The waiter materializes to take our drink orders. We chitchat—or rather, Leonie tells Bailey embarrassing stories about me growing up—and peruse the menu. After the drinks are delivered and our orders placed, Leonie starts to prod like any mother figure would.
“Now, Bailey,” she begins, her tone serious with a touch more German gruffness than usual. “Tell me all about yourself.”
She’s not put out in the slightest, almost looking as if she enjoys being interrogated by one such as Leonie. I settle in to listen.
“Let’s see,” Bailey says after taking a small sip of her drink. “I’m a Nevada native. Both my parents live in Vegas, and I’m an only child.”
I’ve heard this all before. One of the by-products of lying in bed with a woman after making love is the tendency to talk. I’ve learned a great deal about Bailey over the last week.
Bailey doesn’t hold back anything, even telling Leonie about her marriage and divorce from Caleb. Leonie gives an “och” sound of displeasure when she hears about it, but, for the most part, she’s absorbed in every detail Bailey gives her because she knows.
She knows Bailey is special to me.
Even I have to admit I have never brought another woman to meet Leonie. As such, we’re agreed this is pretty fucking monumental, and Leonie is savoring every bit of it.
“And how grave is your mom’s situation?” Leonie asks worriedly. Bailey had just finished explaining her medical condition.
“She’s fairly stable right now,” Bailey says. “She’s dependent on oxygen, and it’s made her a bit homebound. Not that she can’t go out as long as she has her portable tank, but she doesn’t like to do that. She’s embarrassed by it.”
Leonie nods in understanding. “Proud woman, right?”
“Very,” Bailey laments.
“And your dad?” she questions.
I’ve learned that can be a sore subject with Bailey, depending on the day. Her dad has ups and downs in his zeal to be a helper within his own marriage. More often than not, he’s fine with letting Bailey do the heavy lifting.
While Bailey is always careful not to denigrate him, I know she gets frustrated. Leonie has clearly picked up on that, whether it’s her business or not—and it’s really not—she’s going to ask about it anyway. It’s part of her “vetting” process.
“Both my parents have physical limitations,” Bailey explains neutrally. “But they are different people in how they handle them.”
“Your mom is a fighter,” Leonie surmises.
Bailey nods with a smile. “You would be correct in that. She tries as hard as she can to do things for herself. My dad, though, he didn’t handle his injury very well. It took an emotional toll on him, and it’s just a bit hard for him to deal with it. He tends to take the easier path.”
Leonie considers this, nodding in understanding. “You’re a good daughter,” she surmises. “You are there for your mom to help her however you can, and it’s easier for your dad to just let you do it.”
A soft smile plays at Bailey’s mouth. “That’s pretty much it.” She glances from me to Leonie. “But as I told Declan, my parents have done so much for me. Sacrificed a lot to give me a secure life and pay for my college. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them, and I don’t begrudge them a single moment of my time.”
Leonie beams at Bailey, then her eyes come to mine. They’re filled with adoration. “Just like my Declan here. He’s a good boy, always looking out for me.”
“You deserve it,” I assure her, covering her hand with my own for a quick squeeze.
Our waiter arrives, meals in hand. We dig in, the conversation continuing without lull, but the subject matter not as intense. Mostly funny stories, some from my youth, some from Bailey’s. Then Bailey gets her own moment of curiosity, and grills Leonie about her homeland.
Not known to me, Germany is at the top of Bailey’s travel bucket list. I resolve to whisk her away there soon because why wouldn’t I?
We order dessert and coffee, and we continue to talk. Bailey and Leonie carry the bulk of the conversation, but I don’t mind in the slightest. It’s nice to see my two favorite women getting along so famously.
“I have a great idea,” Leonie says as if suddenly inspired. “How about I cook Thanksgiving dinner for you two this week?”
I blink in surprise, but I immediately love the idea. Leonie and I had made tentative plans to go out for a meal somewhere, but I can see she wants to go into full-on mother mode right now.
