all those years,” I say. “It has to be true love.”

  “Who says that they’re happy?” Bolt shifts in his seat. “I’ve seen plenty of married couples who are fucking miserable, but they’ll never leave. They probably fight every day.”

  “I’m sure they do.” I nod. “They’re fiery Italians. Fighting isn’t always a bad thing. My parents fight all the time, but they’re very much in love.” I want what they have. An unbreakable bond built on friendship and respect.

  “Trust me…” the driver says, “I don’t mean to intrude on your conversation, but your folks are an exception to the rule.”

  “See what I mean?” Bolt says.

  “I left work early one day almost a year ago to find my wife of sixteen years in bed with our landlord. It had been going on for a long time. I thought we had a good marriage. I thought she was happy.” His voice is gruff. He still sounds cut up. “We never fought. In hindsight, we were living past each other. There wasn’t much of anything between us. Fighting isn’t the worst thing that could happen. Indifference is. I am cynical now, I’m afraid. I haven’t so much as been on a single date since we split up.”

  “You’ll get there,” I say, trying to be nice. “What did you say your name was?” I ask him.

  “Jim.”

  “I’m Ashley. I’m sure you were very hurt, Jim. Give it time, and you’ll meet the right person. What do you think, Bolt?” I notice he’s gone very quiet.

  “I disagree. The right person is almost an impossibility. You need to get over your ex first, in order to move on…if that’s what you decide you want to do. Without being crude,” he pulls in a deep breath, “you need to get someone under you to get over her.”

  “You think so?” the driver asks.

  “Absolutely! Get back out there. Forget about dating, romance, love, and all that bull. I’ve heard that Tinder is a good platform for hook-ups. What you need is a hook-up.”

  The driver makes a noise like he’s actually thinking about it. Like it might be a good idea.

  “Just be honest…that’s all,” Bolt adds. “Make sure she knows it’s a one-time or two-time deal. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Jim says. He turns into the road that leads to our hotel. “I know how it feels to be lied to.”

  “No offense, but I think a hook-up is bad advice. Get out there, sure, but maybe you meet someone great. What then?” I interrupt.

  “My advice is great advice,” Bolt disagrees with me. “You won’t be able to move on until you’ve worked her out of your system.”

  It sounds like Bolt’s speaking from experience, but as far as I know, he’s never had a serious relationship, hence being one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. I dare not ask, and we’re pulling up to our hotel anyway.

  “Good luck with everything, Jim,” I say once we’re outside. “You will find someone else. Someone amazing. Don’t listen to this cynic.”

  I hear Bolt laugh under his breath. I really am pushing it here. I’ve always been taught to speak my truth. It’s why the dynamic at the bakery works and why our family is so close. It seems that as much as I try, I can’t stop now. It’s for the best. I am who I am.

  Jim waves and drives away.

  “That was a great evening. I really enjoyed myself,” I say, smiling up at Bolt. I realize that it almost sounds like I’m thanking him for a date or something. The chilly evening air is clearly not helping to take the alcohol buzz away. He looks distinctly uncomfortable. We start walking. Bolt has the takeout bag in his hand.

  “Thanks for the food,” I say as we reach the hotel entrance. I’m trying to fill the awkward silence that has crept in.

  “You bought it, so I should be thanking you.” He nods at the doorman as we walk inside.

  “You insisted we stop. Otherwise, it would have been plain old nuts for me.” I bob my brows.

  Bolt chuckles. “How is it that you make me laugh so easily, Miss Shaw?” He pushes the elevator button.

  “Believe me, that’s not a good thing.” The doors open. “I’m a klutz. I say things I shouldn’t. I’m socially awkward.”

  “I haven’t seen any sign of social awkwardness…it’s been the opposite. You seem to get along well with most people. I’ve had Jim as my driver over
half a dozen times, and I never knew his name. Same goes for the cabin attendant.”

  “You’re the CEO of a huge corporation, and it’s liquid courage where I’m concerned.” I probably shouldn’t admit something like that to my boss, but I’m sure he noticed I’ve been a tad tipsy the whole evening. From when I finished that first glass of champagne.

  The doors close. “What floor is your room?” He looks at me expectantly. Now that we’re in this cramped space, I can smell his cologne. I can smell him. His jacket is draped over one arm. I didn’t think a plain white business shirt could look so good. He’s not an asshole at all. He’s nice. I like him.

