by Mia Caldwell
For a moment, he just looked at me, taking in what I can only call my heaving bosom. Then his eyes met mine. “Oh, Andrea, you’re so beautiful.”
He lowered his head and kissed the mounded tops of my breasts. It took all my control not to just unsnap that bra right there, move this along. But I wanted to savor it, to enjoy how it felt to be an object of desire. He scooped one hand into the demi-cup of my bra and lifted up my breast. My nipple was completely firm and when he sucked it into his mouth, I moaned out loud. He pulled hard with his tongue and then kissed gently all around before lifting my other breast out.
“I have to feel your skin against mine,” he murmured, pulling off his own shirt. He pulled me close again, kissing me. I could feel the dampness from his mouth on my nipples as I pressed against his chest. My hands found the ridges of his abs and I traced the edges of the muscle there.
Walker’s hand was on my thigh, slowly heading up under the hem of my skirt. I knew I was soaking wet as I anticipated that hand finally making it to the top.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!”
We pulled apart like teenagers caught making out in the rec room. Rosa was standing in the doorway, her hand to her mouth. I grabbed my shirt and held it over my chest.
well, crap.
Rosa was beside herself apologizing. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Walker, I had no idea, I’ll just go!”
He tried to soothe her, assure her it was fine. Nearly in tears, she headed for the stairs.
“Well,” he said, turning to me,“that was poorly timed.”
I was tucking myself back into my clothes, my heart pounding even harder than before.
“No, no, it was good timing. That was getting out of hand. I need to slow this down, I don’t even really know you yet.”
“I was trying to help you out on that front,” he said with a smile. He was leaning back against the couch, giving me a good look at that chest I’d had my hands all over. His body was firm and lean, but didn’t have that I-spend-all-day-looking-at-myself-in-the-gym-mirror look. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow. Damn near perfect, I’d say. My body ached to go back to what we were doing…
No. Gotta keep a clear head. Gotta remember who I am, who he is. Gotta pack.
“I do appreciate your efforts,” I said, “But I really should go home. You can just think about this body laying on a beach in Aruba. I’ll text you when I get back.”
“Give me your number, I’ll text you while you’re gone.” He reached for me again, but I moved out of his grasp. I knew I didn’t have the willpower to pull away again.
“Sorry, I’m not getting a sim card to use there. It’s vacation for real, Kiera’s orders.”
He shook his head. “Temptress. I will be thinking of that body on the beach, I can promise.”
His car took me back to my place and I texted with Kiera the whole way. Of course she thought I was nuts for leaving when I did. She says she’s never seen the harm in having sex right away. “Why find out it’s terrible when you’re already invested?”
But it just didn’t feel right. Not for me. I need a bit more trust, first. I wanted to be The One, even if it was only The One For Now. I know it’s so 20th Century of me, but I don’t want to just be a booty call.
Chapter Five
The next morning came way earlier than I’d hoped. Between packing and texting Kiera and excitement about the trip (and the night before), I’d gotten very little sleep. I deeply regretted my promise to bring Tiny Tina Alexander another smoothie for breakfast. Especially since I knew Walker wouldn’t be there.
But, stone professional that I am, I put that blender together one more time and dumped the ingredients in. As it was blending, I saw Celia come into the kitchen from another room. She was on her phone, and cut me a look to let me know the blender was making it hard for her to hear.
Bitch, there are three floors to this house, only one of them has a blender. Move.
She stepped into the living room area, right next to the couch where Walker had taken off my shirt. Had he taken off her shirt in there? Probably took her to his own house. Jealousy flared up, twisting my stomach. I flipped off the blender angrily.
Don’t be stupid. He’s had other girlfriends…But if he could even tolerate HER…
“Oh I know, I’m sure I look like a zombie, I barely got any sleep last night!” Celia was still talking loudly, compensating for a blender that was no longer running. “You know how he is, insatiable! He was so worked up, it was like he’d just gotten out of prison.”
She laughed and paced back toward the kitchen, her voice dropping to a normal volume. I could still hear her, of course, because she was in my space.
“Of course, well, at about three a.m. I told him to just go to sleep and leave me alone. I swear, I’m not a teenager.”
Her conversation was making a pit form in my stomach. I had a bad feeling about it and it wasn’t just from having Celia milling around the kitchen in her Lululemon yoga clothes.
“Mmm-hm, I’m at his mom’s house right now. I told him it’s time to stop beating around the bush and make it official, you know? I know there’s a family ring and I plan to get it on my finger before Christmas. Best way is to talk to the old gal directly…”
I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. My hand was shaking as I poured the smoothie into a glass.
Deep breath. Not worth it. If he wants her, why would you want him? But the injustice of it! He’d lied, said she was just a friend. He’d waved dismissively. He’d seemed like such a direct straight-shooter. But still a man with a boner, one he was apparently willing to relieve however he could.
As I walked past her to take the smoothie up stairs, Celia looked at me and gave me the most saccharine smile. It took all my control not to splash the smoothie in her face.
