Champagne Kisses (16 page)

He entered her area just as she turned off her computer. “What? The workaholic is actually leaving at five?”

“It’s been a very productive day. Kat is now helping input data so we’re flying through those pages.”

“A good woman, that Kathleen Fitzpatrick. And the world’s best busybody. What did she tell you about me?”

“You?” Marissa’s look was as innocent as a newborn babe’s. “Why, Mr. Drake, we didn’t mention you at all!”

“Ha! You may not have said my name but I guarantee you Kat did.”

“What she shared was all good, promise.”

“Then you’ll have no problem
sharing
with me. Come on, let’s have dinner.”

Marissa waited until an accountant walked past them. Lowering her voice, she murmured, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Donovan’s eyes lowered to her lips. “It’s not the only idea, trust me. Just the first one.”

She had to ask. “And the second?”

“Checking out Chardonnay, and I
don’t
mean our latest vintage.”

He meant her suite.
Dayum!
She admired brother man’s skills, in spite of herself. “I thought you said we weren’t going to do this.”

“I hadn’t counted on not being able to live without you.”

“That we were going to remain professional.” Lowering her already low voice to a whisper, she hissed, “Platonic.”

His shrug was devil-may-care, his smile sexy. “It’s simple, girl. I lied.”

“What if someone sees us?” Marissa reached for her purse; her actions conveying she didn’t care if they did. “What if we get caught?”

“I’ve got connections with management. We won’t write you up.”

And just like that, the two reconnected. Dinner and then…round two.

Chapter 24

Morning, my sweet Marissa: I’ll be out of the office for most of the day. Have dinner with me. D.

T
his was the text that greeted Marissa as she woke up bright and early for her last day temping for Donovan Drake. The last few days had been a whirlwind of work, eat, love, work, eat, love, over and again. Because of Kat’s help, the bulk of the project was finished; today would be tying up loose ends and having a major powwow with her so that when Sharon returned to work Kat could easily bring her up to speed. Marissa read the text again, and a third time, her stomach roiling with a slew of emotions. She was in like, in lust, ecstatic, afraid. Nothing had gone the way she’d planned, but everything had turned out better than she’d hoped. Deciding to live in the moment, she’d simply followed Donovan’s lead, did what he told her, met when he summoned, loved him when he appeared.
But what now?
They hadn’t discussed the future, hadn’t talked about life post work assignment. Was this a “last supper” invite, a fond farewell, a bon voyage, a thanks for the memories before goodbye?

There was only one way to find out. Marissa’s response was short and sweet.
Yes.
After showering, she checked her phone.

Great! My place. D.

He’d texted his address. An invite to his home. That meant something, didn’t it? But what? Tired of thinking, she donned an oversize top, a pair of jeans and sandals, then reached for the bags that she’d packed last night and was out the door. No matter what happened tomorrow, today she checked out of paradise.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of final entries and goodbyes; even Donovan’s crazy brother Dexter stopped by her desk and paid her a visit.

“I see you survived The Don.”

“His bark was worse than his bite, I guess.” Then thinking of the way he’d used his teeth last evening, Marissa almost blushed. She hurried on, lest Dexter notice her discomfort. “Kathleen’s returning was a huge help. She knows her way around a computer. With her here, really, it’s been a breeze.”

“So, what now? You mosey on back to Boss Construction without looking back?” The gleam in Dexter’s eye suggested his question had nothing to do with administrative assistance.

Has he seen us? Does he know? Did Donovan tell him?
If not, considering the tightness of the Drake clan, it was only a matter of time. “Pretty much. Boss bid on a riverfront project in Louisiana. The decision should come shortly. If we win it, for the next couple months, I’ll be up to my ears in work.”

Dexter crossed his arms, his look contemplative. “Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of you around here. Donovan hasn’t invited you to our Fourth of July party?”

“No.”
And why not?

Fortunately, one of the other assistants had come up and interrupted the conversation, Marissa had gone in to meet with Kat and before she knew it five o’clock arrived. Now she was freshly showered and changed, having returned back home, unpacked her bags and rifled through mostly junk mail. Donovan lived close by, about fifteen minutes from her complex. It had been less than twenty-four hours and still she couldn’t wait to see him.

