Passionate Kisses 2 Boxed Set: Love in Bloom

by Magda Alexander

  My low vision is a sore subject with me. I’m not totally blind. I can see shadows, shapes. But everything is a muddled yellow. My doctor tells me my injury is not permanent, but it will take a risky operation to regain my sight. If the surgery is not successful what little vision I have will be gone. Not willing to take that chance, I’ve made accommodations to cope with my faulty vision. At the office, my computer reading apps and the e-reader machine transcribe the written word. And I have two excellent assistants who take care of things beyond my powers.

  At home, everything is as it always has been. My valet handles my clothes. My chauffeur drives me anywhere I need to go. My butler oversees the mansion. An occasional visit from Minouette satisfies my sexual needs. And now Ms. Bennett will fill the other holes in my life, smoothing things over to make sure everything is as I need them to be. I slide her resume over the flat part of the machine and listen while the e-reader reads it to me. Once I have the general gist of her credentials, I turn off the apparatus. “I see you graduated from the University of Maryland with a degree in business administration. You will learn my business, Ms. Bennett. But you will not work on that side of it. I have two very capable executive assistants who do that at the office. Does that work for you?” I doubt she’ll turn me down.

  She offers the barest hesitation before she agrees. “Yes.”

  “Good.” I wave my hand out the window. “Given the weather conditions, it’s impossible to move your things tonight, but see to it as soon as possible.”

  “I will.”

  A rustle tells me she’s standing up. “Thank you. I’ll be here in the morning bright and early.”

  I scrunch my brow. “I thought you understood. I need you to start tonight.”

  “Tonight? But I don’t have-”

  I cock a brow. “I thought we just agreed.”

  She makes a noise of some kind. Frustration, more than like. A hitched breath later, she says, “Fine. No problem.”

  She’s learning. Good. When I give an order, I expect to be obeyed. Without questions. Without arguments. “My butler will assign you a room. He’s waiting outside for you. Dinner will be served promptly at seven. Don’t be late.”

  “Very well.”

  I nod toward the door. “You can leave now.”

  Her retreating steps tell me she’s obeying my command. My imagination paints a picture of her firm ass as she makes her way toward the door. Not a guess on my part. My hand inadvertently brushed against it when she tripped and fell across my lap. Desire stirs. She’s roused a hunger, my new personal assistant. Inconvenient, but manageable. I don’t screw the help. Never have. Never will. It’s time to give the escort service a call and quench my passion in Minouette.

  Chapter Three

  Caitlyn

  I emerge from his office to find a man waiting for me. Tall, with a dash of gray at his temple, impeccably dressed in the livery of a servant. “Good afternoon, Ms. Bennett.”

  How on earth does he know my name?

  His eyes smile kindly on me. “You’re Mr. MacKay’s new assistant?”

  “Yes, but how did you know?”

  “Mr. MacKay buzzed me. A button underneath his desk connects with the kitchen.”

  That’s quite a trick, and one I didn’t catch.

  “May I show you to your room?” he asks, waving his hand toward the curving staircase in the front of the house.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I follow him up the stairs to the second floor. The space assigned to me is bigger than my whole apartment. Not only does it include a king-size bed, but a sitting area with a love seat, coffee tables and lamps.

  “And here’s the bathroom. Mr. MacKay provides robes to his guests. You will find it on the back of the door.”

  Well, that will come in handy.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry. What is your name?”

  “Moseley.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Moseley.”

  “No need to add the mister.”

  Allrighty. “Thank you, Moseley.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

  “Okay.” My stomach grumbles again. Darn it.

  That kind smile makes an appearance again. “Dinner will be served in an hour, but maybe you’d like a small tray to tide you over until then?”

  My face heats up. “No. I’ll wait. Thank you.”

  After he leaves, I decide to fetch my emergency bag from my car, the one in which I keep an extra set of clothes. Somehow I manage to sneak out and return without anyone seeing me and, in less than five minutes, I’m back in my room. I shower and slip into the clothes in the bag.

