Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  "That's the wonderful thing, Mrs. Preston. We can do anything we want."

  I sigh contentedly. A thought comes to my mind.

  "Do you really need to be here for the rest of the conference?" I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  "I don't really see any reason why I would. At this point Laurel has it under control, and she's already pissed at me. I'm going to owe her a very serious bonus as it is."

  "So, we could leave today and spend the rest of the weekend doing something else before we have to go back to work at the office Monday?"

  "Sure. What do you have in mind?"

  I smile at him.

  "Do you want to go meet your son?"

  ***

  After I had Aaron, I thought he was the most beautiful thing in the world. Now I know I was wrong. Seeing Aaron with his father is the most beautiful thing in the world. It's been three weeks since the failed conference turned wedding weekend, and these two haven't been able to get enough of each other. Aaron took to Vincent immediately, and I've spent every day watching as the two of them discover not only their shared similarities, like the color of their eyes and the single dimple each has in their left cheek, but also what seems like an ingrained love.

  Last week was Thanksgiving. It was something I hadn't thought much about previously, but after bringing Vincent home with me, I felt a renewed sense of excitement and enthusiasm for the holiday for the first time in years. But since we have done so little planning, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to get everything I needed to cook dinner, but Vincent insisted we shouldn’t cut any corners and have the full traditional Thanksgiving meal. I didn't ask him about it, but I got the feeling he hadn't spent many holidays with his family in recent years. We had to go to five different grocery stores all over Richmond just to find everything we needed, but I can't remember ever having that much fun doing something as mundane as shopping for groceries.

  As we walked through the store together, holding hands, laughing, and occasionally stealing kisses behind the canned peas, I realized people were looking at us. People I knew, people I used to consider friends, even just members of the grocery store staff who were once friendly to me, seemed startled to see me again. It was obvious they had all heard about Vincent and me. They all knew about Aaron. I noticed a couple of them peek into the grocery cart as if they thought I had tucked him away under the potatoes. He was safe at home with Gigi, trying to make little construction paper hand turkeys to decorate the table. The more I saw it, the more I realized that those smiles, and even the curious looks, didn’t matter. Just like Vincent said, I don't owe them shit.

  We had Thanksgiving dinner at the mansion with my parents. I was hesitant, not having been back to the house since leaving, but my mother was insistent. She had already met Vincent, but briefly, and she wanted the opportunity to spend more time with him. I knew it was more likely that she wanted to feel like a hostess again. It felt strange to walk back into the house. They had sold so many of their possessions, including art, collectibles, and furniture, just to keep the shell of the company open and keep up appearances. It left the once lush and exquisite home cavernous and empty. I was embarrassed, but I shouldn't have been. Vincent was amazing with my parents. He was gracious and respectful, apologizing to my father for not having the opportunity to ask him for my hand before we got married. He brought my mother flowers and complimented her on the intricate quilt that hung on one wall. Luxurious fabrics in shades of cream and burgundy highlighted with gold threads took what to many people would seem like folk art and elevated it into something elegant and beautiful. I was so happy to see she kept at least one element of the home I remembered from when I was child.

  By the end of dinner, Vincent and my father were deep in conversation. I hadn't been paying much attention to what they were talking about, though I'm fairly certain it had something to do with football. After dessert, they excused themselves to the veranda to enjoy some of the bourbon Vincent brought my father as a gift. I was so impressed by how easily he had melded into the family. It could have gone so badly. It could have been awkward and uncomfortable as he recognized just how much the crumbling of my father's business had decimated our family home and lifestyle. It could have been heated if my parents had approached Vincent with judgment and anger for how our relationship had begun, or how it had progressed.

  Instead, they did just as I had prayed they would when I first considered bringing him home, before I left the island, before I knew about Aaron. They welcomed him with open arms.

  ***

  Now as my husband and child admire the lights on the Christmas tree, I can't help but wonder what he and my father were talking about on that veranda for so long Thanksgiving evening. They talked right through the first Christmas movie of the season and through my second slice of pie. They talked so long Aaron was deeply asleep by the time Vincent came back in. I asked what they talked about the next day, and he had shrugged and said it was nothing important. I didn't push him any farther.

  During the madness of the holidays, we moved into our new home. Positioned perfectly between the city and Gigi's country home, it lets us have our own space, but is close enough where it’s easy to get to my family and the office. On nights we know we're going to be working late, Aaron stays with Gigi, and Vincent and I sleep at the apartment he keeps in the city. It's still unbelievably hard to be away from my son, but it’s somehow easier now that I have Vincent to distract me.

  "Aaron," I say, "do you know what you're going to ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

  "A horse," he says, reaching out to touch an antique ornament of a rocking horse with his chubby little fingertips.

  "I see." Vincent's eyes light up and I point a finger at him.

  "Let's just stick with the rocking horse for now, huh, Papa?"

  Vincent smiles and crawls over to me on his knees so he can wrap his arms around my waist where I sit on an ottoman.

  "How about you, Mrs. Preston?" he asks. "What do you want from Santa?"

