by C. L. Donley
“If I knew the answer I wouldn’t have asked,” he answered, being a jackass. He put his hands around her soft middle and groaned. She smiled.
“I want you to make me say it,” she panted, as his lips grazed her neck.
“I love you,” he quietly admitted. His hands went to her face.
Amara closed her eyes. This was just a dream. It had to be.
It wasn’t the persuasive technique she was anticipating, but it worked all the same.
“Yes,” she announced breathlessly with a smile, “my answer’s yes.”
Finally they kissed. And it was the last thing either of them remembered.
Nineteen
Somewhere in Chapter 10: Amara's Calling (Deleted Scene)
“What are you doing?”
Grayson didn’t answer.
“I’m bored,” Amara volunteered. “Are you bored?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you. Let’s do something.”
“I’m all ears,” he deadpanned, not looking up from his work.
“Let’s play hide and seek.”
Grayson let out a little chuckle.
“When’s the last time you played that?” she enthusiastically inquired.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t very good with the concept,” he reminisced. “And a bit too good at hiding.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve never played hide and seek as an adult?”
He shrugged. “Is that so odd?”
“It is when you’re a billionaire and your house has 18 rooms,” Amara insisted, somewhat outraged.
“22.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve never brought a group of hoes here, got ‘em drunk and let ‘em try and find each other? What are you doing with your life, exactly?”
“Wasting it, apparently,” he grinned.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here,” Amara said, putting away her phone and reaching around his shoulders. She put his computer in sleep mode and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Come and find me,” she whispered.
He sighed a party pooper’s sigh.
“Come aaaaaaaahhhhhhhn,” Amara whined. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“Our ideas of fun are at odds.”
Amara did a little kid bop back and forth on her heels as she skillfully persuaded him.
“Come on let’s play come on let’s play come on let’s play come on let’s play come on let’s play—”
“ALRIGHT,” Grayson shouted over her. “ONE…TWO…THREE…”
Amara raced out of the room.
“Count to 20!” he faintly heard her instruction.
Grayson instead pressed the power button on his computer and resumed his work.
He did, however, open up the live feed to his security system in the corner, watching Amara drift from screen to screen around his house.
She darted this way and that, looking for more opportune places to hide, careful at every turn not to be seen.
He gave up trying to work, a goofy grin growing on his face while he watched her.
At one point he noticed that she was starting to shed clothes.
Toplessly she abandoned the downstairs laundry room and left her underwear in the hallway.
She was leaving him a trail.
He continued to watch, mesmerized. It looked like she was headed toward the patio.
What the hell was she doing?
She found a killer hiding spot in the poolhouse, but she seemed to be worried that she’d hid a bit too well. After awhile she abandoned that spot.
He could tell that she started to entertain the notion that he wasn’t looking for her at all. As she stomped out of her hiding place completely naked, he couldn’t help laughing.
She was headed back to his room.
Hastily he got up and hid in a hall closet before she could round the corner.
He heard her pass him and open the door leading to his room.
“You could’ve just said you didn’t want to play…” he faintly heard her begin.
Then silence.
He abandoned his hiding place and hid behind his bedroom door, waiting for her to retreat back up the stairs.
Her footsteps grew closer and closer, no air of trepidation in them. He grinned.
She was right. This was fun.
Predictably, she got to the top of the stairs and began to retrace her steps, not even looking in his direction. By the time she turned around he was already braced to grab her and toss her over his shoulder, which he did.
Amara released a long, adrenaline-laced scream that rang through the hollow halls of the great house.
* * *
“Do you think you would have been my friend in high school?”
Grayson’s words broke through the blue black night as he and Amara lay in bed, spent after another night of intense lovemaking.
Grayson stared at the ceiling, engaging the numbers in his mind that crowded his subconscious. It was like a basket of files that got too high if left unattended. He added them together, then multiplied them. They subsided. It was the only thing that kept them at bay, like a never ending game of arithmetic Tetris.
Amara huffed air through her nose as she lay across his chest, tickled by the ask. The image was almost too hilarious.
“I think I probably would’ve tried horribly, and then you would’ve responded equally as horribly.”
He giggled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I probably would’ve been in one of your classes or something, probably would’ve been… intrigued by you.”
“Just a caveat— I was a fat kid with bad acne on anti-psychotic meds,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. We all went to school with that kid Grayson,” she scoffed.
“That kid was a friend of yours?”
“No, but only because I was pretty much afraid of my own shadow in high school. If I hadn’t met Mya and Kim I would’ve probably been you.”
“So the answer is basically ‘no’ then.”
“Well like I said, I would’ve probably been intrigued by you. Probably somewhat intimidated. You’re the kind of kid that I would notice, and then some serendipitous event would happen where we’d be forced to talk to each other. Lab partners in biology. Assigned seats on a field trip.”