But then Rosa’d have to clean it up and she hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she’d saved me from a big mistake. I should thank her.
Even so, I enjoyed imagining the green juice dripping through Celia’s flat-ironed hair, down her sports bra she wore as if it were actually a shirt, getting on her “barefoot” shoes that cost significantly more than my Chuck Taylors that also had no arch support…Delicious.
I took a deep breath before entering Mrs. Alexander’s room. I could feel the scowl on my face and wanted to get rid of it before I went in.
“Good morning, Mrs. Alexander,” I said, lying.
“Do I hear Celia down there, shouting into her phone?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said, savoring the annoyance in her voice. You and me both, sister.
She sighed, taking the juice from me. “I was expecting her. I guess it’s finally time.” Stomach. Twisting. She took a drink. “I will miss these, they’re damned tasty. Have a good time in Aruba, dear. Be sure to try snorkeling. Baby Beach is a great place to start.”
“Thank you, I hope to try it. I’ll take your advice.”
“Well,” she said, smiling, “at least you listen to my advice. Let me know when you’re back, I’d like to make arrangements for more meals. I find I rather like eating in my own bedroom.”
“I will. Thank you, Mrs. Alexander, I hope your knee heals quickly.”
“It won’t, I’m old as shit, but I appreciate the sentiment. Goodbye.”
When I came into the kitchen again, Celia was still on the phone, now clearly discussing possible honeymoon locations. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I thought about taking the All Clad pan, to at least get something out of this experience, but in the end decided I wanted nothing of Walker Alexander.
I was going to go home and get my suitcases and go to Dulles. Then I was going to fly to Aruba with Kiera and spend the week forgetting these three days had ever happened.
And when I came back, I was not going to be calling any of the Alexanders. They’d just have to get on without me.
To be continued in The Way To A Billionaire’s Heart: Book Two
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Excerpt from The Way to a Billionaire’s Heart: Part Two (of two)
If you’re going to “wash that man right outta your hair,” you could do worse than using the Carribean ocean. Kiera had booked a hotel right on the beach on the western side of the island, white sand leading down to water of an almost unbelievable turquoise blue. Sure, I’d seen pictures, but when your only real frame of reference is the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean, there’s a part of you that doesn’t really believe it’s true.
But it was. Blue-green water and I could see my feet, even in water to my shoulders. In Ocean City? You’re lucky to see your feet in water to your ankles. Also, on this side of the island, the waves were gentle, so for the past two mornings, we’d gone out with our inner tubes and just bobbed along, enjoying the swells when a boat’s wake rippled toward the beach. Yeah, the hotel had a pool, but I can get in a pool in Washington.
“Hey,” Kiera called from a few feet away. I looked over to see her head draped back on the tube, face toward the sun. The first day, she’d worn a swim cap to protect her hair, but I convinced her a good rinse would be just as effective. I swim at the Y all the time and I haven’t gone bald yet. And if a cap looks dumb with my sporty cut bathing suit, it looked ridiculous with her string bikini. “Want to try snorkeling today?”
"Sure, I’ve got no plans. Mrs. Alex–a client told me to try Baby Beach."
Kiera lowered her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and looked at me over them. I’d been warned–no more talk about Walker Alexander. I was never going to get over him if I kept bringing him up. But while not speaking a name might work at keeping Voldemort or Beetlejuice away, it wasn’t doing much to keep those green gold eyes and boyish smile out of my mind.
It was stupid. In spite of his apparently being a hotshot billionaire and local celebrity, I’d never even heard of Walker until last week. When he talked me into cooking for his mother every day, twice a day, I just figured he was some spoiled rich man, used to getting his way. I tried to shake him off by doubling my usual fee, but he hadn’t even tried to bargain. Now I knew it was just a pocket change to him, but at the time, I’d been impressed enough to make it work with my schedule. You want to build up a clientele of big spenders.
But, of course, it hadn’t been that simple. Walker was gorgeous, sure, but that wasn’t it. There’d been something…electric between us. In spite of my fondness for romantic comedies, I don’t believe in love at first sight. But there was something.
That’s what made this whole thing so awful, so hard to just forget. There had been some undeniable attraction between us. Even before he took my shirt off on the couch, before he rolled my nipples in his mouth…
Shit. Sorry.
I tried to convince myself that what I’d overheard–if I can use that word for Celia’s shouting into the phone–was a misunderstanding. But I couldn’t spin it no matter how I tried. She was clearly talking about Walker–making a booty call after he left me, and agreeing to marry her. The booty call I could maybe work my way past. Maybe not. But marriage is still kind of a big deal, you know? Makes me think that what I’d seen as so meaningful, so emotional, had just been a game to him.
He’s a man used to getting what he wants and apparently he wanted the chef, if only for a little while. So first he used money, and then he used charm. But I’m not willing to be that girl.
I’ll just forget about him. Him and his poison-cakes.
