Текст книги "Seducing the Billionaire's Secretary"

Автор книги: Marquita Valentine

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Chapter Three

Blake’s first thought upon waking was his conversation with Ella.

It wasn’t well done of him, but he didn’t bloody well care. He was determined to get her to see him in a new light, even if she thought he only wanted her in his bed.

Of course, he wanted her in his bed, but he wanted more than that. He wanted her smiles, her laughter... he wanted the woman he’d met three years ago.

He shoved the covers back and walked to the bathroom, cutting on the shower. While the water steamed up the room, he shaved and brushed his teeth before quickly washing up. He had to catch her at breakfast, only he wasn’t sure if she would be seated on the pavilion or stay in her room.

Taking a chance, he pulled on a pair of board shorts and a t-shirt before heading to the pavilion. Luckily, the place wasn’t packed.

Eyes roaming the room, he found the woman of his dreams seated near the pool. She looked enchanting in her sundress and a wide, floppy hat that kept her pale skin from burning.

Keeping one eye on her, he ran the breakfast gauntlet and filled up a plate. She still hadn’t seen him because if she had, Ella would have left already.

Silently making his way to her, he could barely contain the hope that threatened to bubble up. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, sitting across from her.

Her head lifted, and her eyes narrowed as she stabbed a piece of helpless pineapple in the process. She had terrifyingly good aim. “It was a good morning.”

“Until I showed up?”

“Exactly.”

“And made it the best morning you’ve ever had,” he said, enjoying the way her eyes rolled and her nostrils flared slightly. If he couldn’t have her soft and sweet, then he would take her passionate hatred of him instead.

“Would you listen to yourself?”

“Rather listen to you, love.”

“Oh, I can go on for hours,” she practically growled at him.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “So can I.”

Her lips parted, twin rosy petals. Her tongue darted out, licking the bottom. His gut clenched. Then she seemed to compose herself, sitting up straighter.

“You really want to listen to me talk?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She studied his face, as if looking for the lie in his answer. “Fine.”

He tucked into his pancakes. “I’m all ears.”

Those lips of hers puckered and he bit back a smile, concentrating on chewing and swallowing instead. “I... don’t know what to say.”

“Where did you grow up?” he asked.

She blinked at him. “South Carolina. Little town called Knight’s Way.”

“Never been there. Would I like it?”

“I thought this was supposed to be about me?” she pointed out with a haughty look on her face.

“Quite so.” He waved his fork in the air. “Carry on.”

“I doubt you would like it.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing but country folk. Only one stoplight in the entire town and most of the time, it’s on the fritz,” she said with obvious affection. “But Knight’s Way still has a drive-in movie theater and Beechum’s Drugstore. Best grilled ham and cheese around.”

“I’m a huge fan of grilled sandwiches,” he said, and her beautiful eyes narrowed. “All right, so I’m an indiscriminate fan of food in general.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips. “You would find my grandparents’ grilled ham and cheese irresistible.”

I find you irresistible. “What about your parents?”

“My mom just retired from teaching, and my dad will retire from UPS next year. I don’t get to see them much with my work obligations.” She shook her head a little. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You already know.”

“I don’t make it a habit to snoop.”

“Except when you can’t help yourself,” she pointed out.

He didn’t want to argue with her. Didn’t want to bring up the beginning of their years of animosity—at least on her side. He’d never hated her.

“I didn’t look into your past,” he maintained.

Her eyes widened a little. “I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I think you’re telling me the truth.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“I don’t know.”

That was a fair enough assessment. He’d teased and double-talked her to no end. “Honestly, I’ve not looked, Ella.”

“You’ve made it difficult to trust what you say.”

“What can I say to put your mind at ease?” he asked, desperate for the truth.

She shrugged, her gaze going to the ocean. Waves the color of turquoise splashed on pink sand. A gentle breeze blew through the palm trees.

“Nothing.”

“Then I won’t say a word.”

