***
Mrs. Johnson took Belle back to her wing the minute we landed. I sensed a lecture coming from Leonard St. Croix, and I had exactly fuck all interest in that. I didn’t need a knowing glance or an impassioned speech from Leonard about how I needed to give up romancing her and just stick to actual business. I knew what I wanted, what was burning through my veins. I could feel it in the way my cock throbbed and my balls were tight and heavy with need. Just being near Belle left me horny as fuck. It was something wild and almost inhuman running through me, something beastly. I needed her, and I’d wanted to touch her in the worst way.
That was why I came back to my private quarters right away. We had dinner scheduled later tonight, but if I didn’t take the tension off, then I wasn’t going to make it.
Surging into my bathroom, I slipped quickly out of my suit and tossed the pants and shirt into the hamper. I tried to avoid the mirror. The images I saw there, like the anchor and the logo, brought me back to Iraq. Back to the war and things I wished to God I could change. But still, out my periphery, I caught sight of the sleeve of tattoos up my arm, the “Semper Fi” declaring my loyalty to the Marines. I got it at eighteen, when I was young, fresh, and on my first leave. Now, it’s almost a bigger pain to me than my other mark, the one I try to avoid at all cost. I’d consulted with doctors about getting it removed and the cost wasn’t an issue, of course, but the ink for the sleeve was very dark, harder to remove than most would have thought and I was too busy with meetings to be out of it for a week or more with laser treatments. I’d do it someday and soon, but I needed to make sure my company wouldn’t fall apart during my recovery. So, the tattoo remained, a reminder of my sacrifice written deep into my skin.
As far as the Marines went, I’d never trade the camaraderie, the amazing men and women I served beside were still the best people I’d ever known. But it had its own tolls, the life that I couldn’t deal with, that I buried with sex and booze, with long nights out on the strip. I could run from it, or at least I could try, but I never seemed to run far enough, never blacked out quite enough. I always ended up back there somehow.
Usually in my nightmares.
The steam rose from the shower, and I slipped into it, placing my palms on the tile on the back wall and hunching over, letting the hot water splash over me, cleaning me, as if that was something I could ever be after—
No.
Not now.
Now, I was going to be absorbed by Belle, by the woman I wanted, from her fabulous, rounded breasts—not too huge or fake, but just right—to her amazing, pillowy lips that I’d been fantasizing about for days. That would ease my mind, would ease the trouble rolling through my mind. Keep me from slipping back into my nightmares.
I lathered up the soap and placed my hands over my cock. One hand was cupping my balls, which were tight with need still, almost ready to go, and the other was stroking my long, thick erection. I closed my eyes and thought about her, about the brown hair I wanted to fist as I pumped into her mouth. I thought about that creamy skin that I longed to stroke and mark while I was fucking her. I thought about everything I could have with her.
I could have everything this month, and I wanted it. I didn’t want to be cautious or follow the rules. I was goddamn Drake McManus, top of the Fortune 500, and I made the rules, always had.
Now I had Belle where I wanted her, where I’d craved to have her.
I thrust into my hand, feeling my balls tense, and I pumped harder, the rhythm of my strokes getting more intense, the heat of the shower merging with the heat pumping through my veins, and I was on fucking fire, consumed by heat as thoughts of her drove me on. I came then, shooting all over the tile, my jizz thick against it.
I was gasping for breath afterward, inclining my head up to catch the water in my mouth. My knees shook, and an idea came to mind, something that would move too fast even for such an arrangement, but something I was dying to do. I would be surprising Belle after dinner, and I hoped she accepted what I’d be offering.
If she resisted, I’d work hard to convince her, seal that deal.
It was what I did.
Chapter Four
Belle
I didn’t know how to take all this in. When we landed, I was confronted with the ultimate tropical paradise, a giant compound with a huge wraparound porch in a pale peach color. It looked like it would be at home in Havana or in any Spanish island, even if we were in the Bahamas. Rationally, I knew that Drake was rich, a type of rich my father had always worked and scrabbled toward but could never reach. But it was another thing to see it in person, to see a mansion the size of the average college dorm looming up from the sand and surf. God, the place even had wings. I know because his older, slightly rounded housekeeper, Mrs. Johnson, was showing me to the direct opposite side of the house—-no, estate—from where Drake was headed.
It took quite a few minutes of walking down labyrinthine halls before we reached my bedroom. I gasped at the tropical island paradise that awaited me: white wicker furniture, a four-poster bed with mosquito netting hanging down from it, and soft, pale lilac walls. Walking farther into the room, I spied an open door that led into a closet overflowing with clothes. I hadn’t checked the labels yet, but I was sure they’d be designer ones, only the best for me this month. I’d had some money growing up before the business went bad, and I liked a fancy dress as much as the next girl. Still, it had been years since I’d even thought of pampering myself. We’d had such a hard time since my father’s money troubles and my mom’s sickness had affected things.
Nevertheless, it felt like a magnet was pulling me closer to the amazing assortment of finery, as if playing dress up could help this crazy stunt make sense.
“You don’t have to look so sad,” Mrs. Johnson said as she set my suitcase down on the bed. “Drake is many things, and while he’s sometimes too brash and too cocky, he’s a good man. When I first started as his personal housekeeper, I hadn’t been here more than a year when he came to my rescue, like an angel.”
“How so?” I asked, my interest piqued.
“When my granddaughter was born, she needed a heart transplant, and he arranged to get her to the top of the list, no questions asked. Little Sabrina’s sixteen now and talking about prom and college.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “I never thought that I’d see that, not when we first got the news. He’s done similar things for so many of his employees and the children in L.A., his charity work. His gifts go beyond what you could imagine he’s capable of. He paid to move Leonard’s family to the safety of the United States from Haiti and has an apartment set up for them as well. Like I said, Drake may come off as gruff or strutting his stuff, but it’s a front. I think you’ll grow to understand that.”
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the grease in it from the flight and wishing for a shower before dinner. A seven-hour flight, no matter how luxurious, was a pain in the ass. “You don’t have to give him the hard sell. It’s not an infomercial, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Penelope, please, dear,” she said, patting my shoulder. Her eyes were kind and lined with age, which for some reason made me tear up. I think it was because I was scared I’d never see my mom grow that old. And she wouldn’t, not if we couldn’t afford the right treatment. “Are you all right?” she asked, pulling an actual handkerchief from her pocket.
I took it gratefully and dabbed at my eyes. “It’s just… you know why I’m here, that we need this deal to go through so the company can survive in some form—even merged with his—and my mom can keep her health insurance. It’s so hard.”
“Shh, I know this is going to work out. You need to get a nice hot bath, and I’ll set out your clothes. Don’t worry about anything tonight. Just enjoy dinner with Drake, and you’ll see. He’s a good man. I promise that.”