Samira pinched the bridge of her nose. She loved her mother—absolutely adored her mother—but she could care less about one a dozen family photos she took every year at random events. “Maman, can I call you back? There’s a fish or two calling my name,” she quipped, thinking of the those in the sink thawing that she still had to gut and clean.
“Fish?” LuLu said. “Samira, what is your life these last couple of weeks?”
She turned, still carrying the leaf blower, and walked back toward the house, climbing the steps two by two. “Tonight. Remember?” she reminded her softly.
LuLu released a sigh that communicated her complete frustration with her daughter. “Okay.”
“Au revoir, Maman,” she said.
Samira ended the call and had taken a dozen or more steps into the immense living room before she stopped in her tracks, her body rigid. She gasped as realization dawned. “Photo in the paper,” she said, closing her eyes at the memory of Lance calling out to her in the office upstairs and staring at her when she looked up as he held the morning paper in his hand.
He knew.
And he’d given her menial tasks to punish her.
“That asshole!” Samira gasped in anger this time, dropping the leaf blower onto the floor and sending a few leaves floating up into the air as she took long strides fueled by her fury.
With each step to the elevator and then every foot it crept upward to the attic, her anger grew. The pacing did nothing. Pressing her fingernails into her palm barely registered. All signs of lip gloss were erased as she licked and bit at her mouth. And by the time she stepped off the elevator and glared at Emerson Lance Millner, her body was heated with contempt.
He barely spared her a glance. “The fish ready?” he asked.
She cocked her head to the side a bit and arched a brow. “Funny, because your little stunt has me as hot as fish grease, Lance,” she said, with mocking emphasis as she dropped the formality of “Mr. Millner.”
He dropped his pen and wiped his large hand over his mouth and chin as he leaned back in his chair. “That was the goal, Samira,” he volleyed back, his voice dark and a bit ominous.
She chuckled acerbically and released a small sigh as she spread her legs and pressed her hands to her hip. “You’re lucky my goal isn’t to leave my foot planted deep where the sun doesn’t shine!”
“And you’re lucky I don’t have you arrested,” he growled, picking up his pen with an angry jerk.
“Arrested? For what?” she snapped, storming across the room to reach him.
“Criminal impersonation,” he supplied with ease.
Is that a thing?
“What’s your deal, Grumpy Grouch? What’s your angry vibe about? Are you perpetually constipated or you’re just in a bad mood for absolutely nothing?” she snapped, feeling what little patience she had completely snap. “Or maybe these stupid hats you wear are cutting the circulation to your brain.”
“Are you seriously upset with me when you’re the one who invaded my life?” he asked, shaking his head as if amazed by her.
He had a point, but that only frustrated her more.
“While, I, on the other hand, gave you duties for the same job you scammed to get.”
Samira opened her mouth and then closed it.
“I don’t know your motivation in lying to me, but I’m positive you will never own that land.”
“Then we have nothing else to discuss, Mr. Millner,” she said.
“Ever,” he inserted.
She released a breath and closed her eyes for a second to keep from throwing back a retort. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I invaded your life, and I apologize for that. It was my goal in first coming here. I had no clue when I came that Emerson L. Millner and Lance Millner the writer were one and the same. I just couldn’t pass up the chance to get a first look at the new book from my favorite writer. I came for the land, but I stayed for the book. I apologize for lying to you.”
His body tensed, but no words came.
Samira threw her hands up in exasperation. “Say something,” she insisted.
“Ever,” he reminded her.
She gasped in shock. “Are you serious right now?” she asked.
“Goodbye, Miss Ansah,” Lance said, a hint at his earlier dig at her marital status.
Oh, to hell with you!
Without another word she turned and strode away from him to step onto the elevator. She hit the button to descend without turning to face him again. Through pursed lips, she released a long, steadying breath, hoping to release the anger, embarrassment and nervousness she still felt.
“I’m positive you will never own that land.”
She’d gambled and lost.
It wasn’t until she was halfway across the living room toward the front double doors that she remembered she’d left her key fob behind on her desk in her haste to leave. With a roll of her eyes at her own forgetfulness, Samira turned and headed back to the elevator. She could only imagine his upset at seeing her face again.
No early access to the book. No purchasing of the land.
“You screwed the pooch on this one, Ansah,” she admonished herself as she stepped back onto the elevator.
She felt much calmer during this ride up to the attic then she had the last time.
The elevator slid to a stop, and through the gate-like door, she saw Lance look up at her. She gasped in surprise at him without his hat and the jagged scar across his brow and a small part of his forehead. Her mouth was ajar and her heart raced like crazy as she realized his hat was to keep the disfigurement hidden. “Lance,” she began, her eyes taking in the remainder of his face. His broad features softened by his mouth and his eyes. Big, bright, beautiful brown eyes surrounded by lashes fuller than her own.
“Get out!” Lance roared, whirling to give her his back and hide his scar from her once again.
She literally jumped at the ferocity of his tone, and her chest ached at the shame he so clearly felt. “I’m so sorry. I came back for my key,” she explained.
