by Mia Caldwell
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
Walker
I’d had a pretty lousy night’s sleep, so I was in no mood to be awaked with a phone call, and sure as hell not one from Mother. You need at least one cup of black coffee before you deal with
Mother. Sometimes with a shot of whiskey in it.
The previous evening with Andrea had set my head spinning, I had been so wound up I couldn’t sleep. Stupidly, I had called Celia to talk about it. We’d been friends since we were little kids, and even though we’d had a few patches of more-than-friends, I figured we’d always be there for one another. Like the siblings neither of us had. Even if it was sometimes more like the siblings in a dirty book.
She’d been a complete bitch about it. A monster, really. I’ve heard her being catty with her friends before, but because I didn’t know the people she was talking about, I’d never given it any thought. But to have her venom turned on Andrea had really pissed me off. I’m pretty sure the actual words “arrogant bitch” passed my lips. I’m not proud of the language, but I stand by the truthfulness of the sentiment.
I’ve been running a major corporation for five years, seven if you count the years I shared the helm with my dying father. I’m young, but not stupid. I’ve traveled the world, seen a few things, known all sorts of people. And yeah, I’ve slept with what is probably more than my share of women, if you want to get technical about it. But I know when an attraction isn’t just, as dear Celia so eloquently put it, “jungle fever.” Yes, she did, hence “arrogant bitch.” Doesn’t seem so extreme now, does it?
So yeah, rough night. And I had to wake to my phone flashing “Mother” on the lock screen. I let it go to voicemail and put a pillow over my head to block out the light and tried to get a few more minutes of sleep.
I gave up when it became clear that I was just going to lay there rehashing the previous night–the pudding, especially delicious when sucked from Andrea’s finger, the taste of her soft mouth, the beautiful swell of her breasts in that lacy bra…and then the conversation with Celia came back to me and I was angry all over again. May as well get up and go for a run.
I listened to the voicemail as I drank my coffee. “Walker, you better come by here, I have some information you need to hear.”
Nice and cryptic. Thanks, mom. But I decided to run along the C&O canal to Rock Creek Park and wind up at Mother’s before coming back to my own house.
Normally, I’m in the office by eight, but I’d taken the morning off in hopes of waking up with Andrea in my bed. No dice, however. I vow, once more, to make it my life’s mission to stamp out this notion that you shouldn’t sleep with a guy on the first date. You should, I swear. We think girls that put out are awesome. But I admit, there is an old-fashioned charm to longing. If the goal was to drive me mad with the need to touch that silky skin again? Mission Accomplished.
It was shaping up to be one of those September days in D.C. that make you wonder if Fall will ever come. Every bit as humid as mid-August and today the air was still. I thought of Andrea sitting on a breezy beach in Aruba, high of 80 degrees, trade winds…If I hadn’t had a week full of meetings to try to launch this new line, I’d have hopped on the plane that afternoon. I imagined she wore a sporty two piece, sexy without even meaning to be.
Once in the shade of the jogging trail, the heat was less oppressive. I’ve never liked going to a gym to workout, so I had a full gym built in my condo. I live on the top floor of a building I own on Water street, far more space than one person actually needs, but hey, “need” isn’t everything, right? But even after putting the machines in front of the tall windows that look out over the city, I seldom use them. I’d rather be outside, running or rowing. That’s where I can do my best thinking, it helps still my mind.
Usually. But I was pretty sure no amount of exercise was going to clear Andrea from my mind. I tried to focus on tonight’s dinner meeting with the head of our print advertising account…and just kept thinking about where I could take Andrea for dinner that would impress her but not be too obviously trying to impress her. I turned my mind to the meeting I had scheduled to discuss changes to the company fleet…and instead wondered what kind of car Andrea drove. I thought she belonged in a BMW, luxurious but dependable. Sexy without being too flashy. I picked up my pace, hoping that would help; instead I just imagined how it would be to make Andrea breathe as hard as I was, pictured her beneath me. It was getting my heartrate up, for sure, but not doing much for helping me focus on the business.
It was driving me crazy that I had to wait a whole week to see her or even talk to her. How could she go out of phone contact for that long? But really, I was a little jealous of her freedom to disconnect like that.
I’m a powerful man. Washington’s Most Eligible Bachelor, according to Washingtonian magazine (three years running). But the truth is, I’m usually consumed by my job. I love the challenge of figuring out how to make Rossi Brands work, how to bring it into the 21st Century. Sure, I take time off, I travel. But I’m never fully on vacation, I’m always just a phone call away. As I jogged up Rock Creek Park, for the first time I considered that maybe that wasn’t healthy.
