The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (12 page)

Chapter 18

Blake

Two weeks later

A SMILE NEVER
made its way across Lamb's thin lips. As Blake sat on the back veranda with his wife, he gestured for Lamb to step forward as soon as the man posted himself right outside the back door. 

“Any
illegal
activity that I should stay away from?” Diane asked, her eyes trailing over more food than they'd eat in a week. The gauzy light pink dress that made her milk white skin creamier blew in the wind. She snatched up the China dish of marmalade to apply to her piece of toast.

“You can step away if you'd like, Diane.” Since returning from St. Bart’s a week ago, he’d spent a few nights at Mila’s. Today he had business to attend to. When Diane scoffed, he countered, “I promise that these activities may be illegal in a different sense of the word.” 

Again, the platinum blonde grunted, standing in a long silk robe. The sheer act caused a slight uprising to the left side of Blake’s lips as a plethora of memories rushed through him. Mere moments later, the effect vanished along with the place in his heart he’d vowed belonged to Diane Baldwin. They’d been in each other’s presence long enough. Sex last night was pretty good. Breakfast this morning was sufferable. 

Lamb took post right next to Blake’s table. Blake wanted to jokingly say
at ease soldier,
but just gave a head nod, adding a dash of salt to his sliced tomatoes. 

Lamb sat and took out a Manila envelope, tossing it onto the table as he leaned back. 

Blake forced himself to smile. He didn't want to open the contents. Shit, to be honest, this wasn't even really
why
Lamb made millions of dollars a year.

He took a sip of his espresso before grabbing the envelope opener that a man servant held on a tray.

He took out a single photo. The woman in it had striking good looks. There was a subtleness about her grace that resided in tiny titties that could fit into his hands. A thin, alluring body that he could pick up, toss around and fuck every way till Sunday. But she presented a problem.

Blake paused, rubbed his hands together and then asked, “Is this woman related to my first issue, or the second?”

“The first.”

The world ceased spinning as Lamb elaborated. Nothing in the entire universe meant a fucking thing if this supermodel type was linked to a primary set of problems as opposed to a secondary set. Money was always primary.
Secondary
meant his current fix. His current desire standing at five-five, dark eyes, luscious hazelnut skin, raven hair. Ass too damn fat. Should he continue? Certainly not, because this secondary problem could be easily rectified. He was working his damnedest to keep Mila, and that’s where she’d stay.

Blake’s mouth tensed as he listened to how the woman in the photo was sticking her hands into his conglomerate.

Face set in cement, Lamb concluded, “I’ll probably be gone a while after I handle this young woman, Blake.”

With a quick swipe, the modelesque female’s photo went back in the envelope, hopefully, to never be seen again.

He sighed, and the axiom ‘more money, more problems’ sunk in. “How the fuck did I get involved with Warren’s fiancé?”

Sitting back, Blake glanced over his wife, who’d taken her meal to the gazebo across from the lap-pool. Unlike the trust-fund baby Diane, Blake hadn't always been the richest man on the block. He had been one of the poorest white boys to make it out of the hood. With blood, sweat, tears, and true grit, he'd climbed the fuck out of the gutter, no matter who fell in his wake.

As a teen, Blake took on virtually any hacking request to make a buck. He once hacked the Feds for an Italian mobster. Blake went on to obtain a full ride to Yale. He had so much money in scholarships that he thought himself rich, even then.

“Mila doesn’t know a thing about Warren’s death, she still believes it was just a faulty plane malfunction. You've got the background. I've only got experience.” He wanted to believe that his experience of cultivating beautiful women indicated that he understood Mila. She didn’t fear him. She didn’t see him as a murderer. Well, except for when he’d first come by her home. The woman had been suffering from exhaustion.

Lamb thumbed the side of his prickly jaw. “Miss Ali is in the clear.”

Good, Blake’s instincts were grounded in Lamb’s scientific proof. Mila was none-the-wiser. The tightening of his abdomen subsiding, Blake took a bite of his turkey sausage. Regardless of how long, or how often he’d been surrounded by talk of death, he’d never get use to that shit. “What's the update on our connect at the insurance company?

