by Lia Lee
Mara looks even more beautiful with that look of dreamy gratitude in her eyes. I’d like to keep it there. Say yes, Mara.
“S-sure, Mr. Kingsley,” she stammers. “That’s very generous of you, you don’t have to do that,” she says with a shake of her pretty head. It makes her shiny brunette locks skim over her bare shoulders, and I want to feel the same sensation—her hair brushing over my chest as she tosses her head in the throes of orgasm.
“It’s my pleasure,” I say. “And since we’re off the clock, there’s no need to be so politically correct. Call me Bastian.”
Watching her open smile spread across her face is more beautiful than a sunrise. For the first time in a while, it feels like the dawn of a new day, and that I have something to look forward to. “Alright... Bastian.” The sound of my name on her lips sends a vibration straight to my cock again and, if I’m not careful, I’ll bar up right here.
I nod and turn away with the curt professionalism ingrained in me. She’s my employee. It’s just a drink. I haven’t crossed a line. Yet.
Chapter Nine
Mara
Fortune Favors the Foolish
“Bastian?!” Lacey squeals once he’s out of earshot, her eyes spinning like hard drives at 7200 rpm. “Bastian? You’re on a first name basis? Holy fucking shit!”
“Calm down,” I reply, reprimanding her, not wanting to call attention to what just happened now that the boys were almost at the table. “Act normal, for God’s sake.”
Lacey looks about to explode. Her cheeks are puffed up and shining pink in the reflection of the colored lamps above us.
“Act normal.” She growls in disdain, lowering her voice. “Were you not in the same room just now? The goddamn CEO just asked you out! Act normal!” Somehow, she manages to scowl at me even though she’s smiling.
“Don’t exaggerate. He just offered me a drink, not a night at the opera.”
She shoots me a “you know what I mean” look as Adam and Troy return with a tray of twelve filled shooter glasses. Jesus, how drunk do they intend to get? Or more to the point, how drunk do they hope to make us? Immature idiots, like everyone else under thirty, it seems. I frown as three shots of clear liquid are set in front of me. I’m pretty sure Bastian will offer me something more elegant than a few ounces of Jose Cuervo.
Bastian. I repeat his name silently, liking the feel of it on my tongue and the shape of it on my lips. I don’t know what his intentions are, if any at all. He’s still sitting with the leggy blonde. What am I supposed to do, trot over there and make conversation with some unknown woman whom I’m rapidly becoming insanely jealous of? Hi, you don’t know me but your boyfriend, my billionaire boss, just asked me over for a drink. Hope you don’t mind a little ménage à trois?
Ugh.
“On three now, c’mon Mara. Pay attention...” Adam says jokingly, shoving the first of three shot glasses closer toward me.
“You’re gonna fall behind, Mar. Gotta keep up!” Lacey says, her arm intertwined with Troy’s and poised with elbows on the table, ready to down each other’s glasses. Good grief, can she be any more obvious in her affection for this guy we only met five minutes ago? I could never be that forward.
“Uno, Dos, Tres!” they chant as I pick up my glass. On ‘tres’ I toss its contents down my throat, more out of frustration than anything. I taste nothing at first, but in a second, the searing burn of alcohol scours my esophagus. I wince and cough, my eyes tear up and threaten to spill over. I’m soooo bad at this!
“Olé!” Troy yells. “Más!” He grabs a second shot. I shudder at the thought of another swallow of the powerful stuff.
“Work through it, Mar! Practice, remember?” Lacey says, raising her second glass as well.
“I couldn’t,” I say, shaking my head and folding my hands in my lap, below table level.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” Adam says reassuringly. “I’ll help you.” He reaches over and takes my second glass for himself, downing it in succession with his own.
What a pig. I hope he feels guilty when he finds out someone else is buying his booze. Lacey slams her glass down with a “Woot!” and winks at me. I smile in response, unsure whether her signal is about my future plans for the evening or her own. Lacey never has any difficulty attracting attention. I just hope she’s careful about it and doesn’t bring Troy back to our tiny apartment and make noise all night.
The minutes tick by, and I stare at the lone shot of Tequila still in front of me. Do I dare? I might throw up, and end my chances of enjoying that drink with Bastian later. My fingers slip around the tiny glass, still debating. I look toward the bar, and my back straightens. My heart begins to pound. Bastian is helping the woman with her coat. Are they leaving? I stare transfixed at them exchanging words until suddenly she thrusts out her hand. Bastian shakes it, then she turns and walks away.
The feeling of relief is so powerful I nearly slide off my chair. Bastian returns to his seat and orders another drink. I need courage. I down the Tequila and pray.
“That’s the way, Mara. I knew there was a shot girl in there somewhere,” Adam says, applauding my move. I couldn’t care less what he approves of. I swallow and wait for the burn to pass.
Lacey and Troy are kissing. Adam ogles me in anticipation of getting the same.
“Wow. I need a chaser after that,” I say, rising from my chair. “I’m going to get a Coke from the bar.”
“The server will bring you one, sit down. We were just getting to know each other,” Adam argues.
