The Billionaire's Bauble (7 page)
Sloane didn’t have the strength to pull away, so she stayed in his arms, searching his earnest visage: “Your mother? David, what happened to her?”
He said nothing for a long moment, and Sloane waited, sensing he wanted to speak but was searching for the right words.
His eyes clouded then cleared before he spoke. “Let me get you settled now. We’ll speak, we will, but first I need to make sure doctor’s orders are followed.” He helped her to the couch.
“My staff is preparing a guest room, and once you’re safely tucked into bed, we’ll continue getting to know each other.” His words sounded playful, but his tone was stilted.
Sloane decided to hold her inquisitive tongue. David Grant was an enigmatic man, and this day had become more than either had bargained for: their conversation could wait. Sloane already cared too much for his feelings to insist he finish a tale he clearly never meant to begin.
“Yes, David. I do need a nap. I feel as exhausted as you look.” She smiled at his wry expression. “Where’s my room?”
“Thanks, Veronica. I’ll take it from here.” David spoke in hushed tones. He didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had finally settled over Sloane’s brow.
It’d been a battle to get her to accept his help. Sloane was stubborn and independent as a wild cat. He couldn’t believe she finally complied with Maya’s instructions, but there she was, tucked under a light quilt, all pink and sunshine despite the gloomy turn of events. He watched her as her eyes closed, the lashes touching her cheeks softly, and he wanted to stroke her forehead. He refrained.
Taking one last look to make sure she was properly covered, he quietly left the room and walked to his office. His cell beeped, and he answered Tony’s call.
“How is she, man?”
“Asleep. Good. I mean well. Yeah.” David grunted in monosyllables.
“You sound tired. Maya told me everything. She said Sloane’ll be fine. You tell her, her job waits. I always need good employees.”
“Thanks, I’ll tell her.” David rubbed his forehead wearily.
“Any movement on that deal today, David?”
“No. Um, no.” David hadn’t thought once about their pending business. He had forgotten work? He didn’t know what to say, how to respond. His mind became a question mark.
“Oh, okay. Call me if you need me,” Tony said. “Talk to you later.”
David looked at his phone and walked slowly around his desk. He sat in the giant leather chair and stared at the computer screen-saver moving in bouncing patterns across the monitor’s dark glass.
He should turn it on. He should check the Dow. David knew he had a pile of unanswered notes on his desk, messages his assistants had left askew after he demanded they leave immediately—insisting that he couldn’t be reached. So far, only Tony had gotten through. Good. He needed to think. He didn’t need his staff fighting for his attention. Grant Oil did have a VP. If the slew of them couldn’t handle Grant business without him for an evening, why pay them?
He stretched out his long, lean legs and set them atop his desk. He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair. It felt good to be waiting for his sleeping beauty to awaken. The moment she exited her room, he’d take her down to dinner. He wanted to make sure she was fed before . . .
What would come next?
He imagined a whole lot of questions. Women always had questions. David was used to asking not answering, and he liked to play the strong, silent type. This one wouldn’t have it, he knew. She looked straight through him and made him say exactly what he thought. Like a sorceress, she cast those green eyes and wallop, he was done. So, maybe it would be best to avoid it all together. Why get involved?
The answer came at him like a hatchet between the eyes.
He cared.
It couldn’t be helped.
He cared, and he had for two years. This woman had roped up his attention and tugged it along with her for a long while, and he meant to have his way with her.
It didn’t matter to him how long it took to convince her to be his lover. He had no doubt it would be worth the wait. Every luscious inch of her needed to be seduced into submission. He wanted to see her emerald eyes glint with passion, with wanting him to take her, to make her his. And he would. Over and over again until she writhed in pleasure.
Yes, he could wait. For the first time, he was willing to put everything aside for a woman.
He shook his head side to side in wonder.
How had she gotten him so tangled up so fast?
He had almost spilled his guts about his mom. Then what? Sloane would open all kinds of doors he wanted left shut. Tight. No entry. He couldn’t be a successful businessman if he allowed his emotions rule, and Sloane came very close to unloosing them.
