The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (3 page)

Chapter 3

Blake Baldwin

THREE MONTHS HAD
passed since Blake had seen her. There was just something about a woman who nurtured in times of need. Blake had envied Mila’s majestic and wavy mahogany hair as it tenderly swept over her shoulder, wishing it were him doing the touching and caressing instead. He felt any assistance of comfort on his part would have been premature at best, since the redhead had done most of the talking during their encounter at the funeral.

Blake had his assistant order two dozen white roses, and the strong, floral scent floated from the black leather passenger seat beside him.   He had not inhaled such a sweet, angelic fragrance since the last time he’d seen
her.
Soon, and very soon, Blake would stake claim to his latest conquest. He dressed down for the occasion, wearing a crisp, white button down underneath a beige cashmere sweater that always brought attention to the golden flakes sprinkled throughout his green eyes. Premium distressed jeans and loafers completed Blake’s laidback ensemble. He drove his new Tesla, the
smart
sports car that his social media company had helped branch out in the early 2000s. Blake drove toward Laguna Nigel, CA in the OC. Though the Jameson-Ali home wasn’t a mansion, the home was still a jewel and on pristine Pacific Ocean front property. 

The Tesla crept to a stop at the wrought iron gate. The window zipped down and Blake pressed the intercom. 

“He..Hello?” Mila's sweet voice was hesitant through the speaker, enticing him even more. His hands tingled with anticipation. With every dollar he made, surrounding himself with good people was lost to him. He
needed
her.

“It's Blake.” 

“Blake…?”

“Blake Baldwin.” Her lack of recognition left him dumbfounded.

The gates slowly opened, and the Tesla proceeded up the fragmented stone. He pulled in next to Mila’s Honda Accord. Warren’s Porche was gone. Mila leaned against the doorframe, casually dressed in a pair of jeans which clung to her womanly curves, but the oversized shirt swallowed up much of her silhouette. She stood straight, almost as if ready to flee, when Blake pulled the roses from the passenger seat. 

“I thought Todd would be with you. For months he’s offered to drop off a few of Warren’s knickknacks from work.” Mila, eyeing the roses, looked like she expected the billionaire to transform into an assistant.

“No knickknacks. Just me.” Blake walked around the stone water fountain.

Even in her “ugly” garb, Mila couldn't keep him out. Blake extended a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. “Anyway, Warren didn't keep many personal effects at work.” As he tried to hand Mila the flowers, she just stared.

“What are these for?”

“To brighten your mood.” He felt giddy inside, like a fucking thirteen-year-old boy. The more of a challenge Mila became, the harder he would explode inside her. That is, once she succumbed to his irresistible charms.

“Warren didn't have at least one photo of me at work?”

Blake paused. “Oh, I see.  You’ve never taken a visit to the office, Miss Ali.” 

“Mila.”

“Mila.” He tried not to smile. “Mila, Baldwin Corp isn’t a conventional office in the least. There’s only one conference room. Then there’s the heated lap pool when it’s too cold to surf outside. Everything’s done as a team. Bouncing off ideas, learning about how other social network sites are strategizing. Star Wars is about as personal as it gets.” 

They just stared at each other for a moment, eyes lingering a little too long, and Blake noted that Mila had not rebuffed his gaze. Yet he could tell by her body language that she erected a thick wall around her soft-looking skin that he was eager to chip away.     

Mila turned away. “Oh I'm so very sure you do. You have a very tight-knit corporate family. Company retreats for your employees, oh, and let’s not forget the extravagant family vacation.” 

Blake had not even begun to prep for this challenge as evidenced by the tartness of her tone. “Miss ...”

“It’s Mila!” she snapped, head held high but a dam of tears flooding her cheeks. “I’ve been
Miss
Ali
for my entire life. I was just this close to living happily ever after. You stole my dream!
You’re
the reason Warren is dead!”

