Part 1 Secrets of Desire
Max
The darkness is interrupted by a light as I sit in a dimly lit room waiting for the always late Lauren. She’s my latest attempt to find a woman that I can get along with for the rest of my life. It’s going on a month since we started dating so I’m about to test the matrimonial waters with her this evening. I want to see if she has the same ideas I have for the future. I’m turning thirty in a few days and decided it’s time to move out of the fast lane and slow things down a bit.
Abandoned when I was ten years old by my drug addicted mother, I grew up in a children’s home in the middle of nowhere, South Texas. Divorce is not an option for me. Once I marry and start a family which I’d like to do right away, nothing will tear my family apart. So my choice for a wife has to be someone I can stand, at the very least.
It was my cell phone which lit up, meaning I have a text message. It’s from the freelance accountant I contacted and he’s agreed to work on some accounting issues for me. My least favorite time of the year is coming up, tax season, and I need all the help I can get to hang onto as much of my fortune as I can.
A pair of long, sexy legs topped by a short, red skirt stride into the room. I scan them and move up over a lithe body until her face comes into focus.
I wonder what she really looks like.
“You appear good enough to eat, Lauren.”
She laughs, and the sound makes my face pinch as it is loud and slightly off key. “Don’t I know it, Max,” she says with a southern drawl. “Where are you taking me this evening?”
I hold my arm out and she takes it. “My chef, Hilda, is making us one of her specialties for dinner. I imagined it might be nice to stay in tonight.”
The sound of a heavy sigh meets my ears and I notice her red stained, collagen injected lips form a pout. “And what will we do after we eat this stuff your maid is making, Mr. Billionaire?”
“I thought we could eat by the fireplace in the small dining room. Afterwards we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. I’ll even make you popcorn if you’d like me to. And by the way, Hilda is not the maid. If she ever heard you call her that she might have to kick your ass, I’d have to intervene and most likely get mine kicked too.”
I pull the door open and lead her out to my Jaguar where she folds her long legs into the passenger side as she says, “That sounds dull and I don’t do dull, Max.”
After taking a gander at those long, tight, tanned legs I begin to salivate. My weakness is long legs, and it overrules my brain way too many times. I close the door and walk around to the driver’s side. “So what would you like to do?”
She looks into the mirror and applies more red lipstick. “I want to go to a nice club and be drunk by nine o’clock.”
My hands grip the wheel so I won’t grab her and choke some personality into her. “Oh, same as last night and the night before that.”
Her head swivels around, perfectly manicured eyebrows raise, creating wrinkles on her forehead.
“Oh my God, Max!” She goes on as her hands fly around in front of her. “So because you want to be a party pooper, I’m supposed to sit around your big ol’ mansion and piss the night away too?” Pausing to stare back in the mirror, she grabs some mascara and applies even more to her already thick as shit eyelashes. “Well, just drop me off then. I can find another ride home.”
As great an idea as that is, I’m too much of a damned gentleman to do that to any woman.
“No, Lauren, I was just kidding. I want to go to the club too.” I lie.
Suddenly she wears a sweet smile and bats those monster lashes at me.
“Oh! You’re silly.”
No, I’m an idiot!
As I drive along I decide to try out a little of what I had planned to talk to her about if she’d let me take her to my place.
“When do you think you’ll be ready to have kids, Lauren?”
Whoa! Shit! Everything on her face just raised into something that looks like the preceding of a shit storm. Can I take my words back, please?
With a thin finger wagging in my face, she screeches, “Oh no you don’t, Mr. Moneybags! Even you won’t be talking me into messing up this body. So that’s why you wanted to take me to your place. Hear this loud and clear, Max. I don’t want to have your children, nor anyone else’s. Kids add years to a woman’s body and face.”
“I see.”
Her finger trails down my cheek.
“Though you and I would make some beautiful children, sweetheart. I can’t do that to myself. Sorry to let you down, lover.”
