Champagne Kisses (20 page)

Meanwhile, back at the vineyard, Donovan conferred with his father. Donald had taken an immediate liking to Marissa, saying her quiet, observant demeanor reminded him a bit of Genevieve.

“Did you see them?” Donald asked, having told Donovan that that was the first thing he needed to do. Know firsthand exactly what they were up against. Donovan nodded.

“What do you think?”

“They were taken years ago, when she was just nineteen. Pretty tame by today’s standards. But her father’s high profile in ministry makes the situation all the more tenuous. She’s more afraid of embarrassing him and causing a scandal than fearing for her own reputation.”

“What do you know about this guy?”

“Nothing more than what Marissa has told me. He grew up in Long Beach. They met in college. He wanted to date her, she didn’t, but they became friends. Later he helped get her hired at the company where he still works.” Donovan finished by relaying the date drug incident. “It’s fools like him that give men a bad name.”

“Son, the person you just described is not a real man. He’s a coward, one who needs to be taught a lesson.” After a brief pause, he continued, “We need to learn everything we can about this punk. You have to know your opponent to defeat your opponent.”

Donovan smiled. “Already got Boss’s guy working on it. Frank Stanton, the detective who helped him last year.”

“Good.” Donald was silent a moment, thoughtfully puffing his cigar. “You say you know where he works?”

“Yes.”

“Be good to know if we can work from that angle. Cut off the money, and you can cut off the man.”

As he left his father’s study and walked back to the office, the wheels in Donovan’s strategic mind were whirling. His father had a point. Donovan had a plan. It had taken a lifetime to find her and nobody was going to come between him and this chance at real love. Nobody.

* * *

Exactly one week later, Steven McCain arrived home to find company that he had not invited. An official-looking character in a suit and a not-so-official-looking character in sweats engaged him in conversation, saying they had an offer that he shouldn’t refuse. A large firearm pointed in the general vicinity of vital body parts was a strong incentive for Steven to play along.

“You know the pictures we’re looking for,” Mr. Official explained. “We’ve already swept the electronics here and deleted the images. Should there be others, it would be in your best interest to let us know where they are so that we can make sure they are destroyed.” Mr. Not-So-Official-Looking raised the “incentive” from Steven’s chest to his face.

“I won’t do nothing with them,” Steven stuttered.

“That’s not quite the response I was looking for.” Mr. Not-So took a step. “Are there any other devices containing photos of Marissa Hayes?”

“My, uh, my cell phone.”

“Where is it?”

“Look, I just got it. Cost me six hundred bucks!”

“Oh, yeah?” Mr. Official’s tone was as casual as if he were discussing a sport. “How much is your life worth?”

Steven gave him the phone.

The men finished one last piece of business and then left with these parting words: should any pictures of questionable content involving Marissa Hayes ever surface, whether taken by him or someone else, he would be held accountable. The punishments mentioned varied from jail time to heavy fines, to the one that Mr. Not-So held against his head for five minutes before leaving. Incentive, he’d called it.

Indeed.

* * *

An hour after Steven’s uninvited visitors left his apartment, Frank Stanton, Jackson and Dexter knocked on Donovan’s door. Frank held a manila envelope, which he presented as soon as he stepped inside.

“He signed it?”

Frank nodded. “Of course.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I didn’t. But I have friends. They have a way with…words, if you will.”

“Speaking of words, I think Steven and I still need to have a conversation.”

“That’s why I called Frank, bro, and Dexter,” Jackson said. “So we could come here with him when the job was done. I knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with having him handle this for you. That you’d want to have a go at him yourself.”

“The guy’s such a jerk I may still get my chance.”

Dexter placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “No doubt, Don. But now’s not the time. He’s not worth the millions we stand to lose if negative publicity hits Drake Wines right now. And he’s not worth your worrying Marissa.”

Donovan fixed Dexter with a look. “That’s the best thing you could say to make me back off of him.”

Dexter winked at Jackson and nodded at Frank. “I know, big brother. I know.”

