If You Want Me: The Magister Series Book 1: A Billionaire Romance

by July Hall

  Less than twelve hours, and he’d gone from apologizing to cursing her. How could she have ever been so stupid? She’d been blinded by his beauty and charm. It took something like this to show her how superficial that charm really was. Kristen had known all along that Bradley was a faker, and Sandra had never listened.

  Then again, Sandra was a faker too. She bit her lip as she slid out of the bed. She wanted the world to think she was elegant, mature, above reproach. She wanted a clean reputation. The things she’d done and said last night—no, all week—were far from clean. And she was already learning that what happened behind closed doors didn’t always stay there.

  She took a deep breath. Stay calm. She’d panicked last night—she’d done a lot of things last night—but today was for being more clear-headed. She had to make some decisions. They both did, together. She had the feeling Charles was used to acting unilaterally, but he couldn’t do that now.

  I’ll make you mine, he’d growled. She shivered and then scolded herself for being silly. That had definitely just been sex talk. Right? Right. Nobody really thought that way.

  Sandra opened her suitcase. She didn’t have to wear yesterday’s clothes because she always packed an extra outfit. You never knew what might happen. She withdrew her favorite pair of skinny jeans and a slouchy blue blouse. For a moment, she wished Charles lived somewhere normal, where she could wander around in her PJs and not feel self-conscious about running into servants or something.

  She got ready quickly and then bit her lip as she looked into the mirror. Jeans and a blouse, plus the cardigan and her metallic flats. This was okay, wasn’t it? For the morning after in her…lover’s house? Friend-with-benefits’s house? One-night-stand’s house?

  Fuck it. She stomped back into the bedroom and texted Bradley: We’re done. I’m blocking your number. Get tested and have a nice life.

  She made good on her word and blocked him, feeling a surge of satisfaction. Then she took a deep breath and left the room in search of Charles.

  As she headed down the hallway, she realized this was easier said than done. The house hadn’t gotten any smaller overnight, and she wasn’t sure she could remember how to get to his suite. Or if he’d want her to. Or if he was even there.

  Technology had the answers. She pulled her phone from the pocket of her cardigan and texted him: I’m up. Where are you?

  Moments later: In my office. Of course he was. Are you hungry?

  Not yet. She never was right after waking up.

  Head to the mudroom.

  Sandra blinked. She could remember where that was—the Magister home’s mudroom was almost as big as her apartment. It led onto the path to the private beach. She caught her breath when she remembered what Warrick had told her, that Charles took a walk on the beach every day. She’d been so curious to know all about him: his routines, his habits. Maybe now she’d actually get the chance to find out.

  What would he be like today? Cold and reserved? Or would she see the man from last night, who’d kissed her and showered with her and even cracked a joke? She hoped for the second, but wouldn’t be surprised by the first. He’d be different in front of other people, like his staff.

  He had an image to maintain. Sandra understood about that. Don’t take it personally, she warned herself, and hoped she could follow through.

  She didn’t encounter anybody on her way to the mudroom. Good. She wasn’t sure she could have faced Warrick until she knew where matters stood. Did he know where the master of the house had spent the night?

  Charles awaited her in the mudroom, typing on a BlackBerry that he put back in his pocket when she appeared. She paused for a moment to take in the sight of him wearing khakis and a blue fleece pullover. Somehow he didn’t look any less intimidating than he did in a suit. Especially when he raised an eyebrow and greeted her with, “Bradley left me a voice mail about an hour ago. He insisted he was doing his best to reunite with you and that none of this was his fault.”

  Gross. “He texted me. I told him we were through and then I blocked his number.” She held her breath, waiting for his response.

  His green eyes gleamed. He said, “Good,” and reached for her, taking her by the hand to pull her to him. She thrilled at the warmth of his body against hers. It was an even bigger thrill when he cradled her face in one hand. “You look lovely.” He kissed her.

