Lavish Loving
Back from an invigorating two-mile run, Ace entered the expansive two-bedroom abode and headed straight for the master suite. He’d been forbidden from calling the office, and to abide by these wishes had left his phone in the room. He grabbed it, tapped the icon for his company email and strolled into the kitchen while the newest messages synced in. After opening a bottle of water and taking a long swig, he sat at the table to read through the day’s mail.
The name he’d hoped to see popped out at him. He opened the message, read the quick note and tapped the clip to open attachments. After a couple flicks of his thumbs, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. He hadn’t regretted firing the talented but temperamental designer this week. He had been doubtful about finding another one who could bring the new line Ace envisioned to life. But Lucien, the teenager who’d won a TV show design contest, was just that guy. His portfolio was everything Ace had hoped for and then some—as fresh, innovative and daring as the styles that had won him first prize. The new OTB fashion line, this one for women, would definitely turn heads. All they needed now was the right muse to wear it.
He replied to the email, forwarded the images to the partners and then, satisfied that his company actually could go twenty-four hours without his direct involvement, slipped out of his running shoes, shorts and tee and stepped into the shower. He leaned against the cool marble, a stark yet welcome contrast to the warm water streaming over his body. He stepped under the rain showerhead and let the water flow through his close-cropped curls, trickle over his brow, angular nose, full lips and dimpled chin, across his broad shoulders, down his rock-hard chest and back, pooling at his size fourteens before swirling into and down the drain. He increased the heat even more and turned on the multijet system. Soon, water shot to his body from eight different jets. A full-body massage was scheduled in just ten minutes, but this torrential pounding was going to be hard to beat.
Five minutes later he reluctantly stepped out of the shower, dried off six feet of chocolate perfection and donned a downy, soft cashmere robe with matching slippers. He was hungry and wished he scheduled enough time for a meal before his massage, but the ringing sound of a brass knocker proved the thought had come too late. He walked to the door and opened it.
A stout, pleasant-looking woman stood in the doorway. Ace was relieved. He was at the resort to relax, not fight off overzealous fans. From the looks of the woman who stood before him, he was safe.
“Mr. Montgomery?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, I’m Ellen, here for your massage appointment.”
“Please, come in.”
Ellen entered, pulling an oversize canvas bag on wheels. The strap of another bag made of the same material rested on her shoulder. She placed the larger bag on the floor and the smaller one on top of it.
“That’s the massage table?” Ellen nodded. “The whole table is in that small bag?”
This elicited a smile and another nod. “I assure you that it’s comfortable and durable, yet light and easily transportable. Top of the line.”
“If you say so. Would you like a drink, a glass of water, perhaps?”
“No, nothing. Thank you.”
“I hear you’re one of the best.”
“I try. You signed up for the Swedish/deep tissue combo. Is that still your choice?”
Ace nodded. “I think that’ll work.”
“Very well. I will get set up in the master suite.”
In short order the therapist returned and stated that she was ready to begin. “Please remove your robe, climb between the sheets and let me know when it’s fine for me to enter the room.”
“Will do.”
Ace found humor in Ellen’s serious nature and entered his suite with a smile. The shades had been pulled, he noted, with aromatic candles placed strategically around the room. An array of oils were positioned on a nearby table. New age music wafted from an iPod. Five minutes and Ellen had turned the master suite into a spa room.
He removed the robe, tossed it on the bed and climbed aboard a table, which, surprisingly, was as light, sturdy and comfortable as Ellen had claimed. As he settled himself between the sheets, a sound resembling a knock reached his ears. He paused and heard a muted conversation. Probably the housekeeper. Ace settled himself beneath the sheet, placed his head into the headrest and anticipated with pleasure a much-needed massage.
A moment later, there was a knock on his door. “Come in.”
“Ready?”
“Yes, Ellen. I’m ready. Come on in.”
“Just relax. Close your eyes.”
Ace’s brow furled. The voice sounded deeper, forced, her accent more pronounced. He dismissed the suspicion as quickly as it came. In his twenty-nine years he’d learned to question everything. But he was on vacation at a reputable, first-class resort and spa in a town he’d not heard of until clicking the link. If there was any place he could relax and feel safe it was here, in Temecula, California, in a bungalow named after a wine.