He stepped over to the desk and grabbed his hat to shove on his head, his back still to her. His form was rigid.
Samira opened the gate and quickly walked down the length of the attic to snatch her key fob from where it sat near the corner of the desk. Her retreat was even faster. She spared his rigid frame just one last look before stepping onto the elevator.
“Never come back here,” he said, his voice deep, dark and foreboding.
She hung her head as she closed the gate. “Trust me. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” she told him with absolute truth as she pressed the button and stepped back. “Nothing at all.”
Just before the lift descended, she saw him turn a bit, offering her his profile. She soaked it in. Enjoying every line of his face and his body as he disappeared from her vision.
Long after she left his sprawling estate and returned to her own apartment on the Upper East Side, Samira was haunted by Lance’s scar and questions of how he’d been marked in such a way. Although she promised her mother an explanation for her recent disappearances, Samira didn’t go up to her apartment in the same upscale luxury building that night, nor did she answer her phone calls. Her thoughts were as full as the day’s events. She had so many questions that only Lance could answer.
“That’s not happening,” she muttered aloud, taken back to the anger he’d displayed at her.
Samira made herself a large pitcher of Orgasm, a cocktail of amaretto liqueur, crème de cacao coffee bean and vanilla liqueur, and triple sec. Lately, it was the only climax in her life. With a sigh, she poured herself a large flute of the creamy drink as she crossed her spacious all-white living room in the center of the apartment to reach her owner’s suite—as a woman with dark skin and heritage direct from Ghana, she refused to call it a master bedroom.
Having stripped off her clothes, Samira strode nude into her bathroom, where she drew a bath. While she waited for it to fill, she sipped her drink and enjoyed its warmth spreading across her belly. She treated herself to a long soak in scented hot water with her head resting against the rim of the claw-foot tub. Clearly, she remembered the sight of Lance. His scar had surprised her but did not distract from his appeal. She smiled a little, thinking he favored Lyriq Bent, the handsome actor from the movie Acrimony and Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It TV series.
She released a soft little moan in the back of her throat and then a long breath through pursed lips as she bit her bottom lip. The warmth she felt between the plump lips of her shaven womanhood had nothing to do with the heat of the water. Nothing at all. She loved his mouth. Just soft and full. The kind she’d kiss and nibble on for hours on end or love to have pressed against her intimacy, suckling at her core until her juices covered his lips.
Just fine. All man. Strong. Grown. Fit. Powerful presence. All of it. Just sexy as hell.
The scar would never be commanding enough to distract from that.
But what happened to him?
She wondered that long after the water cooled and her glass was empty. After she got out of the tub, she dried off, slipped on one of her silk robes and made her way back to the bar in the corner to refill her drink. As she sat in the windowsill overlooking the New York night traffic with her long hair over one shoulder, she had to fight the urge to call him and tell him again he had nothing to hide or be ashamed of.
Her curiosity about Lance Millner led her to searching for info about him on her iPad. Her efforts were futile. As his assistant she was already familiar with his website and social media accounts, so she skipped reviewing those. Interviews and articles about him all focused on his writing career, but nothing personal. His privacy was closely guarded—that wasn’t surprising. The only clear takeaway was that several years ago the interviews and articles stopped. His headshots were not updated.
His secrets were his to keep.
That night as she slept, snuggled deep beneath the monogrammed crisp cotton sheets and plush down comforter of her king-size bed, Samira dreamed of Lance. Kissing him. Being kissed by him. Revealing what was beneath his clothing. Having him nude and hard above her. And in her. Over and over again.
* * *
The next day thoughts of her sexy dreams haunted her throughout her workday.
“Have you heard the news?”
Samira sat up in her chair and erased the wicked smile on her lips as her brother Naim came striding into her office. Thoughts of Lance’s head buried between her open thighs vanished. Regretfully. “What news?” she asked, removing her oversize red computer glasses.
He picked up her spectacles and held them in front of his face to study and look through. “When did you start wearing glasses?” he asked, his English accent more pronounced than her own.
“They’re computer glasses to prevent eyestrain,” she explained, reaching to take them from him. “The news? Remember?”
“Jake Cooley officially announced his retirement in thirty days,” he said, hitching up his tailored pants as he sat on the edge of her desk.
“No,” she said in disbelief, arching a perfectly shaped brow.
“Yes,” Naim emphasized with a toothy grin that was as charming as he knew it to be.
Samira crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair.
“You ready, sis?” he asked, holding out his fist.
She made one of her own and tapped it against his. “Damn right,” she assured him.
The Passion Grove land was a no-go, but that morning she’d finalized another property purchase in Short Hills, New Jersey, to replace it. Her report was ready, and so was she, to step into Cooley’s shoes as president of the hotels/resorts division. Biting her bottom lip, she slid on her glasses and logged on to her computer to print the report off. Twice.
Naim looked on as she picked up her phone and dialed an extension. “Hello, Mr. Ansah,” she said, playfully winking at her brother as she placed the call on speaker and replaced the handset.