You’re the reason that Warren is dead…

Her words clanged in Blake’s ear. Before guilt could gnaw at his gut, Blake watched her crumble to the floor in agony, as did the flowers he had forgotten he still held in hands. Before she could touch the ground, he caught her and took her in his arms. It pained him to see any woman cry like this, but Mila touched him inexplicably. In the three months since Warren’s death, she lost weight, and her body looked frail. And what was even more astonishing than the heartbreak Mila Ali endured?

Blake’s guilt.

Chapter 4

Mila Ali

Warren and Mila’s relationship didn’t begin with love, or even lust. Mila was at his younger brother, Keith’s, dorm room with friends. Keith always had some sort of get together after finals week. And Mila would hang out until it started to get to rowdy. Having shunned her father’s intended, Mila’s sole focus was education. She had been getting ready to leave before the laid-back When the older, intelligent Warren dropped by, wearing a suit. Clearly Keith hadn’t versed him as to how his parties progressed. As Warren began to walk her to her dorm, Mila found out that he was an alumnus with the same degree. They belonged to the same honor society.

Instead of ending the night, Mila and Warren took a few bottles of import beer and went up to the roof to chat. 

Sheepishly, and a tad tipsy, the conversation switched from “which professor to avoid in grad school” to everything under the sun. He was just that easy to talk to. Mila had told Warren the type of home she wanted to own one day.

When Warren and Mila reconnected seven years later, she was surprised that Warren actually remembered all the requirements she said that she wanted in a home. Mila wanted large rooms, enough for four children, when he hadn’t even considered children at all. 

The Jameson-Ali home was all rustic wood; towering wood pillars from floor to ceiling and distressed furniture that made a house a home. They purchased six months into their engagement, and it had every requirement she’d mindlessly and dreamily told Warren of so many years ago at the tender age of 20. At that dorm party, she’d been half tipsy, and half astonished at how dreamy Warren gazed at her. He’d tried to pursue Mila back then, but her mind had been set on education, romance not even in her realm of understanding. The living room embodied the highest level of tranquility, with panoramic floor to ceiling windows spanned the entire back of the home that framed the vast ocean and an unobstructed view of Catalina Island. Mila’s only dream was that the home she resided in held enough comfort for her to read on her Kindle, or perhaps become even more adventurous and open up a paperback. And Warren had made that dream a reality, because he had been thoughtful enough to recall that lazy conversation.

And now, in the center of it all, Mila laid on a cobalt and white canvass couch. She swept the back of her hand across her eyebrow. Her temple throbbed as she shifted her position on the couch. How had she gotten here? Had she fallen asleep watching guilt-free afternoon talk shows? The flat screen was dark so she could not have possibly been watching TV. The four sliding glass doors spanning the entire living room were open. The blue sky mirrored the mellow waves in the distance, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

Out of nowhere, the dreamiest baritone voice permeated the sound of the ocean lapping at the shore.

“Mila… good. You're awake,” Blake said from the arch in the hallway. He held a glass in his hand and a bottle of aspirin. 

But exactly why was he here? The few minutes leading to her mental breakdown flashed before her eyes, and warmth flooded her cheeks. She rose from the decorative pillow that had given her a crick in the neck. “I didn't mean...”

“Take these. Drink this.”

Damn, she'd been an asshole. He'd come by with flowers. She'd
accused
him of causing Warren’s death. 

How hospitable.
She didn’t know one thing about Blake Baldwin, and not being a fan of gossip magazines, Mila never had the opportunity to form any star struck prejudices.

Wetting her parched lips with the tip of her tongue, Mila tried to catch Blake’s gaze. That, however, proved difficult, with his being so tall and standing at full height. “Uh…”

“Blake.”

The warmth radiating from Mila’s cheeks traveled along her jaw and down her neck. Blake had an uncanny effect on her. It was as if they just met, and the funeral did not count. Even when he arrived at her door unannounced did not count. She’d spent innumerable nights drowning herself in cheap bottles of Merlot, so perhaps her mind was still in a toxic state of confusion, because at this moment, she could lose herself, and all the numbness she felt, just by glancing into those eyes. 

