“I’m going to the store. Want any ice cream?” Annika perked her head up over the couch. He was standing at the doorway with his keys in hand. Her blue eyes lit up.
“Yes please! Butterscotch or banana!”
“Yeah, I know. Anything else?” She shook her head.
“Okay, I’ll be back.” He closed the door, and Annika flopped her head back onto the arm of the sofa. Then she turned her head to watch television. For some reason, Dickie had put on Fox News and the remote control was just slightly out of her grasp. Grunting, she struggled to sit up, and when she did, she was surprised to find she was lightheaded. As spots danced before her eyes, she felt a rush of wetness between her legs. As she dropped to her knees, she wondered where her ice cream was and fainted onto the hardwood floor.
Chapter Eleven: I Can’t Quit You, Baby
Luke was leaning over her, whispering something but she couldn’t make out the words. She blinked her eyes, trying to make sense of where she was and what was happening but before she could register anything, she fell back into nothingness.
The next time she woke, she was clearly in a hospital bed. Dickie was sitting in a hideous vinyl green chair, looking disheveled but thumbing through a magazine.
“Hey,” Annika croaked. “What happened?”
He jumped at the sound of her voice and tossed the book aside, leaning in toward her. Then she remembered. She jolted up and touched her stomach.
“Where is my baby?” she screamed. “What happened?”
“Shhh! Shhh! He’s fine, Annie, everything is fine. You lost a lot of blood. He was delivered last night. He’s very small, but he’s okay.”
“Where is he? Give me my baby!” A nurse hurried into the room.
“Ah, Annika! You’re awake! Your baby is fine. He’s eating and pooping. We’ll bring him to you right now. Just relax, honey.” Annika stared at her for a moment and then eased her tense posture as the medical aide’s words registered. She nodded at the nurse who promptly left the room, presumably to get the child.
“What happened?” she asked Dickie. “How did this happen?”
“You are dangerously anemic. You never went to a doctor, or they would have caught this. You could have died in childbirth, you dumb ass.”
“Was Luke here?” Dickie looked uncomfortable. “I thought I saw him. Maybe I was dreaming.”
“Luke…delivered the baby, Annika.”
“What! How the fuck…what the fuck…what do you mean?” she gasped. Dickie rushed on to explain.
“I found you on the floor when I got home, and we needed to get you to a hospital. I knew an ambulance would take too long. We needed a car. Luke was the only person I could think of to call. By the time he arrived, the baby was coming. You were unconscious so you couldn’t push…so, um…so…”
“So what?” Annika demanded, tasting bile in her mouth.
“So…uh…Luke reached up in there…and, uh…”
“Oh my God.” Annika began to gag slightly. Not only did he know about the baby, but he was also forced to deliver him in the worst scenario possible. “He’s never coming back, is he?”
Dickie did not look up from the floor. At that moment the pert young nurse came back into the room, holding a small bundle wrapped in a standard hospital blanket. She gently dropped the package into Annika’s outstretched arms. It’s just you and me, little guy. He opened his half-closed lids, and she was staring into her own cerulean blue eyes. Then he gurgled and smiled and fell asleep.
She named him Richard Luther, but she and Dickie called him Richie. They moved into a small house near the Robinson’s farm so Dickie could help his parents. Annika was falling into a routine with Richie which consisted of mostly sleeping and eating. To earn some extra money, she had started teaching vocal lessons to the local kids, including JJ and Louisa. Lucy often came with casseroles and lasagnas, but Annika knew that she was secretly there to play with Richie. She’s a natural born mom. I wish I had her instincts. Annika felt like she couldn’t do anything right when it came to Richie. He was always putting something in his mouth he shouldn’t, crying inconsolably or screaming bloody murder for reasons she could not discern. Yet when Lucy was around, he was an angel. Regardless of the constantly full home, Annika was incessantly lonely. She missed Luke terribly.
Richie had finally given up throwing a fit that afternoon and resigned to nap when there was a knock on the door. Dickie was on the farm, and Annika was looking forward to taking a power sleep also. Dammit, Lucy! I could have used you twenty minutes ago! As Annika threw open the door, expecting to see the cheerful brunette, she was stunned to see Luke on her doorstep. Before she could utter a word, he stepped over the threshold and kissed her. Annika went to step back, but Luke overpowered her, kicking the door shut with his foot. His hand encircled the back of her neck, and he pressed his mouth against hers, bruising her lips. There was no sign of the gentle, boyish Luke she had grown to know. He bit her lower lip and stared into her eyes as if challenging her to stop him. Time froze as they looked at one another. Suddenly, she pulled his face toward hers, their tongues meeting and teasing. He pulled her head back and ran his mouth over her slender throat, down behind her ear and met hers again. She backed up against the wall and allowed for him to pull off her sweater, hands trailing down her back and up her breasts to erect, full nipples. He bit her lip again, this time drawing blood. His hand rested on her throat, pinning her against the wall as his face moved around her engorged breasts. He licked the milk away and moved his free hand up her skirt between her legs and slid his fingers over her throbbing clit. He sighed when he felt her wetness. He began making soft circles with his finger over the pulsating button. Annika moaned quietly, and his hand tightened around her throat. Her eyes rolled back, and she closed her lids as she felt a rush go through her, bringing her closer to climax as his fingers worked up speed. She was beginning to rise on her tiptoes as she got more and wetter until suddenly she knew she was about to cum. Breathing heavily, she dug her hands into Luke’s shoulders and abruptly, her legs were wrapped around his waist as he plunged into her, hard and deep, without warning but in perfect time to her orgasm. She squirted hot and fast over his huge, rock hard cock as he continued to nibble on her neck, his hands firmly on her perfect ass, pummeling into her like a beast. She screamed out, lost in the heat of being pounded against that wall. The angle was hitting her just so that she was having orgasm after orgasm, soaking Luke so that her juices were dripping down his balls onto the floor. Faster he pounded on her, gearing up for his own ejaculation.