* * *

In La Jolla, Donovan stirred and then tasted the sauce. Satisfied that it was exactly how he wanted, he readied the bread to be placed into the oven, then removed his apron and walked into the living room. Looking around, he tried to imagine his abode through Marissa’s eyes. It was his dream home, but would she like it? They’d been intimate several times, but Donovan felt as though this was a first date. “It is in a way,” he admitted to the empty room. After tonight, Donovan planned to invite her to the picnic, introduce her as his woman. He couldn’t have been happier that he and Marissa had gotten together, that their love had blossomed. It was time to come out of hiding and take this situation public. He remembered something he’d left in his bedroom and just as he’d retrieved it, the doorbell rang.

He walked to the door, a big smile gracing his face as he opened it. “Hey, you.”

With the intimacies they’d shared, it was ridiculous to be shy. But she was. “Hey, yourself.”

For several seconds, they simply looked at each other. Donovan finally pulled her to him. “Get in here.”

He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her slowly, thoroughly. He loved her lips, couldn’t get enough of their sweetness. Sliding his hands from her waist to her butt, he cupped her cheeks and gave a little squeeze. This was undoubtedly one of her best assets. He couldn’t get enough of it either. “How’d it go today?”

“Great! Everything was almost done, as you know, so it was mostly about making sure Kat had all of the information to pass on to Sharon. Kat said she was home?”

“At her daughter’s house, but doing very well. Thanks for asking about her.” He brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, tweaked her cheek. “You don’t even know her, but you care. You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“It doesn’t hurt to be told.” She smiled, believing that she could get lost in his eyes. His countenance was unreadable as he continued to stroke her face, and then he ran a hand along her arm, down her back. The moment was ripe with a certain awareness…and something else.
Donovan trying to find a nice way to end this, perhaps?
The very thought almost produced tears. “Nice place,” she said a bit too brightly, just to break the mood.

“You like?”

“Very much. Did you have it professionally decorated?”

“Sure did. You know the designer. Her name is Diamond.”

“Of course, who else?” Marissa did a 360 degree turn, taking in the living, dining and den areas of the open space, seeing the state-of-the-art kitchen just beyond it. “Very classy. I love her style.”

“I’ll be happy to give you the personal tour. But for now? Dinner awaits.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Marissa held up a wine bag. “It’s what I could grab on short notice. I hope you like it.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Drake Wines petite sirah, 2007. It was a limited bottling and cost fifty dollars a pop. “You know I’m going to have to reimburse you,” he said with feigned chagrin. “But thank you.” He kissed her. “This is a very good year.” They walked into the dining room, hand in hand.

“How can I help?” Marissa asked.

Donovan opened a drawer on the dining room buffet and pulled out a corkscrew and aerator. He handed them to Marissa. “You can do the honors,” he said with a nod toward the bottle.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding the glass cylinder up toward the modern, funky chandelier.

“An aerator.” Donovan reached for the wine bottle and then for the opener. When she handed him the corkscrew, their fingers touched. Sparks flew. “Stop shocking me, woman!”

“I was just getting ready to demand the same thing!”

“What can I say? I’ll always turn you on.”

Marissa groaned. “That was
really
corny.”

“Yeah, but it made you smile.” After explaining the simple device that helped wine breathe instantly, he poured the fruity concoction through the opening. The whirring sound filled the silence as he filled their glasses. Once done, he handed her a glass. “You first.”

“Me?” Marissa thought for a moment. “To a relentless slave driver.”

“What?”

“Okay,” Marissa said with a chuckle. “To a job well done? How’s that?”

“About average,” Donovan said in the straightforward manner Marissa both loved and abhorred. “How about…to new beginnings, to us.” He paused and placed a whispery kiss on her parted lips. “And to the first night spent with you where I don’t have to creep before morning!”