Better to focus on stocks, bonds, and trades—on getting the best crude to the best refineries for the best price. David was just about to turn on his computer when he caught a reflection of himself in the glass and it made him start.
He examined the fine lines beginning to appear on his face, at the corners of his eyes, around the corners of his mouth. He liked his rough face next to Sloane’s smooth one. He remembered how satiny Sloane’s skin had been when he stroked its creamy surface. Her flesh taut over her cheekbones, he had marveled at the fine-mooned shapes. He would love to crawl into bed with her right now and softly touch her, massage away her aches and pains, kiss her neck, her shoulders.
The woman had just been in a car accident, and he was imagining foreplay. David didn’t know what was wrong with his head.
He sat up in his chair, deciding work wasn’t what he needed to redirect his mind. He needed to arrange dinner, get Sloane clothes, and see to making sure she had the necessities that would make her feel welcome in his home. He wanted her to stay, and he hoped arranging for her basic comforts would entice her, would convince her. He planned to begin his campaign to win Sloane’s companionship tonight.
He opened his desk drawer, took out a crystal snifter and bottle, and poured himself a glass of thick, amber bourbon. He kept it for very special occasions—million-dollar deals, employees announcing the births of their babies, and now, a fine woman. He rarely indulged, but a toast to the most incredible, if befuddling, day he’d had in a long time? Yes, that he could get behind. He lifted the glass to his lips.
Several hours later, Sloane woke up and stretched luxuriously beneath the fine linens of David’s guest bed. She could smell a wood fire somewhere nearby, and she realized it was evening, though the sun shone brightly outside. Sloane loved Alaska’s endless summer nights, and she loved feeling pampered by David’s concern. Even if her car sat wrecked and her job was in jeopardy, soaking up these intoxicating moments eased her distress.
She slipped out of bed to find the bathroom. Once found, the black marble and white tiled room held more than she expected. A wardrobe had been arranged in the attached walk-in closet. On the door was a note written in masculine script:
S. I hope something here fits. Meet me in the kitchen after you’ve dressed. D.
Cosmetics and toiletries were arranged neatly on the vanity counter. She felt especially touched that he had identified her perfume and bought her a bottle of Chanel No. 5. Sloane inspected her face in the giant mirror and saw in her eyes, in her face, all the wonder and excitement enlivening her body. He bought her clothes, perfume, make-up? When?
The garments were casual but of the best quality. Sloane chose a lightweight green gauze tunic adorned with stylish abalone shell buttons and a pair of strappy brown leather sandals. David had provided triples of everything. Three sizes of jeans, shirts, shoes, lacy under things all in beige. Sloane giggled. The man thought of everything! She was happy she fit into the smallest sizes, but appreciated that he had been so generous, so thoughtful. When she had showered and changed, she brushed her long hair and let it remain down her back. She knew David liked to touch it, and she wanted to look especially nice for him since he had been so kind to her, and because he had opened up to her about his mother.
How awful to have lost so much
.
Sloane remembered she needed to call her own mother, but opted to send a text instead. She found her phone next to the bed and typed quickly: “Call you later. Busy tonight. Love you.” She hit send and set the phone back on the fancy bedside table.
She took a deep, steadying breath, and headed out the guest room door and down the long stairs to search out the kitchen. The aroma of wood smoke led her straight to the massive stainless steel chef’s kitchen. David stood in front of a brick oven, moving the wood around. He turned to greet her with a huge, mind melting smile when she entered the room.
“Wow, you look great. I’m so glad Veronica got the right items. How’re you feeling?” David strode to her side and looked searchingly into her eyes. Her knees almost gave out, but it wasn’t the accident or its after effects.
David wore a pair of Levi jeans and a white T-shirt. The shirt fit his chest tightly and accentuated the muscles rippling under its soft fabric. The cut of his pants highlighted his flat stomach and slim hips. He looked relaxed and comfortable, and so sexy she wanted to throw herself in his arms and make love to him right there on the kitchen floor.