“It’s okay. I need to visit the ladies’ anyway,” I say, grabbing my purse and excusing myself. I walk toward the bathrooms, then duck behind a pillar to change direction and head for the bar. My goal is in sight; his hunky body leans casually against the marble top. More than his looks attract me. He has a magnetism that seems to reach out and wrap itself around me anytime I’m near him. He looks up at the sound of my footsteps. I don’t see the stone carved profile. I’ve got the warm and witty side of the coin this time. Tails, I win. It’s my lucky day.
“Hello,” he says, rising to his feet. Of course, he has manners; that goes without saying. “I’m glad you could join me. What can I get you?” He motions to the empty seat next to him that his date has freshly vacated.
I smile and walk around him to the empty seat on his opposite side. I’m not a replacement. I don’t want to feel the warmth of his previous woman’s body heat against my butt, thank you very much. This is my moment.
“Thank you,” I say, resting on my chosen perch. Is it the Tequila making me feel a bit bold? Perhaps I should have more. “A margarita would be lovely.”
Bastian orders the drinks and sits down, eyeing me with amusement. “You’re quite independent, aren’t you Miss Snow?”
“I thought we’d progressed to first names, Mr. Kingsley?”
His wry smile is already undoing me. He’s the most handsome thing on two legs, and I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Confident and flirty. It’s so not me. “That’s right. Did you have a good week, Mara? Still enjoying the job?”
“Oh yes. How about you?” I want to hear him talk, not talk about myself. I’d run out of topics in about two minutes. Mara Snow doesn’t have a lot of history to tell. My drink arrives, and he raises his glass to me.
“Cheers,” he says. I return the gesture and take a sip so that I don’t have to talk and run the risk of saying something stupid. “Well, it’s been interesting. I hired a publicist this week, on the advice of my Board of Directors. They feel a need to plaster my face around the media for some reason.”
“Oh? Like on billboards or something?” I ask.
He laughs. “No, not quite. But equally intrusive. They suggested I bring my son over from France and do a photo shoot. But he’s in school now, and I couldn’t interrupt that. I want to keep him out of the spotlight in any case.”
He has a son? I didn’t know that. “How old is your son?” I ask, keeping my sentences short a
nd my ears wide.
Bastian sips his drink and then swirls the ice cubes in his glass. “Mica is eight now. In third grade. He speaks both French and English fluently.”
“Mica? Like the mineral?” I ask. I think it’s adorable. Bastian nods. “He sounds very smart. You must miss him being so far away.”
“I do,” he admits. “But he’s in good hands with his grandparents.”
“Grandparents,” I repeat. “How nice. I miss my grandparents.”
He looks at me with a wistful smile. “His mother passed away. You might have heard that.”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” I say. Ironically, this presents a connection we share. “I lost my parents in a car accident ten years ago. I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you.”
Bastian turns his full attention on me, and I feel like I’m sitting in a shaft of light from heaven. I swear I hear angels singing a three-part harmony. “Now it’s my turn to apologize. I’m sorry for your loss, though I’m a bit late. I had no idea.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. How could you? You don’t know anything about me except my name and where I work.”
“I think I’d like to change that,” he says. “Another drink?”
I’ve barely started my first one, and I’m nearly shaking at his words. He wants to know more about me?
“Thank you, but this is fine,” I say, waving my glass.
Bastian nods. “Quite right. I’m driving tonight. Thank you for the reminder.”
“Is France as beautiful as I’ve heard?” I ask.
He nods again and looks sideways, as though picturing the countryside in his mind. “Oui. You’ve never been?”
“Me? No, I’ve never really traveled anywhere.” I wish it weren’t true so that I had something interesting to say about an exotic place, but I don’t. “I’d like to someday. Why did you leave and come back to New York? Seems to me you could run GeoRock from anywhere in the world.”
Bastian looks thoughtful, and a little sad. My heart goes out to him in spite of the fact he’s a billionaire and could have anything and everything he ever wanted at the flick of his finger. He’s human and mortal just like the rest of us. “I could, but I’ve come back for two reasons. One, the head office is here. And two...” He pauses and directs the full force of his hypnotic presence on me. “... it’s time to let go of old ghosts.”
Does he mean the ghost of his late wife? Or something more metaphoric? I know there’s still an aura of mystery around the Pretoria mine. “So, you’ve decided the Big Apple is the best place to exorcise them?”
“Something like that,” he says, grinning. It’s enough to light the whole room, and I resist the urge to sigh in contentment at the sight. “To be honest, my absence hasn’t done the GeoRock brand any favors. My Board and this new publicist feel I need to stir up some media attention for the company. When I refused to bring Mica into the picture, they suggested we stage a fake wedding engagement.” He laughs outright. “Can you imagine?”
I join in his laughter, but I sense he’s quite serious. “Actually, I can. The media will stop at nothing to generate a buzz, no matter how outrageous.” Dare I ask the next question... let the Tequila do the talking? “Was your companion one of the contestants? I hope it went well.”
Bastian finishes his drink and sets the glass down with a clunk of finality. “Not particularly. It was a set-up with an agency. Ms. James is a very nice lady, but I think she and I have very different expectations. We wouldn’t be compatible, even as fake fiancées, I’m afraid.”