Two seconds after Ellen moved toward him, the frown returned. There was a smell—citrusy, spicy—that had not been there moments before. While most men wouldn’t have noticed, Ace had always been a lover of fragrance, especially when inhaled from the skin of a fine woman. Had Ellen whipped out the perfume before reentering his boudoir? Was there a little freak behind the formal facade? He almost laughed out loud. Still, his senses, especially those of smell and sound, were heightened in the darkened room. The music shifted from a haunting, piano-driven melody to a sensuous-sounding serenade led by a sultry sax. He heard hands being rubbed briskly together to warm up the oil. Felt the slightest of hesitations before two soft palms pressed against his upper back. Small hands. Smaller than he’d imagined Ellen’s would be. Softer, too. The oil was warm and soothing. Expert fingers began to knead the healing oil into his skin, across his back and shoulders. He closed his eyes, told himself he’d earned the right to relax.
Her fingers were slender but surprisingly strong. She massaged and nudged and kneaded his tight muscles into submission and glided her palms softly, slowly, almost lovingly, across his body. A swirl of air kissed his skin as the sheet was pulled lower, exposing the dimples just above his hard butt. Palms came together briskly. Ace could feel the heat of them hovering just above his buns.
Come on, Ellen. Don’t get shy now!
She didn’t. Not at all. Instead she pulled the sheet down farther, exposed his cheeks and slapped his bare ass.
“What the—” A shocked Ace turned and sat up in a single motion. “London?”
London was smiling, but his expression made her laugh out loud.
“Where’s Ellen? How...” The sheet slid to the floor. Ace cupped his hands over, well, as much of himself as he could.
London tried to stop laughing. “Don’t worry about that, big boy. Nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, there’s no modesty in modeling. You know that.”
He rolled off the table, reached for the sheet and hurriedly wrapped it around him, totally flustered. “What are you doing here?”
“Until a second or two ago, I thought I was giving you a darn good massage.”
“This isn’t funny, London. How’d you get in my room?”
London was as calm as Ace was rattled. She sat on the four-poster king-size bed and leaned back on her elbows. “You’re not happy to see me?”
Though she appeared to him as a vision of pure loveliness, he looked at her like she’d grown a horn in the middle of her forehead. “It’s not about being happy or not. My being here is supposed to be confidential. How’d you know I was here?”
“I have my ways. It’s not like I’m a stranger, Ace. I’m a friend, who you’re treating quite rudely at the moment.”
“Forgive my lack of manners, London, but I thought a hotel employee just smacked my ass and then found out, no, the therapist has been knocked off by a friend of mine who broke into my room!”
“Well, it wasn’t a hotel employee. It was me. So calm down. Where’s the guy I met seven years ago who talked like a dork and then showed me his penis?”
“He grew up.”
“Good for you.” She could walk out the door right now, but that would feel too much like running away. So she shifted the energy and her expression with a smile. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” She glanced suggestively at the bed. “Don’t I get a hug?”
Ace looked at the bed and back at London, who wore a formfitting maxi. He took a step, tripped on the sheet and almost bared his goods again. “In there,” he said, pointing toward the living room.
The lack of cordiality put London back in a huff. “Never mind. It’s clear I’m not welcome, so I’ll leave you alone.” She strode out of the room.
Ace was right behind her. “London, wait.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
“You shocked the heck out of me, okay? Give me a minute to put some clothes on.”
A slow, deliberate turn and then dark, daring eyes stared at him. “Are you sure about that?” Ace sighed. “Forget it. Jeez, I was just kidding. You act as though you’re not happy to see me.”
“I’m very glad to see you, London. I just need to put on some clothes.”
He gave her a hug and a kiss to her forehead, then he pulled away before a certain part of his anatomy betrayed him and revealed just how much.
Chapter 3
London strolled over to the large picture window that let in a picturesque view of the Temescal Mountains. The commanding peaks reminded her of Switzerland and a cottage near her boarding school she and her friends would sneak out to when they wanted to meet up with boys. Her senior year, just after turning seventeen, she went on a trip to Paris and got discovered by Incomparable, one of the top modeling agencies in the world. A year later she met Ace and had her world rocked off its axis.
