Easter Sundae (Hot Holidays Series Book Two)

by Dunning, Rachel

Keith handed his coat to Aaron, who in turn held out a silver tray carrying a Johnnie Walker on the rocks. Keith was still on his phone and Aaron waited dutifully for him to finish. When Keith did, Aaron asked with an air of irritation, “Mamah dearest again, sir?”

  “Indeed. She’s set me up with a veritable princess this time. An actual princess it seems: She was a finalist in Miss Sussex two years in a row and was officially ‘Princess Sussex’ during that time. As if I have the time to be with such a...girl!” Aaron stifled a laugh. He was glad he’d moved out of the Brighton mansion and was now working for the Devonshire’s son instead. The antics of Josephine Devonshire had probably been responsible for ninety percent of the white hairs on Aaron’s head.

  Keith grabbed the scotch, downed it and felt the burn. “Ah! That’s good.” Aaron turned, grabbed the bottle he’d brought with him (but hidden behind him, for form’s sake) and poured his boss another.

  Keith sipped this one slower, felt it ease into his back and shoulders, felt his taut muscles relax. “You’re an angel, Aaron.”

  “You pay me to be, sir. Will sir be eating in the dining room tonight?”

  With a tired air that Aaron could not help but notice, Keith said, “No, no. I think I’ll just settle into my chair in the study. Bring me over a sandwich please, Aaron.”

  With a certain pride at having predicted his master’s desires so well, Aaron gloated: “Already there, sir.”

  Keith smiled, looked at his steward. “Why can I not find a woman like you, Aaron?” Aaron only grinned politely.

  In his study, Keith sat down in his leather chair, took a large bite of the mustard and ham sandwich. Aaron was a genius with food. Keith pulled out his phone and increased Aaron’s wages by ten percent. Then, realizing that it was Aaron himself who’d programmed his phone to connect to his house and office—and, well, his entire life!—he upped it a further five percent. He thought of Mrs. Wilmore and how nervous he’d made her. He decided to up her wages as well. He’d tell her personally tomorrow. Keith liked to do things personally.

  He sat back, washing the meal down with the last drops of his whiskey. He stared at the screen of his phone. He’d pulled Melissa Daniels’s contact card up on it. It was blank, of course, nothing but a number on it. He googled her name and found it was a common one, found nothing about her specifically. He googled “Melissa Daniels East Windsor” and came to a Windsor Primary School page where she was being commended for assisting in the school library. There was a photo of her getting a certificate, looking a little ruffled about it.

  He grabbed the photo, cropped her face, and added it to her contact card. “Great,” he said to himself, “now if you do ever meet up with her, she’ll think you’re that disgusting stalker character played by Robin Williams in One Hour Photo.” He deleted the photo.

  He stared at the empty card some more, filled in “Attractive woman with the adorable son” in the Notes section. What he really wanted to do was hit the text message button and send her a text. But part of the thrill was holding back.

  So he held back. He’d hold back a week, just like he’d promised himself.

  He didn’t last even a day.

  THREE

  THE REAL MAN

  -1-

  Friday night was pizza night, provided Jacob’s grades had been up, and provided he kept up his reading—so, sue her, Melissa encouraged reading in her son. Maybe it would become a problem later. Maybe Jacob wouldn’t be a jock and would fit in only with the nerdy crowd at school. But when she looked in his eyes—his watery, hypnotizing eyes (eyes like his father’s!)—she knew that would never be the case. No matter how hard Jacob could “try” in the future, he was destined to become a heart-breaker, whether he wanted to be or not.

  The pizza, however, was not only for him. She didn’t have a man in her life, didn’t do drugs—hell, the only thing she had to make her feel like she was even alive were the carbs! Of course, she also treated herself to that famed Sainsbury’s Triple Choc Sundae on Friday nights, after Jacob went to bed, but only if she’d had a particularly stressful week and needed to ease off. She’d been having a lot of stressful weeks lately. Every week for the last three years, in fact.

  They were sitting on her tiny two-seater couch in her tiny two-person apartment (actually, one-and-a-half persons), Jacob’s tiny hands holding his mammoth book. She was reading a Safe-For-Work RomCom, although her mind was elsewhere...

