“I can handle that,” she agreed, smiling back at Tabitha. As quickly as it had appeared, Cara’s beam faded as Connor Lamoreaux strolled confidently into the romantically cast dome. He was dressed in a simple black tuxedo with a white ruffled shirt but he had yet to put on a tie or cufflinks and his button down was opened, showing off the chiseled lines in his neck. His jacket was linked over his finger, resting casually on his shoulder as he covered the space in mere strides with his long legs.
“Ah, fantastic!” he commented to a woman who was rushing up from the coat room to meet him. She wore a black head set and was clutching a clipboard in white knuckles. Her face was taut with stress and while she looked like she was in her fifties, a well-honed sixth sense in Cara knew she was likely closer to thirty.
“Mr. Lamoreaux!” she squeaked in a nasal, unattractive voice. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon!” Connor waved his hand, unperturbed by her nervousness and began walking around the room, the mouse hot on his heels.
“It looks good, Dana. Did you have enough time to prepare?” he asked casually. The mouse nodded with conviction.
“Did you have any questions?” he pressed. Again, Dana shook her head, unspeaking.
“Good! Maybe you can walk me through then. I particularly like the ice sculpture but I have to ask, why a polar bear?”
Dana, who Cara now figured to be the event planner, wiped sweaty palms on her tailored black pants and stammered.
“Uh…you said…well, charity…and I thought…”
“You understand that this event is raising money for impoverished African villages, right?” Lamoreaux questioned. Cara did not have a good feeling about where this was going but like a terrible car accident, she could not tear her eyes away.
“Yes, Mr. Lamoreaux but I thought it would be in poor taste to do a sculpture of a starving African boy,” Dana tried to joke cattily. Cara almost closed her eyes, immediately detecting the danger in the planner’s words.
“You thought that I could raise money for an impoverished African village by reminding a crowd of staunch Republicans about global warming?” Cara watched with sick fascination as Dana’s complexion turned translucent.
“In your mind, your options were borderline racist ice sculpture or global warming ice sculpture and you couldn’t come up with anything else, huh? You really don’t understand the flaw with this, do you?” he continued, smirking cruelly at the meek, terrified girl who was stammering apologies. What an asshole! Cara thought, surprising herself with the intensity of her anger. Dana was clearly nervous and Cara guessed this was probably her first experience working for Lamoreaux. He doesn’t need to be such a prick to her! Cara watched Lamoreaux berate the girl a moment longer and almost opened her mouth to put an end the condescending diatribe when she felt a vice like grip on her arm.
“Don’t even think about it,” Tabitha breathed into her ear, steering her away from the scene. “You’re here to work, not be a martyr. Don’t assume anything. Things are not always as they appear.”
It took Cara almost an hour to cool down from the what she had witnessed but when she finally forced herself to interact with the other staff, she began to forget about her boss’ arrogance. In spite of herself, she found herself easing and sat back to enjoy the spectacle which was the “charity” event she was working. The dinner had been seven thousand dollars a plate, all proceeds going to Connor Lamoreaux’s Sunstain campaign. Cara had taken Tabitha’s advice and done an extensive internet search on the business tycoon. The charity purportedly raised money to build villages in Kenya, Ethiopia and Libya running strictly on solar power. There was absolutely no evidence to suggest otherwise despite Cara’s almost pathological attempt to uncover some fraud or laundering. She desperately wanted to out Lamoreaux as a snake but there was no proof that the foundation was anything but a legitimate organization. Still, the way Cara saw it, the rack of lamb, shark fin soup and lobster tails smothered in risotto and escargot, drowning in champagne and vintage French wine could have easily bought and sustained entire African countries if not for a bunch of pompous, surgically enhanced people in expensive clothing vying for each other’s attention. Cara swallowed the bile of her thoughts and willed herself to watch the crowd superficially. The dazzling array of diamonds and platinum glittered mercilessly against the starlight glow of the grand ballroom. High heels clicked rhythmically against the thick glass partition between the structure and the illuminated lake below and amidst the phony air of importance which seemed to radiate within, Cara couldn’t help but be impressed by the extravagance of the furs and silks and leathers paraded around the dance floor in an almost perversely unpracticed ceremony.
