Owned By My Best Friend's Dad (Single Dad and Virgin Romance) Page 18

  I certainly didn’t have to act the part of a smitten groom. I liked having her near me almost 24/7; hell, I loved every minute of it. Just touching the skin of her hand or arm made me hard. Damned inconvenient sometimes, with cameras rolling and reporters jabbering. Good thing there’s a bedroom in my office suite. I couldn’t get through a day without screwing her delectable little ass off, and she’s been more than willing to accommodate me.

  And she’s a damn quick study, too. I can see why Ernst thought so highly of her. But what she’s learning from me has nothing to do with lab analyses or identifying geological formations. Who would have thought the girl in the lavender gown was a blushing virgin just six short weeks ago? She’s a scintillating performance artist in the bedroom, accepting of anything I take or give. A tigress when aroused, a lamb when subdued. Just the way I like it. She is well on her way to perfecting the best blow job on the planet, too.

  She gives me exactly what I need in every way, though she may not know it. A pretty face to show the cameras, and a sexy body to boost my desirability factor in the tabloids. A bright mind with career ambitions to entertain my intellectual side, and a squeaky-clean reputation to confound the gossip rags. Liam and my Board of Directors were doing the happy dance.

  Aside from all that, Mara is giving me something no one else knows about. Joy. Peace; a chance to heal the scars of my past. I still grieve for Celine, but I know she’d want me to move on, to try and find happiness. For her sake, and my own, and Mica’s.

  Mara finishes her polite conversation with one of the other principal benefactors of NDR and walks toward me. The chamber orchestra on stage strikes up a waltz, and I rise from my chair to take Mara’s gloved hand in mine and lead her onto the dance floor. A perfect dress like that, on a woman like her, deserves to be shown off in the swankiest ballroom in the city. And it’s sure to get the digital lenses clicking like machine gun fire.

  “Where’d you learn to dance?” I ask her as we sweep to the middle of the floor.

  “My dad taught me,” she says. “And my uncle, after Dad passed away. What about you?”

  I smile and direct her into a turn that flares her lovely skirt outward. “Are you kidding? I went to boarding school in Vienna. Frau Bergen, the headmistress, wouldn’t graduate anyone who didn’t earn honors in ballroom dancing.”

  She laughs, her one-sided dimple coming out to play. “Let me guess. Frau Bergen is another ghost from the past that you want to purge from your memory?”

  “Au contraire, I think her legacy is coming in handy right now,” I say, sending Mara into another twirl. As she sweeps back into my arms, I hold her close, collapsing the rigid dance frame that old Frau would have stomped on my toes for desecrating. Over the top of her head, I gaze across the sparkling room to see a figure by the bar that smothers my happy mood like a wet shroud.

  Talk about old ghosts.

  I take a deliberate turn to put my back to him, but as the dance finishes, I see he’s spotted me and is making his way across the room with a woman in tow. Damn. The price of fame; if you’re going to poke your head out of the bushes, you should expect to be picked off by snipers. I usher Mara off the floor and to our table before he catches up to us.

  “Bastian, you old devil! Never thought I’d see you back in action.”

  I stiffen and turn to face him, feigning surprise. “Dirk,” I say, looking his tuxedoed frame up and down. “I could say the same of you. It’s been a long time.”

  “Seven years, I believe,” he replies, glancing between Mara and me. “If I start the introductions, will I get to meet your lovely companion?” With the same smarmy smile, I remember all too well, he pulls the woman on his arm forward. “This is my wife, Melinda. Melinda, this is Bastian Kingsley, my old... uh... partner in crime, shall we say?”

  We shan’t, you shifty bastard. Because it’s too close to the truth.

  “A pleasure, Melinda,” I say as I shake her hand.

  “Likewise.” She nods.

  “May I introduce Miss Mara Snow, my soon-to-be new wife. Mara, this is Dirk Reinhart, my former business partner and old friend from school. Another of Frau Bergen’s protégés.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Dirk, Melinda,” Mara says, her practiced smile cranked up to full wattage. Man, she’s something.

