by S. Layne
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, because what else can you say to that? I know Donovan really loved and admired his older sister.
“Yes, well,” he pauses and blinks, as if erasing a memory, “Jeremiah’s a wreck, and even though I’ve tried to reach him, it doesn’t seem to help. He’s constantly in trouble at school, ditching curfew, and is essentially a pain in my ass. I need help, and I’ve exhausted every possible option. Which is where you come in.”
“What do you want from me?”
Donovan smirks. My cheeks flush as I realize the double entendre in my words.
“With Jeremiah,” I clarify quickly.
“Of course,” he murmurs, but his eyes darken and he takes a step toward me. “I want you to stay with me. Move into my house for thirty days and be there for Jeremiah. He can come to the center after school and hang out with you, and then his driver will bring you home at night. He’ll also be taking you to work in the morning so I know you’re both safe.”
By the time he’s done talking, he’s standing directly in front of me.
I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. He’s so close…smells so good…looks so…perfect.
My heart dips, my brain turns to mush, and my hormones go berserk.
I want him.
I always have.
There was probably a reason why no other man I’ve been with has been able to erase Donovan’s memory from my mind.
They simply don’t measure up.
“You’re awfully bossy,” I mutter, trying to lighten the sexual tension sparking between us. I can feel it. I can practically taste it when he licks his lips and they spread into a wide grin.
“I like being in control.”
Wetness seeps into my panties and I resist the urge to press my thighs together. There’s an ache building that I can’t deny.
“What about your wife?” I flinch at the question, the words falling from my throat. A cheese grater on my skin would be more comfortable than asking this question, but I need to know. I may be agreeing to whore myself out, but I’m not a mistress.
He grimaces and runs his hand through his short hair. He grimaces. “Cassandra is…Cassandra.”
I take a step back. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Are you still married?” I ask, my lips twisting into a sneer.
“Separated, papers filed. Divorce is inevitable.”
I don’t apologize. He wouldn’t believe me if I did.
He appears to be honest. I hate that we’re even discussing this. Discussing her.
“Cassandra didn’t take well to the fact that I was given custody of Jeremiah. Let’s just say she didn’t make the adjustment easier for either of us, and after a while I finally realized that she always has been, and always will be, a bigger hassle than she’s worth.”
I frown, not understanding.
I try not to care and change the subject.
“So thirty days of being with Jeremiah and you save my center. Is that it?” I tilt my head to the side.
Donovan chuckles. That deep, quiet rumble that leaves his lips and hits me straight in my gut. God, he’s sexy.
I hate that my body responds so easily to him.
“No,” he says, and raises his hand. His thumb brushes across my cheek to my chin, which he grips lightly but firmly between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s not all I want.” His eyes seem to assess me and his pupils dilate. His own cheeks show a hint of pink.
I swallow thickly. “What else?”
He leans in and brushes his lips against the very corner of my lips, and his tongue comes out, tasting my skin before he pulls back. With his large, warm frame in front of me, his gaze holding mine captive, and his fingers still on my chin, I’m unable to move away from him.
I don’t know if I want to.
“We’ll save that for another time,” he whispers and drops his hand.
Goose bumps flare on my skin, which is instantly cooling from the loss of contact.
“So what now?” I ask as he takes a few steps away and I regain the ability to speak.
“Yesterday, one million dollars were wired to your bank account. You will receive another million at the end of the thirty days.”
My eyes fly open. “That’s way more than I’ve been trying to fundraise. I don’t need that much.”
I should be angry. He essentially bought and paid for me without discussing this with me, and his proposition is insane. Yet there are benefits to it, and I’ll do almost anything to save my dad and the center.
Two million dollars is way too much money. It’s enough to keep the center running for at least five years with no further outside funding. I shake my head. I can’t believe this.
“You will move into my house. My driver, Bentley, will arrive tomorrow morning, so have everything you need packed and ready to go because you won’t be returning. For the next thirty days, you’ll essentially be Jeremiah’s in-house therapist and nanny, but for crying out loud, don’t tell him I just called you that. He’d be pissed.” A slight smile forms on his lips.
“You like him.”
“I love him,” he states, and his words are crisp and clear. “It’s my job to take care of him. It’s what Emily wanted, and unfortunately I’ve been fucking it up left and right. But I have a feeling you can help us with that.”
His slight smirk makes me smile. I like seeing this side of Donovan—so determined to win Jeremiah’s approval.
“What’s really been wrong with him? Is there anything I need to know specifically?”
He shoots me a look that tells me pretty much everything is wrong before he sighs.
“He likes you, if he keeps returning to your center—that’s all I know. And I’m willing to do anything, use any resource at my disposal, to ensure he stays out of trouble.” He pauses, chews on his bottom lip, and continues. “I think with your past experience with your mom, you have the ability to understand him more than anyone else.”
My eyes widen for a brief moment. I’m surprised he remembers how my mom died.
The memory of her funeral, of life without her at such a young age, and memories of seeing Jeremiah in my office bloody and broken send a pang to my chest that I can’t ignore.