At ten thirty precisely, Connor Lamoreaux rose onto the stage to make a speech. Cara rolled her eyes and looked for somewhere to escape but instead caught Tabitha’s watchful, meaningful stare. Like a reprimanded child, she shrunk back up against the wall between the kitchen and the coat room and stared at the floor.
“Ladies and cohorts,” Connor began, charmingly. The crowd laughed appreciatively and raised their glasses to him. “Thank you so much for attending this event. As many of you know, this charity is very dear to my heart and I began it when I was…” Cara stifled a yawn and rolled her emerald irises again. She caught the bartender’s eye in the process and he grinned knowingly, rolling his own eyes also. They shared a private smile. Oh, he’s cute, she thought, taking in his broad shoulders and dimpled smile. Yeah, you know who else was cute? A cutting voice in her head asked. Damien. Cara felt her face flush at the thought of Damien and abruptly turned away. She looked back into the group, her smile fading completely as a familiar sense of loss overcame her. She had been feeling as though she had made some emotional improvement in the past weeks. The dreams had almost completely stopped and she didn’t find herself thinking about him and Yvette as much when other people were around. She had ensured that she avoided the society pages so that she would not chance upon the Carlyle name. Throwing herself into work had consumed a lot of the hurt but every once in a while, some nasty little thought like that would pop into her head and ruin her otherwise neutral mood. I won’t let you back into my head, Cara thought, furiously. She angrily blinked away the tears which had sprung to her eyes. She forced herself to listen to her boss’ words instead, hoping his endless droning would lull her back into a sense of apathy.
“…and in only a decade, we have managed to rescue forty-three villages in this fashion, each one still standing and thriving, thanks primarily to the donations of people like you. You may not think your million-dollar donation will count…” he paused to grin through the roar of laughter which followed. “…but rest assured, every bit does count and ninety percent of what you give is put directly into people who have limited resources and live in squalor, buying them much needed time. And I don’t mean you, Eli!” Lamoreaux continued, jokingly pointing his glass at a serious looking man in the front. Again the crowd chuckled.
“Don’t forget the best way to sustain their lives is to Sunstain them. Thank you for listening to my rambling and again, thank you all so much for being here tonight.” There was polite applause and the band picked back up as Lamoreaux ambled smartly off the stage and strode directly out the back door without a second look at anyone. Annoyed that she was once more feeling irritated, Cara began to busy herself cleaning up champagne glasses, even though Tabitha had insisted she leave it for the serving company. On a whim, she snuck behind the door to the unmanned coatroom and emptied the three half full glasses she had picked up into her throat. She instantly regretted the action. Guiltily, she rushed into the kitchen and deposited the goblets onto the catering rack before ducking outside into the English maze to clear her head. She was terrified Tabitha would approach her and smell the booze on her breath. Why did I even do that? I don’t even like drinking! The effects of the liquor were quickly hitting her and suddenly she didn’t care so much that she might get caught. Would that be such a bad thing? This job is exhausting, Connor L
amoreaux is a giant ass and I am cut out to be better things than a maid! I hope I get fired! She drew her shoulders back with the false bravado she had suddenly developed and turned back to the building behind her. As she did, she came face to face with a middle aged woman wearing a fox coat, looking like she had just stepped out of a catalogue from the 1940s. Her make-up was pristine and her fine salt and pepper hair professionally was coifed into a firm figure eight worn above her slender neck. A set of gleaming pearls hung loosely down her chest. She had an air of old money for certain but there was something about her that was askew, something which Cara did not immediately identify. For what seemed like an eternity, they stared at each other, neither instigating contact. Cara was desperately trying to figure out what her subconscious was attempting to relay but it was not readily coming to her. Finally, the younger woman spoke.