“Ha! Hear, hear!” They drank. “Donovan, you don’t have to—”

“Oh, here you go, getting ready to mess with the mood. Dinner’s almost ready. Make yourself at home. We’ll eat first. And talk later. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Chapter 25

“T
his is delicious,” Marissa said after taking her first bite of Donovan’s spaghetti. “What restaurant is this from?”

“Uh, that would be my kitchen?”

“You did this?”

“You doubt it?”

“Wow, you really can cook!”

“Girl, I told you.”

It was a beautiful evening, and after Marissa raved about it, they had decided to dine at the table on Donovan’s back patio, which had been designed as an outdoor living space.

“Who taught you to cook?” She bit into a piece of heavily buttered Texas toast, the perfect complement to the herb salad dotted with shaved Parmesan. “Your mom?”

“Grandma Mary,” Donovan replied. “Her thinking was a man who knew how to cook would never go hungry. So she made sure all of us could do well enough to get by.”

“So all of the Drake men cook, even Dexter?”

“Dexter’s skills are probably rusty,” Donovan admitted. “But even he learned how to back in the day. Our cousins, the Drakes of Louisiana? They can really throw down—gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish bisque.”

“Crawfish? What’s that?”

“Ah, girl. ‘Good eating,’ is what Papa Dee would say. They’re kind of like lobsters,” he offered at last, “but chewier, and smaller, too. You’ve never been to Louisiana?” Marissa shook her head. “Not even New Orleans?”

“No. I’ve always wanted to go though.”

“I’ll take you.”

Marissa thought of a memory from Diamond’s wedding and couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?”

“Your cousin, Reginald, has beat you to the punch. He said on my first visit, he had to be my tour guide.”

“Yeah, whatever. He’ll be squiring two of us around town.” In fashion typical of The Don, he virtually inhaled half of the food on his plate within minutes, stopping long enough to wipe his mouth and have a sip of wine. “So…tell me about life in the home of a minister? I honestly can’t imagine it.”

Marissa reached for her wineglass and took a slow sip as she considered the question. “Fairly normal, really, but then again, I have nothing else to compare. My daddy was called to preach—” she made air quotes “—when I was around ten years old. Ours was always a religious household so nothing changed for me.” She shrugged.

“Religious household? What does that mean? You guys pray ten times a day, say Hail Marys, what?”

Marissa laughed. “Geez, you aren’t familiar, are you?”

Donovan shook his head. “Papa Dee always said half the sinners would probably end up singing in heaven’s choir while half the pious Sunday bench warmers would probably split hell wide open.”

“Ha! Your Papa Dee’s a hoot, but he may have a point. To your question, hailing Mary is part of the Catholic ritual, and, no, praying ten times a day isn’t required. There was always prayer at dinner and church on Sundays and Wednesday,” Marissa continued, counting on her fingers. “Tuesday night was choir rehearsal, Friday night was sick and shut-in prayer. If there was a youth function, that happened on Saturday.”

Donovan’s look was deadpan. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. When I say that Blessed Assurance was my second home, I really, really mean it.”

“So why’d your parents leave?”

“Dad got an offer that he couldn’t refuse, heading up a church with over five thousand members. There’s international connections, a TV ministry—”

“I can see your dad on that religious channel, hooting and hollering like…what’s his name?”

“No to whoever it is you may have seen or be thinking about. My dad is more a teacher than a preacher. But yes, he’s on television weekly and is seen around the world.”

“So in church circles, you’re almost like a celebrity.”

“My dad is, and, yes, people know my name. Sometimes popularity is highly overrated, especially when…”

“When what?”

“Never mind. Could you pass me the basket of bread?”

He did, and though he felt she wanted to change the subject, he was genuinely intrigued. “Did your parents expect you to be perfect?”

“Not exactly. But my brother and I were always aware of our last name. There’s a general belief that ministers’ children are wild, but that isn’t always so. Even without the prodding, I was a pretty good kid.”

“You never wanted to lash out against the establishment, never tried to rebel?”

“Sure, I did. Let’s see, there was the time I was twelve and wanted to wear makeup to the movies. My father said no. I promptly disobeyed him and after putting my face on at my friend’s house, ran into my mother at the mall.”