  “Ah yes, the whole city’s abuzz with the news of your engagement. Congratulations,” Dirk says. “Mara, what a lovely name,” he continues, raising her gloved hand to his lips. “And a welcome, pretty face to expel the frightening vision of Frau Bergen from my mind. Thanks for that, Bastian.”

  “I can’t take the credit,” I say warily, keeping a watchful eye on a man I once trusted; with my life, my vision, and my cash. Together we’d raised the joint capital to launch the Pretoria operations almost twelve years ago to great success. It paid off big time, at first. We’d been best friends since our teens. We were young and ambitious and full of ourselves back in the day. Unstoppable. Until one day we weren’t. We were stopped—cold—the day the mine collapsed.

  A slow burn ignites in my gut at the way he’s looking at Mara, despite the fact his wife is by his side, clinging to his elbow. Leopards don’t change their spots. He’d looked at Celine the same way.

  “So, what did you do to deserve this rusty old sailor as a husband, Melinda?” I joke, but not completely in jest.

  Melinda laughs anyway. “Let’s just say I learned to tie my knots very well,” she quips, playing along. Dirk did have a love affair with boats.

  “Say, you’ve just reminded me, my dear,” Dirk says, reluctantly diverting his attention from my woman and back to his wife. “We’re going sailing tomorrow, off Long Island.” He gestures at us. “Why don’t you two join us, Baz and I can catch up, and we can all get to know each other. Weather’s going to be a charm tomorrow, I’ve checked the forecast.”

  “You’ve booked a charter?” I ask.

  Dirk beams at both of us. “Charter? Hell no. I own her. The Melinda Lee. A seventy-five-footer and she’s a beaut.”

  Trust Dirk to make a splash, literally. I’m not sure what he’s done since we parted ways to keep himself in yachts and wives, but as always, he’s certainly the type to flaunt it when he’s got it.

  “You own a yacht?” Mara asks before I can respond, her eyes bright. “I’ve never been on a yacht. How kind of you, that sounds great. Are we free tomorrow, Bastian?” she asks, mindful of Liam’s carefully plotted schedule for us.

  “Of course you’re free,” Dirk insists. “Baz is never one to pass up a good time, are you Baz? And how could you say no to such a beautiful girl? It’s a double date. Slip 27 at the Montauk Yacht Club, 10:00 am. Don’t be late!” he says as he turns to leave, grinning triumphantly.

  “See you in the morning,” Melinda says with a wave of her free hand, her other latched firmly onto her retreating husband’s arm.

  “Goodnight, nice meeting you!” Mara calls after them. “Isn’t that nice of him?” she says, looking up at me with her trusting aquamarine gaze. Dirk’s right. I can’t say no to her, seeing the excitement in her eyes. “We can go, can’t we?”

  Dirk’s hasty invite and even hastier exit have me suspicious. He made it clear long ago that he didn’t trust me any more than I did him. Not since the accident. I know he still blames me. So why is he letting bygones be bygones all of a sudden? He’s playing at something, and I intend to find out what.

  “Of course, darling,” I tease, basking in our shared conspiracy. “Anything for my favorite fiancée.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mara

  Full Sail

  A girl could get used to this.

  Sipping champagne on the deck of a luxury yacht, with the sparkling blue ocean at my back and the brilliant sun above my head. This is the life. But could it ever be mine? The picture is so perfect, as is the stunningly handsome man to my left. The one I’ve fallen for in spite of knowing better. Knowing that it’s all a fake. That he doesn’t actually love me.

>   But I’m afraid that I love him. And I don’t know what to do about it. I wish we could just stay on this boat forever, sail away where no one could reach us and live out my little fantasy aboard it. Dirk and Melinda sit across from us on a big, circular couch built into the upper deck of the boat. He’s laughing and pouring more champagne, wearing a peaked captain’s cap with an embroidered crest on it. As captain of this ship, he could maybe even marry us. Make it real.

  Don’t be such a sap, Mara. That’ll never happen.

  But I wish that it could. God help me, I do.

