Forever Branded (Billionaire Love Series #1) (17 page)

“Why would you ask?”

I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice.“Just wondering. Did you bring your paper?”

“Yeah, it’s right here.”

He threw a couple of yellow ratty papers filled with his hand written scrawl down on the wooden table.

“Umm.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I looked over his introduction. “You see right there. You want active voice versus passive.”

“Active, huh?” he grinned.

I twirled a wisp of my chestnut hair. “Yes. It will make your paper stronger.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Sure, instead of saying the passion Jane has for Master Rochester...you could say Jane’s passion for Master Rochester....”

“Ah, that’s active, huh?” He stared at me like a hungry wolf looking for a meal.

I didn’t mind it.

I should have.

But I didn’t.

And that’s when things got a little wild.

CHAPTER TEN

Beau:

I took a limo from the office directly to the tarmac to get to a meeting with some investors in New York City. It was a quick trip, just a couple of hours. But I brought my whole team, so we were prepared to answer any and all questions.

We settled in as the captain informed us we would be departing in a few minutes. The plane taxied down the runway and took off. After it leveled out, we gathered around the spacious table located on the far side of the cabin.

“So what issues are we encountering on the Arsenal project?” I asked, looking around at my kick-ass team.

The Arsenal’s contractor, George, was the first to speak up. “The electrical union is demanding we pay time and a half.”

“For what?”

“They say there’s too much work and they can’t get it done in an eight hour day.”

“That’s bullshit,” I fired off. “They just want to gouge us on our deal. Tell them I’ll fly in my own goddamn crew and fire them all, if they can’t get their work done in an eight hour day.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Where are we on the revised budget?” I asked the team.

“We’re coming in twenty percent higher than projected,” the project accountant, Jeri informed me.

“Why?”

“These old historical places just suck up the money. Every time we dig into somewhere we encounter more issues.”

“Keep a close eye on that bottom line. Inform me of any major changes.”

“Got it,” she said, taking a note of my instruction.

“How are the permits for the exterior coming?” I asked George.

“I don’t know. Every time I call the Historical Society, they give me a different answer. Last time, they said more time was needed to go over blueprints again.”

“Damn it. They’re fucking around with us.”

My dad’s bribery plan came to mind. I needed to investigate it more.

“Get me Senator Blackwood on the phone. We need to have a little chat,” I asked Donna, my secretary, as she reached for the satellite phone.

She dialed the number and asked for the senator. “One moment.” She handed me the phone as we raced through the air.

“Hey, Senator Blackwood, how are you today?” I asked in a polite voice I used only on people I detested.

“I’m good. How are those Gators doin’ in the standings?”

“They’re hanging in there. I’m happy to report we’re up in the series against Texas.”

“Good, good. What can I do for you today?”

He reminded me of Boss Hogg from the
Dukes of Hazzard
TV show, my favorite program growing up. He was round and always wore a white suit with a cigar clinched between his yellow teeth.

“I’m calling to talk about those permits I need for the Arsenal project,” I offered.

“So you talked to your daddy?” he drawled in a heavy Southern accent.

“I did indeed, sir.”

“I’m happy to help, son.”

Condescending bastard.

“Good to hear. How would you like to do this?”

“A generous campaign donation to one of the PAC’s supporting me would be much appreciated.”

“Why don’t you send those figures over to my office and we can go from there.

“Much obliged, son.” His voice was so full of bullshit.

I hung up the phone, done talking to the old codger as I sat back in a chair.

“Apple or banana, sir?” the flight attendant asked, holding out a basket of fruit.

“Sure,” I said, taking a shiny Red Delicious from her basket.

I held it in my hand for a second, running my finger against the smooth skin.

I bit into it, the sweet flesh reminding me of Marla.

Back in high school, when we were in the library and I was having a tough time writing my paper, she tried to help me. But we weren’t really getting anywhere and I was getting frustrated.

“You want to paint a picture with your words,” she said as she pulled out some lip gloss from her purse.

“Oh, yeah?” I watched as she pushed her lips out and moved the wand across her pouty mouth.

Damn, I wanted to be that lip gloss hugging her mouth.

“Take this apple for example,” she said, picking up the Gala apple resting on her notebook. “When I hold it, I feel the smooth skin. I see specks of red and green mixing together to form a mosaic—“

“Mosaic?” Another big word.

“Yeah, like chards of pottery that come together to form a bigger picture.”

“Ah, I learn something every time I see you, Sunshine.”

Her soft glance danced with teasing. “Well, keep up, Shepard.”

“I’m trying.”

“Now, watch me.” She bit into the fruit as the crisp sound of apple flesh breaking filled my ears.

Her full lips moved lusciously up and down as she chewed for a second and then swallowed, closing her eyes as she concentrated on the tastiness of the apple. “Mmm, I love the juicy sweetness that explodes in my mouth. The skin separating from the flesh, divine.”

I gulped, getting seriously turned on by her description.

Her eyes popped open, warm and full of life. “Now, I want you to close your eyes,” she demanded gently, lulling me with her soft voice.

“What?”

“You heard me. Shut your eyes for me.”

I shut one eye, still trying to watch her.

“Both eyes, Shepard.” She smiled sweetly, so I was willing to do whatever she wanted.

“All right. All right.” I sighed as I shut my eyes.

