by Jasmine Hill
She looked relieved and it gave him a glimmer of hope that she, perhaps, felt some attraction toward him. Up until this point, it had been hard to tell. She kept her emotions close. She was polite and talkative, but she hadn’t been overtly friendly, hadn’t even embarked on a little harmless flirting. It wasn’t what he was used to, and he found himself floundering to the point where he was pathetically grateful for any scraps of attention she threw his way. He knew she felt the physical attraction as he did—the sparks of electricity that had zapped between them when they’d touched. She’d gasped when he’d stroked her cheek that morning. So why did he feel that he had to work so hard to gain her affection? She stifled a yawn, and he suddenly realized how tired she looked. The smudges under her eyes weren’t as dark as they had been the previous day, but they were still there—the only blemishes in an otherwise beautiful face. He should go and leave her to go to bed.
He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. Thank you, once again, for a lovely meal.”
She looked panicked. He smiled inwardly—finally, a positive reaction from her. It gave him the confidence he needed to make his next move.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven-thirty. We’ll go to dinner.” He worded it as a statement deliberately. He didn’t want to give her an option. He needed her to realize that he would take her out. And besides, it was who he was. He liked to be in control at all times, and it was better that she realized that about his nature sooner rather than later.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then she frowned, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “I can’t,” she finally murmured. “But thank you for the invitation.”
What the fuck? He was taken aback, he couldn’t recall any woman refusing an invitation from him. Then again, he hadn’t actually invited Makayla, but rather had told her. Perhaps it was his method of delivery that she objected to.
He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I’m sorry if I sounded abrupt. When I want something, I go after it.”
“It’s not that.” She smiled. “Though your way of asking me out was…unique. It’s that I don’t like to leave my mother alone for too long. Mrs. Young, our neighbor, comes over during the day if I have to go out, but I don’t like to ask her to help during her evenings too.”
Donovan frowned. Josephine had seemed okay to him during dinner. Admittedly, she had been a little quiet, but he hadn’t noticed anything physically wrong with her. Then again, he was no doctor. What was so bad that she couldn’t be left alone? As if in answer to his musings, Makayla started to explain.
“My mother has bipolar disorder, and the doctor thinks mild schizophrenia too. She has her good days and bad days. Today was a good day, but we can never be sure when her mood is going to change. Nine times out of ten, I could go out and everything would be fine. The problem is—I can’t be sure. When she has a manic episode, she becomes very unstable and unpredictable. It used to be that we could recognize the onset of a manic occurrence, but in the last few years her condition has worsened and her moods change quite quickly. We’re trying her on different meds but it’s…complicated.”
That explains why Makayla looks so tired. She’s worried about her mother.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It must be very difficult for you.”
She gave him a weak smile. “We get by. We have each other, and Mrs. Young is very good to us.”
He took one of her hands in his. “I had a lovely evening, Makayla. I’ll let you go to bed. You need your sleep.”
He stood swiftly and walked to the front door, pausing by it. Makayla followed and opened it for him, standing uncertainly on the threshold. It was all he could do to stop himself from grasping her petite body to his and taking her in a passionate kiss. He’d been staring at her luscious mouth all night, watching her little pink tongue dart out to lick her lips. Instead, he bent his head to hers and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. He passed his nose over her hair as he drew back and inhaled deeply. She smelled of vanilla with a hint of strawberries—fuck, good enough to eat. He forced himself away and stepped through the door.
“Sweet dreams, Makayla.” He bade her goodnight before turning and walking to his car.
Makayla shut and locked the door, then leaned against it, a surprising sadness suddenly overcoming her. Slowly, she slid to the floor. As soon as she’d mentioned her mother’s problems, he’d shut down, leaving soon after. Why wouldn’t he? Why would he be interested in a woman who couldn’t go out, who couldn’t possibly have a normal relationship? She laughed ruefully. Anyway, who said that he was even interested in a relationship? He was probably just being nice when he’d accepted her invitation to dinner. Initially, he had wanted to take her out, probably with a view toward something afterward. Then he’d asked her again and she’d had to refuse. That was it, his patience had obviously reached its peak and he was tired of her. And, no doubt, he wanted nothing to do with the problems that her mother presented. She sighed deeply. It was nice while it had lasted, she supposed. One night where she felt special—what woman wouldn’t be flattered by the attention of such a man? At least, she thought, she had some fuel for her fantasies that should keep her going for a while.
She picked herself up from the floor and moved through the house, turning off lights. It didn’t take her long. It was a small home—small but cozy. She yawned deeply and realized how tired she was. All the stress of the day—cooking and worrying about Donovan’s visit—had finally taken its toll. She got ready for bed quickly and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Chapter Six
Makayla stood frowning at the unfamiliar woman on her doorstep
The woman smiled. “Mr. King said that you would require an explanation. He obviously hasn’t spoken to you about me. My name’s Kathy Broadbent. These are my credentials.” She handed Makayla an official-looking document. “Mr. King hired me to watch over Josephine for the evening. I’m a registered nurse. He asked that I come early so I could meet you and you could ensure that Josephine was settled before you left for the evening.”
