The Billionaire Submissive (Billionaires in Bondage) (15 page)

“Lilly, this is my old friend, Ricardo D’Almeida, French-trained chef and winner of three Michelin stars.”

Ricardo took her hand and kissed it like Donovan had on their first date. “When Donovan told me you’re a lady who loves to eat, I couldn’t refuse his generous request to come cook for you.”

It took her a minute to wrap her mind around it. “A Michelin star chef…and you’re here just to cook for us? For the weekend?”

“Donovan and I go way back. Without him, my first restaurant would have closed long ago. It certainly wouldn’t have become such a phenomenon, nor would we now own five more restaurants across the country. If your palette is as fine as he says, and you find satisfaction with my food, then your praise will shine brighter than any Michelin star.”

She could only stare at him and hope her mouth wasn’t hanging open. Donovan sat on the barstool beside her and drew her against his side. “It’s Ricardo’s fault I’ve invested so heavily in restaurants. My only regret is that he lives so far away. I can’t just stop by and eat at his restaurant like you do at Dmitri’s.”

Her anxiety wrenched up another notch. Sure, she loved Dmitri’s food and she knew it was good. But she didn’t have Michelin star “fine dining” level of taste. “Where is it?”

“New York City. We’ll have to go there to celebrate once the windows are done. We can hit Rockefeller Center, Broadway, whatever you want to do.”

She smiled but her face was stiff and the tips of her fingers were icy. “I’ve never been to New York.”
Or Paris, or L.A, or Rome, or any of the other places he has a fucking house, let alone tours for business.

Ricardo returned to his pots, chatting over his shoulder about all the wonderful things to do in New York and how he and his partner would wine and dine them every single night, while she fought not to leap up and run for the door. The only thing keeping her seated was Donovan’s arm around her back and the delicious smells rolling from the stove. She couldn’t tell what the chef had made but it smelled divine.

Donovan reached over and wrapped his free hand around her fingers in her lap. She refused to turn and meet his gaze, but she sensed him watching her out of the corner of her eye.

“I bought this place furnished last year. I’ve been meaning to replace the gaudy furnishings but I haven’t had time. When I’m here, I spend my time on the boat. It’s the private dock I coveted. Not the house.”

Even if the pristine white sofa and antique Persian rug weren’t his, per se, that still didn’t mean…

“It’s just stuff, Lilly. I don’t care about any of it. All I care about is you. So if you’re uncomfortable here, we’ll pack up and go home. We can stay at your place and eat at Dmitri’s every single night.”

She tightened her fingers on his and checked to make sure Ricardo was still busy at the stove. “Don’t make me your whore, Donovan. I won’t stand for it.”

He inhaled sharply, squeezing her hand so tightly she winced. “Why would you say that?”

“All this wealth, the clothes, the fucking five-star chef—”

“Three star,” Ricardo sang from over the stove. “They don’t offer five Michelin stars, but thank you anyway.”

“That’s two,” Donovan growled. “And I don’t mean stars.”

“Donovan—”

“No. Hear me out. Ricky, plug your ears.”

“Aye aye, Donnie,” and he started humming off key.

Even though tears burned her eyes, her lips twitched at the thought of someone calling proud, stiff Donovan Morgan such an immature-sounding name.

“Last night, you did something for me no one has been able to give me in all of my thirty-nine years. How sad is that? I’m getting ready to turn forty and I’ve never been completely whole and satisfied until last night. You did that for me. You took care of me. Yet if I try to take care of you, I’m buying you off? Let me do things for you no one else has ever done. If that means making sure you stay off the road for the safety of all Twin City drivers, then it’s the least I can do. If that means waking your sleepy, grouchy ass up at 6:00 a.m. so I can bribe you with stellar food, then I’m going to send a jet after the finest chef I know. Let alone eagerly taking over if you will just lie back and let me.”

Closing her eyes, she clung to his hand for dear life. “I don’t feel in control here. I’m out of my league with Mr. Moneybags.”

“Then I’ll have to work harder at being Mr. Douchebag. You didn’t have any hesitation taking him down a notch of two. Thanks to you, I can also be lover boy and sexy beast, but only if you brought the crop you promised me.”