“Ma’am, can I help you with something?” The aloof looking stranger continued to look at Cara, saying nothing and then suddenly lunged forward, startling Cara as she flung a piece of paper at her. It landed on the cobblestone at her feet and as Cara leaned down to pick it up, the silent stranger turned her back and headed toward the parking lot. Cara looked down at what she had been given. It was a check made out to Sunstain Charities in the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was signed, the ink was still fresh in fact, but it was not in an envelope. Cara paled, unsure of what to do with the ludicrously large sum in her hand.
“Ma’am, I can’t take this! You have to – “The woman turned at the sound of Cara’s voice and instantly Cara realized what was so troubling about the her; the woman’s eyes were flat, almost devoid of life.
“Connor,” she muttered, almost inaudibly. “It’s for Connor.”
Again, she turned and before Cara could even argue, she was gone. Staring at the valuable piece of paper in her palm, Cara’s mild buzz was replaced by a heady feeling as she realized she had never in her life seen that amount of money in one spot. A rogue, criminal place in her mind wondered if she could get to a country with no extradition laws before she got caught stealing that check. Sighing, she hated herself for knowing she was not that kind of person. Reluctantly, she started back toward the ballroom, clutching the check protectively. She had to find Tabitha and figure out what to do with the donation. Someone stroked her arm gently. Jumping, Cara turned to see a young, sharply dressed man slip out of the shadows of the tall, dense bushes and approach her, hand outstretched, fingertips grazing her long sleeved blouse. She backed up slowly but then recognized he was trying to give her something. Cara stopped moving and waited for the guest to reach her. He too deposited another check into her palm. Puzzled, Cara reached out to stop him with her hand but she had already stealthily disappeared without a word. What the devil is happening? Is this normal? Cara looked down at this newly written endorsement and saw that that this one was for one hundred grand. Swallowing, Cara looked around nervously to see if any other zombie like creatures were lurking in the garden before sprinting back into the ballroom, her heart pounding.
She found Tabitha at the ice sculpture, talking to one of the servers. She rushed over and tapped her on the arm urgently. Absently, the head housekeeper waved her away so Cara stood nearby, tapping her foot impatiently. She couldn’t stop staring at the paper money in her hands. If she doesn’t hurry up, I’m going to run with this money, Cara lied to herself. Guests were beginning to filter out of the beautiful hall and Cara noticed that several of them stopped by to address Tabitha. Cara also took note that they seemed to be handing her donations as well but from where she was standing, Cara couldn’t tell if they looked as entranced as the people in the maze had appeared. The raven haired vixen exhaled deeply. She had been worked up over nothing. Obviously it was commonplace for the staff to accept the donations. Odd but commonplace nonetheless. Relaxing slightly, she discretely slipped the checks into her thigh high tights and turned for the kitchen. As she swung open the door, Maurice was walking out the back door with supplies. There was no one else in the room and the lights had all been shut off with the exception of the ones on the hood ranges.
“Oh good you’re here! I’m taking Van and Andrew back to the house. Tell Tabitha to meet me in the parking lot. I’ll come back for you in an hour. You’ll have to keep an eye on things here until I come back because I need Tabitha to help me. Think you can manage not to burn the place down?” Nodding, Cara went to relay the message to her superior. Tabitha nodded and waved her away, continuing the conversation she was having with a young, voluptuous dowager. Cara obeyed, slipping quietly back into the kitchen. She relished the silence after the commotion of the evening. The unusual calm in the normally boisterous kitchen was refreshing. Sighing, she walked to the back of the galley and jumped onto one of the freshly polished countertops. She flinched at the feel of the cool stainless steel on her small rear under her skirt. Closing her tired green eyes, she rolled her neck in circles, trying unsuccessfully to relieve the knots which had made their home in the alluring contours of her neck and shoulders. Rubbing her eyes, Cara blinked against the dim kitchen lights. As her eyes adjusted, her heart abruptly leapt into her throat. Ten feet in front of her, Connor Lamoreaux stood, legs slightly apart, arms folded on his chest, his ethereal eyes boring into her. His lips were open as if he were about to speak but he said nothing. A strange, dream-like fog slipped over Cara. Instead of immediately jumping off the