  “So do you,” she whispered, and then blushed. “Uh, I mean, you look handsome. Out of the suit. In these clothes, not just out of the suit, although obviously—”

  So much for being elegant and mature. Charles stopped her descent into idiocy with another kiss. His shoulders shook with something suspiciously like a chuckle. Sandra pulled out of the kiss immediately, watching his face, hoping to catch his smile before it vanished. Sure enough, there it was: a slight turn of the lips and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Such a small thing, but it took her breath away.

  “Good morning,” she managed. “Sorry I slept so late. I don’t usually.”

  He slid his arms around her waist. “I left your room a little after seven. About half an hour ago, I started wondering if your species hibernates.”

  As she pressed even closer against him, Sandra heard herself sigh like some giddy teenager staring at a poster of her favorite boy band. It was so embarrassing that she groped for something else to say and came up with, “It’s all your fault. You’re the one who—”

  “Mr. Magister? I brought Miss Rosalie’s—”

  Sandra and Warrick stopped talking at exactly the same time, and stared at each other as Warrick stepped into the room, carrying a red coat.

  “Miss Rosalie’s coat,” Warrick finished, taking in the sight of Sandra in Charles’s arms. His eyes went very wide.

  She wanted to disappear. Well, that answered one question. He obviously hadn’t known where Charles had been last night. What must he think? Two days ago he’d talked about how irreplaceable Eleanor Magister was, and yesterday he’d said that Sandra was part of the family because she was dating Bradley, and now…

  What was Charles going to say? Warrick had worked for the family for decades, and he was almost old enough to be Charles’s dad. This must be a little awkward.

  What Charles said was, “Thank you.” He let go of Sandra with one hand and took the coat. “We’re off for a walk. We’ll have breakfast when we get back.”

  “Very good, sir,” Warrick said with a polite smile. He left without so much as another look at Sandra. She stood frozen in place.

  “I think Rosalie’s galoshes will fit you too,” Charles said, glancing down at a line of boots by the door. “The ground will still be muddy, and the sand is wet, of course. You don’t want to ruin your shoes. What?”

  “Um,” Sandra said, realizing she’d dug her fingers into his upper arm. “Oh, sorry. It’s…” She glanced at the doorway where Warrick had stood. “Nothing. I guess it’s okay that he knows?”

  Charles frowned. “Of course it’s fine. He’s the epitome of discretion. All of my staff are.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” What had she meant? “I mean, is it okay with him?”

  Now Charles looked genuinely puzzled. “What does that matter?” He let go of her and held out the coat. “Come on. We’re losing the morning.”

  A few minutes later, as they made their way down the pebbled path to the beach, Sandra thought it was just as well the morning was almost over. It would have been unbearably cold before dawn, and she wouldn’t even have had her jog to warm her up. As it was, the air had a definite bite in it, and she wondered if the expected cold snap was here at last.

  Charles didn’t appear to mind; he seemed perfectly comfortable in his pullover as he strode down the path. Down his path, from his house, to his beach. Lord of all he surveyed. Free from the worries of mere mortals.

  Sandra thought yet again about Warrick and about Charles’s lack of concern over being discovered. Did that mean he didn’t care if people knew about their…whatever their thing wa
s?

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t sure about any of this.

  “Do you get outdoors much?” he asked as they walked.

  Sandra rejoined the moment. “I go running five mornings a week, if the weather’s halfway decent.”

  “In Prospect Park?”

  Sandra smiled to herself. So he knew something about Brooklyn. Maybe he’d Googled it this morning. “Sometimes. That’s about two miles from my place. What do you do for exercise?” Those wiry muscles weren’t an accident.

  “Squash or racquetball. I’ll swim if I can’t find an opponent, but I prefer my workouts to be competitive.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Surprised?”

  She had to laugh. “Not really.”

  “Do you race?”

  “I’ve done some charity runs, but that’s all. That’s not what it’s about for me.” She shrugged. “Running helps clear my head.”