  A few minutes before seven, I report for dinner. The dining room is stunning. A glass-topped table twinkles with white and silver plates, elegant silver flatware, gorgeous crystal goblets. A crystal chandelier reigns over it all. Everything shines just like his office. The man loves sparkly things. So sad he can’t see them.

  Mr. MacKay sits at the far side of the table, frowning. I’m beginning to think that expression is permanently edged into his features. Before I get a chance to sit down, he barks at me. “You’re wearing different clothes.”

  During our short acquaintance, I’ve learned barking out words is his modus operandi. And he enjoys watching me jump. So I’m not doing it, not this time. I take my time taking my seat and draping my napkin over my lap before I respond. “I had clean clothes in the back of my car.” I always carry a change of clothing in case my junker breaks down. Glad I had it tonight. That way I can switch outfits for a couple of days until I have a chance to fetch more things. “How did you know?”

  “The sound you make when you walk. It’s different. You’re not wearing that short skirt, but slacks of some kind.”

  “Jeans.” Good lord. He has the ears of a bat.

  “Someone in the staff can clean the clothes you wore this afternoon. You may arrange that after dinner.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the tip.” From the big, fat snowflakes falling outside the window, it looks like we’re in for a big storm. So I won’t be able to get back to my apartment and fetch more clothes any time soon. It will be nice to have clean clothes to wear until then.

  “You’re wearing perfume. A musk of some kind.” His upper lip curls in distaste.

  “Yes.” I’d picked it up at the corner drugstore because it smelled good and had been on sale.

  “Don’t wear it anymore. I can’t abide strong scents.”

  “Very well.”

  The aroma of something delicious wafts in the air as the butler approaches with a tureen. When he ladles the soup into my bowl, my stomach rumbles. Again. I wish it’d cut it out, but honestly what can I expect? I’ve eaten nothing since breakfast which consisted of a piece of dry toast. Embarrassed, I cover the noise with a slight cough.

  Mr. MacKay snaps the napkin to his side before dropping it across his lap. “Do you have a passport?”

  I pause with the soup spoon halfway to my mouth. “No. I’ve never had the need for one.”

  “Well, you have a need now. I’ll have my AA call to get your details. We’ll put a rush on it. At month’s end you’ll be traveling overseas with me.” He dips the spoon into his soup, brings it to his mouth.

  I’ve never studied men’s lips before. Too busy with school and work to pay much attention to guys. But I can’t help but stare at his. They’re perfectly shaped, like they’ve been carved from stone. When he curls them around the curve of the spoon and drinks from its bowl, I let out a trembling breath.

  His gaze snaps up.

  Oh, gosh. He heard me. Embarrassed to be caught drooling over him, I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Umm, is there a job manual somewhere?” A fair question. He hadn’t been exactly expansive about the job requirements, and I’d like to excel at this job. Not only does my pride require it, but if I don’t do just that, my keister might be out on the street in record time. Mr. MacKay does not appear the type to suffer fools gladly.

  “No. Ther
e isn’t. I want you to learn as you go along.”

  I’m a fast learner and love a challenge, but it would be nice to have something or someone to ask questions about the job. “Was there a previous personal assistant?”

  His spoon clatters to the edge of the plate, as his lip curls in derision. “Yes. She didn’t last long, just like the other three before her.”

  My breath hitches. The thought of losing this job before I even start terrifies me. I need the money to pay my mother’s expensive medical bills. A year ago, after being diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer, she underwent an aggressive regime of chemo treatments and radiation therapy. The costs were staggering. Her insurance paid most but not all. Wanting the best for her, I signed a note, promising to pay the difference. Unfortunately, by the time they discovered the cancer she was too far gone. So the treatments only helped to prolong her misery. Toward the end, she couldn’t take it anymore and asked me to let her go. I honored her wishes and she passed away a few months ago. A wave of sadness sweeps over me and a stray tear rolls down my cheek. I use my napkin to mop up the moisture hoping neither he nor the butler noticed my loss of composure.