Instead, she trilled, “I feel fine. Thank you. You needn’t have gone to all the trouble to buy me new things, but I do appreciate it.”
He answered her with a light kiss to the forehead before he took her hand and led her to the counter. He said, “Sit. Please. I’ll make you a cup of tea. How does that sound?”
“Divine.” Sloane smiled, let go his brawny hand, and slid onto the leather barstool perched before the enormous butcher block where David had arranged a plethora of veggies to be cut. “How about I help with dinner?”
He handed her a small paring knife and said, “If you’d like, you can peel the asparagus for me.”
“I’d love to.”
As David made her a cup of lemon tea, Sloane watched him move. Like a sleek jungle cat, he maneuvered soundlessly, assuredly through the space. His tight rear end distracted her so, she almost sliced her finger. Be calm, she silently scolded, and she tore her eyes away from his amazing physique.
“Do you eat fish, Sloane?”
“I eat everything,” she said, blushing.
“That’s promising,” he teased.
Sloane felt her face get hot.
“I have some fresh caught salmon. I thought I’d put it on the fire and steam some asparagus and summer squash. I’ll make a salad, too.”
“A billionaire who cooks. How did I get so lucky to crash my car near dinner time?” She japed, but the mention of the accident made David’s eyes darken.
“I’m sorry to make such a thoughtless joke,” she quickly apologized, and his eyes turned a softer, chocolate color.
“You could never be thoughtless. Please, don’t censor yourself on my account. My mom died a long time ago, when I was just a boy. I’m over it.” But Sloane knew from the sadness in his face, he wasn’t being entirely truthful.
“No one ever gets over a death. We just learn to live with the pain. I still miss my grandparents so much,” she offered and twisted the ring on her pinky finger.
“Is that your grandmother’s ring? It’s a beauty.”
“Yes,” she brightened at his intuitiveness, “She willed it to me. She never wore much jewelry, but she never took off this ring. Now, I don’t take it off. It keeps me close to her. Do you have anything special from your mom?” Sloane regretted the question the minute she asked it.
David’s broad shoulders squared, and he drew a ragged breath. “No.” He looked into her eyes, and she read more than sadness. She saw a glint of anger, too.
“I’m sorry. That must be hard for you.”
David turned to the brick oven and busied himself with the kindling before he said, “The fire is almost the right temperature. I’ll season the salmon.”
Sloane watched as he retrieved spices from a rack near the oven and expertly blended several together before sprinkling them on the orange colored fish.
“Did your mom teach you to cook?” Sloane couldn’t help it. She always spoke her mind. It was a fault she tried to correct but accepted as inherited. Her whole family told it like it was. “Honesty is the best policy” was nearly a family creed.
David ignored her question and set the salmon on a grill he held inches above the fire. His bicep bulged provocatively, and Sloane was drawn to his side.
“This is nifty. Doesn’t it get hot holding that grate?”
“I can hook it on this bracket,” and he did so, showing her how to utilize the oven without absorbing the heat or getting burned.
“Nice,” she said and put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly. He looked at her, and she could see he understood her gesture as conciliatory.
“You certainly are,” he said, and she heard avidity in the phrase. She stepped away and went back to her seat. He cooked and she peeled. When the salmon was done, he took it off the grate and Sloane moved to the stove where a pot of boiling water with a steamer basket waited. She put the vegetables into the basket and covered the pot. She turned to David, and he smiled at her.
They needed no words. They worked together like a married couple, seamlessly, easily. The thought made her blush and David noticed.
“This is
really
nice,” he said, and she wondered if he meant their affability or the salmon he was now expertly slicing.
“Perfect,” she agreed, and turned back to the stove top. David brought her a silver oven mitt, and she removed the steamer basket. The bright green asparagus and lemon yellow summer squash appeared cooked to perfection.
“I like them a little hard,” she said, and then amended, “I mean crisp. How about you?”
David smiled devilishly, “The harder the better as long as they’re hot.”
