He opened his mouth to explain that but refrained. He wasn’t ready. Not yet.
Samira lifted her head from the floor to lick at his mouth. He held her neck in his hand to support her as they shared languid kisses. The feel of her plush body beneath him as she massaged the backs of his thighs with her soft heels sparked him again, and he was surprised when he hardened inside her. At her deep, guttural moan, he knew she felt his arousal.
He hid his face against her neck. He was self-conscious. It had been so long since he’d allowed the door to his sex drive to open. So very long. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear.
Samira slid her feet up to his buttocks and locked her legs to push him deeper into her.
His clenched his fist and lightly pounded it against the floor. It took everything in him not to stroke inside her. Get lost inside her. “You tender?” he asked, aware of his size.
“Yes,” she admitted, pressing kisses to his shoulder.
He raised his head to look down into her face. Her eyes were hot and dazed with desire. His inches got harder.
She gasped as she tilted her head up.
“You want me to stop?” he asked, feeling tortured.
“No,” she moaned. “No.”
He laid his arm beneath her head to protect it from the hardness of the floor and eased his other hand beneath her to arch her buttocks as he began to glide inside her. Slowly and not too deeply.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she sighed over and over.
Utterly fascinated.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the chocolate beauty. She had awakened something in him he swore he didn’t need. Just the touch of her hand to his scar made him feel that it faded away. She saw it. Saw him. And still wanted him. Still thought him attractive. Still desired him.
Lance pressed kisses to the corner of her beautiful mouth before lightly biting her chin as he continued to deliver slow strokes that were just as devastating as fast pumps. Maybe more so.
There on the floor by the fire, they made love.
He allowed himself some freedom. Some happiness. Goodness. For once in a long time, he thought of nothing but the moment. There with Samira. In her. Making love to her. Surrendering to her heat. Cloaked by her tightness.
And as they looked in each other’s eyes and shared gasps of pleasure and softly whispered words of praise, they came together again. He fought to maintain the steady back-and-forth of his hardness inside her, not wanting to rush or make their climax furious this time. To enjoy the way they made each other feel. Just achingly satisfying.
“Samira,” he moaned into her open mouth as he filled her with the last of his seed and felt his spasms as she drew it from him with ease.
“Shit,” Lance swore.
She smiled, just slightly, with her eyes half closed.
With one last kiss to her delectable mouth, he rolled them over until her body was nestled atop his. She rested the side of her face against his chest, and he turned to look into the fire as he dragged his fingertips back and forth across her lower back, unable to resist touching her.
She fell asleep before he did, but fatigue soon came, and in the last moments before he closed his eyes, he took note that her body fit perfectly against his.
* * *
Samira awakened first, smiling at the low rumble of Lance’s snore that echoed inside his chest. She raised up to look down into his face, loving how relaxed he seemed. So unlike his brooding self.
That’s what good sex will do for ya.
With a kiss to his chest, she attempted to ease his strong arm from around her body.
“I’m your ride home,” Lance said, his voice still thick with sleep. He tightened his arm around her body.
Samira chuckled. “Yes, you are,” she reminded him, looking down into his handsome square face. “And I need that ride. My mama and family know I’m here, and I refuse to let them know all of my business.”
He eyed her. Studied her. “Okay,” he said, kissing her mouth before he freed her.
Samira rose to her bare feet, reaching for the blanket to cover her nudity.
Lance rose as well, his member long and thick as it swayed across his thighs as he moved. With a shake of his head, he reached for the blanket and gently tugged it from her grasp to fling onto the chair.
Samira arched her brow as she pretended to cover her breasts and the plump clean-shaven vee between her legs with her hands.
He smiled, passing by her with a light slap to her buttocks as he left the living room.
Alone, she took a breath as she looked at the chair where their coupling had begun. Her cheeks warmed, surprised at herself. At her wild abandon.
I had sex with Lance Millner.
Mind-blowing.
She needed a moment to take it all in. Away from him. Never had she made love with a man with whom she was not in a relationship. This one-night stand—or however it could be categorized—was not her norm. She didn’t regret it. Not at all. But she wanted to understand why on that day she was okay with being different.
She picked up her phone from the table by the now-scandalous chair. She dialed her mother’s cell phone.
“I presume all went well,” LuLu said as soon as she answered the call.
“I waited out the weather,” Samira said. “Where are you?”
“About to leave Alek’s,” she said. “Roje has to go into Manhattan and offered to drive me so I wouldn’t have to disturb Mandridge.”
Roje was once the long-time driver of Alessandra’s father, Frances, and then became Alessandra’s upon his death. Mandridge was the Ansah family driver. Samira didn’t care which chauffeur was driving—she was ready to get home, luxuriate in her jetted tub and figure out just whom she had become on that day.
“Good. Have him pick me up from the lake,” she said.