“Actually,” Bailey says with a bit of regret to have to turn down the offer. “I was going to cook something for my parents. Maybe you and Declan can join us. Although, to be honest, their house is no bigger than mine. We’d all be eating off TV trays in the living room, but I’m game if you two are.”
Leonie laughs, once again clapping her hands in delight. “That sounds fun.”
“Or,” I offer a suggestion. “Let’s do it at my suite at the Blackwood. My kitchen is huge, and I have a dining table that comfortably seats six.”
Leonie nods exuberantly.
I look to Bailey, not sure how to take the blankness on her face. Surrendering to a tiny bit of self-doubt, I ask, “Or do you not think it’s the right time to meet your parents?”
Bailey immediately shakes her head, giving a tinkling laugh. “No, not at all. They’d love to meet you. And I’m sure I can talk mom into venturing out for a good meal.”
“It’s settled then,” Leonie exclaims with joy. “Bailey and I will do all the cooking. Declan, you’ll buy everything because you’re rich as sin. Your parents can relax and enjoy good food. It will be the best time.”
My gaze moves across the table to Bailey, but she ignores me, launching into a focused discussion with Leonie about the menu. The two jabber like old friends, and I just settle in, content to watch a new relationship budding before my eyes.
If I didn’t think things were getting serious with Bailey before, I can’t deny it any further.
This girl may very well be the one.
CHAPTER 24
Bailey
Declan and I stand shoulder to shoulder at the sink in the kitchen of his suite at the Blackwood. Thanksgiving meal is officially over, and I’m teaching him the finer points of cleaning a kitchen.
“I still don’t understand why we can’t call in housekeeping,” Declan grumbles.
I’m standing close enough it’s easy for me to bump my hip into his playfully. “Quit being such a baby.”
I’m washing the dishes in sudsy water, and he’s in charge of drying them after I rinse. I run another dish under the spray of water, then hand it to him. “Have you actually ever cleaned anything in your life?”
“Why would I?” he teases.
“It builds character,” I assure him.
Declan snorts. “I clean up messes day in and day out in my job for Blackwood. I’ve built up a hell of a lot of character doing just that.”
“And now you can add cleaning dishes to your repertoire,” I reply with a laugh.
Declan playfully bumps his hip into mine. “I’m glad to pitch in and help clean because you and Leonie did a fantastic job on the meal. It was some of the best food I’ve eaten in a long time.”
I take that as a high compliment since Declan only eats in the finest restaurants available. “I think the evening went beautifully.”
Not only did the turkey with all the traditional sides turn out amazing, but we also had a splendid time blending our families at the dinner table. My mother was bright-eyed and giggly like a girl, I’m assuming happy to just be out of the house for a little bit. She wasn’t even the slightest bit self-conscious about having her oxygen tank beside her chair. My dad was gregarious. Both took an immediate shine to Leonie. The sentiment was returned, and they bonded quickly while Declan and I shot amused smiles back and forth.
After the meal, we watched some football and talked while sitting around the living room. We had pie and coffee, and when everyone was
appropriately stuffed and practically nodding off to sleep, my parents graciously gave Leonie a ride back to her house. As they were leaving, I heard them making plans to get together soon.
“Was it weird how well my parents got along with Leonie?”
“A little,” Declan says. He clarifies, “Only to the extent we haven’t known each other long, and it was probably a little odd our families would be introduced to each other so quickly. But honestly, the personalities are pretty similar so it’s no surprise they became fast friends.”
I ask something I have been wondering about all day. Taking hold of the last dish in the soapy water, I query, “Did you hear from your parents today?”
Declan snorts as he watches me rinse the plate. When he takes it from me to dry, he says, “They’re in Paris. It’s time to update my mother’s winter wardrobe. They’re not really the Thanksgiving celebration kind of people.”