  She was thinking of what Keith Devonshire’s eyes might have looked like when he was growing up. She was wondering whether his own mother had known the same about him: that he would grow up to become a heart-breaker, a man who left skirts open and dust flying as he ran for the hills after wresting a girl’s hopes from her with one searing gaze.

  She smiled at the thought. It sounded like a good romance idea, sounded like something she could write...one day. But not now. Now, the story was only in her mind, imagining him on one of those Harlequin Blaze book covers, shirt undone, chest bared to the world...

  She giggled. He’d look good on one of those covers.

  “What’s so funny, mum?” Jacob looked up at her, eyes glimmering with interest. His English accent astounded her. She still spoke with a small twang of Southern Brooklyn herself.

  She was about to answer (with a lie) when she noticed that her pizza slice was dripping cheese on her sweatpants. In trying to clean it with her other hand, she smudged her book. “That’s why you shouldn’t eat and read at the same time,” said a wise Jacob who’d wolfed his half of the Cheese and Russian Sausages pizza (his fave) in less than five minutes.

  He’d also forgotten his intrusive question. Saved by the pizza!

  “Right you are, little man.” She poked his nose playfully, wondering how long before he’d be out so she could pull out what she really wanted to read (The Ex Games 3 by J.S. Cooper.) Bookworms was the only brick-and-mortar store she could get paperbacks for indie-published books from the US. She’d always appreciated that its owners made the effort to bring new talent to the stuffy Brits.

  She realized that the “owners” (plural) she was thinking of, was really an “owner”—singular. And that his name rolled off the tongue like so much melting ice cream on a hot day. “Honey,” she said to Jacob impatiently, “time for bed isn’t it?”

  And that’s when her phone buzzed.

  -2-

  It was Nadja, a woman who, if she hadn’t been Mel’s best friend, would probably be her worst enemy. Nadja was that good looking. Even at thirty-three, she looked like a runway model with her caramel skin and deep dark eyes. She had midnight-black hair that fell like a waterfall straight down her back, all the way to the top of her petite little ass. Nadja had three kids, and practically no stretch marks.

  Like I said, worst enemy.

  “Hello darling, what did you get?” The other thing Nadja was, is addicted to erotica. “Anything I might enjoy?”

  “I haven’t started reading yet.”

  “Jacob still up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  Melissa could hear her best friend’s disappointment. The owner of London Fashionista Magazine, Nadja’s schedule left little time for her to get stuck into mediocre books. She always counted on Mel to read them first and suggest a few good ones for the month.

  Mel was a stay-at-home web designer with plenty of time on her hands. Mel made it through three books a week; Nadja barely made it through one a month.

  Mel was dying to tell her best friend about Mr. Kevin Devonshire. That was another thing they shared: Random gossip about sexy men. “I...met someone today,” Mel said.

  Nadja started whispering. “Oh, you did?” The “did” came out almost like a song. “And?”

  Mel cleared her throat.

  Nadja understood immediately. “Wow. Meet me for coffee tomorrow morning! Drop Jacob off here and we’ll head out to Starbucks.”

  “Deal.”

  Just before Nadja put the phone down, she said, “We still on for Ea
ster Sunday?”

  Mel joked, “Where else would I go—some billionaire’s mansion?”

  If Mel played the lottery, she might win the billions, because that’s precisely where she was going.

  Only she had no idea of it yet...

  -3-

  The wind was crisp but the sun was high and beating down fiercely on Saturday morning. Mel wore a hat and shades to protect her. Nadja wore the same, only she looked like she belonged at the Oscars, not staring out at a grocery store parking lot. This particular Starbucks was attached to a Sainsbury’s Grocery Store.

  Mel lit up a smoke, Nadja did the same. Both were casual smokers, neither smoked in front of their kids.

  Mel told Nadja about Keith Devonshire. Nadja’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropped, she laughed, they made jokes about the size of his...you know...and basically had a threesome with him in their minds—right there on the plastic table! Nadja asked the usual crass questions about whether Mel “did it” last night in the bathtub. Mel, extremely embarrassed about it—because this was a real man and not some book boyfriend!—said nothing.

