“Good job, son,” his father, Lawrence Millner, said, coming over to soundly pat his back. “I can’t wait to read it.”
Lance eyed his parents as his agent, Annalise, looked on from where she sipped champagne by the fireplace. His parents had long ago divorced when he was in his teens, a rupture brought on by his father’s refusing to release his beliefs on free love they both acquired in the ’60s. They were both free spirits who had him in their forties. From his mother, a retired college professor, he inherited his smarts. From his father—a respected poet and painter—his creativity.
They still got along and were friends, having put aside any grief with each other to coparent before it was called that by society. They were quirky and at times odd, but he loved them.
“Thank you, Pops,” he said.
“I want to read it, too, Lance!”
His mother and father moved apart to reveal Law, his five-year-old-brother from his father’s relationship with one of his “life sharers”—of which he had a few.
Lance stooped down before him and held his pug nose between his fingers to wiggle. “One day, Lawrence Millner Jr.,” he promised.
Law laughed and patted his cheek before he ran over to jump and try to touch the balloons.
He genuinely smiled at his little brother’s exuberance.
“Sounds good to have a little one around here, doesn’t it?” his father asked.
Lance stiffened.
“Lawrence,” Helena said calmly.
“Says the man who is seventy years old with a five-year-old,” Lance drawled. “Chances are, Pops, I’ll have to pay child support to his mother when you go on to the Great Beyond, so...”
“Lance,” Helena said, her tone still peaceful.
Lawrence chuckled as he rubbed his bald head. “You damn sure will...and like it,” he said.
It was hard to stay annoyed at either one. Instead, Lance moved beyond them and walked over to Annalise by the firelight.
“I would offer you a glass of champagne, but I see you’re already celebrating,” she said. “To another bestseller and early talk of an option for the movie rights.”
Lance scowled.
Annalise smiled as she tossed her waist-length blondish dreads over her shoulder. They suited her shortbread complexion and freckles. “Em, do you not enjoy making us both lots and lots of money?” she asked.
His frown deepened.
Annalise sighed and reached to grab his hand.
He stiffened.
She grasped it tighter, refusing to let go. “Em, I hate to sound like a broken record, but there are so many opportunities that you let slip by you. So many chances to grow and to expand and to be happy...again,” she said.
He looked down in her eyes and saw that her words were about more than the work, that she had convinced herself that she was the solution to his grief. He loved her as a friend, respected her as an agent and trusted her judgment, but he would never see her as a mate. He knew then he had to tell her the truth.
“She’s right, son,” Lawrence added from where he had stopped to pick up Law and attempt to raise him high to reach the balloons. He winced and released a small little cry and set him back down.
Lance strode across the room and lifted his brother with ease high into the air. Law opened his little arms wide and gathered a bunch of balloons close to his chest as he giggled with the sweet abandon of a child. Something deep inside Lance warmed at the sound of it. It was immediately replaced with the all-too-familiar sting of loneliness and sadness.
Would it ever end?
* * *
Ding-dong.
Samira arched a brow as she finished putting on her diamond chandelier earrings in front of the large oval mirror in the foyer of her apartment. She’d change out of the jumpsuit she’d worn earlier in the day and the jewelry went perfectly with the sequined black top that exposed one shoulder. Tucking her thick ebony hair behind her ears to highlight the jewels, she stepped over to the door and opened the black metal cover of the peephole. She gasped at Lance standing on the other side of the door.
“Surprise,” he said, biting back a smile.
Her heart raced as she flung the door open wide to step right into his waiting embrace. No words were spoken as they kissed with all the passion and promise stoked during the week since they last saw each other.
Samira broke the kiss, aware they were nearly in the hall of her upscale building. “Hey,” she whispered up to him.
“Hey,” he responded, his eyes twinkling.
She took his hand and led him inside her apartment. The door had barely closed before he pulled her back against his body and kissed her again. Slowly. Their moans echoed in the air around them.
“I missed you.” He spoke against her throbbing lips as he held her face with both hands.
“Good,” Samira said.
Since their first coupling on the floor of his home, they’d spent as much time together as they could, relishing in their chemistry and passion at his home. He rarely left his estate and had only spent the night at her apartment once.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Ms. President of Hotels and Resorts,” he said, his voice as warm as the twinkle in his eyes.
Samira’s smile was bashful. Lance made her feel that way. Soft and compliant. “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought your family and Annalise were there.”
“When you called me earlier today to tell me you got it, I just wanted to see you and celebrate with you,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat to withdraw a bottle of champagne. “So I came as soon as they left.”
She took the bottle and held it to her chest as she reached up to wipe away her gloss from his lips. Just the very sight of him and being near him made her feel warm inside, like she glowed from within. And there were many times, whether they making love, enjoying a furious romp or just talking with each other, that there was a look in his eyes that said he felt that same warmth.
