Chapter 2
Liam Lemaître
“What if it was a scam?” Aretha stood before Jonathan Liam Delacroix Lemaître Jr, her long, silver dreadlocks held back by a leopard scarf which matched her dress.
“Then it was a scam, obviously.” Liam Lemaître arched an eyebrow, reached beside her, and pressed the elevator button to the rooftop restaurant they would be dining in.
Not ten minutes ago, they were exiting the tailor shop, which was a block away from Aretha’s favorite restaurant. They had relieved the driver before his custom-made fitting and chosen to walk to lunch.
On their way, a young mother was begging her son to leave an expensive specialty toy store. The boy cried loudly, wanting a wooden toy train. But it wasn’t his outburst that made people look. They were in Dallas, but a few blocks north. Their attire, by certain standards, didn’t belong. At least, that’s what blared on the store clerk’s face as he glowered through them with contempt.
In a split second, Liam calculated the kid’s age. He had to be about five. Liam’s own son would be roughly that age, if Raven had kept him … or had they conceived a girl?
As the mother pried her son’s hands from the glass door, Liam had intervened.
Liam gestured at Aretha with a debonair wave as the shiny gold elevator doors opened. Each time his eyes landed on a kid, boy or girl, he thought about the child Raven aborted. And then, Liam Lemaître had realized that of all the material things in the world he had—and he had lots—his assets honestly didn’t add up to shit. Though his mind was on one of the greatest sorrows in his life, Liam smiled through his pain. His executive assistant wasn’t pleased with how altruistic he’d just been. Or his disinterest in the fact that the mother-son duo might have been a con.
“All right, say it was a scam. It is Christmastime, which increases the odds in your favor. Let’s say the kid is a blossoming actor, the mom returns the gift for hard cash, the rest of those rich bastards staring down their noses in the store are distant relatives of Scrooge, and I, myself, was taken for a few measly bucks—”
“In the normal scheme of things, two hundred dollars is far from a few measly bucks, but continue,” Aretha said.
He chuckled softly as the elevator zipped up the building. “And what about the other times someone is in need? If I allow myself to muddle over one person’s antics, someone who truly needs or deserves something is at a loss.”
“Oh,” she scoffed, getting off the elevator. They sauntered down a passageway of lush green foliage to the maître d'. “That’s life, honey. People window shop on a daily basis. On another note, are you burrowing yourself in that glass cabin in the woods this weekend because that dreadful Camille is coming to town? Now, I’m always advocating for you to go out—without it revolving around a business chat or paparazzi cameras—except when it comes to gallivanting with Camille.”
Liam considered that as they were quickly escorted to a table overlooking uptown Dallas. He often stayed at the penthouse in his hotel two blocks down the street. When he craved solitude, he went to the home he had made for himself in the woods that encompassed acres of land. Aretha had been Liam’s only guest, which was due to a mishap by the interior designer while Liam vacationed in Australia.
“I’ll stay in the city.”
It was her turn to laugh as a waiter pulled out her chair. “Thought so. Do you know I often envision you as a younger, and albeit handsome, Santa Claus? And then you delight in brainless models. It all just ruins my image of you as perfect.”
“Glad that I have yet to exceed your expectations.” Liam laughed boisterously. He enjoyed his assistant’s company; they were always in a debate. Some of the topics revolved around the Victoria Secret model, Camille Kerr.
“Sure, you’ll continue to try.”
“True. But, my environment must always encompass pretty things. That’s why you’re my assistant.”
“Humph, I’m an old woman.” She smirked, but her dark skin flushed a bit.
Liam turned to the server. “Glass of red for the beautiful lady, scotch—no rocks—for me.”
Aretha’s eyebrow arched. “Too soon to celebrate?”
“Nah, never too soon. But I’m sure you’ll still be able to assist after a glass or two of wine. I believe in you.”
Aretha’s iPhone chimed. “Ah, let’s see here. I knew there were a few things I’d have to force you to do. You lock yourself in that large office or are busy all day with the fleet of hotel architects these days. Let’s see … Oh, your grandmother called.”
Liam pulled at his thick eyebrow hair in thought. “You want me to return my Nana’s call during lunch?”