“You are mine. You belong with me, Annika.” And he came hard inside her, she could feel him in every inch of her body.
The wedding was scheduled for the last Saturday in May. Annika didn’t want to push her luck by setting a June wedding date.
“The universe has already been too good to me,” she told Dickie. He had laughed. “The universe only hands out equal and opposite reactions to what you put in, my dear Annika. If you’re getting good things, you must have done something right.”
“Tell that to my step-dad,” Annika muttered. She was getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Dickie was already set to go, looking exceptionally dapper in a black dress shirt and khakis.
“Your step-father was a porn producer who seduced your mother, one of his actresses,” Dickie replied flatly. “He’s hardly one to give advice or opinions on anything.” Annika spun and looked at him
“I never told you that. How do you know that about Larry?” Dickie shrugged and laughed.
“I know you like to think you’re mysterious, Annie, but there is very little Google doesn’t know if you ask the right questions.” He smiled at her. “You have never looked more beautiful, fire crotch. Motherhood becomes you.” Annika ran a hand through her hair and smiled back at him. Then her beam faded as she saw the sadness in her best friend’s eye.
“What’s wrong, Dickie?”
“Nothing! Why?”
“I can tell somethin
g’s up.” His smile faltered a bit.
“I am so happy for you, Annie. I really am. I…I just hope my time comes soon too.”
They were late arriving, and when they got there, Luke mockingly gave Annie a lecture.
“Late to your own party? This won’t fly once we’re married!”
“Once we’re married, I won’t have to dress a queen!” Annika retorted. Instantly, a man flew to Luke’s side.
“Did someone say queen?” he asked, delicately, extending a hand toward Annika. Luke rolled his eyes.
“No one was talking about you, Andrew. This is my fiancée, Annie and her friend, Dickie. He’s the queen we meant…this time. Guys, this is my cousin, Andrew.” Dickie shook his hand, and Annika noticed an instant spark between the two.
“Let’s go, wife, before they start redecorating our house,” Luke joked.
“That is ignorant and stereotypical!” Dickie yelled after them.
“It’s not our fault you think garden gnomes are cute!” Andrew screamed simultaneously. Howling with laughter, Luke and Annika ducked into the garden and stole away to Louisa’s swing set.
“I love you, Annika,” Luke told her, looking into her eyes with the same affection and adoration he had from the first day he had seen her. “I love you and our son, and I will never let you go.”
“Luke, I have something to tell you.” The look of bliss faded from his face. He squeezed her hands.
“You can tell me anything, and I will love you. I promise. Always. What is it?”
“I’m pregnant. We’re going to have another baby.”
The Art of Desire
A Billionaire Romance
Veronica Cross
The Art of Desire
Copyright 2017 by Veronica Cross
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.
Chapter One
It was a beautiful morning in Cobble Hill. Through his office window, Clifford could see seagulls swooping low over the surface of the East River, snatching slow-moving fish swimming too near to the surface, for their breakfast. He watched them for a long moment, carefully ignoring everything that his assistant Madison was saying.
His coffee was hot and sweet, exactly how he liked it. He was drinking it from a bowl he’d commissioned from Shiho Kanzaki. Like all of Shiho’s work, it was perfectly balanced and exquisitely functional. She’d glazed it in earthen tones that evoked the low rolling hills that surrounded her hometown, Koka City.
Clifford smiled. When Shiho had let him know his bowl was done, he’d immediately ordered his pilot to fly him to her studio. His private helicopter had created quite a stir. While air traffic over the Shiga prefecture was not uncommon, having a aircraft touch down in the town square was.
“I don’t see why you’re laughing,” Madison snapped. “Thirty-two million dollars is a lot of money. You’ve made a laughing stock of yourself.”
“I would have been a bigger laughing stock if I let an undiscovered Magritte go,” Clifford replied. “And I wasn’t the only one interested. Ross had people making inquiries.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard. They’re saying they knew it was a fake the minute they laid eyes on it.” Madison pressed her fingertips against the side of her temple, perfectly manicured nails just brushing against the edge of her tightly curled hair. Her brown eyes flashed. “Apparently it’s not funny enough to be a real Magritte.”