She drew a deep, shaking breath and held it for a count of five, then slowly let it out.
If I apply too much force to the glass, it always shatters. I’m no different, no matter how tough I think I am. I don’t have to grip everything in my life so tightly.

Ricardo set two large shallow bowls before them. “For lunch today we have bacon and smoked Gouda risotto with delicate green peas, hot flaky croissants fresh from the oven, and a sweet, crisp Italian moscato.”

She looked down at the bowl and just breathed in the delicious creamy goodness. He returned with a basket of croissants, drizzled with honey.

“Not fair,” she whispered hoarsely, unable to look away from the sticky, flaky pillow waiting to dissolve in her mouth.

“Your options are simple.” Despite his brisk all-business voice, Donovan picked up his spoon and winked at his friend. “We can, of course, stay here and have a wonderful weekend stuffing ourselves silly with Ricardo’s decadent creations. Or we can walk away together and go home to my condo. The cleaning crew might be done ripping the cherry-stained carpet out and they’re supposed to deliver a new bed later today.”

Ricardo let out a soft whistle and left to get the wine bottle.

“Or I can drop you off at your very safe and boring townhome and never see you again.”

She shot Donovan a fierce look and picked up her own spoon. Staring down at the risotto, she tried not to drool. “I’m not done with you yet, Mr. Moneybags.”

“Then how about every time I try to buy you something, you increase the count. Make me extremely penitent later.” He lowered his voice, letting his desire roughen his words. “And I’ve got so much money, Miss Harrison, your arm’s going to wear out before you can make me sorry I blew it all on you.”

“Hardly.” The first bite was going to be the best. Closing her eyes, she slipped the bite into her mouth and just held the creaminess on her tongue to savor every delicious element. Salty bacon. Smoky cheese. The firm chewiness of the rice. She swallowed and couldn’t hold back the soft moan of pleasure. “I think I need a cigarette.”

Ricardo grinned. “That good?”

“Don’t tell Dmitri I’m cheating on him.”

“I saved the best for later.”

Lilly swallowed another heavenly bite and reached for the wine. “Better than this?”

“His specialty is French pastries,” Donovan said with a wicked grin. “Although I hear he’s created a magnificent dessert he calls the Big Apple Chocolate Silk Pie.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s three, Lilly.”

Chapter Eleven

When she first saw Donovan’s pride and joy, Lilly had shot him a glare and dragged him in close to whisper, “Four.”

I can’t wait to show her the jet, then.

After cruising around the lake for a while, she slowly started to relax. It was a beautiful day, hardly a cloud in the sky, and though water traffic was heavy,
Beverly
was big enough they dwarfed most of the other boats. He kept the speed slow and gentle, a seductive cruise along the shoreline. She liked to people watch, so he gave her plenty of time to see the party boats and all the beautiful people enjoying their homes and pools along the shore.

She fisted a yawn, so he decided to pull into his favorite little cove for some peace and quiet. The water was calm, giving the boat just a little rock. With big trees overhead to offer a little shade, it was the perfect place to simply lie back and enjoy the sun without getting completely fried. He’d been outside enough not to worry, but she was pale and fair. The last thing he wanted was for her to have a miserable sunburn the rest of the weekend.

“Okay, okay, this is rather nice, even though this ‘boat’ is more like an ocean liner.”

“Would you like to go on an ocean liner some day?” He took her hand and led her up to the highest deck. With a thick, soft pad, lots of pillows, and a built-in cooler close by, it was his favorite spot on the boat.

“Don’t tell me—you have an ocean liner too?”

Casually, he stripped his shirt off and tossed it on the bench lining the side of the deck. “Several. My family started in boats. In fact,
Beverly
was my father’s, named for my mother. When he passed, I inherited it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He gave her a warm smile and stretched out on his back. “Don’t be—it was years ago.
Beverly
sat in dock for a long time, waiting on me to get my head out of my ass. My father and I had a rocky relationship when I was growing up, and I didn’t take his death well. Do you want to change into a suit?”

“I’m good for now.” Lilly stretched out beside him, leaning on her elbow so she could see his face. “Why did you have a rocky relationship with your father?”

