What's Yours Is Mine: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Cerise Preston Story Book 1) (3 page)

After the intense encounter with Blake in her office, Cerise resolved to keep their relationship strictly professional. She could not accomplish her ultimate goal of taking over the company if she became emotionally or physically involved with Blake Hamilton. Fortunately, she was so busy negotiating contracts and seeking out new talent that she was out of the office or consumed with work most of the time. Evenings were spent alone, munching pretzel crisps and binge-watching obscure TV series while sipping her favorite Pinot Grigio and plotting her next move. Frankly, she was a bit worn out from both the amount of work that she had undertaken and wrestling with her conscience over fucking Blake, a husband and father. Her senses were as sharp as ever, her instincts were always right on the money when it came to new talent, but she was spread a little too thin and recognized that she would need a break, and soon. Visions of Caribbean getaways danced in her head and she placated herself by promising that she would take some time alone in the near future. In the meantime, she had work to do.

Ceri sat at her desk, head in hand, muddling through contractual clauses for her latest acquisition, so deep into her own world that she was not aware of another presence in the room until the chair across from her creaked as someone settled into it. Looking up in surprise, she saw a striking young woman with flame-red curls and huge green eyes dressed in a clearly expensive designer dress, appraising her coolly.

“So you’re the new wonder woman that I’ve been hearing so much about,” she seemed to accuse, tapping her perfectly manicured nails lightly on Ceri’s desk.

“I’m sorry, do you have an appointment?” Cerise asked, maintaining professionalism despite her indignance at being interrupted.

“Actually, I don’t need an appointment, dear,” the woman spoke, with ultimate condescension, “I own the place.”

Now Cerise was pissed. “Excuse me?” she demanded, wondering at the woman’s gall.

The redhead grinned with an almost predatory smile and stood, extending her hand. “Constance Bridgman-Hamilton, Blake’s wife,” she stated smugly, as a means of explanation.

Cerise swallowed convulsively, hiding her dismay. She was now sitting face-to-face with the woman whose husband she’d fucked not even two weeks ago.

“Constance, of course!” she exclaimed, smiling sweetly and not missing a beat. “It’s so nice to meet you. What can I do for you?” She was determined not to let the bitchy creature in front of her, see her sweat.

The predatory grin resurfaced. “Nothing, I just couldn’t wait to meet the woman my husband speaks so highly of,” she practically sneered.

Ceri wondered just what precisely Blake had said to inspire such a reaction from his wife but quickly decided that whatever happened between her boss and his wife was none of her business, particularly since she had vowed never to connect with him on a personal level again. It didn’t mesh well with her plans for domination and she didn’t need that kind of romantic entanglement in her life.

“Well then, thanks for stopping by. It was a pleasure,“ Cerise lied smoothly, directing her eyes toward the door. Constance clearly took the hint and stood to go. “Let’s just hope you’re as good as my husband seems to think you are,” was her parting shot as she turned and headed for the door, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.

Ceri was stunned. What the hell had prompted that? If there was one thing that she knew instinctively, it was that she wanted nothing to do with Constance Bridgman-Hamilton and if that meant keeping Blake permanently at arm’s length, she was certainly willing to do it. The woman looked like trouble and while Cerise herself was not to be trifled with, she didn’t have the time or inclination to become involved in other people’s drama.

Ceri returned to the clinically straightforward world of contractual law and became so immersed that the hours flew by without her notice. Her stomach growled loudly and she glanced at her watch, shocked to see that not only had she missed lunch but it was nearly 5 o’clock. The offices were quiet with the administrative staff having left at least half an hour ago and she yawned and stretched, considering whether or not she should order Chinese and keep working or finish up at home. Her head snapped up when she heard a soft rap on her door. Without waiting for her response, Blake entered her office smiling.

“Somebody’s working late,” he noted, closing the door behind him.

“Yes,” Ceri responded, frustrated at the interruption. “I was just wrapping things up; I’ll be finishing these up at home tonight.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you work too hard?” Blake asked, teasing.

“No, actually,” she replied warily, “And I certainly never expected to hear it from my boss.” She figured it couldn’t do any harm to remind him of the professional nature of their relationship considering the odd impromptu visit she’d had from his wife mere hours ago. Blake approached the desk and placed his hands on the top of it, towering over her.

“All work and no play could make Cerise a dull girl you know,“ he husked, his intentions clear. Cerise dropped her eyes briefly and noticed the beginnings of his arousal, knowing she had to nip this in the bud and fast.

“Well, call me dull if you like but dull is what’s making you money and lots of it,” she shot back, giving him a pointed look.