  I gaze at Bastian, adoring his classically-handsome profile that looks chiseled from marble like a Renaissance work of art. I’ve come to know that face and that magnificent body as intimately as my own, and I want more. So much more. I know we have a business deal, but surely, it’s become bigger than that over the last six weeks? Surely, he’s changed, developed feelings for me, as I have for him. How could he not? We’re together all the time. He makes love to me like a man possessed; makes me feel desired and beautiful. I’ve done everything to please him, and enjoyed it; even some of the kinky stuff, which I’m embarrassed to admit. It turns me on. He turns me on.

  Maybe if he just knew how I felt, if I came right out and told him, maybe... he feels the same about me. At least then, I’d know if I even have a chance at a real relationship; of winning his heart instead of just his bride-for-hire lottery.

  “Dammit, this bottle’s empty,” Dirk says. “Where’s the bloody bartender? I need another drink. We all need another drink, don’t we, Baz?”

  “I’m fine,” Bastian answers with a wave of his hand.

  “I think you need something to eat, dear,” Melinda says with a patronizing smile, collecting the empty champagne bottle. “Let me go see what’s keeping lunch.” Clearly, she knows Dirk’s habits and his weakness for booze.

  “You do that, sweet,” he chortles.

  Just then, Bastian’s satellite phone goes off. He told me that once sufficiently offshore, there’d likely be no reliable cell service and was expecting an important call.

  “Excuse me, folks. No rest for the wicked,” he says. He adds to me, aside. “I won’t be long.” His affectionate smile makes me weak and fluttery inside. How will I ever say goodbye to him? I smile back as he turns to retreat below deck.

  Melinda exits for the galley, leaving me alone with Dirk. I sip my half-full glass of champagne to defray the awkward silence.

  “Duty calls, doesn’t it, my dear?” he says, leaning back into the padded white vinyl with legs crossed and one arm outstretched across the edge of his seat. “That must be frustrating for you. In love with a man whose true love is his corporate profile. Happens more often than not.”

  “I don’t mind,” I reply, feeling outed that he’d surmised my true feelings for Bastian. “He’ll be right back.”

  “Oh, of that I’m sure, but this is fortuitous. I was hoping to speak to you alone a bit; get to know the only other woman whose stolen Baz’s heart. I knew his late wife, you know. We all met in college in Bordeaux.”

  “After your Vienna days?” I ask.

  “Quite right. But truly, I’m glad he’s been able to find love again after losing Celine. And I can see why he’s attracted to a beautiful girl like you. Celine was every bit as radiant.”

  I nod to acknowledge his compliment. At least I think it’s a compliment. His glassy, pointed stare is beginning to creep me out. “He’s never mentioned her name. I only read about her in the news.”

  “He’s never mentioned her?” he asks, more like a commentary than a question. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. He took it very hard. Couldn’t really come to terms with his grief for a long time; had to shield his son from it. But I see he’s over it now.” He folds up from his reclining position and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You’re a very understanding woman, Mara. To overlook Bastian Kingsley’s unsavory history and make such a deep commitment to him.”

  The crystal champagne flute suddenly feels very cold in my hand. I set it down on a console between the padded seats of the couch.

  “What do you mean by that?” I ask nervously, not enjoying this conversation or the direction it seems to be taking.

  “Why, the Pretoria affair, of course. I was his business partner and co-investor in the enterprise. We both lost a lot the day that mine collapsed, but Baz more so. It can’t be easy living with the weight of sixteen deaths on his conscience. Including his wife’s.”

  “I… that’s not true,” I say in immediate defense. I can’t believe what he’s saying. “The papers and magazines all say she died of a fever, from some unknown strain of virus in the jungle.”

  Dirk shakes his hatted head, the cap looking almost comical on him now. But this situation is far from funny. “Of course they did. Your new fiancé was, and still is, a very influential man. He couldn’t allow the whole truth to come out, now could he? Bad enough the local workers’ blood was on his hands. All because he cut corners—awarded contracts to uncertified engineers out of Cape Town. All he cared about was money, not safety. Not his workers, his wife, or even me. It was my money and my future he was gambling with, too. And look what it cost us in the end. He was right to disappear, hide himself, his sorrow and his guilt in an isolated Provencal village. The media and the industry would have crucified him.”