I press the matter a little further, just because I’m still trying to get a handle on his family. “But not even a phone call or text to say Happy Thanksgiving?”
Declan finishes drying off the plate, then puts it in the cupboard. He sets the towel down on the counter. “I find it incredibly sweet and slightly gullible you think my parents would reach out to me on Thanksgiving.”
“Did you ever celebrate it?”
Declan crosses his arms over his chest, casually leaning his hip against the counter as he ponders my question. “There were times we would eat a meal together for Thanksgiving. But, honestly, it was no different from any other formal meal we would have together. Same expensive china and crystal. Fancy clothes and mood music. It was about as untraditional as you could get. Sometimes, I would spend Thanksgiving at a friend’s house who—while still very wealthy and extravagant—would have more of a traditional holiday feel. Like a celebration. So, yes… I’ve celebrated some. But today was by far my favorite.”
I consider that a moment. I think it may have been my favorite, too, but I don’t admit as much. Instead, I move in close and wrap my arms around his waist.
Tipping my head back, I say, “I really enjoyed today. I loved cooking for you. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. Something comforting about having traditional side dishes along with the turkey.”
Declan’s arms circle around my back, and he holds me close. Smiling, he says, “Well, you’re my favorite side dish.”
I snort-laugh, shaking my head. “You’re such a dork.”
Declan draws his chin in, seeming surprised. “I don’t think I have ever been called a dork—not once in my entire life.”
I start to laugh because I can’t imagine anyone calling this beautiful, brilliant, and wealthy man a dork.
But my laugh is cut short when Declan picks me up, and spins to set me on the island counter behind us. Putting his hands on my knees, he slowly pries my legs apart and steps in. My perch on the island makes it so that we’re able to see eye to eye. I’m mesmerized as his face draws closer to mine.
His lips softly graze against my own before trailing down over my jawline into my neck. “Thank you for today, Bailey.”
I shiver, not just from his mouth on my skin, but also from his sweet words.
He lifts his head. “You’re an amazing woman.”
My throat closes, and I find it hard to meet his gaze. Yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes off him if a nuclear bomb were getting ready to fall on my head. I’m not sure if someone has ever held my attention in this way, nor caused such a stirring of emotions within me.
Leaning in, he kisses me again. So very slowly.
I sigh into his mouth, contentment sweeping throughout me.
Then I’m in his arms again, his hands supporting me under my ass as I wrap my legs around him. He continues a gentle exploration of my mouth as he walks us to his bedroom. I feel small, yet incredibly safe in his strong arms.
When we’re in his room, I’m lowered to the floor. He continues to kiss me while his hands work at my clothes. Declan is in no hurry, his mouth gentle and his tongue making lazy strokes. Our clothing melts away layer by layer until there’s nothing but warm skin under our palms. Declan pushes me down onto the bed, covering me with his body.
My own hands move across his tanned skin, fingertips tracing the lines and hollows of his muscles. For what feels like hours, we lay there, kissing, stroking skin, and whispering promises. It’s sweet and romantic, a definite change from the frenzy that usually overtakes us in the bedroom.
When Declan finally slips a finger inside me, I’m shocked by how wet I am, proving a slow seduction is as much a turn-on as filthy words and rough caresses.
I take him in hand, wrapping my fingers around his thick shaft, and try to urge him into me. With a claiming kiss, Declan slides deep inside me.
“Oh, God,” I mutter, my eyes rolling back. We’ve been having sex without condoms all week—my birth control pills being the only protection needed at this point—and it has elevated our lovemaking to a surreal plane that’s hard to describe. The intimacy of no barriers between us… of him coming deep inside me… it has chipped away at my walls and insecurities like nothing else has.
Even now, it seems I can feel every molecule of his being as he starts to move in and out of my body with slow, lazy strokes. His mouth caresses and nibbles my neck.
“You feel so good, Bailey,” he murmurs.