  "Nothing," I say. "I already have everything I could want."

  It's a silly and cheesy sentiment, but I genuinely mean it. I can't think of anything I want. I have my beautiful son, the love of my life back in my arms, and just as Vincent had promised me that I could, I'm working every day to help get my family back on its feet. This Christmas, life finally feels like it's back to what it should be.

  "Well," he says. "I have something very special planned for you."

  "You do?"

  He nods and kisses me. The tip of his tongue touches my lips and a rush of heat settles between my thighs. I can't wait for Aaron's nap time.

  ***

  "Good morning, Preston International, you've reached the personal assistant for Vincent Preston. How may I help you?"

  I love my little work spiel. Vincent cringes every time he hears me use it. He says he hates hearing me sound like a recording, but that's part of the reason I do it. It's fun to tease him.

  "Hi, Sugar Plum," Gigi says.

  I pick up my cell phone from where I was sitting on my desk, and check the screen. I haven't missed any calls.

  "Gigi, why are you calling me on my work phone?"

  "Because I want to be the very last person who you ever have to talk to on this phone," she says, sounding nothing short of jubilant.

  "What are you talking about?" I ask.

  I find a file Vincent had been looking for earlier in the day exactly where I said it was, and I rolled my eyes, but smiled at the same time. Finding out the little things about him that made him imperfect, especially at work, amused me endlessly. It was like admiring a person you only ever see eat raw, clean, organic food, but then finding out they scarf down cheeseburgers every Wednesday night while watching weight loss reality shows. You still find them incredible for their restraint and dedication, but they seem a bit more human.

  "You don't have to work at Vincent's office, anymore."

  "Gigi, I told you. I don't want
to live off his money... You started this company completely on your own and you built it. I want to be just as strong and independent as you are, and I want to make sure our family's business stays that way."

  "I know all of that," she says. "You've made that abundantly clear. But I'm not talking about you living off your husband."

  "Then what are you talking about?"

  "We found an investor."

  I stop.

  "An investor?"

  "Yes," she says, sounding delighted. I hear Aaron giggle in the background and I know she's dancing with him like she does when she's particularly happy. "An angel investor came forward and is willing to invest enough money to get the company up and running again. It will be fully operational, all the debt will be paid off, and we can even make some of the upgrades and enhancements we wanted to. There was only one specification. The investment will allow for the total recovery and restructuring of the company, but it is to be in our control. Your father can have a leadership position along with a very generous salary, but the company itself will be in our name, and we will have controlling interest."

  "That's extremely specific," I say.

  "I know, but it makes sense if you think about it. Not many investors are going to be eager to put that much money up for a company being controlled by someone who already caused its utter destruction."

  I hate hearing her talk about my father that way, but in my gut, I know she’s telling the truth.

  "Who is this investor?"

  "I don't know," she says. "Nobody does. He said he wanted to remain anonymous."

  As soon as she says that, my stomach drops. My heart rate increases and cold sweat pops up on my palms and along my spine.

  "I need to go, Gigi. We'll talk about this when I get off work and come to pick up Aaron."

  I end the call and stand up, turning blazing eyes toward the massive door at the end of the hallway. I need to have a very serious conversation with the man sitting behind that door.

  He's no fucking angel.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Olivia

  I stomp into Vincent's office without bothering to knock. He looks up at me and doesn't seem to notice how angry I am.

  "Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to duck out a little early. It's the last day before Christmas and I know everybody else in the office would appreciate being able to head home to their families early."

  "So, is this the big Christmas surprise you had planned for me?"

  He looks at me strangely.

  "Getting to leave work early the day before the office is closed down for Christmas break? No. That is not your big Christmas surprise. That might be the worst big Christmas surprise idea I've ever heard."

  "You're right," I say. "Not nearly as good as going behind my back and completely going against my wishes."

  "What are you talking about, Olivia?"

  "Why did you even bother saying you were anonymous? That was a really cute touch, by the way. If you were just going to buy my family's company, why didn't you just do it? You can't possibly believe I'm not smart enough to figure out it was you. I don't want you to buy me, Vincent. And I don't need your money. I can do this on my own. I told you from the very beginning I wanted to be as independent as possible. I want to help my family get out of the mess we're in on our own, not have you swoop in and save me like some damsel in distress. I wanted to accomplish something, Vincent. I set my mind to something, and I wanted to be able to do it, but you took that away from me. Why?"

  "That's not what I meant to do, Olivia. And if that's all I wanted to do, I wouldn't bother trying to be an anonymous investor. And that's exactly what I am, an investor. I didn't buy the company. This isn't a hostile takeover. I am investing the money the company needs to not only get it out of the hole it’s in, but reach its full potential. I want to help you."

  "But I don't need your help," I insist.

  "Everyone needs help sometimes, Olivia. There is not a successful company on the face of this Earth that doesn’t have investors.”

  "And I bet you thought it was really cute saying you'd only invest the money if my father wasn't in charge. How could you be so disrespectful to him? Gigi said no investor would put money into a company with a leader they don't trust because he made bad decisions. But why would you do that? You know my father. You know you can trust him."