“For the moment, it's still a no-go. They’re not pointing any fingers per se, however Miss Ali, as beneficiary, won't be collecting anytime soon.”

“Those motherfuckers.”
I will not claim guilt I won't fucking do it!
Though he gave the usual motto, Blake figured that screwing around with the lovely Miss Ali would not fare well for the investigation.

He grabbed the flask of alcohol and poured the amber liquid into his coffee. The action made Mila’s warm brown gaze flash across his mind. Tears would be streaming down those soft cheekbones if she knew the real Blake, and what he was capable of. 

Fuck that. He had to extract the guilt from his gut. Blake had taught Mila not to apologize, which was in the same spectrum. He put the model from the photo out of his mind, deciding to figure out how to help Mila Ali. The life insurance policy was for a cool $8 mill. A drop in the fucking bucket, but Mila was much too ornery to take his money. Maybe helping Mila keep her home would cancel out his guilt of Warren’s death.

First things first—Blake decided Lamb would handle the model. Then they’d return to the primary issue—someone trying to fuck with his money. Blake would cut someone limb from limb for taking just one of his crumbs. After all, he had grown up with just crumbs....

Chapter 19

Mila

LAST WEEK
, Mila settled. If she didn’t fully stop to ponder the dynamics of what she’d become, then there’d be no issue of how she’d begun to compromise her heart. Her most prized possession, her heart and soul, were up for grabs. The most unworthy man—a married man—held the key.

Blake’s nearness did something to her. He had the ability to transform her into his mistress, his whore. That only occurred when he was near. Or when her mind was consumed with thoughts of him, the domineering man was the sweet taste of sin in her mouth.

Cool, wet mist scoured Mila’s skin as she ambled toward her car. For work, she donned a pair of GAP khaki’s that firm-fitted her ass. The linen shirt and cropped leather jacket accentuated her waistline and hourglass shape. As fog evaporated, Mila glanced up at her house, which proved she was worth much more than simply being Blake’s current obsession.
I’m not that far gone from grace.

She turned the key into the ignition, considering Leanna’s competitive listing price of $2.99 mill. She cranked up the music, backing out of the palm tree studded lot. Her radio screen flashed as Keith attempted to call her for the umpteenth time, but the ignore button was but a press away.

An old Alicia Keyes song had Mila joining in, trying to harmonize. The bridge began, the song faded, and another song from back in the day came on. It was a love song. Mila quickly changed the station.

Steve Harvey’s Morning Show blared through her speakers. Unlike other stations that got the boot once a song went off, or the DJ played a tune she didn’t feel, Mila relished Steve’s flair.

Except, Steve wasn’t administering a morning dose of funniness. Catching the conversation mid-way, Mila figured he was talking about thousands of postings on Facebook… Not at all social media savvy, Mila said, “Au revoir,” to one of her favorite radio personalities.

Toni Braxton's sultry voice reached out from the surround sound stereo and enveloped her in sadness to the tune of ‘Unbreak My Heart’.

Blap! She reached over and slapped the power knob. Warren had been a good man. Though work was always at the forefront, and Mila never complained, he'd had this uncanny ability to regress at the nick-of-time. And when he put her first… that to Mila, made her love him dearly. Tears flowed from Mila’s eyes. One minute, Warren would be chatting statistics, the next he’d explain the stats on how much he loved her. A bubbly laugh broke through Mila’s tears as she turned onto Pacific Coast Highway, with only five more miles to Versa Home Improvements.