recently sterilized countertop, she felt her breath quicken. Her knees fell apart slowly as she returned his steely gaze evenly, as if she was willing him to challenge her. Time hung in the air like stale cigar smoke as the two stared at each other, silent and unmoving. Suddenly, his hand was on the base of her neck and his full lips were crushing down on hers. Somehow unsurprised by the move, Cara parted her mouth to allow for his tongue and she wrapped her shapely legs around his waist, grinding her hips against his black tuxedo pants. He pushed her down roughly to the table and yanked her closer, pushing the backs of her thighs against his chest as he unzipped his trousers. She linked her ankles together, bringing his head back down so she could nibble on his mouth. She felt his fingers skillfully slide along her wetness, under her lace panties before he ripped them completely off and threw them aside. Cara gasped at the motion and then arched her back upward when, without warning, he was inside her, plunging into her throbbing depth. Crying out, Cara dug her nails into his shoulders and he covered her mouth with his hand to keep the still departing guests from overhearing. He did not slow his pace and Cara was overwhelmed with the heat from his penetration and the cold steel on her nakedness. The tempo of the coupling intensified as she began to tremble under this hard, almost violent thrusts. His hand slipped off her mouth and gently encircled her throat, his eyes boring into hers. Then he began to squeeze lightly and pound her at a crescendo. The countertop was reverberating underneath them. Cara’s orgasm was swift and she continued to cum over his huge member as his palms roughly massaged her throat. Suddenly, Connor abruptly stopped as if he was shocked to find himself there. As quickly as it had started, Connor pulled up his pants, still engorged and almost fled the kitchen, leaving a trembling Cara staring after him, humiliated. Slowly, she pulled down her skirt and slipped off the counter, wetness trickling down her thigh. She was throbbing, dizzy. What had she done? Still shaking, Cara scrounged around for her black lace panties but she could not see where he had tossed them.
“Hey! You ready?” Maurice came strolling into the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing on the ground?”
Stunned by what had happened and by the closeness of being caught, Cara aborted the mission to locate her panties and followed the head chef out of the kitchen. As she moved to close the door behind her, Cara saw Tabitha’s face in the small, round window to the swinging door.
“I thought Tabitha had gone back to the house with you,” Cara gasped to Maurice.
“Nah, she decided to stay. She didn’t want you to be here by yourself in case someone gave you a hard time,” Maurice answered. “I to
ld her you were fine but she wanted to stay.”
Cara felt all of the blood in her body drain into the soles of her feet. Tabitha had been there the entire time. Had she seen?
Chapter Five
There was never a time in her life where Cara felt more in limbo than the night following the charity ball. She wasn’t sure if she should be running for the hills or waiting out the aftermath of her actions. She had no definitive proof that Tabitha had in fact witnessed the interaction between Lamoreaux and herself but her guilty conscious told her that the housekeeper had seen more than enough to make her life miserable in the least. She remembered the list of house rules and wondered exactly how many of them she had managed to break in one fell swoop. As far as Connor Lamoreaux was concerned, Cara was sure she was just another one of many conquests and she had no idea what had come over her. Damien had been her one and only lover and while she had ample opportunity to date other men, Cara had always considered herself a one-man woman. She had always thought that man was going to be Damien. Even after the shock of losing him, the thought of any other set of hands caressing her, rubbing her intimately, or some other person pressing his soft, supple lips against hers, stabbing into her hard and fast until her juices soaked her inner thighs and covered his hardness over and over…Cara realized she was wet again as she relived the encounter with her boss. Shaking her head as if to commit some sense into her skull, she focused on the impending morning and how she would handle what was to come. By the time dawn blinked through the horizon, Cara had steeled herself for whatever the house was about to throw at her. When she slunk into the staff dining room that morning, however, she was completely unprepared for what was about to occur. All the chefs and Tabitha were already eating breakfast and Andrew was in the midst of telling a rude, racist joke when Cara tried to slip in unnoticed. Tabitha, however, addressed her immediately without shifting her eyes from her omelet.
Romance: Pummel Me: A Boxing Romance Page 50