I smile at her and give her a wink. I don’t feel let down at all. It is relief I’m experiencing the truth. She’s not the one for me. As I glance over at her, I find that her skirt has slid up and her upper thigh is showing. She’s good for a good time at least. Softly I run my hand over her exposed skin, only to have her slap it away.
“No! None of that.”
“Now who’s the party pooper?” I ask.
Alexis
My head is beginning to ache as I stare at this demon of a spreadsheet. Something isn’t right and I can’t figure it out. I grab my cell and text the old guy I’m doing this freelance work for.
And it’s time for more coffee.
As I walk across the room, I catch my reflection in the sliding glass doors. My bun has come loose and I can’t have that. I pull my hair down and mentally note that I need to go get it cut; it’s just too long. I pull it into a tight bun and notice a slight wrinkle in my khaki-colored Dickies. Smoothing it out, I take the time to make sure my starched, white button down is looking snappy too, and push my glasses further up on my nose.
My dad always told me to dress for the job I want. To rid the world of financial mistakes is my goal, a lot like a superhero. All I need is a khaki cape with a big, white letter, ‘A’ on it and I can get to work on saving the planet, one spreadsheet at a time.
My cell dings and the old dude has responded. He wants to have lunch and show me what he needs done.
I’m not a real social butterfly, hence the work at home gig. But he’s paying me an exorbitant amount of money. At least he gets to know that he has hired an accountant who looks the part. It should give him confidence in my abilities, I think, and perhaps he’ll decide to keep me on long-term.
The restaurant isn’t too far from my apartment so I hop on my bike and pedal on over. I have a car but I prefer not to pollute the air as often as I can. Okay, I’m not really all that into saving the planet. My car is a POS.
I chain my bike up in front of the restaurant, then smooth out my clothes again and notice a scuff on my penny loafer and bend down to wipe if off. My glasses fall off and a piece of broken cement puts a long scratch across one of the lenses. I can see enough to get by. If I’m close enough, I can see everything.
Into the restaurant I go, tapping on the pouch I placed around my waist to carry my small laptop in. It’s all the rage in Paris I’m told. A long mirror is in the entry way and I take a quick glance to be sure that I look good.
Perfect! Just like any accountant in any fine office building, complete with a pocket pencil organizer. This man is sure to be impressed.
A waiter comes towards me. “May I help you?” he asks.
“I’m here to meet Mr. Lane.”
The man looks me up and down as he says, “Do you know his first name, because the Mr. Lane I’m thinking of, well it’s most likely not him.”
“Yes, of course. It’s Max,” I say and the man’s eyebrows move to the very tippy top of his balding head.
“Oh! Please follow me.”
I follow him and peer around trying my best to focus on the surrounding fanciness. I pull my glasses out of my pocket and close one eye to look through the one good side.
Stud alert, front and center!
What a man! Broad shoulders, and a suit that probably cost him a cool thousand or more. Dark waves of luscious hair that falls to his shoulders. Eyes the color of
emeralds, oh be still my heart.
I put the glasses back in my pocket protector and follow the waiter dude. Fantasy man is making my panties wet, I need to find the old guy and get back into reality.
The waiter stops and pulls out a chair for me. I smile and plop down as poised as possible.
I blink to try to get my stupid broken eyes to focus. An arm with black sleeves reaches across the table and I shake a hand. It’s a firm hand; it doesn’t feel all wrinkly like I expected it to. “Hello, Miss Mathews. I’m sorry, you surprised me, I thought you were going to be a man. Your first name is Alex.”
That voice is much too deep and sexy to belong to an old man. “It’s actually Alexis, but everyone calls me Alex. I broke my glasses a minute ago. Do you mind if I sit a little closer to you so I can see you?” I ask.
“Let me come to you, don’t move.” I watch him as he gets up and notice that he’s tall.
He sits down and scoots his chair close to mine and slowly he comes into focus.
Oh God! It’s the gorgeous man who made my panties wet!