“Money isn’t always the most important thing,” he drawled, brushing aside her explanation.

“Actually, money is the only reason I’m here,” she stated flatly. Blake seemed taken aback.

“Wait, am I missing something here? Is there something wrong?” he asked, confused. Cerise sighed.

“The only thing that’s wrong is that when you’re standing here talking to me, I can’t get my work done and I have things I need to do. So if you’ll excuse me…” She pretended to busy herself with the contract in front of her, patently ignoring him. Not to be denied, he came around to her side of the desk, sitting casually on the edge of it.

“It seems to me that you need a break,” he said softly, tracing a fingertip down her neck. Swiping his hand away, she glared at him, despite the chills running through her body at the thrill of his touch.

“Look, “she backed up her chair so that she was out of his reach, “I have work to do here and you are keeping me from it.” She stood abruptly, gathering her contracts and stuffing them unceremoniously into her valise. “I’ve got to get going,” she swept past him, not giving him a chance to protest.  Still sitting on the edge of her desk, Blake watched her go, gazing thoughtfully after her.

Cerise drove faster than she should have, her fury transforming her driving.  Blake had come in her office to hit on her on the same day that his wife had dropped by. Not only did she have no intention of being ‘the other woman’, she was trying desperately to keep her focus on her goals and he was an incredible distraction. For all of his outstanding characteristics, kindness and generosity, Blake Hamilton was the bad guy here and she refused to play his game. She found herself having to constantly be reminded of her point and purpose in working for Black Vinyl Records. She kept a photo of her beloved mother on her desk for the motivation and strength that she needed to continue. Because of the passions that he aroused in her, Blake Hamilton was dangerous and she needed to make certain that she never again put herself in a position to be emotionally influenced by him. Eyes on the prize, girlfriend, eyes on the prize.

Still rattled by her encounter with Blake and the earlier encounter with his wife, Cerise settled back into the warm soothing waters of her bubble bath, glass of Pinot in hand, to think through the next steps in her plan. Things were proceeding exactly how she had envisioned them and even she was amazed by the scope and immediacy of her success, but, knowing that she was on the brink of burnout from working too hard and dealing with her feelings toward Blake, she felt that perhaps the best thing to do was get away for a while.

“I’m taking some time off,” Cerise stood in front of Blake’s desk, gazing down at him with obvious resolve.

“Now??” Blake queried, astonished. “You’re on a hot streak, you can’t miss, and you’re willing to risk breaking that kind of momentum?” he asked, incredulous.

“I’ve been working too hard, you said it yourself,” her chin jutted out defiantly. “I need some time to recharge. My creativity ebbs when I don’t have time to relax,” she admitted truthfully, shrugging. Blake sighed and drummed his fingers on his desk, considering his response. Coming to a decision, he acquiesced and gave his approval, instructing her to keep him posted on current performers during her absence. Cerise nodded dutifully, knowing full well she’d do no such thing. She kept a tight rein on every one of her performers, ensuring that she was their only contact at BVR so that when the time came for the next phase of her plan, their loyalty would be only to her. She wasn’t born yesterday and success wasn’t about sharing so she did what she had to do. She turned on her heel to leave Blake’s office and his voice stopped her at the door.

“I could help tremendously with your relaxation level,” he raised his eyebrow suggestively.

“Mr. Hamilton, that kind of help I don’t need,” she said without turning around, and closed the door behind her.

Inhaling the intoxicating scent of tropical flowers carried on an ocean breeze, Cerise rolled her shoulders, stretched her arms above her head and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been in the Caribbean for just one night and was already feeling less tense. Being away from the powerful sexual presence of Blake Hamilton was making it much easier to restore her sense of purpose and perspective. She had allowed his magnetism to distract her from her goals for a time but was firmly resolved not to let that happen again. By the time she left for home, she intended to have the framework for the next phase of her plan settled in her mind so that she could execute it with precision upon her return. In the meantime, she would sip exotic fruit drinks, listen to steel drum bands, and breathe out her frustrations in the tranquilly private setting of her rented beachfront villa. There were some advantages of being a top executive for a record producer, and while she lived humbly at home, she was determined to indulge in the most lavish vacation that she’d ever had. She had earned it and then some.