“Probably the best scenario. Seeing is believing, in my opinion. But I’ll schedule it in your phone for later as long as I have your word.” Aretha smiled triumphantly, holding out her hand for a firm shake. Sometimes he seemed forgetful. Only when it involved family.
Estella Delacroix, Liam’s Nana, always had excuses as to why she hadn’t been present during much of Liam’s life. She’d once been a high-fashion supermodel, so he understood reliving her glory days came first. Truth be told, growing up with Annette Shaw as a grandmother figure had made Liam long for the care of his own grandmother. And then he turned fourteen, and his mother forced him to live in France.
“No need, I’ll call Nana later.” He could still faintly feel the powerful sting of how Estella had pinched his cheeks in disgust. Now he was six foot four, two hundred forty-five pounds of raw muscle. But he didn’t want to thank Estella for that. Not at all.
“Liam …”
He picked up his menu, not in the mood to talk about how easy it was to alienate people. “C’mon, are you ordering the salmon, or, I believe the halibut is on the menu today.”
“Liam, she’s your grandmother.”
Why didn’t I just hire a slutty secretary who’s still good for something? “Okay.” He placed the menu back on the table. “Did you purchase a birthday gift?”
“Yes, two months ago. Her birthday was two months ago. Estella called then, too.” Aretha paused. “For months on end she has insisted that she has something very pertinent to tell you about your family.”
He straightened his black silk tie. It was always easy to speak with Aretha. On a few occasions, she’d taken him home for a home-cooked meal. Being personable came with the territory of working 24/7, but this was an uncharted subject.
***
Later that evening, Liam scrolled through the contacts on his phone for Estella’s phone number. He stood on the patio outside of his penthouse. The bright nightlights of the city twinkled. Just as he was about to make the call, his doorbell chimed. Tossing the cell phone onto one of the wicker couches, Liam stepped inside onto the Italian marble to open the door.
As soon as he did, red, glossy, manicured hands flew out, clasping his strong jaw and chiseled cheeks. Camille’s lips were latched onto his in seconds.
Fucking the Vicky Secrets supermodel always seemed like a Nascar race. She didn’t cuddle; he didn’t mind. She was his little bit of “coloring outside the lines” in a world that required the media and all of his time.
They found a way to alternate from playing Dom; exert control and beg for mercy. His hand yanked the back of her ponytail as he deepened the kiss while they stumbled down the hall toward his bedroom.
With each step they made, bumping into glossy Venetian walls, or backing into canvas art, they kissed wildly, passionately.
And then Liam dropped Camille on his bed. She laid down with a naughty laugh. With her legs wide open, those striped silk panties gave him a peekaboo of her wetness. But he needed to get off.
“I miss those fucking lips, Camille.” He rubbed his thumb across the plumpness of her mouth.
“I know you do.” Her red lips puckered around his thumb. Camille sucked him all the way into her mouth with such force, a barbarous grown vaulted from deep within his abdomen. Her motivation wasn’t to be reckoned with.
Liam unbuckled his pants. Camille got onto the floor as he sat on the accent chair. Her dark brown eyes were hypnotized by the sight of him. She opened up wide, the satin head of his cock sliding across her lips.
“Take it all, Cam. Let me fuck you all the way down your throat,” he said, his voice dropping to a deep rumble.
With each thrust, her mouth expanded for more thickness, more length. He twined his fingers around her hair and began to pull just slightly in order for her to catch his desired rhythm. The moaning and slurping of her relaxed jaw made him lean back in comfort.
“That’s what I want, Cam,” Liam told her. “Those fucking lips are beautiful.”
With her tresses coiled around his knuckles, Liam fucked her face harder, faster. Her gag reflex was so impeccable that when she took each hit to her tonsils, it felt like she was massaging his cockhead. And at this point, every mistake he’d ever made with the only woman he ever loved was gone to him.
Like a piston, his dick plunged in and out of Camille’s mouth at a rapid rate. Noting the swell of his cock beginning to pulsate, Camille squealed in delight. The first wave surged straight down her throat. That magical mouth held steady as she milked the long warm spurt.