“Blake, I’m just… not in the right frame of mind today. Not that going crazy is an excuse.” Mila paused to shake her head.
I just called myself crazy? That’s what I get for drinking so much wine and crying every night.

“Rest for a while longer, then we can chat. Doctor’s orders.” Blake offered Mila a faint smile which made her believe he was more than a robot on a bunch of magazine covers.

Mila closed her eyes and leaned back.  Moving alone added bass to the drumming in her head. Each night, she was unable to asleep without liquid persuasion. Now, she awoke daily with brain drumming—aka a massive hangover.

Mila fell fast asleep once again, worry-free of any stranger in her home. A dark abyss of nothingness welcomed her, banishing any memories, good or bad, of Warren.

A fragrant perfume awakened Mila from her blissful dream state. If the wooden beams hadn’t been her focal point upon opening her eyes, she would have sworn she were back in Somalia or even Ethiopia, where her family fled to in 1990 at the spurt of the Somali civil war. She’d been no more than a toddler at the time. Feelings of being back “home” overwhelmed her as the aroma of cumin enveloped her senses. Then there was that one undeniable note that made it all different: The
Desi
 spices. A few of her Indian friends always shared their dishes, and she could definitely detect the exotic spices in the familiar gravy she came to know so intimately.
Mila stood up, and a cool evening sea-salted breeze caused the sheer curtains of the sliding glass doors to shimmy. The days seemed to pass quickly by unless she had to work, but Mila could have sworn she had a visitor.

Blake … Blake Baldwin came over this afternoon.

As she glanced in the mirror propped against the bright yellow wall, Mila stifled a gasp. Blake once again appeared against the archway wall. 

Mila remembered packing away Warren’s things. Crying and boxing up clothing for Goodwill. Now another man stood before her, and he seemed to see right through her. She still knew nothing about Blake.

Should I apologize again?

“You must be hungry.” There it was again, his ability to make statements that weren’t a question, but a fact. As if he
knew
her. The look in his eyes, not entirely green at the moment, were a murky olive, full of angst.

Those damn eyes were trying to put her into a trance. It was the way he spoke the word:
HUNGRY
. Blake seemed hungry for her. The lips of Mila s pussy began to swell, quivering with desire. A milking within those sweet folds wetted her panties. “No, I'm not hungry.”

Blake stepped closer, and Mila had nowhere to go but fall back onto the sofa with him on top of her.

Mila’s heart pounded as another jolt took over her lady parts, but Blake didn't make a move. The intensely aromatic curry seemed non-existent as the masculine
power of his cologne enthralled her nostrils.  Strong notes of frankincense and the seduction of patchouli overwhelmed her senses, and Mila all but lost her mind.

“You have to be hungry, Mila. You've slept half the day. I got bored. I cooked.”

“Thank you, Blake but nope, not really. These days I haven't had an appetite unless its grapes magically transformed into wine.”

“Wine will go just right with dinner.”

He is
not
flirting. No, this is me being in the wrong mindset. His wife is drop dead gorgeous. I’m a blubbering mess.

Why would he want her? Besides, Blake wasn’t trying to prey on her emotions.

Blake grasped her elbow, his demeanor sympathetic. Through the muslin fabric of Mila’s flowy black tunic, his warmth reminded her of… life. She didn’t want to live in this current world without Warren, yet she couldn’t slap his hand away. His thumb kneaded her skin. “Can't say that I understand what you’re going through, Mila, but please allow me to be your friend.”

“We don’t know each other, Mr. Baldwin.” With as much gumption as Mila could muster, she pulled away from his grasp. Though calming, and his touch, the first she’d had in months, reminded her of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Very expensive, organic sheep's clothing. That is, if her perceptions weren’t driven by lack of sleep, and gallons of wine…