by Zuri Day
“You know the pictures we’re looking for,” Mr. Official explained. “We’ve already swept the electronics here and deleted the images. Should there be others, it would be in your best interest to let us know where they are so that we can make sure they are destroyed.” Mr. Not-So-Official-Looking raised the “incentive” from Steven’s chest to his face.
“I won’t do nothing with them,” Steven stuttered.
“That’s not quite the response I was looking for.” Mr. Not-So took a step. “Are there any other devices containing photos of Marissa Hayes?”
“My, uh, my cell phone.”
“Where is it?”
“Look, I just got it. Cost me six hundred bucks!”
“Oh, yeah?” Mr. Official’s tone was as casual as if he were discussing a sport. “How much is your life worth?”
Steven gave him the phone.
The men finished one last piece of business and then left with these parting words: should any pictures of questionable content involving Marissa Hayes ever surface, whether taken by him or someone else, he would be held accountable. The punishments mentioned varied from jail time to heavy fines, to the one that Mr. Not-So held against his head for five minutes before leaving. Incentive, he’d called it.
Indeed.
* * *
An hour after Steven’s uninvited visitors left his apartment, Frank Stanton, Jackson and Dexter knocked on Donovan’s door. Frank held a manila envelope, which he presented as soon as he stepped inside.
“He signed it?”
Frank nodded. “Of course.”
“How’d you do it?”
“I didn’t. But I have friends. They have a way with…words, if you will.”
“Speaking of words, I think Steven and I still need to have a conversation.”
“That’s why I called Frank, bro, and Dexter,” Jackson said. “So we could come here with him when the job was done. I knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with having him handle this for you. That you’d want to have a go at him yourself.”
“The guy’s such a jerk I may still get my chance.”
Dexter placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “No doubt, Don. But now’s not the time. He’s not worth the millions we stand to lose if negative publicity hits Drake Wines right now. And he’s not worth your worrying Marissa.”
Donovan fixed Dexter with a look. “That’s the best thing you could say to make me back off of him.”
Dexter winked at Jackson and nodded at Frank. “I know, big brother. I know.”
* * *
Marissa sat across from Donovan, the flicker of the candle highlighting the glow on his face. She was drinking in the man who, after she’d taken a stand and unlocked the chain of guilt and fear that Steven had wrapped around her, had ridden in like a knight in shining armor and made her boogeyman disappear. Donovan wouldn’t tell her exactly what he and his family did to make Steven sign legal documents preventing further harassment, but she’d forever thank him for it.
As for Donovan, he marveled at the woman across from him, the one who in just two short weeks had taken him from a single man content to bury himself in work and in a woman when the mood struck him, to one beginning to think in terms of we and not I. Words were not needed in the moment. They were content to simply sit there, smiling, taking each other in.
The sommelier came to the table, breaking the mood. “Monsieur, may I?” He held up the bottle of pricey champagne and, after popping the cork, poured a bit into Donovan’s flute.
Donovan sampled it and nodded. “Perfect.”
After filling the two flutes, the sommelier placed the remainder of the bubbly back into the ice bucket and left the table as quietly as he’d come.
“A toast?” Donovan suggested, picking up his glass. Marissa followed suit, her face alight with happiness.
“To new beginnings?” she offered.
Donovan nodded. “To you and me.”
Marissa’s smile broadened. “I like the sound of that.” They drank a couple sips in silence before she continued, “I can’t believe how good it feels to take control of your life, to feel that you’re actually driving your own destiny. I didn’t even realize that for the past several years, I’ve just been drifting through, content to let others take the reins, to go along to get along. But no more. From now on, I’m my own woman.”
“Just as long as that includes being my woman, too.”
As they enjoyed courses of oysters on the half shell and organic kale, abalone mushroom and double-cut chops, the conversation slowly drifted away from nude pics and bad guys to vacations and wine.
“You’ve never been out of the country?”
“No, Donovan, I never have. And don’t look so incredulous. Eighty percent of Americans don’t travel farther than two states over from where they were born.”
“That’s baloney.”
“I read it.”
“Can’t believe it.”
Marissa shrugged. “When are we going to get a chance to taste that bubbly that Dexter’s been working on for years? It’s like he’s a mad scientist, perfecting his potion.”
“Have you seen him in action? That’s exactly what he’s like.”
“Speaking of action…”
“I know, baby. Me, too.” In the swirl of the whirlwind—Jackson winning the Louisiana bid; Sharon returning to her home in Temecula and back to the office, at her insistence, two hours a day for the next two weeks; Marissa returning to Boss Construction; and the Drake clan dealing with what’s his name—there had been a noticeable void in the romance department. One that Donovan planned to fill just a short while from now.
Less than an hour after arriving at Donovan’s home he and Marissa were naked and playing pool. Her dare. “I like how you’re working that stick, sweetness,” he said after she’d sunk a ball in a way that would have made a pool shark proud. He especially liked how she’d looked leaning over to sink it, breasts swaying like melons, booty high in the air.
Donovan didn’t mention this to her, but one look at his other stick and she got the message all the same. She sauntered over, placed a brazen hand on his baby maker. “How would you like for me to work…this stick?”