“Samira?” Alek said, his deep voice seeming to fill the moderately sized office space. “Why the formality, little sister?”
“I would like to schedule an appointment with both you and Mrs. Ansah-Dalmount today to discuss a very lucrative business proposal,” she said, her voice firm and no-nonsense.
Naim gave her a nod and a thumbs-up.
The line was quiet very briefly.
“You aiming for the hotels/resorts division, huh?” he said, demonstrating his trademark intuition.
She was proud of him as her big brother and as one of the well-respected leaders of the billion-dollar firm.
“Absolutely,” she assured him.
“Mrs. Ansah-Dalmount and I were scheduled to have lunch together. Why don’t you join us here in my office at one o’clock?” he asked.
“See you then,” she said.
“See you then, Ms. Ansah.”
Now all she had to do was prove herself ready to Alek and Alessandra, who would be nothing but professional in the meeting. Co-CEOs and not her sibling and sister-in-law.
“Samira Ansah, president of the hotels/resorts division for the Ansah-Dalmount Group,” Naim said. “Good luck.”
Samira smiled with the ease.
The title sounded right.
Chapter 4
Two weeks later
It was a little over a month until Christmas, but signs of the season were everywhere, with the vibrant decorations, lights, Christmas carols and abundance of Santa Clauses panhandling for the holidays.
Lance hated it. Christmas meant good cheer for most, but for him, it was a reminder of everything he missed most in the world. Passion Grove during the holidays was a Christmas extravaganza. Manhattan was a hundred times worse, and he was ready to get away from it all, retreating to his estate where not one sign of Christmas existed.
That was a real joy.
Only a meeting with his publisher and editor could draw him to the city, and those were few and far between.
He adjusted his shoulders in the tan wool coat he wore over a burnt-orange cashmere sweater, dark denims and weathered cognac leather boots. It had been a long time since he’d worn anything other than his fishing clothes. Although everything was tailored to fit him, he felt uncomfortable. Especially the brim. He wore the wide-brimmed fedora tilted on his head to hide his scar.
Lance blinked away the memory of the car wreck that had caused the deep wound requiring layers of stitches to close. Thankfully the elevator slid to a stop and his focus became forward motion as he stepped off and made his way to the receptionist desk.
“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to ADG. How may I help you?” the blonde receptionist asked with a smile of her ruby-red lips that went from polite to sultry when she looked up at him.
“Lance Millner for Samira Ansah, please,” he requested.
“The Lance Millner?” she asked.
“Probably not,” he lied, feeling uncomfortable and gripping the edge of the tall counter as he fought not to turn and stride away.
“If you’ll have a seat, Mr. Millner, possibly the Lance Millner, I’ll let her know you’re here,” she said.
He gave her a short nod and turned to bend his frame to sit in one of the dozen chairs lining the wall across from her.
He hadn’t done a book signing or event of any kind since the accident. Thankfully his readers were loyal and focused on the books and not him. This trip to Manhattan was a rarity, but he had been unable to deny himself. He was on a mission.
For the first time in a long time, something other than his writing held his interest.
Lance turned his head and did a double take at Samira, who was leaning against the receptionist’s desk looking at him. She wore
a winter-white wool dress that clung to the curves of her body and was brilliant against the dark hue of her skin. Her hair was pulled back from her face into a low ponytail showcasing her eyes and high cheekbones. Dark gloss covered her lips.
His gut clenched.
This poised, confident and graceful woman was the full manifestation of the person he’d only caught glimpses of when she’d worked for him. This was Samira Ansah the billionaire businesswoman, and she was radiant. Nothing in him could deny that.
Lance rose and walked toward her, pushing aside the feelings of embarrassment from the day she saw his disfigurement. He’d wished at that moment he had the power to disappear in a cloud of smoke like Houdini. For him, it had been completely horrible. He felt hideous. So ashamed.
“Trust me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all.”
Her words had come to him over and over again ever since.
He couldn’t explain why he believed her words had been heartfelt and not just to placate him.
When he came to a stop before her, the scent of her sultry perfume reached him. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes, and her head tilted to the side.
“Surprise, surprise, Mr. Millner,” she said, her voice soft.
“I had a meeting in town, and I thought it was time we talked,” he returned.
Samira looked away from him for a moment. “Okay. I owe you that,” she said, standing tall before him.
He was more than six feet. With her heels on, her head came just to his mouth. He was surprised by this sudden urge to place a kiss on her forehead.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had such thoughts about her. Grimacing, he pressed his lips together until they felt thin.
“Follow me,” she said, turning and walking down the tiled hall with ease in her ridiculously high heels.
Heels that showed off her shapely legs and drew his eye to the hypnotic back-and-forth motion of her hips.
Lance forced his eyes upward. Soon she stopped before a door and opened it, standing in front of him to wave him in with one hand.
“You look very nice,” she said, once he passed her to enter.
Christmas with the Billionaire ; A Tiara for Christmas Page 5