“I want you to think about something in this room.”

Her full, buttery lips instantly filled my brain.

“What does it look like? Soft? Hard? Light? Dark?”

Hot, juicy, pink lips.

“What does it smell like? Fruity, sweet, sour, musky?” The words licked at me like she was kissing my neck.

Yummy strawberry.

“Sound like?”

Suck, groan, gasp.

“Taste like?”

Fire, heat, sweet.

Her words blistered through my brain, painting a hot picture, my mouth on hers as my cock pumped into her sweet puss—

“Dude, dude…psst!” I opened both eyes to see my friend Jeremy, approaching the table like an out of control oxen as he slammed into it, jostling the entire table along with all of our papers.

What the hell?

“Dude, are you done yet?” he asked loudly, ignoring the fact he was totally interrupting us.

“No, I’m not done. Just go on without me. I’ll catch up.”

“Come on, this looks boring. Let’s go.”

“Are you always this rude?” Marla asked, unable to contain herself.

I smiled at her as I spoke. “Don’t get Marla riled up, man. She’ll make you pay,” I teased, trying to break the tension between the two sudden enemies.

His eyes roved over Marla. “No girl scares me.”

I didn’t like that. “You don’t know, dude. Marla’s pretty fierce.”

He scoffed. “Whatever...are you comin’ or not?”

“I told you. I’ll catch up.”

“Fine,” he huffed and took off.

“Is he really a friend of yours?” Marla asked as she stared at Jeremy lumbering away.

“Yeah, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

She shuddered. “He’s creepy. He just tried to look down my shirt.”

I tried to brush off her comment. “Nah, he’s just a horndog.”

“I don’t know, Beau. There’s something off about that guy.”

“He’s not that bad. He just doesn’t make a good first impression.”

She just shook her head and picked up my paper again.

Looking back, I should have listened to her.

If only I had listened to her.

*****

Marla:

Pop! Pop! Pop!

A round of firecrackers went off somewhere close to my house, making me jump as I arranged some fresh purple hydrangeas in a glass vase.

Fourth of July.

Food, fireworks, and fun.

One of my favorite times of the year.

I was getting ready to go over to Micah and Emma’s barbeque. The peach pie was made and all I had left to do was get dressed. I threw on a pair of tan shorts and a peach silk camisole which breathed through the hot, humid Baltimore air. Then I tossed my long hair up into a loose bun, letting tendrils fall softly along my face and neck.

Perfect for spending the holiday with my family.

I grabbed the pie, hopped in the car, and headed over to my sister’s house. They lived about ten minutes away, but it might as well be another planet in their ritzy neighborhood.

Their home was amazing, a beautiful Tuscan-inspired mansion that floored me every time I saw it. Made of light colored stone, it had major curb appeal with terracotta accents, a bubbling fountain, and lush oak trees.

I knocked a few times, but no one answered. Finally, I just tried the door and walked in. A welcoming vibe hit me. Not an easy feat in such an overwhelming space. Cheery neutrals were on the wall with pops of bold colors, like red and purple, abounded in comfortable furniture scattered across the house.

“I’m here,” I announced, walking into their massive kitchen. “Emma? Micah?”

No answer.

Looking around, I noticed food in various stages of preparation scattered around the counter tops. A half-done relish tray, a pile of chips, steaks thawing in the sink.

They were obviously around.

“Hello?” I stepped outside on their massive cherry wood stained deck, but no one was out there. I came back in and put the peach pie down on the lightly speckled granite counter, next to some paper plates as I listened closely, trying to figure out where they were.

“Anyone here?” A faint giggling caught my attention as I ambled into their massive formal living room.

It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. As I wandered back in that direction, the noise grew louder, sounding as if it was coming from the pantry. I cautiously stepped toward the walk-in pantry, fearing I was about to discover Micah and Emma being naughty. A few more moans and kisses escaped into the kitchen air, confirming my fear.

Yep, they were in there.

“Hey, I’m here!” I called out, right in front of the door.

“Oh, oh!” Emma let out in surprise. “Stop it, Micah. My sister is here.”

“What if I don’t want to stop?”

“Later!” she said in a loud whisper that made me laugh.

The door opened, Emma peeking out, flushed with guilt. Her shirt was hanging awkwardly, like she had put it back on hastily.

I cleared my throat, trying to hide my amusement. “You guys all right in there?”

“Yep. Micah just ambushed me in the pantry when I was trying to get some ketchup.” Emma laughed as her besotted husband gently bit her shoulder. “Stop it, we have company,” she giggled as he lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck.

“All right. All right. I’m going to start the grill,” Micah said as he swatted his wife on her behind as they both emerged from the pantry.

“Yeah, you do that. Go do something productive,” she challenged playfully.

“I’ll show you productive,” he said, snapping barbeque tongs together.

Emma laughed; her adoration evident as her husband winked at her.

Wow. I loved seeing how far they had come. I could remember literally picking Emma up off the floor when Micah broke her heart. But they had persevered, their love conquering Micah’s commitment issues.

“Where’s the baby?” I asked as I washed my hands to help with dinner.

“He’s sleeping and Jedi is at theater camp. That’s why it’s so quiet around here,” she said, adjusting her shirt some more.

That explained a lot. “Is Jedi having a good time?” I asked, opening a package of baby carrots.