“Um, baby, I like how you think.”
“Hmm,” she sank down until she was face-to-face with her focus. “Would you like me to do this?” She flicked her tongue against his personal portobello.
“Um, yeah.”
“What about this?” She stiffened her tongue and licked him slowly from base to tip.
“Damn, girl, you’ve got me all excited.”
“What about…” Figuring actions spoke louder, she quieted, taking as much of him in as she could. His groans, thrusts and the way he massaged her head let her know that though she was pretty much a novice, she was doing a good job.
So much so that Donovan stopped the action, pulled out of her mouth. “Baby…it feels so good that…”
Marissa chuckled. “Okay. How’s about if we find another use for this pool table?”
Without another word, Donovan lifted Marissa up onto the table, and proceeded to once again work his stick.
Chapter 29
It was a boisterous gathering at the Drake family’s dining room table, almost twenty people vying for a break in the conversation, when they could pipe in with their two cents. Having grown up in a relatively small household of four, Marissa still marveled at how all of the conversation strands could be kept straight, how one sibling would finish the other’s sentence and how one mate could finish another’s story.
It had been four months since that fateful Fourth of July eve, four glorious months since she and Donovan had made the transition from professional associates to lovers. Whether four months or four lifetimes, she couldn’t tell. All she knew is that it seemed as though he’d been a part of her life forever and that she couldn’t remember life before he was in it. She couldn’t be happier, especially looking over to see her mother, brother and sister-in-law also at the table
. Her father had wanted to come but because of the annual Thanksgiving service held at his church, had to decline the invitation. The compromise was that Donovan had agreed to spend Christmas with Marissa’s family, which Marissa was positive would be a much quieter affair, filled with good cheer but without the loud laughter that even now echoed around the room thanks to Papa Dee and his colorful tales.
“What about that time you beat up a man for insulting your girlfriend, Papa Dee?”
“And found out he was one of Capone’s boys?” Papa Dee dismissed its significance with a wave of his hand. “Ah, that wasn’t nothing. You should have been there when I slapped the taste out of Bugsy Siegel’s mouth!”
Marissa’s eyes widened in wonder. “Really, Papa Dee? You rolled with gangsters?”
“Girl, my great-grandson hasn’t told you? These young whippersnappers got it all twisted. I’m a true OG!”
Laughter abounded and the stories flowed. Half of them real, others heavily doctored, but all shared to enhance the family’s good time. They stayed around the table for a good two hours, but finally the crowd began dissipating. Some of the men headed to the golf course, while others joined Donald for a Cuban cigar. Marissa joined in with the ladies who were clearing the table, feeling at home with Donovan’s warm relations.
She picked up a platter of leftover vegetables and another of rolls and walked them into the kitchen. “How should I store these, Mrs. Drake?”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. The housekeeper will take care of all that. Why don’t you join us in the sitting room for a cup of tea. What kind would you like?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
Several minutes later, Genevieve entered the sitting room wheeling a cart bearing tea and condiments. The ladies shared small talk as they each fixed their cups. For Genevieve, it was two dollops of honey and a splash of cream in a simple green tea. She stirred the mixture, eyeing Marissa with a smile on her face. “I knew it,” she finally said, nodding.
“Excuse me?”
“The first time I saw you, no, not the first time. Because I met you at the grand opening. But the night of the engagement party, when I saw you I knew. I told Donald that something was brewing between you and Donovan. I saw the way he looked at you when he didn’t know I was watching. I know my son, know how he is when he gets his mind set on something. And the way I saw him looking at you that night, I could tell he had his mind set.”
“I didn’t even know he was watching.”
“That was the best part. I’ve watched the women over the years with my sons. Most of them couldn’t be more obvious about being interested if they took out a commercial on national TV. This new type of aggressiveness being the modern way to get a man’s attention. And it may be. But not with a Drake man. Those brothers are old-school, they like to do the hunting.” She winked at Marissa. “Donovan has a real pep in his step these days. You’ve made him very happy.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Drake. I appreciate that. But can I tell you something? Your son has made me pretty happy, too.”
And he wasn’t finished yet. Mr. Drake had plans.
* * *
“Donovan,” Marissa whispered. “Where are we going?” It was just past midnight and for the first time Marissa was staying at the Drake estate. Genevieve had placed her in Diamond’s old room, which now served as a beautifully appointed guest room. Though Donovan had moved out years ago, his mother still maintained his old room in another wing of the house. He’d waited there until relatively sure his parents were sleeping before leaving his room and creeping over to the east wing to wake up his princess. “Donovan, where are we going?” Marissa asked again.
Donovan placed a finger to his lips to signal quiet. Marissa put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. She hadn’t felt this way, sneaky and naughty, since she was eight years old and she and her brother had tried to sneak into their parents’ closet and discover their Christmas toys. The house was mostly dark and quiet, shards of light were given off by the dimly lit sconces and, once they’d turned the corner, by the full moon shining through the great-room window.
They reached the foyer. Donovan opened the closet door and pulled out jackets for him and Marissa.
“We’re going outside?”