Her dark gaze focused on him. “Are you really going to hold me to eight dates with you?”

Though he nearly hated himself for it, there was no other way to get past her defenses. “Yes.”

She stood suddenly, her chair going back and her hat flopping wildly before she slammed her hand down on the top of it. “That’s one date down, York.”

“We’ve barely spent any time together,” he protested.

“You didn’t specify how much time we had to spend together, only the number.” She tilted her head to one side. “And the type of date. I’m done with breakfast, so our date is over.”

Grim determination set in. “Brilliant. I’ll see you tonight for dinner, at six thirty PM. My room. I’ll order for us.”

Her face paled a little. “I am not coming to your r—”

“Afraid of being alone with me?”

She sputtered. “N-no. Good grief, Blake, just because you’re handsome and have an accent does not make you God’s gift.”

“So you think I’m handsome?” He gave her a cheeky grin.

Her face flamed. “I’m not blind,” she said tightly, and then stormed off.

“You’re not immune, either,” he said, his mood considerably lighter.

Ella struggled to get her temper in check at his last remark. He had meant for her to hear him. She knew it. Blake had an uncanny knack for making her lose it. He knew just what to say.

But if she had to be honest, she wasn’t an innocent party in all of this. She gave as good as she got. Sometimes, she secretly liked their banter. Worse, she sometimes looked forward to it.

How she would get through eight dates with him, she didn’t know, but she would persevere. If only to prove to them both that she didn’t find him...well, she did find him attractive. In a hot, British guy sort of way.

He did have really nice hair—blond, thick, and wavy. His eyes were nice too—the color of the ocean right outside her balcony. And the way he was built—tall and lean. The man really ought to be on the cover of Men’s Fitness ...or GQ, considering the suits he wore to work each day.

“Stop,” she ordered herself.

“Stop what?” a familiar voice asked.

Ella drew up short. Just who she needed to run into. She glanced upwards and mouthed, Really, God, before turning to face the woman behind her. “Mrs. Montgomery.”

Warm grey eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s Hannah.”

“Hannah,” Ella agreed, giving her a smile. Or at least she hoped it was a smile and not a feral baring of teeth. “Are you ready for the ceremony?”

“Mostly.” Hannah linked her arm with Ella’s and began to walk. Ella had no choice but to go along with her. “Want to know a secret?”

Please don’t be pregnant. She couldn’t handle that kind of happiness for her boss. And wasn’t she the most horrible person on earth for thinking that? “Sure.”

“The wedding isn’t for me. Drew thinks this is what I want, but really, I was happy to be married by the minister of beer.”

Ella’s jaw dropped. “The what?”

Hannah laughed. “Didn’t you know?”

“I had no idea.” The minister of beer? That did not fit in with her fantasy of Drew. Her Drew was sophisticated and—ohmigosh. He wasn’t her Drew. He was Hannah’s Drew.

“Desperate times called for desperate measures,” Hannah replied.

“At least he wasn’t so desperate he married Alexis George.”

“You got that right.” Hannah shivered. “She hadn’t changed a bit.”

Ella gazed at the blonde. “You know her?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Her family and Drew’s vacationed at The Magnificent Dunes. She was always scheming to get him alone, not that I can blame her.”

“Teenagers can be very dramatic”

“I’ve known Drew since I was eight,” Hannah replied. “But it feels like I’ve known him for far longer.”

Ella frowned. She hadn’t known that. She’d assumed Hannah was some girl from Drew’s past who needed money and, most importantly, wasn’t Alexis George.

“Are you okay?” Hannah asked, stopping in front of the resort’s spa.

“Fine. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Drew said you’re as bad as him when it comes to relaxing, which is why I went looking for you this morning.”

“He did? You did?”

Hannah nodded, clearly pleased with herself. “That’s why we’re going to have a girls’ day of pampering.”