At the silence, Samira held her phone from her face to ensure that the call had not failed. “Maman, you there?” she asked.
“Yes. I’ll have Roje pick you up. We’re leaving now.”
“Okay,” Samira said, curious about her noticeable pause. She ended the call.
“Your clothes are dry, but your fur isn’t.”
She turned as he walked back into the room and enjoyed the contoured lines of his body and the sway of his dick as he carried her clothing to her.
Absolutely no regrets.
The bud between her lips throbbed at the thought of how he’d made her come. How explosive. How dramatic. How thrilling. Just satisfying. Addictive.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the clothes and still-damp fur from him.
“You want to shower first?” Lance asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll take a hot bath as soon as I get home,” she said, beginning to get dressed. “The car taking us back to Manhattan will pick me up from the lake.”
“You sure? I would have taken you,” Lance said.
“No need for two trips to the same building.”
“You live with your mother?” he asked.
She shook her head and made a face. “Same building. Different floors.”
“I’ll be back,” he said, striding across the room and up the stairs.
She eyed his hard buttocks and then smiled at his member dangling between his legs as he took the steps two at a time. By the time he returned, fully dressed in his normal garb of jeans, T-shirt and one of those hats, she was dressed as well, holding her fur by the hood. He handed her a parka with a fur hood.
“Wear this since your fur is still wet,” he said, some of his gruff tone returning.
She eyed it. “Your coat will dwarf me,” she said even as she took it from his hand.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and frowned as he looked into the fire. “It’s not mine,” he said.
Whose is it?
B
ut she refrained from asking him that aloud. She eyed him as she pulled the coat on and could see he was already withdrawing into himself.
Perhaps he needs some time as well.
“Thanks. I’ll get it back to you,” she said.
He nodded.
She studied his profile beneath the rim of the cotton hat and saw more of the man who shut out the world and not the man who just made love to her with such intensity that she was still rattled.
“Goodbye, Lance,” she said.
He remained staring into the fire.
“Lance,” she called over to him again.
He looked over at her, but his eyes were distant, and for a moment it seemed he’d forgotten she was there. “Huh?” he said.
“I said goodbye.”
He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’ll walk you out,” he said.
She followed him out of the living room, across the kitchen and to the mudroom. He opened the door and the winter winds blew in, carrying flakes of loose snow with them. Thankfully the rain had ceased. He reached to pull the hood of the parka over her head.
Samira reached up and grabbed his wrist before he released his light grip on the hood. “Thank you,” she said.
He said nothing, but there was warmth in his eyes as she looked up at him.
Saying nothing else, Samira opened the door and left him, sure the cold would freeze the damp fur as she made her way down the paved path around the lake and toward Alessandra’s vintage black 1954 Jaguar MK VII sedan. She was careful not to slip and fall again during the brief walk.
She looked back once she reached the car, where Roje stood holding the rear door open for her. Lance still remained in the doorway watching. She gave him a wave and climbed onto the butter-soft leather seat next to her mother.
“Is there a reason we couldn’t pick you up from the front door?” LuLu asked.
“This was easier,” she said, not revealing she didn’t want her mother to insist on meeting Lance. She knew if they’d pulled up to his front door, LuLu Ansah would have expected him to come out and greet her.
Bzzzzzz.
Samira pulled out her cell phone and smiled. Lance had air dropped her his phone number. As Roje drove away, she looked back at his log-cabin mansion, which suddenly didn’t look quite as desolate anymore.
Chapter 6
One month later
“Congratulations, you are being offered the position of president of the hotels/resorts division.”
Samira felt her eyes light with fire as she nodded her approval and then went around the entire table and shook the hands of the board members as she bestowed her thanks. “And any word on the proposal for luxury boutique hotels?” she asked before reclaiming her seat at the table and crossing her legs in the wide-leg crimson jumpsuit she wore with a dramatic structured cape that stopped at her upper arms.
Several board members eyed either Alessandra or Alek. They sat at opposite end of the conference table. Her sister-in-law bowed her head as if to give Alek leeway to speak first.
“We will be moving forward with the luxury boutiques next year. We have discussed it, and we all agree that we’d prefer your attention be given to learning the ropes, reviewing, selecting new staff. Getting acclimated to the job before tackling such a big venture,” Alek said, leaning back in his chair as he tapped his pen against the table.
Samira nodded and offered each person in the room a cool smile as she decided which side she landed on with flight or fight. I am an Ansah. We fight.
“Please know that I am honored to accept the position, but I believe to be completely effective as the president of hotels and resorts that is my duty to express my concern with your decision,” she began.
Alek and Alessandra shared a look.
“I don’t want to come into the position to clean up or correct someone’s possible missteps. I want to guide the department in an efficient, logical, moneymaking direction, and these boutique hotels will do just that. I’ve done the research. I ran the numbers. And above all... I am trusting my instincts. My gut,” she insisted, locking eyes with these men and women who held her future at ADG in their palms. “Instincts bred from heritage, my education, my tenacity and my work for the last few years as the senior market strategist for this global company.”