Laying in a beach chair that was so low to the ground the gentle waves lapped at her heels, nibbling on slices of fresh mango, Cerise saw a shadow pass over and looked up into the smiling face of one of the resort staff.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Preston, my name is Raul and I am here to give you your massage,” the darkly tanned handsome young man said cheerfully. Looking him up and down, Ceri realized she couldn’t wait for him to get his hands on her body, even if it was just a massage. He was younger than her by at least five years, thickly muscled and had the whitest, brightest smile she’d ever seen. Smiling back at him, she rose from her lounge chair and followed him back to the spa. He led her to a private cabana, giving her instructions to take off her clothing, shower, and lay on the massage table. Raul entered the room before Cerise was done showering, but instead of covering up she continued to rinse in a relaxed manner. “He sees unclothed bodies every day,” she rationalized, “Why would mine be any different. It’s just a job for him.” She knew she wasn’t even kidding herself, she had recognized the appreciation in his eyes when he stumbled upon her and was delighted that instead of leaving the room, he merely went through the necessary preparations for her massage. She took her time and when she was done rinsing off and patting herself dry, made her way over to the massage table where Raul waited with a bottle of warm oil.

“Ready?” he asked, grinning.

Lying on her stomach, eyes closed, blissfully aware of the hot young man in the room with her, Cerise nodded her agreement. The silky feel of the hot oil and his hands all over her body inspired quite the physiological reaction from her and she hoped when he turned her over to massage the front of her, he wouldn’t notice the wetness between her thighs. It was quite an effort not to write beneath him, but his masterful touch soon had her melting into the table. She was nearing a somnolent state, when he advised her that it was time to turn over.

“Gently,” he said softly, “Keep your muscles relaxed, I’ll assist you.” He helped her turn over, his strength an incredible turn-on.

Now Ceri lay on her back, blissed out and more relaxed than she had ever been in her life, ready for him to work his magic on the rest of her.

He smoothed more of the gloriously scented warming oil between his hands and began at her toes, kneading, rubbing, pulling. Warm waves of relaxation rolled through her, returning her to her near-slumbering state once more.  Finished with her toes, he moved up her lower legs, stroking, caressing, easing every bit of stress from her weary bones.  He pressed his palms into her flesh just above her knees and made one long stroke to the top of her thighs.  Not possessing the strength to resist her body’s telling reaction, she moaned softly and tilted the hot mound of her sex up slightly.  Without pause, Raoul continued his stroking, this time starting at her knees and going up the outside of her thighs, putting his thumbs gently along the tender area inside her hip bones and moving in circles.  She undulated unconsciously with his touch, biting her lower lip as her body went up in flames.

Raoul took a moment to replenish the supply of fragrant oil, then, starting at the arch of her foot, ran his thumbs up and over the inside of her ankle, massaged upward along her shin, and lingered a bit at the sensitive spot inside her knee before moving slowly up her inner thigh in small, gentle circles.  Pushing her legs open wider with the backs of his hands, he massaged the delicate juncture where her thigh met her pelvis, carefully keeping his touch just outside of the pleasure zone, but so achingly close to it that Cerise moved her head back and forth on the massage pillow, wanting more.  She realized that she was breathing through her mouth, panting really, and that he could probably hear her, but she didn’t care.  At the moment, she wanted him to know that she was aroused and wanted him to do something about it. Kneeling on the table between her knees, Raoul slid his slick, oil-covered hands over her waist and rib cage, up onto her shoulders.  He kneaded the hardened flesh of her shoulders, melting the stress from them until she was loose and soft as butter, then moved to massage her pectorals with his thumbs, staying just above the erogenous zone of her breasts.  She arched her back, craving his touch.  She could hear his steady breath as he worked her body into a pliable, yet entirely aroused state, and had a litany of fantasy scenarios playing out in her head.

She gasped as she felt his slick palms moving lower, and thought she would come undone when his fingertips tentatively traced the outline of her areola, bringing her responsive nipples to hard peaks immediately. She arched her back again, which he took as a sign of agreement and tweaked her nipples firmly, sending lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through her.  Emboldened by her willing response, Raoul grasped both breasts in his hands, squeezing the beautiful milk chocolate skin, his steady breathing speeding up a bit.  Sliding his left hand back down over her waist and hip, while steadily rolling her nipple with his right, he moved with agonizing slowness toward that part of her that was burning for him.  The smooth flesh between her thighs was slick with her juices. She ached for satisfaction and arched the mound of her sex into his warm, oiled palm, gasping with delight when he pressed into her, relishing the feel of her pussy in his hand.