“Just how did you want to celebrate?” she asked, leaning to set the champagne bottle on the gilt French baroque console by the door before she began to undo the button and zip of her matching sequined pants before kicking off her Louboutins.
His eyes smoldered. “It’s your big day. You decide,” he offered, removing his coat and kicking off the polished leather shoes he wore.
“Yes, but you finished your book today,” she reminded him before pulling her shirt over her head. “You have reason to celebrate as well.”
Lance eyed the sight of her small but plump breasts in her strapless lace bra as he unbuttoned his cotton shirt, exposing his hard chest covered with fine hairs. “You do have a point,” he said, tossing the shirt onto the pile forming beside him.
“That’s not all I have,” she said, removing her delicate lace panties to twirl the perfume-scented garment on her index finger before gently tossing them over to him.
He caught it with one hand. “I got a match for it,” he said.
“A match?” she asked.
“And it’s the perfect fit,” Lance said, draping the panties on his shoulder as he removed his pants.
She eyed his erection in his snug black cotton boxers and arched a brow. “Perfect?” she asked, thinking of his size and how each time he entered her she felt every bit of him pressing and stretching her walls. Every. Bit. The inches. The width. The curve. He had enough for himself and a little more for someone else.
Lance chuckled. “You adjust to it well,” he commended her, removing his boxers. The waistband got hung up on the tip of his hardness.
“I try,” she said, eyeing him as he reached for the brim of his hat. “Leave that on.”
He tipped his head to her in agreement.
Samira turned and drew the long length of her tresses over one shoulder to lightly tickle her belly. He crossed the short
distance to reach her. The feel of his warm fingers against her skin as he undid the clasp of her bra caused her to gasp and shiver. Once the brassiere fell to the floor, he brought his blunt fingers around to cup her globes, and she tilted her head back against his chest as she reached behind him to clasp the sides of his hard buttocks. He lightly bit her shoulder as he eased one hand down to palm her intimacy. A gentle squeeze placed pressure against her clit, and she cried out in pleasure.
The ring of her cell phone echoed in the air.
She stiffened.
“Forget it,” he moaned against her neck.
The ringing continued.
Lance turned her body, lifting her up against him as they kissed, and he took two large steps to press her body against the wall. There was something so intimate and close about their faces being shaded by the brim of his hat as she pressed one hand to his cheek and clutched his strong back with the other.
The cell phone’s incessant ringing ended, and her landline began.
She broke the kiss. “My mother,” she said, knowing no one used that line but the person who insisted she have it. “I better answer. Next there will be knocking on the door.”
She crossed her arm over her chest to hold down her breasts as she raced across the living room to the lone cordless phone located on its base in her home office. “Bonjour, Maman,” she said into the phone, a little out of breath.
“I thought you were headed up, Samira,” LuLu said.
“I am. Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be there,” she said, turning in the dimly lit room as Lance’s sizable figure shadowed in the doorway.
“Other people’s time should be respected, Samira, and you know that,” LuLu said, before ending the call.
Samira set the phone on its base.
“Is everything okay?” Lance asked.
“My mother is throwing a lavish dinner party to celebrate my promotion today,” Samira said, crossing the room to reach him.
“And I interrupted,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She looked up at him with her head tilted a bit to the side as she reached up to stroke his scar with her thumb. “Tonight would be a great time to meet my family and celebrate with me.”
He shifted his head away from her touch, shaking his head. Denying her. “No, Samira,” his said, his voice low but insistent.
Her disappointment assailed her. This debate over his isolation was not new. He refused to leave the safety and seclusion of his estate while Samira felt her social life withering because her choices were going alone or not going at all.
“Lance, I know there is so much more than I know about you...and I’ve been patient with your privacy, but I want you to share moments, things and events with me. You know that. I’ve never pretended to want anything else,” she said, leaning against the wall outside the office with her hands behind her as she looked up at him, trying to reach his level of understanding with her eyes.
“And should I sit in your mother’s house and disrespect her by wearing my hat all night?” he asked.
“Or,” she stressed, “you could remove your hat and not be self-conscious anymore.”
He eyed her.
She returned his look.
“Or,” he said, “you can go and enjoy your family. I’ll hang out here and start outlining a book idea I have to keep busy until you get back.”
Samira reached out to wrap her hand around his member, gently pulling down on it. “Will you be naked when I get back?” she asked, lifting her chin as she eyed him.
He hardened as she stroked downward on his inches. “Don’t start something you don’t have time to finish, Samira,” he warned.
She lowered her body until she was kneeling before him. With a look up at him meant to be coquettish, she drew his smooth tip into her mouth and gave him several slow sucks.
Lance’s knees buckled, and he reached out to press his hands against the wall as he hung his head between his extended arms to look down at her. “Samira,” he said, his voice tight.
With one last kiss and lick, she freed him before rising. “To be continued,” she said over her shoulder before walking away and leaving him hard.