Mind reeling, Makayla mulled over the conversation with Donovan the previous evening. He had said that he would take her to dinner, and that he was accustomed to getting what he wanted—this was obviously his way of achieving that. She couldn’t possibly accept. It wasn’t right, and her mother would probably hate the thought of a stranger in their home. But before she could voice her opposition to the plan, her mother appeared by her side, alerted to the fact that someone was at the door.
“You must be Josephine.” The woman on the doorstep smiled brightly and extended her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Kathy.” At the look of confusion on her mother’s face, Kathy continued, “Mr. King asked me to sit with you this evening so he can take your daughter to dinner.”
Makayla jumped in. “And I was just about to tell Kathy that it isn’t necessary. Her services will unfortunately not be required.”
Her mother spoke up. “I agree.” Then to Makayla’s horror Josephine continued, “I really don’t require babysitting. I do agree, however, that Makayla needs a night out and I know that she won’t relax if I’m at home alone. So, thank you, Kathy. Won’t you please come in?”
Before Makayla had a chance to protest further, Kathy had crossed the threshold, then she and Josephine were walking toward the kitchen, her mother talking about making a pot of tea.
Makayla looked at her watch—four p.m. She had three and a half hours before Donovan would be at her door. She should call him, refuse to go to dinner and rail at him for his impudence. The audacity of his actions should have angered her immensely, but she was oddly touched by his gesture. He had listened to her last night and his solution to the problem of Makayla going to dinner with him was Kathy. It was so simple for him, so easy just to hire someone. With her mother going along with the plan, Makayla could hardly refuse. Donovan had indeed secured his way. She sighed in resignation.
Crap. An
other thought hit her. What the hell was she going to wear? She took off to her bedroom and for the second time in two days, she agonized in front of her wardrobe. She imagined that the restaurant Donovan would take her to would be quite high-end and she didn’t want to embarrass him. She flicked through the hangers in despair. Most of her clothes were casual at best and many had seen better days. Her gaze fell on the magenta gown hidden at the back of her wardrobe. She hadn’t thought about it since the first and only time she’d worn it—at her Year Twelve Formal, five years previously. She held it against herself. It was a little large now, as she’d lost some weight, but otherwise, it could work. She had sewn it herself to her own design. Made from a fine taffeta with capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, the dress had a fitted bodice, the skirt falling to her ankles in a soft A-line. A satin bow in a darker shade tied around the waist. It was too long for an informal dinner and a little outdated, but a few simple alterations would change that. A frisson of excitement shot through her. She enjoyed sewing but it had been a long time since she’d sewn for the sheer pleasure and to create something just for herself.
She used their third bedroom as a sewing room. It was tiny, hardly even a room, really, but it fit her sewing table and a trunk of material, plus a small set of shelves that held her essentials. She knew what she was going to do and she set to work. She even had some of the original fabric. She never threw material away but stored it in case she needed it later.
In three hours, Makayla practically had a new dress, and she was pleased with the results. She’d decided on a vintage, 1950s style, similar to one she’d seen and admired in a magazine. She had shortened the dress to just below her knees and fashioned a petticoat from the darker satin fabric and some white tulle, ensuring that the darker edge of the petticoat showed from beneath the skirt. She’d taken it in where required and lowered the neckline. Finally, she’d made the satin belt narrower and the bow smaller. She twirled in front of the mirror and admired the way the full skirt flipped up and out. Unbelievably, she’d found a long forgotten push-up bra in her underwear drawer, so she had a nice cleavage to fill out the bodice of the dress.
Her hair had been a challenge. It was so thick and long that she generally just piled it on top of her head or wore it in a ponytail. She had decided on wearing it loose for the evening and had blow-dried it into waves that hung past her shoulders. She’d kept her makeup light—a little mascara and pink lip gloss. On her feet she wore silver, heeled sandals that she’d bought to wear with the dress five years ago. She felt feminine and pretty, and more than ready to face the night ahead.
Chapter Seven
Donovan had decided to take Makayla to Vista. It was a restaurant attached to one of his clubs with a beautiful view over the city and excellent food. They’d been greeted enthusiastically by his maître d’ and shown to a private table. Donovan wanted the evening to be special and he knew that the best place he could count on for superior service was one of his own establishments.
He studied Makayla across the table as she fidgeted with her silverware. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look this evening? That dress is amazing on you. Don’t shop anywhere else.”
Her head shot up, a lovely rose hue staining her cheeks as she blushed. She really must learn to take a compliment. She did look stunning. The dress did remarkable things to her figure, emphasizing her pert breasts and tiny waist. She’d seemed almost doll like—too perfect to be real. And when they arrived at his restaurant, she’d drawn all eyes to her, the women staring out of envy and the men out of admiration. It gave him a curious juxtaposition of emotions—exhilaration to have her on his arm and irritation at having her so blatantly ogled.
She smiled broadly. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it. I made it myself. Well, actually I altered it from a gown I sewed previously. This afternoon, when I realized I didn’t have anything appropriate for dinner and only a few hours to do something, I improvised.” She shrugged.