Eyes closed, Cerise forgot that she was being titillated by a handsome young masseur, her head full of images of Blake Hamilton’s stunning naked form.  As she remembered the look and feel of his long, hard cock, Raoul massaged her clit with his palm while plunging two fingers in and out of her in time to the rocking of her hips.  She felt her orgasm building within her and she grabbed Raoul’s wrist, pressing his hand down even more firmly as she ground against him.  Her hips thrashed wildly as her release rocketed through her, finally slaking the yearning that she’d had since the very first time Blake had touched her.  Her pussy gripped and held Raoul as she rocked against him, riding the waves of her orgasm, teeth clenched so that she didn’t cry out the name that was on the tip of her tongue.  When her frenzied motion slowed, Raoul took the fingers that were slick with her come and stroked the ultra-sensitive bud of her clit softly with her own wetness, causing her to grind against him once more.  When he saw that she was nearing another climax, he plunged his fingers into her again, up to the knuckle, and held her suspended against his palm as she came again, unable to hold back her cries this time. She held on to his arm, the corded muscles standing out as he pleasured her, and dug her nails in deep.  He brought her to an orgasm so profound that her juices seeped out, covering his hand as she shuddered against him.  He kept his hand in place as she came down from the peak, whispering, “Yes, yes, chica, that’s it, let it go, let it go.”

Cerise was panting in the afterglow and Raoul encouraged her to stay relaxed, stay loose and he would take care of her.  Sinking, satiated, into the massage bed, she felt him slowly, gently withdraw his fingers.  Her legs were still spread wide, and she felt him apply a warmed towel to her engorged pussy, cleaning it off ever so carefully.  She had kept her eyes closed the entire time, and certainly didn’t open them now.  She felt as though she could turn over on the massage table and sleep for hours.

After Raoul cleaned her off thoroughly, rubbing soothing oil into her most tender places, he bent close to her.  “Take your time sitting up, senorita,” he advised softly.  “Dress slowly and drink lots of water…you’ll sleep well tonight,” he assured her with a smile that she didn’t see.  When she murmured something nearly unintelligible regarding payment, he merely chuckled and whispered in her ear, “on the house, senorita, and my pleasure.”  With a last caress of her thigh that raised goosebumps, he turned to go, moving soundlessly out of the cabana.

******

Raoul had been absolutely right, Cerise slept like a baby after her massage, not waking until sunlight was streaming in her window and her phone was buzzing like an angry bee on the nightstand beside her.  She didn’t usually answer numbers that she didn’t recognize, but thinking that it might be a new performer, against her usual judgment, she picked up.

“Hello?” her answer was sleepy, languid. 

“Enjoying your vacation?” a bitchy, sarcastic voice snarled.

“What?” Cerise shook her head, trying to clear the sleepiness that gripped her. “Who is this?” she demanded.

“How quickly they forget,” the voice dripped with contempt. “It’s Constance, and you should know that I’m on to you, you little bitch,” she spat like an angry cat.

“Constance?” Cerise was utterly befuddled.  She felt faint as she wondered if somehow Blake’s wife had discovered their little moment of indiscretion.  She didn’t know what to say, but was damned if she was going to let Blake’s spitfire of a wife get the best of her.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if you’d like this conversation to continue, you’re going to have to change both your tone and your attitude.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty with me, you little whore, I know what you’ve been up to, and I’m here to tell you, you’re not going to get away with it,” her voice slurred a bit and Cerise instantly deduced that more than a bit of liquid courage seemed to be involved here.

“Call me when you’re not drunk and when you’ve learned how to behave in a civilized manner,” Ceri ordered, hanging up the phone and turning it off.  If Constance was drinking, she might try to call back again and Cerise Preston was not one to suffer fools lightly.  Let the sloppy woman cool down and sober up and then she might try to figure out whether she suspected something, or actually knew something.

Constance did try to call back a few times over the next couple of days and Cerise ignored her each time, deleting her voicemails unheard.  Her conscience had been pricked, and she knew that the only way that she’d feel better would be to confront Blake directly to see what he had told his wife (if anything), and to let him know that their one moment of passion (no matter how damn spectacular it had been, she shivered just thinking of it), would be their last. She resented him for putting her in this position, and intended to tell him so, in no uncertain terms.  The more she thought about the fact that Blake’s wife had dared to call her, the angrier she got, at Constance, at Blake and at herself for doing something as stupid as fucking her married boss.  By the time she returned to the city, she was on fire and ready to punish someone, anyone, for the situation that they were now in.  She would make certain of one thing however, whatever she said or did from this point forward had to help further her cause.  She had no intention of taking a step backward at the hands of Constance Bridgman-Hamilton or anyone else.  No one was going to screw up her plan to take down the Hamilton dynasty and make it her own.