He took up the picture of his parents’ that was very prominent on the mantel and looked at the two people smiling at him. He looked like his father, Yoshi and Miku Makeida who had been the best parents a boy could ever hope for. He took after his father but had inherited his petite mother’s inner grace and determination. She had always told him never to settle for anything less than love and never allow anyone to make him choose because he was forced to do so. He smiled as he thought what she would have said about Kimone and wished with all his heart that she was here so that she could give her very good advice.
He put away the framed photo and wandered inside the large ultra modern bathroom. He had gutted one of the bedrooms and extended the small bathroom that was there before and remodeled the room, turning it into one of those that could appear in a house magazine. He had chosen stark colors, black, red and white and the room was striking with the colors vying against each other. He had found the claw footed tub in a small store that sold antique furnishings and had bought it and had it restored; it now shone with creamy elegance.
With a deep sigh he shed his clothes and realized that as much as the temperature was freezing cold, he could do well with a cold shower.
*****
Kimone made tea. That’s what she did when she had a situation or something bothering her, she made tea. She did not drink all of it because she was not a tea person but she found that making tea put her problems into perspective; so she was making tea and thinking.
She had wanted to say something to him when he was taking her home but she had not known what to say. She had never thought of marriage and when she did, it had to do with love and all the works, not the clinical and cold arrangement he had told her while they were in the store. He was handsome enough and certainly had more money than she had ever seen in her lifetime, to find a woman easily so why her? After they had gone to the burger place and he had told her who he really was she had gone home and Googled him and had been quite staggered at the amount of holdings his company had. He was a freaking billionaire. So it begged the question, why would he want to marry her?
She was thrilled at the idea of owning her own store and that kept ringing inside her head but getting married to achieve what she wanted had never entered her mind, she was not that type of person.
He was very wealthy; not just ordinary have a couple of thousand dollars in the bank but out of her league wealthy and even though she had been brought up not to believe in one person being better than another, she knew the difference having money and not having money meant. With a contemplative sip of her lemon tea she wandered into the tiny living room and switched on the television, mindlessly changing the channel until she found something she half wanted to watch. She was not into watching T.V. but now and then she would watch a romantic comedy or something about businesses or even the home and garden channel.
He had proposed to her. A business proposal nonetheless but the first proposal she had ever received, she thought wryly. She was lousy at dating and trying to respond when guys talked to her about anything romantic; she would end up asking them about their goals and dreams and the moment would be lost. She was more of a friend type than a girlfriend type. In college she had talked with a lot of guys and even though they had the intention of talking to her about a relationship they would end up being her friend, coming to her for advice or just to chat. She had no idea how to talk to a man romantically because she had never done so.
She had gotten a proposal of marriage and she had no idea how to answer.
Chapter 4
“So let me get this straight. You want us to get married for convenience and you think I fit the bill; so basically I would be getting my store and you would be getting a wife. Aren’t you being shortchanged?” She had told him she wanted to talk to him but not at the coffee shop or at her store and he had told her he would pick her up. He had brought her to his house which she had stood in for a few minutes gaping at the unbelievable luxury and beauty of the place. She did not belong here, she was a simple girl who lived a simple life and would certainly not fit into a wealthy lifestyle. She had not called him or gone to the coffee shop in three days, preferring to avoid him He had not called her either, probably giving her space and time to think.
They were in his kitchen where he was preparing some sort of rice meal and she was sitting on a padded stool around the marble counter watching as he deftly sliced vegetables. Her tiny apartment could fit into the room and leave a lot of space. He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his light blue dress shirt and set to work.
“This is called Japanese rice with salted peanuts and scallions,” he told her not answering straight away. “My parents’ insisted that I learn to cook not only American food but Japanese food as well. I find that I actually enjoying cooking, it relaxes me.” He scooped up a little of the rice and brought it over for her to taste. “What do you think?” he asked as he watched her chewing delicately.
“It tastes great,” she said with enthusiasm, actually surprised to know that he cooked and did it so well. “I hate to cook,” she told him making a face. “My mother tried but I just did not like the kitchen and still don’t, except for making tea and canned soup.”
He laughed at the mischievous look on her beautiful face. “Now back to your original question. I won’t be shortchanged, believe me.” He said and did not elaborate, leaving her staring at him curiously.
She was told to go and freshen up in one of the bathrooms and Kimone found herself lingering and staring at the almost impossible elegance and the shiny taps; it was like something out of a magazine she thought, wiping her hands on the heated towels. Heated towels! For crying out loud!
The meal was delicious and Kimone found herself accepting seconds. He told her about his parents’ and she could see that he still missed them. “Mom always read to me every night, even when I was a teenager and could read for myself,” he told her with a smile. They were sitting in the living room on a chaise lounge in front of a roaring fire and sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows swimming in the hot liquid. He had pulled the shirt from his waistband and looked very relaxed. His hair falling on his forehead as usual.
