by Geneva Lee
“So I’m not in charge of the estate anymore?”
“I thought you would be pleased.” Even over the phone, I heard his confusion.
“I am!” I said in a rush. “I just want to understand why. I don’t want to get excited if she’s going to drop this in my lap tomorrow.”
There was a pause on the other end, then John cleared his throat. “I suppose I should have run all of this by you. I assumed when your husband dropped off the papers and we spoke that you had asked him to handle this business.”
My hands reached for a chair and I rolled it to me. I had a feeling I shouldn’t be standing when I heard this.
“The documents had your signatures,” John continued.
“Of course.” My buzzing brain was depriving me of any more useful statements. I had signed papers regarding the estate, adding Smith as a legal owner, but something told me I’d given him even more control.
“Your husband asked me to take over control of the estate until it could be transferred or sold.”
A weight I’d never realized was on my chest lifted when he spoke. Tears formed immediately in my eyes and I tried to blink them away. Across the studio, Lola stopped in her tracks to stare at me. I waved her off and swiveled the chair to face the window so she wouldn’t be privy to the spectacle I was making of myself.
“Belle?” John prompted. “If you didn’t consent…”
“No,” I said a bit too quickly. “I mean—no, I do consent. Things have been a little crazy here. I didn’t realize Smith had settled it.”
“It’s odd. Your mother has threatened to sue for the estate or sell it for years, but that never felt like the right decision for you. I had no doubt when Mr. Price showed up that he had your best interests at heart. He seems like a good man.”
“And you sound like a protective older brother,” I teased softly.
“That brings up another point I would like to discuss with you.” He stumbled as he spoke, and I braced myself for the bad news I’d been expecting when I took the call. “I’d like you to consider selling the estate to me.”
“But…” I shook my head to clear it. “I never realized you wanted it.”
“I didn’t want to take it from you. I still won’t, even though there is a legal case that it should be mine.”
“That’s news to me,” I managed.
“Please don’t think I’m threatening you,” John said quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of taking it away, but if you are considering selling it, I hope you will consider selling it to me. I know there’s some debate as to whether I’m a Stuart.”
“There’s never been a question,” I said in a firm voice. “Don’t let one person make you doubt who you are. But I’m sorry, there’s no way I can sell you the estate.”
“I understand.”
“Because you’ve always had as much of a right to it as I have,” I added before he could get the wrong idea. “Maybe it’s time for a Stuart with good intentions to take the helm.”
“You’re giving it to me?” I could hear his incredulity through the phone.
“Imagine how pissed off my mother will be.” It probably didn’t speak highly of me that I enjoyed that fact.
“I’m not going to kick her out.”
He should.
“But I am in negotiations with the BBC.”
I cringed, because even with my name removed from ownership of the estate, I didn’t want Philip to see this as a peace offering. “I suppose that is your decision.”
“Smith secured exclusive location rights for the next two series,” he continued. “Philip Abernathy was being difficult and he saw an opportunity. He’s turned over the rest of the process to me.”
“So they aren’t going to film at his house anymore.” I couldn’t help but smile.
“Only Stuart Hall,” he confirmed.
“You really are the best.”
“I could say the same for you,” he said with a snort. “Given that an arrangement has been reached, although I’m waiting on contracts, Mary has agreed to drop the lawsuit.”
“Are you a magician?” I asked, half serious.
“Nope, I’m a lawyer. Never underestimate my profession.” He paused for a moment. “You married a smart man, Belle.”
And a kind man and an under-appreciated man, I added silently. While I’d spent the last few days accusing my husband of not caring, he’d been working behind the scenes to free me from the burdens of my past. I wouldn’t miss Stuart Hall. He understood that more than most, and he understood me more than anyone.
I thanked John and hung up. Rushing toward the door, I grabbed my purse off the floor.
“Leaving already?” Lola called.
“Yes, and you should too. It’s Christmas Eve,” I reminded her.
“Not all of us have a sexy hunk of man to drag under the mistletoe.”
We’d have to work on that, I decided, but for now I needed to get home to the best gift I’d received all year long: the love of my life.
Chapter 22
The small tree drooped under the weight of the dozen or so glass ornaments Smith had placed on its branches. This Christmas tree hadn’t grown up before it was chopped down and hauled to market. It looked like something out of a sad children’s book.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“I waited too long,” he said in a soft voice behind me.
I whirled around, coming face to face with my own Christmas miracle. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and he’d already abandoned his tie for the evening. He watched me hawkishly, no doubt wondering what extreme my mood would swing to this evening. But even as he studied me, his eyes were open and unguarded. I sucked in a breath as I took in the full force of those green eyes, remembering the day we met. He’d never tried to hide himself from me. Not really. Smith had hidden his past and his sins, but he’d always shown me exactly the man he was. It hadn’t been the choices he had made up until this moment that defined him, but rather it was the absolute capability to make different ones. He had done bad things, but he was a good man. My confidence in that was as unshakable as my love for him.
And I’d spent the last few weeks making him doubt that.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He grinned, leaning into the doorframe. “For the tree?”
“For the pain,” I said quietly.