“I think I would’ve been… mean to you. Rude, rather. And secretly stealing looks at your body.”
“Good luck with that one. My standard uniform was a giant oversized jacket and frickin’ men’s dress shirts.”
Grayson snickered, thinking of bad high school fashion.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I really thought I was sexy in them,” Amara giggled.
“You probably were. You’re sexy in mine.”
“Once I would’ve seen that your ipod was full of gangster rap, we would’ve definitely been friends.”
“I think you mean my Walkman. Once you saw that my Walkman was full of one CD.”
“Oh yeah, I forget that you’re old,” she giggled.
“I’m not old, you’re young,” he smiled.
“How did you do book reports without the internet?”
“Books.”
“How did you check Webster at school? Oh that’s right, you didn’t. Because it hadn’t been invented yet. By you.”
“Thank goodness we at least had the light bulb. And the horseless carriage.”
“I can’t believe that you…created Webster.”
“I can’t believe it either.”
“I can’t believe I’m fucking the creator of Webster.”
“Pinch yourself, girl,” he said.
She did. On the nipple, and he sucked in a breath. Amara giggled.
The next day was Friday, still the first week. They were still confined to Grayson’s ½ acre estate in the hills laying low while the media heat died down. Amara made breakfast burritos and left the kitchen in profound disarray, trying her hand at making every filling ingredient, inc
luding scratch made tortillas.
When Amara asked Grayson to teach her how to drive his stick shift convertible he was surprisingly enthusiastic. He was a fantastic teacher. Patient, like a father teaching his sixteen year old the ropes. He never raised his voice or panicked when the car, worth four times her annual salary, spasmed and lurched like it was having an orgasm. To her credit she only stalled out about 17 times. She followed up every sincere string of curses with a sincere apology.
“It’s okay, cars were made to be broken,” he jokingly guilted her.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“You said that.”
“I didn’t realize that I needed to do squats to drive a car.”
“Your muscles get used to it.”
They switched places, and he drove the car around back and across the lawn and parked. Behind the house the view was mountains and trees. It was like being in another country. Amara was wearing the most casual thing she could find in her wardrobe, a lavender sundress and matching pumps that she toddled in. He spent most of the lesson watching her legs as she shifted gears, so any damage to his clutch was mostly his own fault.
“We should’ve brought snacks.”
“We just ate,” he giggled.
“That’s not the point,” she argued. She kicked off her pumps and stretched her long limbs across the front seat and over his lap. His hands began a familiar pilgrimage up and down her calves. His eyes darted to the journey ahead between her thighs, compulsively trying to catch a glimpse of the promised land.
“There’s no eating in this car,” he replied, daring her to excuse the pun. She did, eyeing him seductively.
“You’d let me tear up the engine but I can’t spill mustard on your armrest?”
“That’s correct.”
Suddenly there was a call coming in from the futuristic dashboard. It was Dale.
Grayson soundlessly lifted his index finger to his mouth, giving her the “shh” signal. Grayson hit a button on the dashboard.
“This is Grayson,” he generically answered.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Are you in the car right now?”
“Yes.”
“Is Amara with you?”
“No.”
Dale paused.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“So who’s with you?”
“No one.”
“Hey, Amara,” Dale said, knowing Grayson well enough not to believe him.
“She’s not in the car, bro.”
“Okay, well your STD medication came in today bro. You need to come pick it up.”
Amara threw her head back in soundless giggles at the two of them. They really needed their own show, she thought.
“Did I have that sent to headquarters?” Grayson asked, laughter faintly present in his voice.
“Yeah you did. All kinds of creams and… sponges.”
“Okay, I will fly all the way there to come get it. Anything else?”
“Her name’s been released.”
The two of them looked at each other. It was inevitable, but still. It made Amara uncomfortable. It meant that there was someone out there she knew that was willing to sell her out without telling her. It was a possibility she never before thought to entertain.
“By whom?”
“An anonymous source, naturally. Blog Trash was the first to publish it, apparently last night, but now it’s everywhere.”
“No legal action we could take, I suppose.”
“Not a chance.”
“So what now?”
“Everything’s pretty calm so far, other than the fact that everyone here is only pretending to be working.”
“Any publicity is good publicity.”
“You’re right, we were drowning in obscurity so, thanks. You want to release a statement or what?”
“How about, ‘suck my dick?’”
“Cool. Does Amara know that you wet the bed until you were a fucking teenager?”
Grayson pursed his lips and shook his head slowly, inadvertently confirming it was true. That asshole. Dale was lucky he was 200 miles away. Amara covered her mouth as she doubled over in laughter.
“I’m busy I’ll call you later,” Grayson hastily said.
“Okay, dude. By the way, your grand wizard klan costume just came back from the cleaners, so I’ll just leave here for you.”