Oh dear Lord. She was going to spend the day with the woman who’d married the man she loved. Or used to love. Or shouldn’t love. Either way, she was screwed.

“Yay,” Ella said.

“I’m going to pretend you’re excited and not feeling obligated.”

Ella gave the younger woman a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad that Drew is someone who inspires others to protect him, and if I have to prove to you, someone who has worked for him for so long and he can’t live without at work, that I’m more than some money-hungry bimbo, then I’m up for the challenge.”

“I don’t—I really don’t think that about you.”

“Maybe not in those terms, but you weren’t happy when my husband introduced us, and I want to change that.”

Ella was torn between laughing and crying. The woman wanted to be, for lack of a better word, friends with her. But would Hannah want to be friends if she knew about the emails? Would Hannah want to be friends if she knew that Ella was in love with her husband?

She felt like such a fraud in this moment, but maybe this was what she needed to move on from Drew. Maybe if she could learn to like Hannah, she would stop—she would just stop. That was all there was to it.

With an inward sigh, Ella gave Hannah a friendly smile. “Thank you for asking me. I’d love to get to know you better.”

*

Six hours later, Ella flopped face-first onto her bed. She’d been buffed, polished, manicured, and pedicured to an inch of her life.

Oh, and she had a new best friend in Hannah Miller.

Gah.

Okay, so her day hadn’t been that bad and Hannah was really fun. If Ella hadn’t felt so damn guilty the entire time, she would have enjoyed herself a lot more.

Flipping onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling as a fan with carved wooden palm leaves circled lazily, feeling completely sorry for herself.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket.

Blake: Are you allergic to shellfish?

She pursed her lips, debating on whether she should answer him. Knowing Blake, he would start calling her room phone and if that didn’t work, he’d simply show up and pester her until she answered him.

I’m only allergic to you.

Blake: Excellent. See you in two hours.

Grimacing, she tossed her phone to one side.

All she wanted was to be left alone so that she could get over Drew in private, not dragged to a resort and certainly not tricked into dating the man she couldn’t stand most days.

Only life never gave her what she wanted and that story she’d made up about Knight’s Way and Beechum’s Drugstore—she laughed bitterly—it was straight out of a Hallmark movie.

Ella Simpson had never grown up in a town like Knight’s Way—if there was such a place. Oh, no. She’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks in Raleigh, with her aunt taking care of her. Well, when she wasn’t strung out or too drunk to remember she had a niece.

However, none of that matter now.

Besides, if she could survive growing up in hell, she could survive ten days in paradise.

Chapter Four

Ella had come dressed to do battle with him, Blake wryly observed as she swept inside his room. He had plotted and planned all day for their dinner, but never in a million years would he have expected her to come dressed in a barely there wrap dress that clung to her curves.

Gone was the usual bun, replaced with soft curls that cascaded over her pale shoulders like a river of molten lava. She had to be made of fire because he burned for her.

Her perfectly made-up face turned to him, black lashes so thick that she appeared to struggle to blink. The effect gave her a come-and-get-me look that he wanted to act on.

However, he would be a gentleman. No matter what she wore... or didn’t wear. She expected him to be a cad, to fall back on their usual banter, but tonight, that was not going to happen.

“You look beautiful¸” he said, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips. Pressing a kiss to her knuckles, he led her to the table he had his personal room butler prepare for them.

“Thank you.” She pulled her hand out of his grip and seated herself before he could do the honors. “I assume we’re having oysters.”

Cupping her shoulders, he leaned down to whisper, “How predictable, Ms. Simpson.”

She glanced up at him. “Well, we are talking about you.”

Not an inch. Damn, the woman was determined to keep him out. “I hope you brought your appetite. George will serve us tonight while we dine.” He removed the cloche from the large platter filled with her favorite things.

Her gaze flew to his. “Junk food?” She gingerly picked up a nacho laden with beef, refried beans, and cheese, examining it as if she really couldn’t believe it was there.