  Nadja knew this meant Mel had totally “done it.” (Nadja was wrong, because Mel had done it twice, actually.)

  They were laughing uproariously, sipping on Flat Whites (the absolute best way to drink coffee that the Americans never heard of), making obscene private-joke gestures with their hands, when Melissa’s phone rang.

  She answered, still catching her breath.

  When she heard, “Melissa Daniels, this is Keith Devonshire. I don’t know if you recall—” Mel stopped laughing, sat up very straight.

  And she choked on her coffee.

  -4-

  “I don’t know if you recall who I—”

  “I remember you.”

  Keith wasn’t sure how to judge her quick response. He hadn’t broken any rules. He was, technically, an employee of Bookworms, and Melissa Daniels had clicked that she’d accept phone calls from Bookworms employees about special offers and deals... OK, fine, maybe he was stretching it. “I hope you don’t mind. I took your number from our Member site.”

  By now, the blood had pooled at Mel’s feet. She was surprised she hadn’t yet dropped the phone. Her skin felt cold, her legs felt cold. And her...you know...felt so warm.

  So he took her number from their member site. OK. Fine. She was actually...OK with that. Can you believe it?

  “Well, I know I gave you my number,” he said, “and, actually, I had given myself a week before you— Mizz Daniels, are you still there?”

  She didn’t reply. She couldn’t reply. She couldn’t even move her lips. She’d lost feeling around the area of...you know...as well.

  “Mizz Daniels?”

  She’d been in a distant reverie, feeling his deep and resonant voice curl around her like a warm blanket.

  She coughed. When she said nothing else, Keith Devonshire realized she was obviously still there and, with a slowly sinking feeling in his chest, he continued. The thrill of uncertainty, he realized. It even brought a small smile to his face. “Actually, I wanted to take you out on a date, Mizz Daniels.” He waited. She said nothing. “Tonight.” She was still silent.

  And he felt the sweat form on his neck...

  He continued, assuming that, if the car hadn’t crashed, it was still on the road. “I could have my driver pick you up and bring you to my home. Or we could dine out.”

  Melissa managed to string together some degree of correlated thoughts—three of them, to be precise—and realized that, as exhilarating as it was that this powerful and sexy man had looked her up...it was also a little, uhm, weird?

  But not too weird, she reminded herself. Because it was also hot. So hot. And she kept that front and center in her mind: How absolutely hot it was that this man had looked her up! (Besides, she’d technically invited him into her bathtub last night. Technically. Twice.)

  She played it safe, and, with some difficulty in finding her voice, said, “Restaurant. We can...dine at a restaurant.”

  Keith Devonshire, standing on the stairs at the back of his manor house, looking at the acres and acres of landscaped land he owned, smiled at hearing Melissa Daniels’s accent again. Brooklyn, he remembered her telling him. She had a light twang of English, but restaurant came out as restrahnt. It made him think of Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion. Oh how that would stand his mother’s back-hairs on end, bringing a Bruklin girl to their Easter Sunday Hunt! How that would flabbergast and bring fits of discomposure to whatever prissy princess Mrs. Josephine Devonshire had conspired to connect him up with this time!

  But that would be disrespectful to Melissa Daniels. The thought, albeit amusing, was suited more to a scene in a romantic comedy than to an actual rendezvous between him and this woman that intrigued him.

  “I shall send a drive to pick you up.”

  Melissa laughed internally at his use of “shall.” Very British, true, but most of the “common folk” didn’t use it anymore. Not only was Melissa a “common folk” herself, the only time she’d ever used “shall” in a sentence was when she’d made fun of the new English girl at their High School. Melissa had been a mean girl growing up. It only fit that she had been punished by god for it by meeting the wrong man and uprooting her entire life for him, only to be dumped by him at five months pregnant. (Mel didn’t actually believe in god. But she believed in Karma—or something like it. Helluva a Karma payback for teasing a chick about her use of shall! Sheesh!)