“Oh, beautiful”—he reached out and trailed his index finger along the curve of my face—“it was worth the pain.”
“All of it?” I nuzzled my cheek into the palm of his hand.
“Always and forever.” There was a reverence in his tone that stole my breath.
I’d been too caught up in my own grief—my own agony—to see that he was hurting, too. He had been the strong one when I needed to be weak. He’d carried the burden of my responsibilities when I couldn’t find the strength. I owed him more than I could ever give him in return, but I would start trying from this moment. I would choose joy over anger. Courage over fear. I would choose him.
“You’re quiet again, beautiful.” He spoke with an apprehensiveness that showed exactly how carefully he’d learned to tread around me.
I swallowed against the swelling ache in my throat. “I was thinking of how much I love you.”
“What a coincidence, I was thinking how much I love you,” he said with a smirk. God, how I had missed that arrogant grin.
“Oh yeah?” I cocked an eyebrow, hoping the light teasing would prevent me from turning into a blubbering, sentimental mess.
“Yes,” he said, “and I was also imagining how you’re going to look spread naked under that tree. It’s the only hope it has for raising my holiday spirits.”
I launched myself at him, nearly knocking him over as I smashed my lips against his.
“Hold on.” He pulled back, laughing at my enthusiasm. “I have a present for you.”
“So do I.” I’d almost forgotten, too caught up in the moment. “Me first.”
Desp
ite today’s earlier shopping experience, I’d stopped at Harrods on my way home. Opening my purse, I found the box I’d nestled inside. I bit my lip nervously as I withdrew it.
“Are you going to give it to me?” Smith asked.
I held it out tentatively, a sudden and unexpected shyness overtaking me. He took the box and plucked off the red ribbon the salesgirl had tied around it. Inside he revealed a thick gold band. It was simple, its edges blunt and sharp. The ring was masculine without being ostentatious, powerful without showing off.
“I figured it was time.” My words scratched across my dry tongue. “If you don’t like it…”
“I don’t like it,” he said immediately, and my heart sank. “I love it.”
He took it and slipped it onto his finger.
“Does this mean you still want to be married to me?” he asked softly.
I’d given him reason to doubt that. It wasn’t something that I could take back, but I could prove to him that I hadn’t made my commitment lightly, starting today.
“Would you consider putting up with me for the rest of our lives?” I asked him.
“I thought you would never ask.” Leaning down, he kissed me hard on the lips. My body responded. I’d punished myself by denying my need for him for far too long. It was a mistake I planned to remedy as soon as possible, but Smith drew back. “Now it’s my turn.”
“I can’t wait,” I said breathlessly. Right now there was only one thing I was interested in unwrapping.
Smith peeled himself away and led me toward the tree and a single gift-wrapped package.
“I’m afraid it’s not as lavish as yours,” he said, holding it out to me.
It was rectangular in shape and lightweight. I turned it over in my hand, trying to puzzle out what was under the paper.
“It helps if you open it,” he advised.
I smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m taking my time. If you’re going to force me to be patient then you have to be as well.”
But I was actually dying to rip off that paper. I glanced at him, then the present.
“Go ahead,” he prompted.
I tore into it with a glee I hadn’t felt since I was a child. Somehow being with him made everything new again. I was no longer too grown-up for things like Christmas presents. Love had reopened doors I’d closed on myself.
Inside I found a copy of Honey to the B, Billie Piper’s debut album. Her picture stared back at me from the cover, a knowing look on her face.
Smith didn’t know everything about me, but he was listening.
“I just want you to know that I fully support you if you decide you want to revisit becoming a pop star.” But despite the teasing words, his voice was thick.
“You’ve never heard me sing.” My own voice cracked as I cradled the gift to my chest. It had probably cost him less than ten pounds, but it was priceless.
Smith cupped my face with his hands and gazed into my eyes.
“I want to know everything about you. I want you to know everything about me. All the stupid stuff we hide from everyone else—I don’t want to hide that from you. I want you to share every moment of your life leading up to the moment we met, because I missed out by not being there. I can’t even remember what life was like before we met. Somehow when I look back at my past, you’re still there. You’re part of me, and I can’t see myself as anyone but that man who fell in love with you.” He caught the first tear as it hit my cheek, brushing it away. “We aren’t going to learn everything overnight, but that’s why we have a lifetime, beautiful. We have forever.”
Forever couldn’t start soon enough.
“Make love to me,” I whispered.
“Beautiful, you don’t have to ask me twice.” He stepped toward me, but I held up a hand.
There was no way I could wait for the bedroom. I’d been fantasizing about our reunion all afternoon. Just making it to Harrods to buy a ring had been an exercise in patience. “I’ve been imagining this all afternoon,” I admitted. “Just knowing your hands would be on me again made me want to touch myself.”
“You didn’t dare though,” he said, darkness clouding his eyes.
I shivered at his possessive tone. Shaking my head, I reached for the buttons on my coat. “I didn’t,” I promised him, “but I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind opening two presents on Christmas Eve.”
“What did you have in mind, beautiful?” He licked his lower lip as if he already knew the answer.