Our bodies writhe and undulate, the rhythm between us in perfect synchronization. It’s like we’re made for each other in that respect, anticipating what feels good to the other and giving it before it can be asked for.
Declan’s forehead rests against mine. With our eyes closed, we rock into each other. Bodies pressed tight, arms wrapped around each other, we meld.
I don’t know who ignites first, but it doesn’t matter. We fall over the edge in an explosion of pleasure, bliss, and complete fulfillment. Declan’s mouth is back on mine. He kisses me through the release, both shuddering within the cocoon of our embrace.
It is singularly the most beautiful sexual experience I’ve ever had, and I feel a stray tear leak out of the corner of one eye. I manage to dash it away before Declan hovers over me with a serene smile.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, completely blissed out. “More than okay. That was amazing. You’re amazing.”
“Going to suck being gone for a week,” he mutters, eyes roaming over my face.
“So going to suck,” I agree in a slightly whiny tone. Declan is headed out tomorrow to Chicago to meet with his dad on the San Francisco project, then he’s going to San Francisco to look at the property they are interested in purchasing.
I had thought Declan would have me go with him, but I was ultimately happy he didn’t. He had told me, “I need you here to watch over things, Bailey.”
It was a pivotal moment in our business relationship. It meant he had come to trust me within the Blackwood dynasty, and I was essential to his work. That truly said as much to me as the developing personal relationship we were working on.
“When I come back,” Declan promises, pressing his lips to my forehead, “we’re not going to leave the bedroom for three solid days. I’m just going to put in your vacation request now with human resources.”
“Just three days?” I tease, my heart pattering over his desire to be with me. It’s a mutual feeling.
“Maybe four days,” he concedes before kissing me. Another gentle melding of our mouths causes a swirling of emotion beneath my breastbone. “Happy Thanksgiving, Bailey.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I whisper back.
He rolls slowly to his side, his arms still tight around me, and I roll with him. I feel so replete, and I can’t think of one thing in the world I would want more than this moment.
I press my face into the side of his neck, feathering a kiss there. He squeezes me, and we lay for a long time just holding each other.
My eyes start drooping, and I vaguely feel him pull the covers over us. I snuggle in tighter. Before I drift o
ff to sleep, I admit to myself I am indeed falling hard for this man.
CHAPTER 25
Declan
Despite Chicago being my hometown, I’ve never had a sense of homecoming when I return. I don’t need a psychologist to analyze that for me. I’ve never developed any type of bonds within the city that would make me nostalgic. Over the last couple of weeks, as I have gotten to know Bailey and have talked about my family more, it has brought about a sharp contrast on how very different my life is from most people’s.
I always knew that, of course. But I had often put that in the context of me being a part of the elite wealthy while others aren’t. Merely spending Thanksgiving with Bailey, her parents, and Leonie made me realize it’s not about money.
It’s about relationships.
As I sit in the waiting room of my father’s executive offices in the Blackwood building, it’s telling how much I already miss Bailey. I’m a man who often travels for his work, and it has never been an issue for me. But from the moment I left Vegas, I started counting down the hours until I could get back to her.
If that doesn’t prove I’m falling hard for this woman, I don’t know what will.
Today’s meeting with my father is to go over the San Francisco project. We are in mutual agreement that this is the best location for the next Blackwood resort. Today, we will go over the strategic plan I have developed. I will let him fill me with his infinite wisdom that he still thinks I need despite this being my sixth project.
But I get it. One day, the man is going to turn over the reins of this empire to me. He loves the Blackwood dynasty more than he loves anything. Marissa and I aren’t really his children. His hotel chain is. I cannot fault the man for wanting to make sure his legacy will continue.
Of course, the legacy is important to me as well. I’ve devoted my entire adult life to it. I’ve been groomed to sit upon the throne, so to speak. It has been the driving force in my life, and all personal decisions I have ever made have revolved around what is best for the Blackwood name.
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