Until he started training me to take over his job, I hardly spent any time with my dad. I don’t want my own kids to have that same longing for attention and time. I want them to know me and know I’m there for them.
What the actual hell? Kids? Where did THAT come from? I haven’t even wanted a goldfish since I was an adult.
That woman was doing a number on me, for sure.
When I got to Mother’s house in the East Village of Georgetown, I was drenched in sweat. But hey, summon me in Indian summer and you get what you get. I know from the appreciative looks on the trail that some women go for this look. Probably not my mom, though. For which I am grateful.
I went in the back door that’s unlocked when someone is there and the cold air of the a/c washed over me. I just stood there for a minute, adjusting to the temperature change.
Rosa had heard the alarm beep when I came in and she soon met me in the mud room.
“Ah good, Mr. Walker! Your mama is waiting for you.” She was giving me her usual friendly smile. “Fresh shirts on the shelf.” She pointed to the shelf over the dryer where she kept a stack of t shirts for me to put on when I arrived shirtless and sweaty. It’s nice to have someone looking out for you.
“Thanks, Rosa,” I said, kissing her cheek and then slipping on the shirt before I headed up to Mother’s room.
She was propped up in bed playing some game on her iPad when I came into the room. When she looked up, she fixed me with that Mother Stare she has.
“What? What did I do? What’s so important that you wanted me in person?” No matter how old you get or how many millions you have, your mom can still reduce you to a guilty kid with no more than a cocked eyebrow. It’s a fact.
“Tell me the truth, Walker. Did you have sex with Celia last night?”
"What? No! What are you even talking about?"
She continued to bore into me with the Eyeball of Truth, but I had nothing to hide. Finally she relaxed her face and cocked her head at me.
“You’re lucky Rosa likes you so much.”
“I agree. But I still don’t know what’s going on.”
“She told me that she walked in on you and Andrea last night. From the way she blushed to tell it, I’m guessing you two weren’t just chatting over wine and plotting how to get me to eat mustard greens.”
“And?” I kept my face cool, but again, inside? A teen caught making out. How do mothers do it?
“Well, she likes Andrea–as do I–so she was happy for her and for you. So when she heard Celia this morning, she was angry enough to come to me to tell the story.”
“You’re being vague. Heard Celia what?”
"She was shouting into her damned phone, the way she does, so that everyone on the Eastern seaboard can hear how goddamned important she is, but this time she was shouting about you."
I felt my blood run cold. Just like in the books. I swallowed. “And?”
“She was telling the person on the other line about what a wild night she’d had with you. Rosa said ‘insatiable. Like he just got out of prison.’”
“Did she say my
name? How did Rosa know she was talking about me? Maybe she’d been up all night with some K street lawyer. What do I care?”
“I asked the same thing, I’m not an idiot. Rosa said she knew it was you.” She paused and gave me an unreadable look. "And she said Celia told her friend that she was here to convince me to tell you to get my mother’s ring for her."
I shook my head. What the hell?
“And marry her, dumbass. She said she was going to marry you.”
“Well, she isn’t. I don’t know what she was trying to pull, but it isn’t true. I’ve not laid a hand on her in months, last New Year’s, maybe? Don’t worry, I’m not asking Celia to marry me, with or without the ring.”
“I don’t think you’re getting the important part. She was shouting into the phone while in my kitchen. While Andrea was here making my breakfast.”
And all the blood just drained out of my body. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
Clearly it showed on my face, because Mother said, "Exactly. That’s why I wanted to tell you this morning, so that if it wasn’t true, you could tell her immediately. When she came up here, she seemed distracted. I asked if I’d heard Celia. Celia had told me she was coming by to finally pick up those horrid landscapes your father had loved. I told her ages ago that she could put them in the gallery, but I’ve had trouble letting go of the ugly things. But Celia never came up and the paintings are still in the study. Rosa said Andrea left very quickly after that. You should call her."
My mind was racing. If Rosa, who has known me for years, was willing to believe Celia’s crap, it seemed certain that Andrea would have. Dammit.
Remember what I called Celia? Uh-huh.
“I can’t call her. She didn’t get a sim card.”
“I have no idea what that means, but I’m confident you can find a way around it. You’re resourceful and rich. I like that girl. Don’t fuck this up.”
When I came downstairs and through the kitchen, I saw that Andrea had left behind the saute pan. On a whim I grabbed it.