“Mr. Lane?” I ask.
He nods and smiles. “Can you see me now?”
I nod back and am sure my face is making some awful half smile, half frown thing I’ve been told I do on occasions when I feel awkward, which is often. “How nice to meet you,” I say as I extend my hand to shake his, but pull it back as I realize we already did that. My elbow knocks the plate sitting on the table in front of me and makes a loud clanking sound. My cheeks are most likely red and I may be sprouting beads of sweat on my forehead.
Mr. Lane laughs and places his hand on my shoulder. “No need to be nervous with me, Alex, I assure you.”
His cell rings and he looks at it. He’s so close I can see it too and a picture of a gorgeous blonde woman fills the large screen. A slide of his finger sends the call to voicemail and I say, “You can take the call. I don’t mind.”
“I never take calls when I’m with someone. It’s rude, don’t you think?” he asks as he looks right into my eyes with those gorgeous green ones he has.
“She’s kinda, completely gorgeous. I’d hate for her to get mad at you.”
His laugh is deep, and it rattles my chest he’s so close to me. “She kinda stays mad at me regardless, so no big deal. As far as gorgeous, I have no idea what she really looks like. She’s had so much work done to her whole body that there’s no way to tell.”
The idea anyone does that much to themselves is crazy to me. “Wow,” I say.
He nods in agreement. “So what’s up with the spreadsheet, Alex?”
I lean back to unzip the pouch to remove my laptop and see the gorgeous man smiling like he’s amused, so I say, “Um, I know it sometimes is considered odd, but I heard these things are really popular in other countries.”
He shakes his head and laughs, then finishes unzipping the pouch and reaches in to pull out my laptop. “I’m sure they are and I apologize if you thought I was finding humor in your, ummm, fanny pack, I think it’s called.”
His hand touches my stomach as he gets the laptop out and I nearly fall apart as it sends shock waves through my entire body. He isn’t even trying to be sexy, yet he can’t help it, I guess. “Thanks for helping me out there,” I say as I grab the linen napkin to my side and use it to wipe my now definitely perspiring forehead.
He places the computer on the table and leans towards me, his lips near my ear. Hot breath burns my ear as he says, “Alex, are you always this nervous?”
Honesty resides in my head and I just say it, “You’re gorgeous, sir.”
“Sir?” he asks as he sits back in his chair and thank the Lord his good looks blur in my messed up eyes. “How old are you?”
“Not that is matters, but I’m twenty-five, sir,” I say as I straighten my shirt and find my pocket protector fascinating.
“Don’t call me sir, you can call me Max. You got a significant other, Alex?” he asks and leans back in.
I shake my head and find him smiling at me. “Do you?”
He shakes his head and the smile fades. “Tell me, Alex, what do you do for fun?”
I thought this was a business lunch, but it seems to have gone awry. “Fun?”
“Yes, fun,” he says then turns away from me. “You say it like it’s a four letter word.”
“I read a lot,” I say, inciting a chuckle from him.
The menu in his hand tells me he’s ready to order and get this lunch over with. He says, “Tell me what you normally eat for lunch.”
Before my brain can stop my mouth, I answer, “PB and J’s, mostly.”
The slightest turn of his head shows me small wrinkles have formed on his forehead and he says, “We used to eat those all the time for lunch when I was a kid, growing up in the children’s home.”
“You grew up in a children’s home?” I ask, with surprise. “Did your parents die or something?”
“Or something,” he answers. He turns his whole body to me and leans in. “How about we get out of this stuffy restaurant and go back to my place and I’ll have my chef make us up a batch of PB and J’s with a couple glasses of milk?”
I find myself scratching at my neck as the starched collar rubs my skin, making it itch. “Ummm, I, don’t, umm.” I mumble and stumble with what to say.
He frowns. “Forget about it, you don’t want to go. We’ll eat here. You want a steak?”