  "That was his idea."

  I feel the breath catch in my throat.

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "It was your father's idea to put the company back in your grandmother's name and add you as joint owner and controlling power. That's what we were talking about on Thanksgiving. I offered to invest in the company, explaining to him how you feel about wanting to take care of the family yourself. At first, he turned down my offer. But then I told him I was not giving him the money. I was not buying out the company. I wasn't doing him a favor. This was a business decision. He agreed as long as the company was put in your control. You are extremely capable, Olivia. That's one of the things I love about you. You can do anything you set your mind to. Whether that's making Thanksgiving dinner, writing thank you notes, entertaining at home, raising our son, or controlling a business empire, you can do it. You sold yourself short thinking the only way you could help your family was by getting a job and gradually making life comfortable again. All I wanted to do is show you that you have the capacity for so much more."

  I don't know what to say. I'm both shocked and humbled, and I'm filled with more love for my husband, and admiration for my father, than ever before.

  "Thank you," I finally whisper.

  Vincent walks around the desk towards the door.

  "Now," he says. "You look like you're a little worked up. Why don't you let me help you let out some of that tension?"

  Vincent shuts the door slowly behind him, achingly slow, his eyes never leaving mine and I can feel my lips stretching in a smile. I need him inside me as much as he does. He crushes into me with a kiss and I can feel his hands reaching down to lift me up. One arm holds me against him as he pushes the phone and pencil cup away, so he can sit me down on the desk. Papers and staplers and business cards fall to the floor, and Vincent reaches down to grab at the bottom of my shirt.

  His kiss is ravenous, and I feel his power over me. I grasp at his slacks, not bothering with the belt, and focusing only on unzipping him. I reach inside and feel the head pushing out toward me. I guide it through the zipper and grasp hold on him with my hand firmly, pulling and twisting like he had shown me to do before. I can see the pleasure in his eyes as our tongues twist and lavish each other with attention.

  I continue to milk his erection as he pulls my shirt off, leaning down to suck each of my nipples in turn, using the pad of his thumb to massage one while he fills his mouth with the other. He gently puts a hand on the back of my head and I know what his desire is. My mouth waters at the thought of his hardened cock inside my mouth and I kiss him once more. He fills his hand with my hair as I touch my tongue to the head of his shaft, tasting the essence of him and using my tongue to bathe him. I lick all the way down to the base of his cock, feeling him tremble as a moan rumbles from deep in his chest. I slide back up to the head and open my mouth to take as much of his cock in as possible.

  He moans even louder now as I lavish him with attention, and he guides my rhythm with a handful of my hair. I reach down and grasp the base with one hand and his balls in the other, and gently squeeze. He begins to rock forward, and I obediently stay in place, allowing him to find as much pleasure as I can provide when he suddenly pulls back.

  I look up and see that he has somehow gotten a condom out of his desk drawer, and holds it in one hand. He pulls it down over his length and I hike my skirt up and open myself to him. He looks down hungrily and he pulls my panties off to the side, giving him access to my sweet juices. His thumb slides up my lips and I can feel how wet I am.

  He pulls me forward on the desk and suddenly he is inside me, deepl
y, and I hear myself yelp in surprise. Vincent wastes no time being gentle, seeming determined to take from me what I am offering so freely. He thrusts into me and I feel my walls stretching to accommodate his impressive cock. As he pushes into me, I can feel the slow wave of an orgasm building within me, and I dig my fingers into his back. Vincent responds with a moan and his pace quickens. He lifts my legs up on top of his shoulders and I lay back on the desk.

  The fullness of him inside of me is intoxicating and I can feel my orgasm grow to a crescendo. I reach up to cover my mouth, not wanting to scream so loud that we alert the entire office to our activities, but part of me doesn't care who knows. My other hand clenches the side of the desk, gripping harder with every thrust, knowing that I am on the brink and about to spill over.

  Vincent's pace becomes frantic, almost animal-like, as he leans over me, increasing his pace. I can feel him begin to thrust deeper and I know he is nearly there as well. His hands clench my thighs and pull me to him, his cock pushing against my back walls and I can’t take it any longer. I come violently as waves of pleasure roll over me. Vincent thrusts one last time before locking still and throbbing inside me. I can feel my body massaging him, pulling every last drop, and it only intensifies my orgasm.

  He cradles me in his arms as our bodies melt together and I look at him mischievously.

  "So, what is my Christmas surprise?"

  "You're just going to have to wait until Christmas to find out," he says.

  ***

  "Do you like it?" he asks. "You said there wasn't anything you wanted, but I figured you would never have been able to come up with this."

  Tears are blurring my vision as I run my hand over the picture in front of me. When Vincent handed it to me, it looked like a giant scroll. Thick, creamy paper was rolled in on itself and tied with a bright red Christmas bow. I unrolled it to reveal a huge piece of paper, and on it, a drawing of the Catalina Island Resort. When I first glanced at it, it looked very much like I remembered it. Now, though, I'm noticing changes.