He’d start off mentioning the distance from Pluto, while allowing a trail of kisses to descend her body. Then the distance for Neptune, Uranus, Saturn… more constellation orbits that Mila had ever even known while loving her body. Warren Jameson’s intellect had spurted her attraction for him.
I loved him, but why didn’t I fall into that maddening type of love? Why wasn’t I ‘in’ love with him?

~~~

A few days later, tingling sensations consumed Mila as she sat on the phone late that night with Blake. Her lover often frequented her home, or she’d frequent one of his. Tonight, she hungered for Blake as she often did on days when he was away, but tonight, things were different. This wasn’t just an overwhelming desire to fuck him. Every tendon placid, a giddy aura surrounded Mila as they chatted for hours.

“You’re smiling from ear to ear,” Blake stated.

“Oh, so you get off on mentioning just how well you move me.” Mila bit her lips.

“Yeah, what’s in store for me?”

Mila’s mouth twitched, but she couldn’t shake off the grin. “Um-hmmm, I assumed you were operating off pure altruism. You know what, a few days ago I think Steve Harvey was talking about you on the radio. I was looking for jokes from Steve, instead he’s hyping up this mystery man.”

“Mystery man?”

“Yes, mysterious and rich and well, maybe Steve added in a quick joke about believing this mystery man to have a good heart. Good enough to buy housing upgrades for people in the community.” She sighed, recalling the shock she felt this afternoon as Versa Home Improvement reverberated with applause. There were a few sneers from sales representatives who were always on the field, wondering how a Sales Supervisor had gotten the highest level of sales this quarter, especially when Mila had come back, glowy and happy from an extended vacation. She’d put two-and-two together, as Mr. Versa congratulated her, and jokingly asked her to take him to lunch.

Mila realized that while they were on vacation, he’d had a mass social media competition set into effect. Needy families from around the country posted reasons why they needed new home upgrades. The “secret benefactor” chose from those thousands of requests. Mila’s eyes were stinging. If she ever got around to it, Mila wanted her nonprofit organization to be someone’s testimony.

Blake’s team had made arrangements with these families through Versa Home Improvements, with Mila as the sales representative, and she hadn’t a clue about it. Her check would be large. She shook her head, astounded by some of the poignant YouTube videos participants from around the nation had uploaded as a “thank you” to the mysterious benefactor. One of the families had been squatting in their condemned home due to a fire. They made it on Good Day LA this morning.

Each story, even more poignant than the last.

“Damn you, Blake Baldwin, you had a certain payment on your mind when conducting that anonymous contest for families in need.”

“You know me, Mila. I’ve spent hours envisioning your appreciation.”

Mila’s sex swelled. She wanted Blake in her bed tonight. But how could she have the audacity to even ask these things when he had to be at home with his wife?

They chatted for a while longer, longer than she’d ever dreamt.

“All right, Blake, I need sleep. I’ll do my best to exceed your expectation’s tomorrow, scout’s honor. Will you release me for rest?”

“Release you?” His seductive voice twined through the receiver. 

“I'll come back.”

“In that case, I'll grant it. As long as you always come back.” The way he spoke made every word seem of importance, as if her presence mattered, though he was somewhere in a mansion with his
wife
near. 

“I'll see you tomorrow, Mila.” 

“Mmmm.” Mila nodded off, her head dipping on the goose pillow. “When? No wait,” she smiled, waking up a tad bit more. “Don't pull that move that you did when coming to my job again.” 

“So I can't eat your pussy?”

“Ye... Yes anytime anywhere -but my job.” 

“I’d love to tell you otherwise. But I won't be seeing you at your job tomorrow, Mila –”

“No,” she damn near whimpered. He’d just fucked her through the phone. “Later then? You'll spend the night? I mean if you can...”

“Do not question me, Mila. And do not question my capabilities.
If I can
,” he almost mocked. “I'll see you bright and early. We're leaving for Japan.” 

“Japan?” Suddenly fully awoke, Mila sat up.

“But I have work, Blake.” 

“You’re going to be sick.” 

“Sick?” 

“So call in sick, Mila,” his voice was a tad testy. “You have over 300 hours of sick time at work.” 

“How do you...”

“I'll be there bright and early.”

As they got off the phone, Mila wondered how long she'd have to be sick to go to another continent with Blake. A few minutes ago, Mila needed sleep. She’d been consumed by raw happiness all day today, in spite of the haters at work.

Her home would be paid off in a few days, with the commission that Mila received due to Blake’s silent good gesture. He’d saved her home.