“When I was growing up, he was gone all the time. He and Grandpa were out on the fishing boats. Grandpa Saebo, my mother’s father, was a Norwegian crab fisherman. Dad joined him soon after he married Mom and they were gone all the time. He used to say if the boat isn’t out to sea, we’re not making money. Then they bought another boat, so Dad had even more reason to be gone. They chased the various seasons, hitting crab, cod, whatever they could. The few weeks Dad came home weren’t enough to make up for the months he was gone. I resented him for leaving us alone, all the work Mom had to do.”

“Did you have any siblings?”

“No, it was just me and Mom, and sometimes Dad, and even rarer, Grandpa. By the time I was fourteen, we were doing well enough they both could have retired, but they chose not to. I resented that even more. So when Mom passed away from breast cancer…”

Lilly leaned down and gave him a soft, gentle kiss. “I’m so sorry. That couldn’t have been easy. How old were you?”

“Fifteen. I lived with my aunt during the school year, but then started joining them on the boat for the summer. I worked in the trenches just like any other greenhorn. I did the shittiest jobs on the boat and learned what hard work really meant. I was still angry and my father wasn’t ‘Dad’. He was Captain. I gave him hell every chance I got, and he gave it back and then some. I hated him, I hated the boat, and I swore as soon as I was eighteen I wasn’t ever stepping foot on a boat again. I sure wasn’t going to take over the family business.”

“What happened?”

“He told me when I was eighteen I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I thought he was joking, but when I told him I’d won a scholarship to go to college, he took a week off the boat and helped me move across country and get settled. After Grandpa passed, I felt even guiltier for not joining them on the boats, but he insisted I return to college. He wasn’t the kind of man who ever said a lot. We didn’t sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk or anything like that, but I finally realized all those years on the boats had been his way of showing his love for us. He’d grown up poor and he never wanted that for us, even if it meant he had to be gone doing one of the most dangerous jobs on the planet.

“When I graduated from college, he finally told me he’d never been prouder. That’s when I decided I was going to take over the family business—but I was going to do it my way. I started making investments, expanding from fishing boats to packing companies, ocean liners, manufacturing. I kept thinking I’d make enough that Dad would finally quit captaining the fishing boat and we’d just… I don’t know. Hang out together. When I bought him this yacht, I thought it would finally get him to retire. Instead, he named it
Beverly
, after my mother, and started touring the world in it. Alone.”

“Why?”

“He said he met Mom on her father’s boat when he signed on his first year, and she was in the sea for him. When he was out on the water, he was with her. If he was on land, he missed her too much. I joined him when I could, but I got tied up with business more often than not, doing the same thing he’d done for all those years. Making money for the family, when what the family really wanted was me.”

He had to pause a moment, his throat dry and raw from emotion. Sitting up, he crawled over to the cooler and brought back two Perriers. “When Dad started having heart problems, I tried to get him to come live with me for a while, but he refused. He had to be on the sea, die on the sea. So I joined him on the
Beverly
at last and we just sailed and fished and talked about Mom and Grandpa and all those wretched miserable summers I spent on the boat learning the trade. It was the best summer I can remember, and it taught me the most important lesson of my life. The business did just fine without me, and in the end, there’s no substitute for time together with the ones we love. One morning I got up and found him in his bunk instead of fishing. He’d passed away in his sleep.”

Lilly snuggled closer, using his shoulder for a pillow, her palm over his heart. “How long ago was that?”

“Eleven years. I returned to work and
Beverly
went to dry dock. I couldn’t bear the sight of her. I continued to expand the business but I stayed away from the sea and boats because it was too painful to remember. Then one day I was going through some old boxes and I found a picture of Mom and Dad together on Grandpa’s first boat. Before she became pregnant with me, she’d sailed with them as the cook. Mom looked so happy, just beaming at the camera and holding Dad’s hand with the sea in the background. I was conceived on that boat. I became a man on that boat. I finally decided it was ridiculous to give up something I’d learned to enjoy out of grief. It would have been easier to leave
Beverly
on the coast, but I’d already bought the new office building in St. Paul and I was determined to stay put for a while. So I paid an exorbitant amount to get her moved up here after I found the perfect dock for her.”