He shot his eyebrows up in surprise. The dress appeared to be very professionally sewn. It fit her so perfectly he should have known it was tailor-made. She really was extremely talented.
“Do you own this restaurant?” she now asked, gazing around. “The view from up here is stunning.”
“Yes, I thought it appropriate to bring you here. The food is excellent and, as you noted, the view is quite spectacular.”
The waiter arrived with a bottle of Bollinger champagne and oysters. He uncorked the bottle and expertly poured two glasses before retreating quietly.
“I took the liberty of ordering our first course,” he murmured. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Thank you.” She smiled and raised her glass. “Shall we toast?”
“To us,” Donovan murmured, raising his own glass to clink with hers.
She mimicked his actions and they each took a long sip of the bubbly liquid.
Donovan busied himself preparing their oysters, squirting lemon and sprinkling pepper then adding a small spoonful of shallot vinaigrette. He passed one to Makayla. “Bon appétit,” he said.
He watched as she brought her own to her lips and tipped her head back to slide the oyster into her mouth. “Mmm, delicious,” she announced then licked her lips.
Fuck, does she know how erotic that looks? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his growing erection pressed against the seam of his dress pants. Christ, but this woman does things to me. Never before had he been affected so quickly by a woman. It was unnerving to say the least.
“How many clubs do you own?” Makayla’s husky voice snapped him out of his reverie.
“Five. Three in Sydney and two in Melbourne.” He took a sip of champagne. “Actually, I’m heading to Spain at the end of the week. I’m thinking of opening a club in Madrid and I have some meetings set up to discuss possibilities.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why Spain?”
“My mother is Spanish. I spent a lot of time there when I was growing up. I still go there for holidays.” He shrugged. “It’s part of my heritage and I love Madrid.”
“Do your parents live in Spain?”
“My mother comes from Mallorca, and they have a home there which they spend part of the year in. Right now, they’re staying at their holiday home in Noosa. My father’s retired, and they share their time between here and Spain. Neither of them likes cold weather, preferring to avoid winter if they can.” He passed her another oyster. “Eat up. I love watching you swallow these.”
She rewarded him with another one of her pretty blushes as she flustered with her napkin. She really acted quite delightfully when she was self-conscious, and he found he enjoyed making her feel ill at ease just to see the deep flush spread across her cheeks. He should leave her alone. His every instinct was telling him to abandon this unfamiliar courtship he was enacting and return to the easy, habitual way of doing things—no romance, just wild, raw fucking. But he couldn’t do it. He had to have her. Perhaps if he scratched that itch, if he got her into bed and fucked her brains out, he could move on and forget about her—hopefully she’d be out of his system. He knew he was being an ass, but he wasn’t good for her—his dark proclivities and desires were not for her world of sunshine and light. Then again, he knew that she’d make an excellent submissive. He recalled when she’d called him sir at their first meeting, and the subsequent sexual thrill that had scorched through him. He’d fantasized about tying her up and dominating her, spanking her pert little ass until it was nice and pink. Just thinking about it made his cock throb with need and he adjusted himself in his suit pants, glad of the tablecloth covering his lap. Yes, he’d love to have her submit fully to him, to have her under his complete control and domination, but he knew he wouldn’t expose her to that side of his lifestyle—he couldn’t. She was too innocent and he knew without a doubt that she’d never experienced anything like what he was used to doing with his partners. But there was no denying that he wanted her any way he could get her. With Makayla, that meant vanil
la sex if, in fact, things progressed to that. And it was definitely what he was working toward.
He studied her across the table and wondered if he’d wooed her enough that she’d feel comfortable taking the next step.
The waiter appeared at their table. “Your chateaubriand, Mr. King.” He placed a platter of delicious-looking fillet steak and sauce between them.
“Thank you. I’ll serve. You can leave,” Donovan informed the waiter brusquely.
“As you wish, sir.” He bowed slightly before leaving them alone.
Makayla raised an eyebrow at Donovan. “You ordered our main too?”
He shrugged and smiled. “There’s something intimate and sensual about sharing a meal, and besides, I know you like steak.”
Warmth spread through her at his words, a ripple of desire trailing down her spine. This man was really working his way under her skin. The penetrating looks he gave her, combined with his blatant sexuality and imposing presence, both aroused her and slightly intimidated her—it was a potent combination.
She watched as he served her first then helped himself. It smelled delicious, and as she took a bite, she couldn’t help the moan of pleasure that burst out of her. It tasted divine and the meat melted on her tongue. She knew she’d have no trouble finishing what was on her plate.
Donovan chuckled. “Good?”
“Absolutely,” she confirmed. “I don’t think I’ve ever sampled anything so delightful.”
“I’m glad of your approval. After all, you’re a fabulous cook, so your good opinion is all the more valuable.”
Already she knew better than to protest his praise. She smiled weakly and looked down at her plate, still uncomfortable with his admiration. It was silly, particularly as she knew she was a good cook. But she found it difficult, mainly because those compliments were coming from the perfect specimen of a man opposite her—a successful, ridiculously handsome man, who could claim any woman he chose. She knew, deep down, that she felt inferior in his presence.