Clifford chuckled again. “Wilbur Ross wouldn’t know a joke if it walked up to him and gave him a big juicy kiss.”
“And yet he’s not the one with a bogus painting.” Madison shook her head. “You are.”
“It’s not a bad little painting.” Clifford turned to regard the artwork in question, which was currently leaning against his office wall. A stylized woman with cube-like arms and a blocky torso played a violin. “It reminds me of Georgette at the Piano.”
“It’s meant to remind you of Georgette at the Piano.” Madison lit a cigarette, taking several quick puffs. “That’s rather the point. If it didn’t look like a Magritte, you never would have given it a second glance.”
“I don’t know about that.” Clifford tilted his head, looking at the painting with renewed interest. “It’s quite well-done.” He shifted his gaze to Madison. “Anyway, I thought you told me that you gave up smoking.”
“I started again.” It was Madison’s turn to stare out the penthouse window.
“Obviously,” Clifford said. “I wish you wouldn’t. It’s a filthy habit. And it’s not very good for your health.”
“Do you know what’s not good for my health, Clifford?” Madison asked. “Getting calls from Bloomberg reporters before the sun even comes up, about a painting I didn’t even know you were considering…”
“For goodness sakes, Madison. I was in Antwerp. Why in the world would I be there if it wasn’t for the collection?”
Madison rolled her eyes. “People do buy diamonds.”
“And who am I going to buy diamonds for?” Clifford shook his head. “You want to talk about a waste of money. The sums people put down for shiny rocks – it’s a racket, pure and simple. But if I’d come back with some ridiculous stone, you wouldn’t be complaining.”
“Sure I would,” Madison snapped back. “If it turned out that stone was fake.” Her expression softened, slightly. “It’s not a bad painting, boss. I’ll give you that. But it’s not a Magritte, and it’s definitely not worth thirty-two million.”
“I trusted Hans.” Clifford shrugged. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Hans?” Madison cocked her head. “I thought you bought this through Jan Mot.”
Clifford shook his head. “He’s never around anymore. He’s putting all of his attention into opening a gallery in Mexico City. What he thinks he’ll find there, I don’t know.” He finished his coffee and sat the empty bowl carefully on his desk. “Hans used to work with Jan; I remember him assisting us on some previous buys.”
“Which buys?” Madison asked. “Because, forgive me, but I’d really like to have a second opinion on those pieces as well.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Clifford snapped. “I’m not going to have you upending everything and causing chaos just because I made one bad buy.” He glanced at Madison’s expression and proceeded more diplomatically. “Anyway, they’ve all been vetted and insured for years now. I’m sure they’re fine.”
“So this Hans is working independently?”
“That’s my understanding.”
“And the odds of us recovering any money from him…”
“He’s willing to work with us, with the police, in making this right. He passed most of the money along, of course, in the course of the deal.” Clifford shook his head. “He’s just as much a victim in this as I am.”
“So he’s returned his commission?” Madison asked.
Clifford nodded. “Every penny.”
“Well, that’s something.” Madison worked some numbers in her head. “That means you’ve only lost twenty-two million or so.”
“Let’s not say lost,” Clifford replied. “Let’s say temporarily separated from.”
Madison rolled her eyes. “You can say what you want, but i
t’s not going to change the fact that you can’t keep doing this. As your advisor, I’ve got to insist that you take real, meaningful steps to protect yourself going forward.”
“And what does that mean to you, exactly?” Clifford spread his hands. “Everything about this buy seemed legit. We know some of Magritte’s stuff got squirreled away in Antwerp during the war. The people who took possession then are dying now. Their heirs don’t care about the art – they just want the money, and they want it fast. They’ll sell this stuff to anyone, Madison. You know that. Even the Chinese.”
“Forgive me for not worrying about whether or not the Chinese buy fake paintings,” Madison said. “I just need you to stop doing it.” She shook her head. “The accounting is a nightmare.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You were careful!” Madison protested. “Careful is not good enough. I want you to work with an independent expert from now on. Someone who can double check what you’re being told by the dealers.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
“And I’m sure it is.” Madison slammed her hand down on the surface of Clifford’s desk, startling them both. “Listen, if you’re going to throw these tremendous sums of money about, you need counsel. You wouldn’t go buy a company without having an advisor doing the due diligence first. You don’t approve any investment unless the team comes to you with results of research. All I’m asking is that you treat your art collection with the same degree of seriousness and professionalism.”
Clifford stared at her. He was clearly angry. His face was red, from his neck right up to his blond hairline. His lips were pressed together, and the vein on the side of his forehead was throbbing. Yet for a long time, he said nothing.
“This is too much money to trust your instincts,” Madison continued.
“My instincts are good,” Clifford said, clipping off each word, “most of the time.”
“And having an independent expert verify that does us nothing but good. Buy what you want, Clifford. I don’t care. But I want you to buy it knowing full well what you’re getting.” Madison crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t want any more pre-dawn calls from snarky Bloomberg reporters.”
The Virgin Secretary: A Billionaire Romance Page 25