* * *

Marissa sat across from Donovan, the flicker of the candle highlighting the glow on his face. She was drinking in the man who, after she’d taken a stand and unlocked the chain of guilt and fear that Steven had wrapped around her, had ridden in like a knight in shining armor and made her boogeyman disappear. Donovan wouldn’t tell her exactly what he and his family did to make Steven sign legal documents preventing further harassment, but she’d forever thank him for it.

As for Donovan, he marveled at the woman across from him, the one who in just two short weeks had taken him from a single man content to bury himself in work and in a woman when the mood struck him, to one beginning to think in terms of
we
and not
I.
Words were not needed in the moment. They were content to simply sit there, smiling, taking each other in.

The sommelier came to the table, breaking the mood. “Monsieur, may I?” He held up the bottle of pricey champagne and, after popping the cork, poured a bit into Donovan’s flute.

Donovan sampled it and nodded. “Perfect.”

After filling the two flutes, the sommelier placed the remainder of the bubbly back into the ice bucket and left the table as quietly as he’d come.

“A toast?” Donovan suggested, picking up his glass. Marissa followed suit, her face alight with happiness.

“To new beginnings?” she offered.

Donovan nodded. “To you and me.”

Marissa’s smile broadened. “I like the sound of that.” They drank a couple sips in silence before she continued, “I can’t believe how good it feels to take control of your life, to feel that you’re actually driving your own destiny. I didn’t even realize that for the past several years, I’ve just been drifting through, content to let others take the reins, to go along to get along. But no more. From now on, I’m my own woman.”

“Just as long as that includes being my woman, too.”

As they enjoyed courses of oysters on the half shell and organic kale, abalone mushroom and double-cut chops, the conversation slowly drifted away from nude pics and bad guys to vacations and wine.

“You’ve never been out of the country?”

“No, Donovan, I never have. And don’t look so incredulous. Eighty percent of Americans don’t travel farther than two states over from where they were born.”

“That’s baloney.”

“I read it.”

“Can’t believe it.”

Marissa shrugged. “When are we going to get a chance to taste that bubbly that Dexter’s been working on for years? It’s like he’s a mad scientist, perfecting his potion.”

“Have you seen him in action? That’s exactly what he’s like.”

“Speaking of action…”

“I know, baby. Me, too.” In the swirl of the whirlwind—Jackson winning the Louisiana bid; Sharon returning to her home in Temecula and back to the office, at her insistence, two hours a day for the next two weeks; Marissa returning to Boss Construction; and the Drake clan dealing with what’s his name—there had been a noticeable void in the romance department. One that Donovan planned to fill just a short while from now.

Less than an hour after arriving at Donovan’s home he and Marissa were naked and playing pool. Her dare. “I like how you’re working that stick, sweetness,” he said after she’d sunk a ball in a way that would have made a pool shark proud. He especially liked how she’d looked leaning over to sink it, breasts swaying like melons, booty high in the air.

Donovan didn’t mention this to her, but one look at his other stick and she got the message all the same. She sauntered over, placed a brazen hand on his baby maker. “How would you like for me to work…this stick?”

“Um, baby, I like how you think.”

“Hmm,” she sank down until she was face-to-face with her focus. “Would you like me to do this?” She flicked her tongue against his personal portobello.

“Um, yeah.”

“What about this?” She stiffened her tongue and licked him slowly from base to tip.

“Damn, girl, you’ve got me all excited.”

“What about…” Figuring actions spoke louder, she quieted, taking as much of him in as she could. His groans, thrusts and the way he massaged her head let her know that though she was pretty much a novice, she was doing a good job.

So much so that Donovan stopped the action, pulled out of her mouth. “Baby…it feels so good that…”

Marissa chuckled. “Okay. How’s about if we find another use for this pool table?”

Without another word, Donovan lifted Marissa up onto the table, and proceeded to once again work his stick.

Chapter 29

I
t was a boisterous gathering at the Drake family’s dining room table, almost twenty people vying for a break in the conversation, when they could pipe in with their two cents. Having grown up in a relatively small household of four, Marissa still marveled at how all of the conversation strands could be kept straight, how one sibling would finish the other’s sentence and how one mate could finish another’s story.