  “Does it?” he asked. “In my limited experience, it’s easy to get lost in your thoughts while you run.” Well, he had a point there. “Much better to face off with someone. Then you really can’t focus on anything else. If you do, you lose.”

  “I can’t lose if I don’t play at all,” she pointed out.

  For a moment, a wry smile flitted across his face. “Sometimes the game finds you,” he said. “You don’t want to be caught unprepared.”

  “We’re not talking about squash anymore, are we?”

  “We’re not.” They were at the end of the path now and came upon sun-bleached wooden stairs that descended from the lawn to the pebbled beach. Charles led the way down and then, when Sandra reached the bottom step, held out his hand. She found herself taking it automatically as she stepped onto the beach.

  He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Your hands are cold.”

  “Yours aren’t.” Ever, apparently.

  “And you had them in your pockets. I should have told Warrick to bring gloves.” He folded his hand securely around hers. “Ah, well.”

  Sandra beamed in spite of her worries. Good grief, was she actually a teenager? At least she could blame her reddened cheeks on the cool air. “This works better.”

  And she and Charles Magister walked along the beach, holding hands, while she wondered if maybe this was a dream after all.

  After the storm, the sky above was the purest blue. The air smelled of brine. The late-morning sunlight rippled over the water, and she saw whitecaps in the distance. All of a sudden, Sandra was sorry that she’d slept in so late—it would really be something to watch the sunrise here.

  She wanted to enjoy this and live in the moment. She really did. Hadn’t she always strived for perfection? This was it. And yet, she kept thinking that this might never happen again, and every time the thought occurred to her, the more unbearable it became.

  She just wasn’t a live-in-the-moment kind of person, she decided glumly, looking down at the toes of Rosalie’s Burberry galoshes. She had to say something to him. Just something, anything that would clue her in to the future. How could she phrase it so that it wouldn’t sound needy, or clingy, or…

  Charles jerked to a stop so abruptly that Sandra almost slipped on the pebbles. Startled, she glanced around to see what had given him pause, but he was looking down at her with blazing eyes.

  They stopped her heart, though she didn’t know if she was excited, scared, or…or what. She began, “What’s the ma—”

  He pulled her into his arms for a kiss. Not like the gentle one he’d greeted her with earlier. This was as hungry as any kiss he’d given her last night, matched with a growl in the back of his throat that sent a thrill racing down her spine.

  She grabbed his shoulders, curling her bare fingers into his pullover as she kissed him back, matching him hunger for hunger. If this morning was all she got, if he was sending her away, then she was going to show him what he’d miss out on. And she was going to take all she could get, every fleeting second of his mouth and hands.

  Those hands roamed up and down her back, catching in the windblown tangles of her hair. He held her so tightly, but somehow she wasn’t close enough. Why couldn’t she be closer? She wrapped one arm around the back of his neck. Closer, closer.

  He stopped kissing her long enough to demand, “Where did you go?”

  She blinked dazedly at him. His mouth was reddened and damp. She wanted to bite his bottom lip. He’d said something. “Huh?”

  Charles curled his hand around the back of her head, always looking into her eyes. “You went away just now. I saw it in your face. I don’t know where you were, but it wasn’t here.”

  How had he known? Sandra gulped, searching his face for a reaction as she said, “I was just thinking about…” It suddenly seemed too humiliating to confess. He sure didn’t seem to have any trouble staying in the moment. “I mean, my mind was just wandering. It wasn’t important.”

  “It is to me.” He never looked away from her eyes. Why weren’t they kissing? Everything was a lot simpler when they were kissing. “What is it?”

  Great. Now whatever she said was going to sound lame, if he thought she was wrestling with something apocalyptic. And maybe she was, but he wouldn’t see it that way. “Just thinking about, you know, what’s next,” she said, trying to sound breezy and totally failing. “That’s all. I didn’t mean to look, um, weird.”