  Apparently, Sterling MacKay didn’t. He’s eating his soup like he didn’t just drop a bomb into the conversation. Maybe it’s just business as usual for him, but I need to know why his last PA left. “So what happened? Did she quit or …”

  He snorts. “She left a month ago. Went home to marry her college sweetheart.” He rests his spoon again as if a thought just occurred to him. “You don’t have one, do you?”

  I take offense at the personal question. What business is it of him if I have a boyfriend? But then logic comes to the rescue. Of course he needs to know. He’ll want to make sure I don’t up and quit on him like my predecessor did. “No. Between work and school, I was too busy for a social life.” And what little free time I had I spent at the nursing home watching my mother die. But I’m not revealing that part of my past. The pain’s too fresh, too intense to share.

  “Where did you work?”

  “I waited tables. Lousy pay, good tips.” I hadn’t listed my waitressing job on my resume. My college career adviser recommended against it since she didn’t think it would help me land a professional job.

  “How long did you work there?”

  “A year.” After my mother had been diagnosed, we discovered her insurance covered the necessities, but not the more expensive treatments. So I’d gotten a job to help pay the bills. When the cancer advanced to the point she needed more extensive care, she entered a hospice. That had been six months ago. Unable to swing both the rent and her more expensive treatments, I’d terminated the lease on the house we’d lived in since I was little, put our things in storage and found an apartment sharing situation. My part-time wages barely made rent and utilities, so I picked up extra shifts at the restaurant every chance I got. This job’s an answer to a prayer so I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.

  “You are familiar with my business?”

  Fine time for him to ask. After he’s hired me. “Yes. I researched MacKay Industries before the interview.”

  He puts down the spoon again. At this rate, he’ll never finish the shrimp and corn chowder which is to die for.

  “So tell me about my company.”

  “It’s a biotechnology firm. You develop technologies and products that help improve our lives and the health of our planet.”

  He laughs. “Did you get that from the company’s website?”

  I blush. “Yes. But I did further research on the internet.”

  “Do you approve of my business, Ms. Bennett?”

  Odd question that. “Yes. I do. You create useful food products, such as bread and cheese, combat rare diseases, figure out a way to use less and cleaner energy, and devise more efficient industrial manufacturing processes. What’s there not to approve?”

  “Some people think it’s unnatural.”

  “To use the assets in our planet to improve people’s lives? I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I. And yet, they’re out there.”

  The butler removes my now empty soup bowl, and Sterling MacKay’s which is half full. A shame. He needs to eat more. He’s too thin for his height.

  “Is that a problem for you?” I ask.

  He temples his hands over the table while waiting for the next course to be served and stares into nothing. “I don’t allow it to be a problem.”

  Makes sense. He hasn’t gotten to where he is if he’d allow misguided opinions to interfere with his chosen course.

  “What about me? Did you research me?”

  His question thumps me back to earth. If I say no, he’ll know I’m lying. If I say yes, he’ll realize I was nosy enough to learn everything about him. Better go with the truth. “You graduated from Princeton, earned a master’s degree from the Wharton School of Business.”

  “What about my personal life?”

  Uh oh. This information I got from gossip magazines. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “You enjoy adventure sports-skiing, deep sea diving, racing. That’s how you … got hurt. You crashed during an amateur car race.”

  “I didn’t crash. Some idiot drove me into a retaining wall. I don’t race any more. Obviously.” His mouth twists.

  Better move on to a happier subject. “You’re engaged to Meredith Duncan.” A socialite, heir to the Duncan fortune.

  “Was engaged. We broke it off after the accident.”

  Oh, geesh. Now I’ve put my foot in it. I hadn’t read anything in the magazines about that. Are they keeping the break up hush hush? To keep from thinking about the humongous gaffe I made, I butter my bread, pop a bite into my mouth. The delicious roll practically melts in my mouth, and I moan.