“Damn,” he swore.
“Serves you right for leaving me alone to attend yet another event,” she called from the foyer as she began to pick up her discarded clothing and get dressed.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
As she stepped into heels, she looked back to find him leaning against the entry. She eyed him, enjoying his sculpted body and the promise of pleasure offered by his inches, but the smile she gave him was slightly forced because it covered the disappointment stinging her chest. “Again,” she said softly. Adamant.
She moved to pick her clutch and keys from the table by the door.
“Samira—”
“I’ll see you in a little bit, Lance,” she said, pausing in the entryway after she opened the door. “It’s all good.”
But it wasn’t. Not at all.
His secrecy and seclusion were a big issue. She wanted to know the reason for it all, but she’d decided that her days of searching online or gently probing him with questions were over. Only Lance held the key to the door locking away his secret. His pain. His reclusiveness. She wanted the truth, but she was tired of games and subterfuge and would only accept his truth from him or move on from him without it.
She left the apartment but paused to lean back against the closed door, because she hated the doubts beginning to rise of having any real future with the reclusive Lance Millner.
* * *
“It’s all good.”
A week later, Lance stood before the door to Samira’s apartment reminding himself of those words she’d said to him when he declined to attend her celebration dinner. She’d smiled, but hurt and disappointment had filled her eyes and her voice, speaking a truth that she did not fully articulate with her words. Some innate desire to protect her from hurt and harm had touched him in a way that he had not felt for another person in years. It both surprised and alarmed him.
That night when she came back to her apartment, they’d had sex. It had been perfunctory. Routine. That was a first. Good but not great. Not explosive. Chemical. Passionate. The ending hadn’t been quite as happy.
He missed their connection. For days after, his mind went back to that night. He felt unsettled about it. The thought of not having her in his life did not sit well with him—which annoyed him. But he wasn’t ready to let her go—which scared him.
Through the door, he heard the very faint sound of lively conversation and Christmas carols playing. He raised his fist to knock but paused it midair. Awaiting him was his woman and her family at a small Christmas party she was having just to introduce him.
Lance released a breath.
He would never admit to the anxiety gripping hold of him at that moment. He wanted nothing more than to turn and flee. He was concerned about how he would be viewed. That insecurity was so different from the confidence he held before...
He closed his eyes, wincing as memories of the car wreck replayed. He could hear the screech of tires and the loud boom of the crash as the cars collided. Years had passed, but the memory was clear and vivid. The aftermath had left him crippled with grief, and he felt it rising in him in waves.
“Shit,” Lance swore, stepping back from the door and fighting not to give in to the desire to snatch off the bow tie he wore with his all-black tuxedo and a black fedora.
Wiping his mouth with his hand, he turned and took long strides toward the elevator at the end of the wide hall. Relief was already conquering his anxiety and fear.
He stopped, feeling less than.
That’s not me. That not who I want to be. Not anymore.
He turned and looked down the length of the hall at her door. He smiled, knowing his arrival would make Samir
a happy. That mattered to him. He enjoyed her in his life. In and out of his bed. She was a bright spot in the darkness. She was light and goodness. She was the healing he hadn’t even realized he needed.
With a lift of his shoulders and a roll of his head, Lance mustered up the courage still brimming in him and made his way back to her door. Back to Samira.
Knock-knock.
His heart pounded. He felt like a high school kid. The thought of that made him smile a little.
The door opened, and there she stood looking radiant in sequined, claret-colored wide-leg pants paired with a sheer long-sleeved shirt of the same shade that exposed the strapless velvet bra she wore beneath it. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her makeup was dramatic and appealing.
She looked beautiful, and his heart raced in response to her. “You made it,” she said, reaching for his hand to pull him inside to kiss him.
“I’m not taking off my hat,” he said as she wiped her maroon gloss from his mouth with her thumb.
“This is my house, purchased by me, and you don’t have to,” Samira said, her eyes twinkling with the happiness he knew she would feel at his arrival.
He removed his cashmere topcoat and handed it to the uniformed servant patiently standing nearby. “I’m starving,” he admitted.
“For me or for food?” she asked once the butler had moved away to hang up his coat.
“Both,” he said.
“Ooh. Dinner and dessert,” she said.
“Exactly,” he said with promise.
“Don’t make me rush my family out of here,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into the living room.
He enjoyed the feel of her fingers wrapped around his as they came to a stop. As her family rose to their feet and turned to face them, he allowed himself a moment to take in the winter wonderland decoration. The reminder of the upcoming Christmas holiday was another level of anxiety he hoped to avoid. Swallowing over a lump in his throat as he pushed memories of Christmas past, Lance raised his hand in a wave he already knew came off as awkward. “It’s very nice to meet you all,” he said, trying his best to remove the usual brusqueness from his tone.
Christmas with the Billionaire ; A Tiara for Christmas Page 9