I nod my acceptance. “Okay, then. I’ll do it. For Jeremiah’s sake and the center.”
“And me?” he asks. His voice rolls over my skin even though he’s several feet away. “I really did miss you. I’ve thought about you often over the years, wishing things would have been different. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all week.”
“Stop,” I whisper, shaking my head. His honesty is too much. Makes me feel too much. If I’m going to have any chance of getting through thirty days with Donovan, my heart needs to remain unattached.
Before I can step away, he closes the distance and his hand is at the nape of my neck, his fingers in my hair. He leans down and brushes his lips down my jaw—not kissing me, just…grazing my skin.
I sigh and lean into his touch.
“I’ll have you again, Talia. And I won’t wait long.”
With that, his hand drops and he takes several steps away, toward the front door.
“There’s one thing,” I say, as he’s walking away.
He stops and looks at me over his shoulder, arching a brow.
“You mentioned your driver taking me to and from work, but I need access to my car during the day.
“Bentley will take you wherever you need to go.”
There are things I need to do—mostly visiting my dad—that I don’t need him knowing about.
“I will only agree to this if I can have access to my car whenever I need it. Bentley can take me home from work with Jeremiah, but he can follow me in my own car. I won’t give up my independence and my responsibilities for the next thirty days.”
I watch as he figures out a way to get what he wants. His eyes question me, studying me, before he fina
lly nods. “Fine. We’ll figure something out.”
I follow him to the door, feeling oddly misplaced in my own home.
Everything has changed in the span of an hour.
It’s obvious he wants me. He’s made that clear.
So when we get to the door, him casually standing on the threshold with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his pants, I can’t figure out why he’s not trying…why he’s not taking me now.
I’m not even sure I want him to try.
But then he leans in, his lips at my ear. “Do not mistake my patience tonight for lack of interest. But the next time I have you, it will be the way I want it…where and when.”
He pulls back and our gazes meet. My lips part and my skin flushes.
He simply smiles and taps my nose with his finger. “Tomorrow. Be ready.”
Tomorrow, I mouth, right before he turns to walk away. Because somehow, my speech has evaporated along with my common sense.
I just sold my time and my body for two million dollars.
It changes everything for me professionally.
It changes everything for my dad.
And as I walk through my house, putting the glasses in my sink and slowly slinking into my bed for a sudden but much-needed nap, I have no doubt that the next thirty days will change my entire life.
I just hope it doesn’t end up ruined, with my heart in shattered pieces like eight years ago, when my time with Donovan came to an end.
I have been on pins and needles all day, unable to focus on work or my time with my father, dreading and preparing for this very moment. I wanted to be angry with Donovan for practically forcing me into this position. But in reality, my lack of options to save my company and keep my father in a just-barely-adequate nursing care facility wasn’t his problem.
He has only offered me the solution.
Now, a thrill of nervous anticipation trickles down my spine as I follow Bentley up a secluded and curved driveway.
Ironically, Bentley is driving a car bearing his same name. I had snorted when I walked outside my office after work to see a sixty-year-old man wearing simply khaki pants and a pressed white shirt, standing next to the same vehicle that had appeared in my driveway yesterday.
As I pull my car to a stop behind the black car and watch as he exits it to walk toward mine, I am suddenly terrified by the solution that Donovan has provided for me.
Yet my body feels primed, looking forward to my first interaction with him.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamed of him last night, wondering how far his control—that he’d insinuated he had—extended.
In the bedroom? Or just the boardroom?
“Knock it off, moron,” I scold myself as Bentley gently opens my door. I smile up at him and swing my legs to the pavement. My ankles teeter on my heels and I slowly inhale a calming breath through my nose. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Miss Merchant.”
“Talia, please,” I say with a smile.
Bentley nods. Somehow, I have a feeling I will be hearing Miss Merchant frequently in his presence.
As I exit my car, Bentley waves toward the front of Donovan’s house. “Mr. Lore is expecting you.”
I spin on my heels, thankful my legs aren’t trembling like my heart seems to be with its wild fluttering.
Donovan stands at the top of a small brick staircase wearing another black suit that was made for his body.
With another fortifying breath, I calmly walk across the driveway, my gaze wandering as I finally take a minute to survey my home for the next thirty days. The yard is lush and green, and gorgeous landscaping frames the front of the house, with plants and shrubbery in vibrant colors.
A small part of me is impressed as I take in the house and the attached four-car garage. While the home seems large, it isn’t overly intimidating—not like the mansion I know Donovan grew up in. He used to tell me that even he could get lost inside his own house as a child. He said it would take his nanny hours to find him, especially when he began using the secret passageways and hidden doorways. I always assumed he grew up in something akin to a castle. While there is no mistaking that this home in front of me, with large peaked gables and a combination of brick and rock on the front, is way outside my price range even in my wildest dreams, it doesn’t seem as extravagant as I expected.
“Does it meet your approval?” Donovan asks as I near him, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
His calmness and playful tone help slow my racing pulse.