“Your favorites.” He knew what she ate when she was stressed or when she worked late nights. Americana-style appetizers.

“How did you—?” Her eyes narrowed. “Snooping, I see.”

“Actually, I’ve known you for three years. Every Friday night, you have one of three things delivered: nachos, chicken wings, or potato skins.”

“You paid attention to that?”

He paid attention to everything about her. “Yes.”

“Oh.” With a slight cant of her head, she bit into the nacho. Her eyes closed momentarily in pleasure. “This is good.”

He sat in the chair beside her and began to eat as well. George popped into the room, a tray of beverages balancing on the tips of his fingers.

Ella’s face registered surprise. “Cherry cokes?”

“And your favorite beer,” Blake said with a smile.

“I haven’t had these in weeks.”

“You don’t need to diet,” he pointed out.

She grinned, taking a bottle of beer and the glass of coke with cherries floating on the top. “But I do need to live past thirty-four.” She made a little face. “And fit into my bridesmaid’s dress.”

“Me too.” He scooped up a generous portion of nachos and crammed it into his mouth. Normally, he wouldn’t eat so... cave-manish, but she seemed to be more at ease and that had to be a point in his favor.

She giggled, and the sound made his heart flip in his chest. “Whatever. Men like you can wear anything and look good.”

“Really?”

Nodding happily, she began to munch on a potato skin. “Yeah, Prince Charming doesn’t need to worry about calories. Besides, don’t you run eight miles a day before work?”

“I do, but how do you know that?”

“Maybe I’ve been snooping.”

Rather shocked at her sudden change in attitude, he began to study her. “Why is that?”

“Come closer and I’ll tell you,” she said with a secretive smile.

He leaned in, and the smell of vodka hit him. The damned woman was drunk, or nearly there. “Have you been drinking?”

“Three shots before I went out the door,” she chirped, and then she began to whisper. “I’m not a big drinker, but I don’t think they’re working.”

Blake didn’t know whether to laugh or be furious with her, but what he did know—she lifted the bottle of beer to her lips, and he plucked it out of her hand—she needed to get more food in her stomach.

“Hey!”

“Drink the cherry cokes, love, before they go flat.”

She pushed out her bottom lip in a pout, and it was all he could do to keep from biting that lip. Tempting witch. “Fine.”

“And have a bit more to eat.” He attempted to feed her, but she grabbed his hand and bit his finger. “Ouch!”

“Sorry, thought you were my food.”

“Do you know who I am?” This had to be a joke of some sort. Even though Ella was clearly drunk, the liquor having finally made its appearance, she wouldn’t be so flirty with him.

“Blake York. Hot. British. Single.”

Well, that put that theory to rest. “Is that how you think of me?”

“That’s how alllll the ladies think of you. Oh, and Dave in Marketing.”

He didn’t give a damn about what all the ladies and Dave thought of him. He wanted her opinion and wanted the liquored-up truth of it. “What about Ella?”

“Ella. Me.” She snorted. “You don’t even like me anymore.”

“I like you right now,” he said softly.

She blinked at him. “I like you right now too.”

“What about tomorrow? Will you like me tomorrow?”

Her face turned solemn. “Only in the deepest part of me.”

“What about Drew?” he asked lightly, wondering if she still longed for a man she couldn’t have.

“He likes you all the time.”

He laughed. “Yes, but what does Ella think of Drew?”

“I think that—”

George arrived once more, and Blake wanted to throw the man out. She’d been so close to revealing how she felt. Damn it.

“I brought these straight off the grill.”

Blake sat up and helped Ella do the same. “I do hope this bit of home I brought to paradise makes you happy. Perhaps you’ll consider it an olive branch of sorts.”

George removed the cover with a flourish.

“Grilled ham and cheese from Beechum’s Drugstore in Knight’s Way, South Carolina,” Blake said, his chest puffing up at the shocked look on her face. “It took bit of searching on Google to even find the blasted town, and a bit of—well, I won’t go into what I had to do to actually get the recipe—but here you go.” The woman who’d answered the phone had been very nice, but confusing, insisting the Simpsons had moved away years ago.