So, she wasn’t his girlfriend or a fellow executive. I’m surprised at how much this knowledge pleases me. I’m captivated by his exquisite profile, the muted lighting casting shadows that accentuate the regal line of his nose and the carved laugh lines around his mouth. His lips are curvy and sensuous, not too thin or too full. They suit him, as do the waves of dark hair laced with silver at the temples that grace his head, trimmed to perfection.
The bartender approaches and slides a piece of paper to Bastian. “The tab from Table 24,” he says softly, so as not to intrude.
“Right.” He tears his gaze away from me and looks over the bill. He scrawls his initials with the pen provided and slides it back to the barman. Just then I notice Lacey walking up to us, two coats and a purse draped over her wrist.
I glance back at our table to see it empty. “Hi, Lace.”
She waves and smiles as Bastian turns to the sound of my greeting. “That was very kind of you, Mr. Kingsley,” she acknowledges.
“No problem.”
“Mara, Troy and I are leaving. Since you didn’t come back, Adam took the hint and left earlier. Are you going to be okay getting home on your own?”
I open my mouth to answer, not sure if I’m miffed at her leaving or gratified that I’m rid of Adam, but Bastian interrupts.
“It’s quite alright, Miss Strudwick. I’ll see to it my employee arrives home safely, don’t you worry. Enjoy your evening.”
Lacey’s eyes tick back and forth between us. I give her a tiny nod, releasing her from her burden of responsibility. She flashes a knowing grin and hands me one of the bundles on her arm. “Al-righty then. Here’s your coat. Goodnight.”
“Night, Lace.” I feel Bastian’s eyes on me, and I tamp down my rising anxiety as I gather my coat and turn to look at him. “Thank you. I appreciate your concern.”
“Not at all. I take the safety of my people very seriously.” His gaze seems to burn a hole in me, and I fear I might spontaneously combust if I sit here much longer. I’m torn between wanting to stay and bolting like a scared rabbit.
“I suppose it’s getting late,” I say, fumbling with the folds of material.
“I agree. This place is giving me a headache, and I’d love some fresh air. Shall we?” he says, rising from his chair.
“Yes, some fresh air would be great.”
“Allow me.” He takes the coat from my arms and helps me into it. Images of Ms. James flash in my head. But she left alone.
Bastian takes me by the elbow and escorts me through the club and down to the street level. A night breeze has come up, and it lifts my hair off my face as we walk outside.
“I’m just over here,” he says, guiding me to a dark colored vehicle whose countless curves and angles gleam in the lamplight. As we get closer, I see the Mercedes Benz emblem on its grille. It wakes to life with a push of the remote in his hand, its running lights switching on and off as if winking at me. It’s just a ride home, I tell myself. Nothing more.
He leads me to the passenger side and opens the door. The sexy-smelling interior beckons me with a seductive breath. I inhale its heady fragrance and take a step forward. Bastian’s grip tightens, and he suddenly twists me to face him. I see a light in his eyes even though they’re in shadow. He draws me closer until our bodies meet, and the scent of his cologne makes me forget the smell of the car altogether. It wraps me in a net of sensual delight, and I’m trapped in it as surely as any wild creature.
My heart is thumping, and I’m short of breath.
“Mara,” he whispers, capturing my chin in his free hand and tipping my face upward. My head is spinning, and not from the Tequila. I’m lost in a flurry of desire as he leans forward and touches his lips to mine. They’re soft and moist and insistent. My mouth opens to him on reflex, inviting him in. He responds, increasing the pressure, thrusting his tongue past my teeth to claim every inch of my wet cave. Exploring, searching, demanding.
When I’m on the brink of fainting from his sensual onslaught, he breaks our kiss and frames my face with both hands. I cannot look away, nor do I want to. “Mara. I really do want to know you better. Come home with me.”
I have only one answer as I sink into his lustful gaze. “Yes.”
Chapter Ten
Bastian
My Bad
Now I really have crossed a line.
Offering to buy Mara a drink was one thing; taking her back to my place quite another. It wasn’t my int
ention when I walked over to her table. But now that I’ve had a taste of her, I’m like a meth-head on a joy ride—insatiable and unstoppable.
I’m a very bad boss.
Kissing her only provoked my frustrated cock, and brought out emotions I thought were a lost cause—locked away along with Celine’s personal effects in a trunk back in Roussillon.
When we arrive, Mara seems awestruck at the interior of my penthouse suite off Central Park, but I can’t take credit for the address or the decor. I have people who take care of that.
I rarely even pay attention to the view, but Mara is drawn to the wall of windows that face the Park. If I had a daughter, I’d imagine she’d have the same look of rapture on her face opening a Christmas gift as the one Mara wears now. The comparison is not lost on me. She’s young enough to be my daughter, and I’ve seduced her with my sexual fierceness instead of toys or dolls or some holiday trinket. I’m walking a very dangerous edge here, but I don’t give a shit.
I want her.
I lead her to the bedroom, where she sits on the edge of my bed, looking small and frightened. Those amazing aquamarine irises gaze up at me as though waiting for instruction; for guidance, for acceptance. And I’ll give her all of that if she needs it.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” I say.