Now I feel bad. The guy lost his parents and grew up in a home and just wants to eat a dang ol’ sandwich and I’m being dumb so I say, “No, I want to go. But I’m on my bike and would have to go home and get my car, which might not make it to where you live. Where is that by the way?”
“What’s wrong with your car?” he asks.
I laugh. “What’s right with it is a shorter list than what’s wrong.”
He smiles and my heart beats a little faster.
“I’ll take you in my car. I’m sure your bike will be safe here.”
I shrug my shoulders and say, “Okay then let’s go get our peanut butter on. I hope you have grape jelly.”
He stands and takes my hand and I get up. My arm is quickly interlocked with his as he whispers, “Hang on to me, so you don’t trip on anything since you don’t have your glasses.”
“Thanks,” I say, and find I have the weirdest sensation in my stomach.
Max
As we ride out to my place, the utterly clueless Alex, keeps me laughing. She’s the most interesting creature I’ve ever met. Tall, with perfect skin, and exceptionally shiny blonde hair, with eyes like blue diamonds that sparkle when she smiles, which is often, but she has no fashion sense at all.
“That was some smancy restaurant,” she says as she looks out the window. “Do you eat there a lot?”
I find myself laughing. “Smancy? Is that a word?”
Her eyes dart to mine and she blushes. “I’m stupid,” she says. “Don’t listen to me, I use a lot of dumb words.”
“No, they’re funny,” I say. “And the answer is yes, I do eat there often. So you find reading fun?”
She nods and looks around at the interior of my Jaguar. “This car is really snazzy.”
I fight the urge to laugh at her crazy words again. “I bet you’d find flying with me in my helicopter more fun than reading.”
Her eyebrows, which are badly in need of a good plucking, raise and she says, “You have a helicopter?”
“Yeah, I got one last year. I devised a seat which extends out of the body of the helicopter while keeping the occupant completely safe with a restraint system I designed. That’s how I made my money. The military bought a bunch of them and now it seems that anyone with a chopper wants one.”
Confusion fills her face. “So you hang out of the helicopter while it’s flying… and just why would someone do that?”
“To shoot at things,” I say and pull up to the entry gate of my place.
Alex looks at the large gate and nibbles at her bottom lip. “That’s a big gate, dude.
”
“Yeah, it’s here to protect the even bigger house you’ll see in a second,” I say and press the button to open it.
“This is a lot to keep clean,” she says as we pull up to the mansion.
Okay, that’s not a thing I’ve ever been told before. “Do you like it?” I ask.
She turns to me and smiles. “It’s a blur to me, Max.”
As I park the car and get out, I go to open her door, but she’s beat me to it and waits for me outside the car. I take her hand and lead her into the house. “Follow me, Alex, I need to find Hilda and get her to make us lunch. We can talk about the spreadsheet while she does that.” As I pull her along behind me I feel giddy for some unknown reason.
I find Hilda in the kitchen chopping vegetables. She looks up at me and her face breaks into a huge smile. “Mijo, who is this?”
I pull Alex up to stand next to me. “Hilda, this is Alex. Do you suppose you could make us both some peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches and some glasses of milk and bring them to the pool?”
“Peanut butter, Mijo?” Hilda asks with furrowed brows. “I have a couple of lobsters I can get them ready in a few minutes. Let me make you that.”
“I’d really like what I asked for, Hilda. I used to eat one for lunch almost every day when I was a kid.”
Hilda gestures towards Alex with the long knife she holds.
“Are you an old friend of his from the children’s home?”
“I’m not his friend. I work for him.”
Hilda’s eyes move down to our clasped hands. She wags the knife at them.
“You hold your employee’s hands now?” she asks with a concerned look.
I laugh and hold our hands up.
“She broke her glasses just before our meeting and I didn’t want her to trip, so I grabbed her hand.”
Hilda frowns and goes back to chopping.
“I’ll get the food ready and get James to serve it to you by the pool within a few minutes, Mijo.”
Savage SEAL’s Virgin: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 71