My lips twist and I look up at the enormous window over the front door. I drop my gaze and meet his sparkling green eyes as I shrug, looking unimpressed. “It’ll do, I suppose. No guesthouse, though.”
He laughs softly and shakes his head. “No, no guest house.” Turning, he opens his front door and gestures for me to enter. “Welcome to my home.”
His lips are still tilted up in amusement and I wonder if I’m missing a hidden joke, but I follow him, my hands clasped together in front of me, and look around the warm house.
It feels cozy despite its size, and when I see the windows on the far side of the house, my breath stills in my chest.
I can see nothing except Lake Michigan, and the view is spectacular. The early fall’s setting sun casts a colorful hue over the massive lake. Sailboats and barges sprinkle the water’s surface, and the sky is alight with shades of oranges and purples as it spreads across the horizon and peeks through the clouds.
“Wow, this is beautiful.” My feet move forward of their own accord. Behind me, I hear the gentle click of the door shutting and a string of beeps that I assume is a security system. There is no other noise in the vast space besides my pulse thrumming in my ears.
“We have a private beach below,” he says, his voice quiet. I catch his reflection in the window as he walks up behind me. His hands hang loosely at his sides and his eyes crinkle with something I can’t place.
“Did you build this house?” I ask, still stunned by the gorgeous view. It’s so peaceful, and I can tell the water is far below us. In fact, just past the edge of the deck outside, all I see are the tops of trees until the water, and just the very edge of a dock.
The house is high and must be built on a bluff.
“No. Fortunately it came on the market at the right time.”
“Well.” I slowly turn around to take in the rest of the space. I immediately notice the walls are warm browns, and there’s a chocolate brown leather sectional that can probably seat twelve, that sits in the center of the room, taking up almost the entire, vast space. There’s artwork and potted plants in the corner, and built-in shelves with books, but what I notice as I see the living room and the formal dining area is a complete lack of any personal effects.
Everything seems staged by a designer, and even though the space feels warm and homey, it doesn’t reflect Donovan at all.
At least not how I remember Donovan being from when we were younger.
“Where’s Jeremiah?”
He didn’t stop by the center today and I had been expecting him. The fact that he’s not here, either, concerns me.
Donovan doesn’t seem as affected.
His hands slide into his front pockets. “He’s in the game room. I can take you to him, unless there’s something else you want to do first.”
I understand the implication in his husky tone.
My body responds with a flutter low in my stomach.
“I’d like to see the game room,” I say, my voice breathy, as if I’ve just finished a kickboxing workout. I can’t pull my gaze away from Donovan as he walks closer to me. He reaches out his hand and his knuckles brush along my jaw.
Hairs spike at the back of my neck and I suck my lip in between my teeth.
“It’s nice to know,” he says, and brushes his lips against my ear, “that you’re more affected by me than you let on.”
My lip curls into a sneer. “I promised to help with Jeremiah, and that’s all.”
We both
know I’m lying. It’s clear in the way I find myself leaning into him. My hand lands just above his hip and my fingers dig into his suit coat, holding me up.
“I know. You’re not being paid for your time with me. That will happen naturally.”
I scowl, hating that I know it will. But I’m committed to doing everything necessary to not only get Donovan out of my system once and for all, but save my dad and my business. “We’ll discuss this later.”
His mouth drags down my jaw, following the line his knuckles did moments ago. I can’t hide the shiver that courses through me, and I inhale a quick, needy breath of air.
“We’ll be doing more than discussing later,” he assures me.
I close my eyes and swallow thickly. I can only nod as Donovan moves away, his hands and lips drifting away from my skin.
I look up at him through lust-filled, half-lidded eyes. I don’t say anything as he turns and gestures for me to walk with him.
I follow as he gives me a tour of his house, where I see five different bedrooms, an indoor two-lane gun range, two different kitchens, three laundry rooms, and a bar that rivals anything I’ve seen on Beacon Street in downtown Denton.
I wasn’t told which bedroom would be mine as we walked through the upstairs hallway, but I definitely noticed that while Jeremiah’s room is on one end of the massive hallway with four other bedrooms close to his, Donovan’s is clear down at the end of the hallway and around a corner.
The gorgeous lake views can be seen from almost every room in the house, through floor-to-ceiling windows.
It’s too big for one or two people, yet it’s not pretentious at all. Whoever Donovan hired to decorate it made it completely feel like a family home. But what makes me sad as we walk through the house is the complete lack of anything personal.
There still isn’t a single picture in sight.
By the time we reach the game room, from which I hear the distinctive sounds of zombies moaning, I’m entirely enamored with this place.
“Jeremiah,” Donovan calls, and raps his knuckles twice on the door as we enter. “Miss Merchant is here.”
Jeremiah doesn’t show any hint that he’s going to acknowledge Donovan’s statement. I don’t let it stop me from entering the room and taking a spot in the gaming chair next to him. There are three rows of leather chairs, each row with five seats. An armrest with cupholders separates the black leather chairs.