  The carbonated bubbles from my champagne are burning an acid trail back up from my stomach. I feel dizzy, lightheaded. Heartsick at this damning revelation.

  “No. I don’t believe you,” I say, my voice a desperate whisper.

  “Sweetheart, believe me. I was there. I ought to know. And I thought you should, too. So that you know exactly what you’re getting into.”

  Hot tears are building behind my eyeballs, and I blink violently to stop them from forming and spilling out. I can’t even look at the man. This changes everything; my involvement with Bastian, our clandestine deal, maybe even my job. Could I work for a company that harbors the worst kind of dark, dirty secrets? I turn my head away, just as Bastian and Melinda arrive back on deck, an entourage of white-coated crew following behind with trays of food and drinks.

  “Lunch is served,” Melinda says brightly.

  Bastian returns to sit beside me, intertwining my cold, white-knuckled hand with his warm, tanned one.

  “Great. I’m starved,” he says, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. The sexy scent of his cologne that once tickled my nostrils now taunts them, making me want to cry because it would now always remind me of the moment my fairy tale went bad. “What did you and old salty here talk about?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bastian

  Still Haunted

  It seems like all the ghosts of my past have followed me to New York and taken up residence in the cab of my Mercedes, casting a blanket of dread to rival that of any haunted house. It’s been a long day, and the fresh air’s taken a toll on both of us. I’m tired as I grip the wheel and drive in silence across Long Island and over the bridge into Manhattan. Mara’s barely said a word to me since lunchtime. Something happened while I was on the phone to the mainland, I’m certain of it. But what?

  Dirk’s sudden reappearance in my life doesn’t sit well with me, either. I only accepted his invitation because Mara seemed so keen on going sailing. I don’t need my former best friend and partner shadowing me, bringing back memories I’ve tried very hard to leave behind. Just when I was beginning to feel strong enough to let go of Celine, the sight of Dirk brings her memory rushing to the surface, threatening to undo all the headway I’ve made with Mara.

  Damn. I hate this rift that has somehow grown between us in just a matter of hours. It throws off my stride. Things had been going so well, Liam’s plan executed flawlessly with Mara’s help. I’d gotten too comfortable; grown used to having her by my side, playing her role to perfection. It irritates me that she might’ve grown tired of it; or if I’m being honest, that she’s grown tired of me. That thought sets alar
m bells ringing in my head. I’m slipping up letting my emotions come into play. This wasn’t meant to be anything more than a business arrangement.

  She’s staring out the passenger window, her hands clenched stiffly in her lap, and I’ve had enough of this attitude.

  “Did you enjoy your time on the yacht?” I ask, breaching the void.

  “Yes. But it got cold toward the end.”

  Yeah. I got that. Feeling the shivers even now, but not from the temperature. “Mara, if this is going to work, we have to be honest with each other. You’ve been pouty and distant ever since I left to take that phone call, so out with it. What’s bothering you? I have a low tolerance level for female manipulation.”

  She jerks her head toward me, her mouth part way open. “Manipulation? Well, I guess I’d know about that, wouldn’t I, since I’m sleeping with the Master.”

  Whoa. Where is this coming from? She’s outside the lines. “Don’t you speak to me that way,” I caution her, my hackles threatening to rise. “You’re still my employee. That’s hardly a professional comment.”

  “Your employee?” she repeats, acid creeping into her voice. “I agreed to be your fiancée; that implies at least some degree of equality, of respect for my intelligence. But I see now I’m just one of your... minions. Unworthy of being told the real truth, until I stumble over it and break my neck.”

  I slow the vehicle and pull over. “What in hell are you talking about?” I demand. “You know everything. It’s a publicity stunt. I never said otherwise.”

  Mara hisses out a breath and shakes her head. “Your friend Dirk had plenty to say. Your wife didn’t die of a jungle fever. He said you killed her, her and sixteen others, because of negligence. Because of greed; hiring substandard contractors to save a buck, and in the end, it cost people their lives. That’s why you holed up in France for so long, hoping it would blow over and the world would forget what you did. And it worked, especially since you invented this fairy tale romance to get the public to remember you, like you again. It’s all a giant smokescreen.”