It had been four months since that fateful Fourth of July eve, four glorious months since she and Donovan had made the transition from professional associates to lovers. Whether four months or four lifetimes, she couldn’t tell. All she knew is that it seemed as though he’d been a part of her life forever and that she couldn’t remember life before he was in it. She couldn’t be happier, especially looking over to see her mother, brother and sister-in-law also at the table. Her father had wanted to come but because of the annual Thanksgiving service held at his church, had to decline the invitation. The compromise was that Donovan had agreed to spend Christmas with Marissa’s family, which Marissa was positive would be a much quieter affair, filled with good cheer but without the loud laughter that even now echoed around the room thanks to Papa Dee and his colorful tales.

“What about that time you beat up a man for insulting your girlfriend, Papa Dee?”

“And found out he was one of Capone’s boys?” Papa Dee dismissed its significance with a wave of his hand. “Ah, that wasn’t nothing. You should have been there when I slapped the taste out of Bugsy Siegel’s mouth!”

Marissa’s eyes widened in wonder. “Really, Papa Dee? You rolled with gangsters?”

“Girl, my great-grandson hasn’t told you? These young whippersnappers got it all twisted. I’m a
true
OG!”

Laughter abounded and the stories flowed. Half of them real, others heavily doctored, but all shared to enhance the family’s good time. They stayed around the table for a good two hours, but finally the crowd began dissipating. Some of the men headed to the golf course, while others joined Donald for a Cuban cigar. Marissa joined in with the ladies who were clearing the table, feeling at home with Donovan’s warm relations.

She picked up a platter of leftover vegetables and another of rolls and walked them into the kitchen. “How should I store these, Mrs. Drake?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. The housekeeper will take care of all that. Why don’t you join us in the sitting room for a cup of tea. What kind would you like?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Several minutes later, Genevieve entered the sitting room wheeling a cart bearing tea and condiments. The ladies shared small talk as they each fixed their cups. For Genevieve, it was two dollops of honey and a splash of cream in a simple green tea. She stirred the mixture, eyeing Marissa with a smile on her face. “I knew it,” she finally said, nodding.

“Excuse me?”

“The first time I saw you, no, not the first time. Because I met you at the grand opening. But the night of the engagement party, when I saw you I knew. I told Donald that something was brewing between you and Donovan. I saw the way he looked at you when he didn’t know I was watching. I know my son, know how he is when he gets his mind set on something. And the way I saw him looking at you that night, I could tell he had his mind set.”

“I didn’t even know he was watching.”

“That was the best part. I’ve watched the women over the years with my sons. Most of them couldn’t be more obvious about being interested if they took out a commercial on national TV. This new type of aggressiveness being the modern way to get a man’s attention. And it may be. But not with a Drake man. Those brothers are old-school, they like to do the hunting.” She winked at Marissa. “Donovan has a real pep in his step these days. You’ve made him very happy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Drake. I appreciate that. But can I tell you something? Your son has made me pretty happy, too.”

And he wasn’t finished yet. Mr. Drake had plans.

* * *

“Donovan,” Marissa whispered. “Where are we going?” It was just past midnight and for the first time Marissa was staying at the Drake estate. Genevieve had placed her in Diamond’s old room, which now served as a beautifully appointed guest room. Though Donovan had moved out years ago, his mother still maintained his old room in another wing of the house. He’d waited there until relatively sure his parents were sleeping before leaving his room and creeping over to the east wing to wake up his princess. “Donovan, where are we going?” Marissa asked again.

Donovan placed a finger to his lips to signal quiet. Marissa put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. She hadn’t felt this way, sneaky and naughty, since she was eight years old and she and her brother had tried to sneak into their parents’ closet and discover their Christmas toys. The house was mostly dark and quiet, shards of light were given off by the dimly lit sconces and, once they’d turned the corner, by the full moon shining through the great-room window.