  “You haven’t drunk your wine.” His voice’s gone gravelly. Is he upset at me because I brought up the subject of his ex-fiancee? It’s got to be a sore subject with him. I’ll need to discover as much as I can about him so I don’t step on his toes any more than I have to.

  “How do you know?”

  “I didn’t hear you drink.”

  Good lord. “Red wine gives me a headache.”

  “What do you drink then?”

  During Christmas, my roommate brought home a wine I’d liked, but other than its color I didn’t notice what kind. “White?”

  He waves a hand at his butler. “Moseley, bring up a bottle of the Domaine Leflaive Les Folatieres Cru.” He rattles off the name in flawless French.

  “Yes, Mr. MacKay.” Moseley sketches a small bow before he exits through a door in the back of the dining room.

  Folding his hands over his plate, he smiles. Clearly, I amuse him. Is that why he hired me? I fiddle with my glass goblet, not sure if I should be offended or let it go.

  When he brushes his hand against his brow and his lips twist in pain, I chastise myself for being so small minded. My behavior gives him a bit of joy. Who am I to take that small comfort from him?

  We discuss the weather while we wait for Moseley. After a couple of minutes, he enters with the wine. “We’ll need to let it breathe a bit, Sir. Should I wait on the main course?”

  “No. Serve it now.” He waves a hand in my direction. “I believe Ms. Bennett is hungry.”

  I blush. So he’d noticed my inhaling the soup. Couldn’t help it. The shrimp and corn chowder was delicious.

  “Very well, Mr. MacKay.” The butler disappears through the door which probably leads to the kitchen. He returns with a serving tray which holds two plates. One whiff of the beef bourguignon and the roasted potatoes almost brings me to tears.

  When he serves me, I say, “Thank you, Moseley. It smells delicious.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Bennett.”

  “You may serve the wine now.” Sterling MacKay clips out.

  Did it bother him? That small exchange between his butler and me? I don’t see why. I can’t very well ignore the man, can I?

  After Moseley fills our glasses with the wine, Ste
rling MacKay sniffs the spirit, takes a small sip and swirls it in his mouth.

  Wanting to not appear a complete yokel, I follow suit. Oh, my Lord. The cool wine tastes of honey and some spice. It’s the best thing I’ve ever drunk. “Ummmmm.”

  Both men stare at me like I’m some exotic animal.

  “Sorry,” I say returning the wine goblet to the table.

  “Don’t apologize, Miss Bennett. I’m glad you appreciate the wine.” Once more, he tucks his napkin over his lap like it’s in danger of slipping off.

  The rest of the dinner consists of him asking me questions about my college life, my studies. I answer them as truthfully as I can while I gobble down the food. Dessert is chocolate cake. I almost faint with pleasure on my first bite.

  Once our dessert plates and coffee service are removed, he asks me to leave. He probably doesn’t want me to see him stand. I gladly comply. For the food alone, I would put up with any amount of odd behavior on his part.

  Chapter Four

  Sterling

  The next morning, I stroll into the dining room in my usual Sunday morning attire-trousers, shirt, a v-neck cashmere sweater. The trousers are gray, the shirt white and the sweater a heather blue. Not that I can tell. My valet chooses my clothes for me.

  “Mr. MacKay?” Moseley sounds bewildered. “I sent the maid up with your breakfast. I thought you’d be eating in your room.”

  “Not today.” I couldn’t resist the temptation of hearing Ms. Bennett enjoy Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, our usual Sunday morning breakfast fare.

  She arrives in a rush, from the sound of it wearing the same skirt from the interview. Given the state of the weather-it snowed twelve inches overnight-I’ll probably enjoy a couple more days of suffering through that particular outfit before she can replenish her wardrobe.

  Why am I so preoccupied with her? I never felt this way about her predecessor. Inwardly, I shrug. Maybe it’s boredom setting in. Six months with no outlet for my energy-no skiing, no racing, no mountain climbing-would do that to a man used to physical activity. Problem is, she more than amuses me.