Donovan chuckled as he looked at Marissa’s feet and then reached inside for a pair of closed-in shoes. “You ask too many questions, woman!”
“It’s after midnight, and it’s cold outside. I should be asking questions!”
He knelt down, placing her feet into her shoes while ducking the light punches she delivered to his shoulder. Once standing, he grabbed her butt and pulled her to him, lightly kissed her on the mouth and then gave a final smack to her now jacket-covered backside. “Let’s go.”
They stepped outside, and a burst of cold made Marissa pull the large jacket tighter. Donovan reached over for her, engulfing her small hand with his much larger one, entwining their fingers as he kissed her on the temple. She nestled into his warmth. With both the jacket and his body shielding her from the brunt of the wind, she looked out on the magical scene before her and actually began to appreciate their midnight rendezvous.
From the moment the lights were turned on Thanksgiving night, Drake Wines Resort and Spa had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Thousands of miniature white lights sparkled amid the pine boughs; not one tree was left untouched. A huge Christmas tree had been erected on the large open area between the hotel and the wine store, the tree trunks had been wrapped in bright red satin that was then secured by giant bows. Not to be outdone, the stars twinkled their approval and the sky was like a blanket of blue velvet. Marissa couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier in her life.
They reached the fork in the road from the Drake estate. One path led toward the businesses, including the hotel, another toward the Papa Dee Suite on the hill. And yet another led back to a private area owned by the family. That was the direction that Donovan headed. They hadn’t gone far when Marissa heard something that stopped her in her tracks: a horse’s whinny.
“Are we going riding?” she squealed, clapping her hands together like a little girl. Of all the things in his world that Donovan had introduced her to, riding horses was probably her favorite. He taught her himself how to ride, a patient and thorough teacher. Normally she rode Miss America, the horse that Diego had recommended on her very first ride. But that didn’t sound like her.
“Which horse am I riding?” she asked. “Sauvignon?”
“You’ll see.”
They turned the corner and came upon a wooden enclosure. Here, away from the brighter lights of the Christmas decorations, it was darker. Donovan produced a flashlight from his pocket and illuminated the path in front of them. Now Marissa could clearly see there were two horses—Zephyr, who she’d know anywhere, and another one. With a bright red bow wrapped around it. She stopped, her mouth open in total surprise.
“Is this for me?” she whispered, loosening Donovan’s hand and walking toward the horse.
“It was planned as a Christmas present, but my contact was able to get her delivered earlier. I didn’t want to wait a month for you two to meet. Baby, here.” Donovan reached over and gave her a bag of apple slices. “Go make your acquaintance.”
Marissa smiled her thanks. Even in the subdued lighting she could see how beautiful the horse was; its rich, shiny coat was a tawny brown and it had a thick black mane to match the curious eyes now staring at her as if to say, Do I belong to you? Marissa’s steps were calm as was her breathing, done as Donovan had explained to her, so that the horse would recognize her calmness and feel the same. Stopping when she was just a foot or so away from it, she reached over and began to slowly stroke the horse’s side, talking softly as she did so. “Hello there, you beautiful girl. What a beautiful horse you are. Would you like an apple?” She held up the apple under the horse’s nose. It sniffed the slice, its eyes never leaving Marissa’s face, and slowly began to nibble. “There y
ou go.” Tears filled her eyes as she petted the animal. It was such a thoughtful gift. She turned to Donovan. “Thank you.”
“She isn’t totally yours until you ride her,” he said softly. Knowing how jealous Zephyr could be, he’d gone over and fed the stallion a few carrots before coming over to stand next to Marissa.
“You want to ride now? Tonight?”
“Yes. And if it weren’t so cold, I’d want you to ride naked.”
“Ha! This isn’t Coventry and I am not Lady Godiva.”
“No, but you are a pretty sweet piece of chocolate.” He reached out and stroked her horse’s mane. “What are you going to name her?”
She looked at the horse and cocked her head in thought. “I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about that.” Walking over to him, she placed her arms around Donovan’s neck. “What did I do to deserve you?” she asked.
“Be born,” he replied simply before lowering his head to connect his lips with hers. Their tongues swirled in practiced rhythm. Feeling himself beginning to harden, Donovan broke the kiss. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”
After admiring the amazing soft and supple saddle that Donovan had given her along with the horse as her early Christmas presents, she readied the horse that was not yet named. They mounted the animals and set off in a comfortable pace toward Papa Dee’s Suite. “Isn’t someone there?” she asked.
“No,” Donovan said. “I booked it months ago, the day we drank the bottle of wine up on the mountain.”
Marissa’s brow rose as she glanced over at Donovan. “Sure of yourself much?”
Donovan shrugged. “No.” But he was smiling, “cheesing,” as his father would say.
They arrived at Papa Dee’s Suite, the house that had been built by Donovan’s great-great-grandfather, Nicodemus in the nineteenth century. Like the rest of the properties, it had been totally renovated, but Jackson and his crew had been careful to not change the integrity of what their ancestor had designed. They dismounted and, after throwing their reins over the original post, he walked the length of the long front porch and pulled a key from his pocket. “Are you ready?”