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said. She might be attracted to the man, but she was no fool. She wouldn’t get into a strange car with a strange man, no matter how much money he had or how sexy he probably looked without his shirt off—all those gleaming muscles and pulsing abs and...while on the subject of pulsing things—

  She caught a firm grip of herself and tried to focus!

  Keith Devonshire gave her the name of a restaurant and told her he’d text her the address. Mel thinks she said goodbye to him, but really can’t be sure. What she does remember is having drool forming on her lip, and then her phone falling after he said goodbye! And it smashing at her feet! “Oh, fuck!” She grabbed it, tried to put it back together, then gave up. When she looked up and faced Nadja, her best friend’s stunned face said it all. Mel could swear that Nadja was even blushing!

  Nadja exhaled deeply. Mel realized that the man was so freaking hot that he’d even made her friend flush! And Nadja hadn’t even met him! Or seen him!

  Nadja wriggled in her seat, got comfy. “Mr. Sexy Bookworms?”

  Mel’s tongue was still missing in action. She just nodded at first. Then: “Do they serve anything stronger here? I think I need a real drink!”

  -5-

  Mel arranged with Nadja that Jacob spend the night at her place. Nadja was more than willing to oblige.

  Nadja was ultimately the reason why Mel had decided to stay in England after being done and dumped. They’d met at Lamaze. Nadja helped Mel get her business on the rails, provided a shoulder to cry on, threatened to cut Matthew’s balls off (and meant it.) You know, all the usual things expected from a best friend. Mel would marry Nadja if Nadja wasn’t female, or married herself.

  In Mel’s bedroom, alone, staring at herself in a black gown, she turned and had a good look at her ass, her breasts, her stomach.

  She still had it. Oh yes, she had it. She was rounder than when she’d been a teenager, sure. All the more to please a man with. She was proud of it. She cupped her breasts, lifted them. They were alluring breasts, she knew that. She pressed her dress down at the stomach. Maybe she’d have to hold it in a little during the night, but she had no concerns about attracting Mr. Keith Devonshire. What she’d lost in slimness, she’d gained in confidence.

  And experience.

  Eight years was nothing. Mel had grown up fast as a teen, real fast. Her recent years of celibacy had been by choice, perhaps even by hormonal imbalance after her pregnancy. But that hormonal balance had turned, she could feel it. She could feel it
in her taut muscles, her distracted mind. She could feel it in...yeah, you do know!

  She knew how to please a man. She’d pleased many. Sure, she’d had her heart broken at school, then at college again. What girl hadn’t? It was part of growing up. She’d given herself to one or two wrong men (boys!)...and learned from it. She’d grown up. She’d become a woman.

  And she’d learned precisely how to please a man as a woman. Or not please him, as the case may be, depending on just how she felt about that particular man.

  No, Melissa hadn’t slept with the entire football team. She hadn’t given herself to every man she’d laid her eyes on. But she’d been attractive as a young woman. And because of that, she’d been with, well, a few more than usual men before she’d met Jacob’s father.

  Matthew Richardson had been a mistake in love, not a mistake in lust. By then, she’d already learned everything she’d needed to learn about sex. She hadn’t learned everything about love. Which is what led to her error.

  For tonight, she’d chosen an evocative black dress. Scoop neckline, lace trimmings, just low enough to show her generous cleavage. She smiled at herself. It’s like riding a bicycle.

  Only, if she did ride anything tonight...

  Her skin went suddenly hot. Quick, uncontrolled flashes of a strong man’s hand riding up her naked thigh, her hips, her waist, and finally her breast, gave her goose pimples. She inhaled deeply, felt the same light-headedness she’d felt when seeing...him...yesterday...

  Hormonal. Must be hormonal.

  She confessed, now, that the heat she’d felt in Bookworms had jack to do with the throng of people in the bookstore!

  She had to confess, she was aroused. (Fuckit, she was horny damnit!) by Keith Devonshire. Really...horny.

  She’d already decided that, if the night went that way, she’d let it. But he’d have to work for it. Melissa Daniels might be...excited...but she wasn’t desperate. She’d never been desperate. Even when she’d had her heart broken, she hadn’t been desperate.