Perhaps she meant Ella, and not her parents. He honestly didn’t know, and the woman’s accent was so thick that he could barely make out every other word.

“I think the kitchen got it right.” He winked at George and grinned.

George gave him a quick thumbs-up before clearing the table of the appetizers.

Ella made a noise. He wasn’t sure if it was the sound of a cow dying or what, but it wasn’t a happy one. Suddenly, she slapped her hand over mouth, tears falling from her beautifully made-up eyes and making her mascara run.

“What’s wrong?” Did she need to use the loo? Should he get a rubbish bin?

She shook her head, not saying a word.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, motioning for George to take the platter away. “I thought you would like the sandwiches. You actually sounded happy when you talked about Knight’s Way.”

That only made her cry harder.

Wisely, George left the room. Blake would be sure to tip the man well later tonight.

Once the door closed behind the butler, Blake took a trembling Ella in his arms. “My darling girl, whatever is the matter?”

She sniffed. “I’m such a fraud.”

“You don’t like the sandwiches?”

“Yes. No... I don’t know.” She sniffed again, snuggling against him while smearing his shirt with makeup... and other things, but he didn’t push her away. He’d dreamed of holding her like this for years.

Only without the crying.

Or her being drunk.

Nude would have been good.

Perhaps in bed.

Shut it, York.

“Why would you do something so nice for me?” she finally asked, lifting her tear-stained face.

“Because I care about you,” he admitted. There. She knew the truth.

Her lips made a perfect O. “Why? I’ve been nothing but mean to you for the past three years.”

He brushed a damp strand of hair out of her face. “Perhaps it’s because I remember the woman who was nice to me six months before that.”

“Stupid emails.”

“No one knows, love.”

“But you know.”

“I’ve never told a soul.”

“But you could have.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t betray you.”

She let out a groan. “I think I’m... I need to lie down.”

So much for a romantic evening, he thought as he helped her to her feet.

With Blake’s help, Ella found her way into bed, or maybe it was his bed. She honestly didn’t know, nor did she care. She was too dizzy and too emotionally wrung out.

He’d had the kitchen make grilled ham and cheese for her. It was the only thing she could remember about her parents before they died. Actually, it was the best memory she had of them too.

She’d been four, maybe five at the most, dancing around the kitchen with her momma while her daddy cooked.

“Thank you. I didn’t mean to cry, but you surprised me,” she admitted as he took off her shoes. He undid her necklace and carefully placed it on the nightstand, then began to remove her earrings.

Such an intimate act, without even removing her clothes.

Blake’s eyes were so blue this close up, like the color of the ocean at dusk. “Never be afraid to be yourself with me, and never apologize for letting your feelings show.” He brushed a kiss against her forehead, but she tipped up her chin for more. He made a noise of dissent, but she insisted.

“Please. I need... you.”

Their lips met and she tasted him, her tongue licking the corner of his mouth. His tongue met hers. He tasted so sweet that her toes curled. He tasted better than cherry cokes.

“Ella,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re not... if you weren’t drunk, you wouldn’t be kissing me.”

“So.”

“I want you sober.”

Their mouths met again, his body coming on top of hers. He was so large, so warm, and so male that she writhed against him. A low groan left his chest, and he pushed away from her. She grabbed for him, catching his shirt.

“Ella, I can’t. We can’t. I promise you I want you, but not like this.”

“Sleep with me? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He gazed down at her, indecision playing across his face. “As long as my virtue is safe from you.”

A helpless giggle/snort left her mouth. “Very safe.” Yes, she wanted him. Yes, she loved kissing him and feeling him... everything, but—she frowned.

What had she been thinking about?

The room spun, as did Blake.

Closing her eyes, she let the darkness take her.