  Bolt’s still looking at me…waiting. I’ve been staring at him for several long seconds. Too long. “Um…I have no idea.” I don’t remember. My mind has hit a blank. “Um…let me check.” I start searching through my purse. “My keycard is in here…somewhere.” I fumble and drop my purse. Of course I do. Anything else would be too normal. Too un-me like. My purse hits the floor, and because it’s wide open, everything spills out.

  How is it that I have so much rubbish in there?

  How does it all even fit? My makeup bag and my wallet tumble out. Then there are Tic Tacs, half a pack of gum. My keycard. There you are! A small notepad, a mirror, several pens, loose change, hand cream, a pack of Kleenex, a hairbrush, hair clips, and a hairband. Oh, and floss, because you never know when you might need it. I believe in dental health. There are also several tampons, the big thick kind. As a pastry chef, I was on my feet for hours at a time. I wore a white chef’s jacket, and a girl can’t be too careful.

  Everything tumbles out everywhere. The tampons roll over to Bolt, stopping at his feet. All three of them. I want to die. All I can think is that I must have done something terrible in my previous life, and now I’m having to pay the Universe back for my sins. It has to be karma. I panic and drop onto the floor. I start stuffing the things back into my purse, but they’re spread far and wide. I’m praying all the while that Bolt doesn’t move. That he doesn’t look down.

  Too late. He’s looking down.

  I pray even harder that he doesn’t try to help me. Please, no… Please…no….no! He goes down on his haunches, and I shuffle over to him. I’m on my knees. We both make a grab for a tampon. It’s the one closest to his foot. His hand closes over mine. I look up and then suck in a breath. I realize how close we are. Our faces are just inches apart. I can feel his breath on my face. His heat.

  “Miss Shaw…” The way he says my name has my stomach knotting. It’s like he’s in agony, like he’s pleading. That look is on his face. It’s smoldering. It’s… Oh, god…oh… I realize that it’s lust. I realize this with shock and a healthy dose of my own punch of lust. My nipples instantly tighten. Awareness floods me. His eyes narrow into mine. His brow furrows. I’m not sure how it happens, but one second I’m on my knees trying to get to my tampons before he does and the next, my mouth is on his. I make this mewling noise. Like a kitten. A sex kitten in heat. My hands are on his shoulders. My fingers are digging into their broad expanse. My breasts are smashed against his chest. My tongue is in his mouth.

  Bolt picks me up as he stands. He presses me against the mirror. I feel it cold at my back. This kiss. It’s breaking me. Unraveling everything I ever thought a kiss could or should be. This kiss is everything. One of his hands is cupping my jaw. The other is lifting a thigh. I’m groaning so loud it’s obscene, but I don’t care. I want more. I want—

  Bolt pulls back. His eyes are wide. “Fuck!” he growls softly. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, like he just made the biggest mistake of his life. “We can’t do this,” he practically whispers. I can feel the words against my lips. I can still taste him on my tongue.

  He pulls away, and I almost fall. He has to clasp my hip to keep me upright. “Ah…” he looks a little shaken. His hair is mussed. I think I might have grabbed onto it. Oh, no! I’m pretty sure I did.

  He lets me go and puts the last few items into my purse, including the tampons. I don’t know what to do. Or say. I notice the takeout bag on the floor next to his jacket.

  He pushes my purse into my hand. I see my keycard in his. He presses a button or two on the panel. “You need to read the itinerary for tomorrow, if you haven’t done so already,” Bolt says as the elevator starts to move.

  I nod, trying to get my breathing under control. My cheeks feel flushed, and my heart is still racing. I didn’t just do what I think I did. Did I?

  Oh, god!

  Oh, no!

  “Did you get copies of the meeting agenda, like I asked you, Miss Shaw?” He’s all business. How can he be all business after that just happened?

  “Yes.” My voice is soft. Almost inaudible.

  “Good. The meeting is at eight in the hotel boardroom. You need to be there by seven-thirty to prepare.”

  “I’ll be there.” I feel sick. I want to blame it on the wine, but I can’t.

  He hands me my keycard, and I take it. My hand is shaking. I hope he doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

  I dash out of the elevator as soon as it opens.

  “Good night, Miss Shaw,” I hear him say, but the doors are closing.

  I grab my chest. I’m not usually this dramatic, but… Fudge buckets! I think I’m allowed to be after that happened. I’m well within my rights. I open my suite door and lean against it as soon as I am inside. My head slumps. My chin is against my chest.

  I’m the asshole.

  Not Bolt.

  I threw myself at my boss on my first day of work. I cover my face with my hand and groan. Ironically sounding very much the way I did when I was groping Bolt. Groping my boss!