One of the board members cleared his throat. “Miss Ansah—”
She held up her hand. “Ms.,” she corrected and then softened her firm tone with a smile. “Let me finish first, please.”
He nodded and splayed his hand, giving her the floor.
“In a different scenario, had this proposal been given to you all, it would have been forwarded to me or one of my team members to analyze, to dissect and to offer my opinion on its viability. This is a winner. This would have received my thumbs-up. This will rejuvenate the division. Offer something different. Make money,” she stressed, leaning forward to tap her index finger against the desk as she spoke. “That’s not my ego speaking, ladies and gentlemen, that is my experience. I ask you all to reconsider, and I’ll leave you to do so. And when you do change your minds, because you trust someone who was your lead strategist less than five minutes ago, I’ll be one floor down in my new office.”
There was no more to be said, so she rose and took her leave with long confident strides that made her feel like a hybrid of Queen Nefertiti, Harriet Tubman, Maxine Waters and Oprah Winfrey.
As soon as she closed the double doors of the executive conference room, Samira leaned against them for a moment and allowed her knees to weaken. “Yes!” she said, punching her fist into the air.
Would her last-minute rally for her proposed project work? Who knew? The board was infamous for shelving a decision until the next monthly meeting. She knew their ultimate goal was to make the best decisions for the Ansah-Dalmount Group in order to maintain the legacy and financial health of the goliath in international commerce that her and Alessandra’s fathers started.
As she rode the elevator down one floor alone, she allowed herself a celebratory two-step and body roll. “Yesssssssss!” she sang as she snapped her fingers to imaginary music.
Ding.
She regained her cool composure just before the doors slid open. She paused a step at finding a tall and slender Middle Eastern woman in a skirt and blouse awaiting her with a tablet in hand and a poised smile in place.
“Hello, Ms. Ansah. I am Assi Aoun. I have been assigned as your new executive assistant,” she said, her accent pronounced.
Samira stepped off the elevator and extended her hand. “Welcome to my team, Assi,” she said.
“Your office is right this way, Ms. Ansah,” the young woman said, extending her hand in front of them.
“Are you psychic?” Samira asked as they walked down the wide length of the hall. “Or...”
“I was appointed to you this morning, and I’ve spent the time getting it ready for you as instructed. Someone called to let me know you were on the way down,” the woman said as they came to a stop before a glass-walled office midway down from the corner offices.
“I had all of your things packed up and moved here, including your purse, coat and phone,” the woman said.
Samira was more focused on her office. It was three times the size of her old one, with glass walls and a large desk.
“Is that Veuve Clicquot?” she asked, also enjoying the large bouquet of flowers beside the ice bucket of champagne.
“Of course. I thought you would want to celebrate your new position,” Assi said, reaching to open the door. “Ready?”
Samira took a breath. “I was born ready,” she asserted.
* * *
Lance read the final lines of his manuscript on the screen and nodded his approval. His agent had taken the remaining handwritten pages and ensured they were typed by one of her employees. Since the full document was emailed to him a w
eek ago, he had done two revisions. He was satisfied. The book was complete.
As always, he felt a mix of relief and melancholy.
His fingers tapped away on the keyboard as he attached the document and emailed it to both his editor at the publishing house and his agent with nothing more than the words “All done.—L.”
There were rounds of edits to come to prepare the book for publication in nine months, but for now, his time was his alone.
Nothing to distract me.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He frowned at the silence he usually treasured.
That’s new.
Lance rose and moved to the bar to pour himself two fingers of scotch—a tradition when he finished a book. He needed normalcy, especially with all the newness in his life. All of the change. Taking a sip of his drink, he made his way to the elevator. His stomach grumbled in hunger. He debated making himself dinner or walking down to Main Street for a hot takeout meal from the Gourmet Way. “Or I could have the food delivered,” he said aloud as the elevator slowed to a stop on the main level.
“Congratulations!”
As he stepped off the elevator, Lance frowned at the four people assembled in his living room with bunches of glossy balloons floating up toward the towering beamed ceilings. His eyes landed on his mother, Helena Michaels-Millner, first. “When did you arrive from South Carolina?” he asked, still locked in place.
She chuckled as she came to stand before him, and she bent her fingers to beckon him to bend down to her petite height. He immediately obeyed, and she pressed kisses to his cheek. “An hour ago. I’ve been here for every book you’ve finished, and a wellness retreat would not change that now,” she explained. “Cheer up, Grumpy.”
He made a face as he thought of Samira.
What’s your deal, Grumpy Grouch?
How could he forget that his mother called him Grumpy as well?
Christmas with the Billionaire ; A Tiara for Christmas Page 8