No problem, right?
As we walked back up the beach to our hotel, Kiera put her arm around my shoulders. “Dre, I brought you here to have fun. I wanted you with me because you make me laugh and because you deserve to just mess around for a while. We’re in the islands! We’re young and hot! Let’s act like it!”
She steered me toward the poolside bar. “Two pina coladas, please, charge it to Room 1650.”
“Is drinking and snorkeling really the best idea?”
"It’s one drink and by the time we get there, even that will have worn off. They are not pouring with a heavy hand. Lighten up, Doc."
I rolled my eyes and took a sip. Mmm…artificial flavors and cheap rum. “Delish! like frozen hair oil!”
“Shut up and drink your medicine. This is a week free of Walker Alexander AND food snobbery. Let’s go. ”
So I faked it. Kiera was paying my way, which was very generous. She made good money to only be three years out of law school, but money still mattered to her. The least I could do was be a good friend. And it’s not like it’s hard to be happy in Aruba–sun warm but not too hot, breezy but not windy, and a whole island dedicated to keeping tourists coming back. All I had to do was pretend like the emptiness I felt was just hunger and keep filling it with food and frozen drinks.
AUTHOR BIO
Mia Caldwell has been fantasizing about stories of “Happily-Ever-After” since she was a little girl, and now that she’s all grown up her “Happily-Ever-After” stories have taken a steamier turn! After graduating from college Mia still wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do with her life. Bored with her day job as an Administrative Assistant for a non-profit, she started writing stories on the side and sharing them with her friends. They gave her the push she needed to share them with you! She lives in New York with two rascally cats named Link and Zelda, eats too much chocolate and Chinese take-out, and goes on way too many blind dates. She’s still waiting for Mr. Right, but in the meantime she’ll keep dreaming up the perfect man!
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More by Mia Caldwell
Beauty and the Billionaire
Billionaire’s Matchmaker
Billionaire’s Masquerade
What a Billionaire Wants
Billionaire’s Baby Surprise 1
I was pulling the strands out of a spaghetti squash when Walker came into the kitchen holding a bottle of wine.
“Sauternes!” he said, holding it up as proudly as if he’d stomped on the grapes himself.
I had no idea what he was talking about and just gave my head a shake, smiling in spite of myself.
“Sauternes, the kind of wine that goes in that glass that broke this morning.” His crooked grin assured me that he wasn’t trying to rub my nose in it. “You said you’d never heard of it, so I brought some. It wasn’t easy to find, I don’t think anyone drinks it any more. I never keep it in my cellar.”
It took me a moment to realize he meant his wine cellar and not his dirt floor basement.
“It’s best pretty cold, so I’ll put it in the freezer. After you take up Mother’s tray, will you join me for a glass?”
“Um, sure,” I said. “Just the one, though, I drove here,” I hesitated, unsure whether I should really let my next impulse out of my mouth. Pride and, well, plain old attraction won out. “I’ll have extra food, would you like some?”
His grin widened. “I was hoping you’d say that. Mother was raving about your cooking, so I figured showing up around meal time was my best bet.”
“And buttering me up with that saute pan,” I pointed to the stove where it held caramelizing onions.
“I’m so transparent.” He inhaled deeply. “This house has never smelled so good and we had some talented cooks when I was a kid.”
“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but the way to a chef’s heart is through her ears,” I said, immediately worrying that I’d made it sound like I was trying to get to his heart. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I added, hoping to clear up any misunderstanding.
> But of course, I’d just dug in deeper.
“Everywhere?” he asked waggling his eyebrows at me.
“You watch yourself, mister,” I said, pointing my fork at him and smiling. Really, deflecting advances with charm is just a part of being a young woman in the service industry.“It’s unseemly to flirt with the help.”
“If I did it anyway,” he said, watching me intently, “would the help flirt back?”
Hoo-boy. I was utterly at a loss. I couldn’t deny I was attracted to him. I mean, I had eyes. This man was fine. But, you know, career, blah-blah-blah. He was fine.
"If the help flirts back, wouldn’t you just worry that they have to? Because you sign the checks?" I realized I was standing with my hip cocked and my head tilted so I could look up at him from under my lashes. Shameless.
“Hm. I think it might be worth the uncertainty. I can live with that.”
He had somehow come closer without my seeing him move. He was looking down at me now, close enough that I could easily have run my hand up that tailored cotton shirt to feel the muscles underneath it. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his body.
The oven timer went off, breaking the spell. I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear my head. “Roasted tomatoes,” I said, turning. Walker retreated to the other side of the breakfast bar and sat on a stool.
“Mind if I watch you work your magic?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, suddenly a frenzy of activity. What kind of magic was he working? It was like if he was within five feet of me, I couldn’t remember who I was. I needed a restraining order.
The Way to A Billionaire’s Heart Part One
by Mia Caldwell
Copyright © 2015, Six Gables Software
Published by Six Gables Software
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