“She sounds like she was a one of a kind mother,” Kimone said softly.
“She was,” he answered. They sat there in silence, staring at the orange glow of the fire.
“So what’s your answer Kimone? Shall we do this?” he had turned to face her, his hands hung loosely between his legs.
“Am I required to cook?” she demanded, her smile peeping through.
He stared at her and for maybe the hundredth time he felt the pull of attraction he felt for her. He had wanted to call her for the past three days. He had gone to the coffee shop those days hoping to see her. When he hadn't seen her he panicked, wondering if he had run her off by what he had suggested. Then she had called him and he had felt as if his world was right side up again. He was in love with her but had to play it cool and not spook her. It was killing him to do so.
“Absolutely not,” he told her softly. Kimone went still at the timbre of his voice and the way he was looking at her. “I want to kiss you,” he told her. “To seal the deal,” he hurried to add, in case she had the slightest suspicion. He reached for her and Kimone did not resist. She had taken off her bulky pink sweater because the room was very warm and had on her white undershirt that molded her breasts lovingly and showed glimpses of her white lace bra. He pulled her onto his lap and she looked at him startled as he lowered his head and reached for her lips.
“Are you saying yes?” he asked her, his breath fanning her lips and invoking a heat inside her that was not from the fire.
“Maybe,” she whispered, wanting to feel his mouth on hers.
He touched his lips to hers, gently at first but when she opened her mouth he went for her tongue. Kimone went rigid as the feeling of pleasure raced through her when he deepened the kiss. She held on to his shoulders and he moved suddenly, making i
t so that she was half lying with him on top of her.
His hand trembled as he felt her against him at long last. He had waited for this for so long that he wondered if he was going to blurt out his true feelings. Kimone clung to him, returning the kiss with innocent fervor, never dreaming of the tremendous effect she was having on him. With a groan he reached under her shirt and released her breast from its lace trappings, his fingers moving over the hardened nipple. Kimone gasped against his mouth, her body arching towards his. He moved from her lips and captured the nipple inside his mouth, tasting and savoring, pulling it between his teeth and sucking on it. She screamed. The sensation not one she had ever felt before. He continued feeding on her nipple, loathed to let go but wanting to taste the rest of her. But she pushed him away and for one minute he thought about not stopping but he sat up abruptly, his breathing shallow.
“I have to go,” Kimone muttered, hastily sitting up and fixing her clothes. She was aching in her pubic area and her nipple still had his lips on it. She had wanted him to make love to her, right then and there but she still had not decided what to do.
“I am not going to apologize,” he told her slowly, standing up when she did. He was as hard as a rock and he knew he was going to have to endure another painful night of unrelieved passion.
“I don’t want you to,” she surprised him by saying that. “You are clouding my mind right now and I need to think some more.”
“How long?” he tried to sound casual but he failed drastically, it meant too much to him.
“A day,” she told him with a smile going over to him. He had taken off his shoes but even so she barely came to his shoulders. “No longer.” She reached up her arms and wrapped them around his neck. “I love the feel of your lips on mine, maybe too much and I have to be level headed about this.” She pressed his head down to hers and his lips met hers again, hungrily, demanding and seeking. It was he who pulled away from her, almost half mad with desire.
“I’ll take you home,” he told her hoarsely and turning away he went to put on his shoes and his coat.
They went the entire distance without speaking, only the sound of the car radio muted and playing some sad love song. He made sure she was inside her apartment safely before driving off.
Kimone sank down onto the old faded settee that felt and looked shabby when compared to what she had seen at his place. Her hand went to her lips, still tender and a little bruised from his kisses. It had felt like something so incredibly wonderful and she had wanted to go all the way. She had felt his erection against her and it had felt impressive. With a sigh she went inside her bedroom. She had made up her mind; she would accept his outrageous offer.
*****
She had a condition. Even though it was going to be a marriage of convenience they were going to do it right by going out on dates and actually getting to know each other. They would have a period of engagement. He would have agreed to anything so great was his relief and joy. She was going to be his wife and nothing else mattered.
He took her to a fancy restaurant for their first date and Kimone protested that she was not used to fancy restaurants. “Get use to it,” he had told her as he picked her up at her apartment. He had told her that it was formal wear and she had dug into her closet to find something suitable. She was not one for going out much so she did not do a lot of shopping. She had finally found a black dress that was warm enough for the weather and looked good enough for evening wear. She had tried to tame her heavy unruly curls and moaned about the fact that she had yet to visit the hairdresser. With a sigh she twisted the hair into a somewhat neat chignon at the nape of her neck and gave up trying to do something about the curls that insisted on springing to her forehead and on her cheeks.