My sex went damp at the sight of his tongue. Oh God, I wanted that mouth on me.
“This,” I murmured, tugging my coat open to reveal the French lace negligee I wore underneath it. It barely qualified as a scrap of fabric, leaving my entire body exposed. My nipples perked, pushing against the lace and the open air.
“Have you been walking around London wearing nothing but that under your coat?” A muscle tensed in his jaw as his gaze devoured me.
I squirmed under his piercing stare. He was either pissed off or turned on, but if I knew my husband, he was both. In my world, that was the perfect combination.
“I wanted to be ready for you,” I murmured.
“And you are.” He stalked closer, pushing my coat from my shoulders to the floor. “Such a pretty package. I can’t wait for a taste of what’s underneath this wrapping.”
Smith’s hands ran down my arms, raising goose bumps over my skin. When he reached my hands, he squeezed them for a split second before dropping them. His index finger circled the air, and I turned obediently.
“I can’t decide which present is my favorite,” he mused. He stroked the finger that wore my ring.
“It’s a package deal,” I assured him.
“Best Christmas ever.” His mouth twisted into a wicked grin, a deviant glint shining in his eyes. “Turn around again.”
I pivoted to face the wall, sucking in a breath as he lifted the lacy hem of my lingerie to my waist. His palm stroked across my rear, caressing it with soothing strokes. I groaned as he pushed his hand lower, urging my thighs to spread for him.
He leaned in, whispering gruffly in my ear, “That’s it, beautiful. I want to admire my gift.”
I waited, holding my breath, for him to touch me. Each moment that passed I wanted the rough touch of his fingers or the clever dance of his tongue on my clit, but Smith seemed content to look.
“Please,” I said, finally releasing the air I’d been holding in my lungs.
“I’ve waited for this,” he reminded me. “A connoisseur doesn’t down a glass of wine all at once. He sips. He swirls. He tastes. I’m going to enjoy doing all those things to you, beautiful.”
My hips wriggled as I fought the urge to press my thighs together for relief. The slightest pressure and I would come on the spot—and Smith had barely touched me. All I needed was his presence, because his words were foreplay enough to take me to the edge.
“I can see how wet you are,” he continued, dropping a gentle kiss on my shoulder. I shuddered at the precious contact. “Your cunt is crying for me, isn’t it?”
I whimpered as a warm gush of arousal coated my sex, confirming his claim.
“Answer me,” he commanded.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered in a strangled voice. It felt so good to say those words.
“That’s better,” he said in a quiet voice. “I know what you need, beautiful, and I’m going to give it to you—my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I’m going to fuck you for all the time we’ve lost. First, I want to watch you as you come.”
He snapped his fingers, and I whipped around to see him pointing down. I zeroed in on the bulge straining against his trousers, and I didn’t have to stop to think about what he expected or what I wanted. They were one and the same. My body responded, my knees buckling automatically as I dropped to kneel before him. My fingers didn’t fumble as I unzipped his fly. His heavy cock fell into my hand, and I ran my fingers down its velvety marble as I became keenly aware of the steady, insistent pulse building in my clit.
I lowered my lips to its tip, but Smith stopped me.
“Undress me,” he ordered me.
I shuffled on my knees, the rug burning against my skin as I moved. Drawing his pants down his firm, muscular legs, I waited for him to step out of them. Smith beckoned me to my feet and I licked my lips, glancing back at his dick hungrily.
“I want to watch you,” he reminded me, “and I promise you’ll have your chance.”
There was no chance we’d be getting any sleep tonight. The thought was enough to satisfy me—for now. He wanted to watch me get off, but it seemed he didn’t understand how hot it made me to watch him do the same.
As soon as I was on my feet, he brushed his thumb over my lip, pushing the pad of it into my mouth. “You’re so hungry for my cock. I can see it, beautiful. But I know what you need, don’t I?”
I nodded quickly as he unbuttoned his shirt leisurely. Each soft pop of a button drew a gasp from my mouth. The man could give lessons on sex appeal. Not that I was willing to share him.
Shrugging off his shirt to reveal the carved planes of his chest, he turned and walked to the club chair next to the fireplace. Taking a seat, he stroked the length of his cock. It rose up in invitation and I sauntered to him. This time I didn’t hesitate or wait for instructions. He’d already told me what he wanted—what he expected.
I climbed into the chair, straddling him. Smith swept the tip of his dick across my swollen seam, lubricating it. It was a gesture I appreciated as I positioned myself over him. It was always easier for him to take me from behind or on top due to his sheer size. Dropping my hips, I lowered myself slowly, allowing my body to stretch over his girth. I cried out as I sank farther, swallowing him to the hilt.
I was full of him, and yet, I would never have my fill.
“Take it slowly,” he warned me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
But that wasn’t a sentiment I shared. I’d already begun to roll my hips, savoring the delicious pain as his cock knocked against my womb. He was so deep that every inch of me vibrated with his presence.
“That’s it, beautiful,” he coaxed, guiding my hips in a rocking motion. “Show me how much you love riding your husband’s cock.”