  I spy a bottle of water next to my bed, which has been turned down at some point during the evening. There is an orchid and a chocolate on my pillow. I head straight for the water and down most of it. Then I get into my pajamas and hunt down my toiletry bag. All the while, I think of him…of that kiss. I might have mauled Bolt, but for me, that was hands down the best kiss I have ever had. Ever! I loved every aspect of it. I’m sure he must feel violated. I groan again. This is terrible!

  There is a knock at the door. My heart pounds against my ribs. Maybe it’s him. He knows my room number. Does he want…sex?

  No!

  Can’t be.

  He probably wants to discuss it. We should discuss it. Trying to sweep something like this under the rug would be wrong. Maybe he wants to fire me. I would understand if he did. I will accept my fate with grace. “I’m so sorr—” I say as I open the door, stopping as soon as I see who is there. It’s a lady wearing a hotel uniform. “Good evening, Miss Shaw. I have something for you. Mr. Bolt said that you would still be awake and that you would want this.” She hands me a big brown paper bag.

  My food.

  I take it, on autopilot. “Thank you.” My voice is still too soft.

  She smiles. “I trust you will have a good stay with us. Please don’t hesitate to call the front desk, should you require anything.”

  “I will.” I force a smile. I’m sure it looks like more of a grimace.

  I close the door and open the bag. It’s my food. All of it. The gnocchi, garlic bread, and tiramisu. There’s a smiley face with the word ‘Enjoy!’ written on the pasta box. I wonder if it was Bolt or Giovanni who wrote that there. I’m hoping it was Bolt. Crazy, I know.

  One thing sticks with me. Bolt is sweet. He’s kind and thoughtful. I have a feeling he’s going to pretend this never happened. I feel terrible. Worse than terrible. I groped him. Poor man. He can’t go anywhere without being accosted. He asked me to help him keep crazy women away from him, and I end up being one of the offenders. I sit at the desk in the corner and open the box of gnocchi. I start eating. It’s delicious. Unfortunately, the food feels like lead in my stomach. I know what I have to do, and I hate it. I’m the asshole in this, and I need to fix it.

  15

  The next morning…

  Bolt

 
I fucked up.

  I fucked up big time.

  I’ve been flirting with Miss Shaw. I’ve been enjoying her company far too much. All the laughing, the smiling, the ‘looking deep into her eyes’ bullshit. I love how much she enjoys her food. I almost came in my pants when she groaned around that rice ball.

  I love how she’s not afraid to say what she’s feeling, even though she quickly tries to cover it up afterward. She paid for the food at the Italian place.

  She paid!

  She!

  Paid!

  Fuck!

  I can’t even remember the last time anyone bought me anything. It touched me deeply. Made me warm and fucking fuzzy. I know it’s the poison talking. Making me feel these things. Making me want her to the point where I can’t think straight. I know it’s not real. It felt real though. All of it.

  That kiss.

  That fucking kiss.

  I was on the verge of pulling up her dress, sliding her panties to the side and fucking her right there. In the elevator. I’m not sure how I pulled away. How I got myself back under control, or at least the semblance of control.

  I still don’t know how, but I did.

  I can’t move forward with Miss Shaw until I have the non-disclosure agreement with everything in it. Everything all spelled out. All of it. Like I told the driver last night, the rules need to be clear, and in black and white. For him, a quick conversation will suffice. For me, not so much. I need to be sure she understands what it is she’s getting into. I can’t have bad press or comebacks. I need a signature first. Then, and only then, can we proceed. I don’t want this getting out. It would hurt my mom, and I don’t want Miss Shaw to think there’s more to it. That there’s a future for us, because there isn’t. We’ll have a business arrangement. Then we’ll both move on.

  I meant every word I said to our driver last night. Sometimes you need to use someone to be able to move on. That person, for me, happens to be Miss Shaw. I don’t like the fact that she’s so nice. I don’t want to hurt her. Again, I realize that this protective instinct I have surrounding her is the poison talking. All I know is that I’m feeling better with her in my life. I’m lighter. I haven’t made anyone cry since she arrived at Zeus Group yesterday. It’s already working. I can’t fuck this up any more than I have already. I can’t believe I kissed her, that I very nearly fucked her right there, in a public place. I check my watch. It’s twenty-six minutes past seven. I hope she’s on time. I won’t be able to reprimand her if she isn’t. When it comes to her, I’m soft. Soft in all the wrong places and hard in all the wrong fucking places. This is a mess!