Her breath caught as she saw how incredibly handsome he was in a soft gray cashmere sweater and dress pants. Her eyes widened as he ushered her into a low slung black Mercedes Benz. “What no Japanese made car?” she teased him and he flashed her a grin as he pulled away and into traffic. It was fast approaching Christmas and the houses were dazzling in their display of Christmas lights. It had rained earlier and the streets were still wet from it. She had yet to tell her mother and Dawn about him because she still did not know what to tell them.
He took her to an Italian restaurant where the owner knew him and ushered them to a corner table with a beaming smile on his florid face. “I have business dinners here sometimes,” he told her.
He ordered the spaghetti squash and meatballs and Kimone was all but singing praises about the taste and flavor. The ambiance inside the restaurant was one of comfort and luxury and the lights were muted while some Italian music played softly in the background.
“What would you like to know about me?” he queried as he put down his silverware. This was commonplace for him, she realized, all this luxury and fine dining. The only fancy restaurant she had been to; had been one that was not far from where Dawn worked and her friend had insisted they treated themselves to something fancy one Friday. It had cost them a month’s salary and they had made the decision that they would not be doing that again anytime soon. This one did not even have a price beside the dishes and she hated to think what the meal cost.
“Do you shop for your own clothes?” she asked him impishly.
He looked at her startled, quite taken aback by her question. “Actually, no,” he told her truthfully, sipping the rich red wine their waiter had poured for them. “I hate shopping so I have someone do it for me.”
“You have a personal shopper?” Kimone looked at him in amazement.
“Not exactly,” he said ducking his head in embarrassment. “My secretary makes arrangements with certain stores to send over what I need. Sometimes I don’t remember that I need something until I am ready to go somewhere and realize that I have nothing suitable to wear. So I am sorry I won’t be accompanying you to stores.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Kimone waved a hand airily. “I love the feeling of going into stores and looking at all the stuff they have, not that I can afford to buy anything much but just to mingle with other shoppers gives me the thrill.”
“When we get married you can buy out an entire store or two,” he told her casually.
Kimone looked at him, a slight frown on her smooth brow. “I won’t be doing that.” She told him firmly.
“I won’t have a problem with you doing so.” He told her softly, holding her gaze with his.
The Maitre’D came just then with their dessert he had ordered specially. The Tiramisu layer cake was sinfully rich and tasted like heaven and Kimone found herself eating greedily. “This is what heaven must taste like,” she commented as she scraped the cream off the plate and put the last piece inside her mouth.
“I am not so sure,” he muttered softly. He had watched as she used her tongue to lick the cream off her full bottom lip and he had felt the pressure down his lower regions. He was bursting for the need of her and it was driving him crazy.
He leaned forward and used the pad of his thumb to wipe off what little cream was left on her lips and then he lifted her chin to meet his eyes, eyes that had gone liquid with desire. “I am in need,” he told her huskily. “I want to feel you so much that I cannot think straight.” He did not wait for her to respond as he lowered his head and took her lips in a deep hungry kiss. Kimone held his hand, opening her lips underneath his, her heart drumming inside her chest. His tongue met hers and took, and sought, his eyes watching hers as she closed them and surrendered to his touch. He wanted her to come home with him and he wanted to make love to her for the entire night, he was desperate for her and he did not know how to ignore it any more.
He pulled away from her reluctantly as he heard the Maître’D approach their table, cursing beneath his breath at the intrusion. He was struggling for control as he watch her with hooded gaze, her lips red and full from his kiss. He was hard and wound tightly, like a coiled string and he wanted so much to push himself inside her. He had never felt such a force of attr
action for another woman and he knew somehow he had to tell her, if not with his words, at least with his body.
*****
They ended up having a good time and Kimone found herself laughing as he told her an episode he had with one of his employees a few days ago. He had been caught stealing business ideas for a rival company and had told Peter that he had been stealing it for himself because he admired him and wanted to start his own company.
“So what did you do?” Kimone had her hand under her chin, her eyes on him, fascinated.
“I dismissed the rest of the board and had a long talk with him.” He told her with a smile, admiring the way the dim light of the restaurant shone on her beautiful coffee and cream complexion. “He was just a scared kid who was coerced into doing something that was not right. The board wanted me to hang him to dry, to make an example out of him but I set him straight and told him that if he wanted to open his own company one day, there was a right way to do it.”
“So where is he now?”
“He is actually my assistant.” Peter told her with an amused laugh.
“You promoted him?” she asked in amazement.
“How else am I going to know what he’s up to?” Peter said his brows raised. “He has potential and he was just a screwed up kid who thought he could make a quick buck and besides he has his sick mother to take care of.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Kimone told him softly.
“When doing business, there is no place for sweetness,” he told her wryly. “I have been told that constantly.”
“But you are not abiding by the rules?” she asked him amusement. She really liked him; even though she had not come in contact with a lot of rich guys, he was different and she could tell.
Be My Bride: BWWM Romance (Brother From Money Book 19) Page 16