  Before she could work in a casual suggestion that they should start kissing again, he said, “What do you mean, what’s next?”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Sandra picked a point over his shoulder, up in the blue sky, where she saw a seagull flying past. “Oh, you know,” she said. “After I go.”

  “Go?” His grip tightened.

  The gull stopped flapping and spread its wings as it found an updraft, soaring skyward into the blue. Sandra said, “Yeah. I know I can’t stay. I should probably leave after breakfast, I guess. I was just…”

  “Why would you leave after breakfast?”

  Sandra stared at him. He stared back, looking at her as if she were speaking an alien language. “I can’t stay much longer, can I?” she asked. “Doesn’t everybody know you’re here? And when they find out I was here, too—I mean, last night there was the storm, but there’s no excuse for me to stay today.”

  There would be talk. God, would there ever be talk. Did you hear? That little hussy Sandra Dane dumped Bradley Cliffe and spent the rest of the weekend holed up with Charles Magister, discussing home renovation. Is that what they’re calling it now?

  “Why should anyone find out you stayed?” Charles said. “I told you, Warrick is discreet. It’s one of his jobs. I can’t imagine what he hid from us all during Stephen’s adolescence.”

  “Well…”

  “It’s a Saturday.” Charles drew her closer. “Are you expected anywhere?”

  “I told my sister I’d be home today.”

  “You could tell her you were wrong.”

  She could do that. Kristen wouldn’t care. All Sandra had to do was say something like “weekend contractors,” and her sister’s eyes would glaze over in immediate boredom.

  The temptation was unbearable. Why shouldn’t she do this, have this, even if it was only for a little while? If nobody had to know, whom could it hurt? Just her. And she could take care of herself, make her own choices—even if they were stupid.

  “Don’t you have work to do?” she asked.

  “Always, but I won’t be disturbed here. Rosalie and Stephen know that I wanted to be left—” He cut himself off and pursed his lips.

  Sandra put the pieces together. Last night, he’d told Warrick that he wanted to get out of the city. The night before, she’d told him to stop contacting her. “That you wanted to be left alone,” she finished. “Why?” He glared and let go of her waist. “What, you get to ask questions and I don’t?”

  “Last week was extremely tiring,” he said through his teeth.

  “Oh, gosh.” Sandra suppressed her grin as she stepped away from him. “
And last night you hardly got any sleep. See? I’m a terrible guest.” His eyes widened. She took another step backward. “I should definitely leave you alone. That’s why you came out here, right?”

  Charles narrowed his eyes. “You ought to stop now,” he said mildly.

  His placidity made her shiver. She tried to hide it by sticking her hands back in her pockets, and she took another step back. “You don’t have to say that,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I know you’re just being a polite host.”

  “Indeed I am, because you’re about to step in a hole.”

  “I’m—oh!” Sandra immediately turned to look at the ground. She heard the crunch of pebbles at the moment she saw there was no hole, and then Charles’s arms closed around her again.

  “We’ve got to work on your instincts,” he murmured, and then nipped her earlobe. She gasped. “You should have seen that coming a mile away.”

  She’d never seen any of this coming. Her knees were all wobbly, and her neck tingled where she felt the brush of his beard. How was he doing this to her? It was insane. Maybe she really should go home, try to get her head and her life back together before it was too late.

  “Stay with me.” He kissed her temple, just as he’d done in his office, and it lit her up all over again. She heard his breath catch, and knew he was thinking of the same thing. This time, she let herself savor it as he retraced his path, kissing down her cheek, the line of her jaw, toward her mouth. And this time, when he reached her lips, he was very gentle.

  She was on fire. They’d practically broken the bed last night, and she needed more. Not wanted: needed.

  It was already too late. She’d passed that point long ago. Sandra tilted her head back so that Charles could trail his kisses down her throat, and then she slid her hands up his sides.

  “If you keep me here,” she said unsteadily, “I’m going to want you again.” Her thighs pressed against his, and she rocked into his heat. She closed her eyes against the blue sky above. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but if I stay…”