Amara’s jaw dropped as she looked at him faux accusatory, and a bit turned on.
She was already sexy, so whenever she actually put her mind to being so, it turned him into a stammering idiot.
Amara’s eyes traveled down his body and settled on his groin. So did her left foot. She locked eyes with his.
He probably wasn’t really a klansman. But if he was, it was her civic duty to keep fucking him.
“Hello?” Dale was still on the line in the top down convertible.
“Bro, I think she’s into it,” Grayson said, their eyes still meeting. Amara smirked.
“Bye Dale!” Amara shouted.
“No need to yell Amara, I can hear you,” Dale assured her.
Grayson hit a different button on the dash and the call disappeared.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that last part,” Grayson said, looking morose.
Amara failed to stifle a smile as she licked her bottom lip. She knew what he was doing and it was adorable. She got down to brass tax.
“Got protection on you?”
He sighed a defeated sigh and hung his head.
He didn’t, and the last thing he wanted to do was move. Amara gave him a ‘tsk tsk’ and removed her legs from their position across his lap.
“This was just supposed to be a driving lesson,” he defended himself.
Amara simply relocated to the back seat.
“You should know better than that with me.”
She produced two condom packets from her bra. He smiled.
“Has the top down convertible taught you nothing?” she smirked, “always be prepared.”
“I see I’ve taught you well,” he said. The look in her eye was naked and carefree desire. He knew enough about women to know they only looked like that when there were feelings involved. He thought ahead to their inevitable fallout and nearly choked on the guilt.
“Your… future suitors will be very happy,” he suddenly said.
“Um…yeah…” Amara said enthusiastically as she raised both eyebrows. The statement was totally weird and he didn’t seem to notice. She tried to ignore it.
“You know,” he continued as he joined her in the back seat, “purple just so happens to be my favorite color.”
“Okay, now I feel like the klan thing is more for you than for me.”
“Sorry, I made it weird.”
“You did. And it was already weird.”
“Damn. You seemed so into it,” he lamented.
Amara laughed an infectious giggle. He smiled.
She hiked up her dress to straddle him, careful not to do any of the undressing herself. His big hands went to her thighs, then the fabric around her backside. He let out a contented sigh and she tried not to notice. She gazed at him for awhile and put her hands in his dirty blond hair.
“Jeez, you are a bit… Aryan. How am I just now realizing that?”
He smiled. “You’re color blind Amara. Congratulations.”
“It’s kind of making me uncomfortable.”
“Care to time travel?” he raised an eyebrow, “I know a little bit of German.”
“Fuuuck, you want it bad, don’t you?” Amara was immediately aggressive in responsive.
Grayson’s heartbeat accelerated at a dangerous speed and he was instantly breathless. Holy shit, she was hot. He kept forgetting that he wasn’t entirely used to it. He couldn’t talk so he just nodded.
He was a bit in over his head, as he didn’t know enough German to make it dirty.
But she didn’t know that.
He improvised.
II
Mya's Pride: A Billionaire's Club Novel
Book 2 of Three
by
C. L. Donley
Twenty
Chapter 20
Dale
With two-thirds of the workday behind me, I sit in the momentary serenity of my expansive office, the one I acquired as COO of Webster, and the one I maintained during my unceremonious promotion to CEO.
I basically promoted myself, after flying to Montenegro to personally break the news to my former boss and best friend Grayson Davis that his very public meltdown and newfound health challenges would require him to step down.
The move appeased the board of directors, took heat off the company, and not that I was worried about the market, but the stocks held steady too. My track record as COO and close friendship with Grayson was more than assuring that Webster would continue in the reputation that everyone had come to expect.
In less than a week, I’ll be enjoying a four day weekend in San Sebastian, Spain with my other best friend Bel for Grayson’s wedding, the only vacation I’ll hope to have this year.
Technically I’ll be working since I’ll be acting as Grayson’s best man, but the two jobs can hardly be compared. I do find the speech to be a considerable challenge, however. Namely how I’m going to get through it without balling like a child.
“I’m not gonna make it through this speech, bro,” I admit with a sigh. “The moment I start having a single retrospective thought about our lives, I can feel the dam about to break.”
I’m looking at Grayson’s son, Sam, who would be looking straight at me if he wasn’t asleep. Sam is strapped in a forward facing carrier that Grayson is wearing, the pair sitting on the opposite side of my massive desk.
“I probably won’t make it either,” Grayson shakes his head.
“Dude… then we’re all gonna be messed up.”
“Bel doesn’t cry.”
“Yes, he does. Remember when that crazy chick put soap in his fish tank?” I recall.
After a beat, the two of us are instantly dissolving in quiet laughter, so as to not wake the baby.
Grayson and Amara decided there was no reason to rush the ceremony.