Her phone vibrated in the bag that rested against her thigh. It was a text from Diamond.
It’s brunch. You’re late.
London glanced toward the bedroom and typed a quick reply.
Busy. Can’t come. Talk later. BTW... I’m always late.
Her thumb hadn’t left the send button before she heard the padding of bare feet across the dark hardwood floor. Slipping the phone into her bag, she turned around and was met by the confident, carefree Ace that she remembered. But if he hoped to make himself less desirable by covering up with a pair of low-riding jeans and a black OTB tee, he failed. Miserably. The way London looked him up and down expressed that louder than words ever could.
“Come here, you.” He opened his arms.
London crossed the room in a walk worthy of the runway and stepped into his embrace. “I’m glad you left the jerk in the bedroom and brought out the Ace that I know.”
Her teasing smile rendered the barb harmless.
His hug was heartfelt and even though she’d spent several pleasurable minutes rubbing oil over his body, she relished the chance to touch him again. “It’s good to see you,” she said, dropping her hands to squeeze his butt, one of her favorite parts of his anatomy.
He caught her wrists and pulled her hands away. “Still the troublemaker, I see.”
“I try.”
“What are you doing here?” they asked each other.
“Oh, no. That’s my question.” Ace reached for her hand and led them to the couch. He sat and pulled her down with him. “Now out with it. The truth. What’s this about?”
London leaned against the comfy couch, enjoying Ace’s suspicious discomfort a bit more than she should. When his eyes turned stormy, she knew she’d toyed with him long enough.
“It’s pure coincidence,” she said with a shrug. “I came here for a funeral.”
“A funeral. At a luxury hotel.”
“I guess without explanation that does sound pretty weird. It was for my great-grandfather. He owned this land, planted the first vineyards and nurtured the idea of the full-scale winery that you see today.”
“This resort belongs to your family?”
London nodded. “My first cousins.”
Ace’s head fell against the cushions. “This is crazy! I pick this place expecting to see no one I know, and it’s owned by a friend. What are the chances?”
“I was shocked to see you, too.”
Ace raised his head. “When’d you see me?”
London told him about last night’s events. “I started to call but wasn’t sure of the reception I’d get. But I really wanted to see you. Alone. So when I heard about the massage appointment, there it was, my way in.”
“Ellen never should have agreed to let you in my room. You could be a serial killer! I’m going to report her.”
“Please don’t. I offered her a believable story and a ridiculous amount of money to take her place. When it comes to something I want, I can be pretty persuasive. So, please, can we keep this between us? I’d hate for her to lose her job, and knowing my cousins, that’s exactly what would happen.”
“How much was this visit worth to you?”
“A lot.”
“How much?”
“That’s between me and Ellen. Telling you would go straight to your head.”
“That much, huh?”
“My lips are sealed.”
Ace turned toward London, crossed his arms and nestled into the couch’s corner.
“So even though years ago you told me you had none, your last name is Drake.”
“You obviously didn’t do your research. One click on an internet search engine could have told you that.”
“Like it could have told me whether or not your real name is London? Not that I’m into the whole search engine stalking thing.”
The teasing returned. “Absolutely, and I wouldn’t mind a stalker as fine as you. I’m willing to tell you, but only if there’s something for me in return.”
Ace’s eyes turned dark, this time with desire instead of ire. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
Was it London’s imagination, or did the room’s temperature just rise?
“My full name is Clarisse Alana Drake. I legally added London when I turned eighteen.”
Ace’s gaze remained intense as he gazed at her. “Clarisse.”
The name floated off his tongue like a song, caressed her ears like raw silk.
“That’s a beautiful name. Why’d you change it?”
London shrugged. “Boredom. Errant impulse. Teenage rebellion. Take your pick.”
“Clarisse is a beautiful name, though I can understand why you’d use another.”
London’s brow creased. “Why?”
“It doesn’t fit you. That name is for a woman who is demure, sweet, refined, quiet.”
London crossed her arms.
“And that’s not me?” Asked demurely, of course.
“No, it’s not. You’re a hellion who bribed a hotel employee to take advantage of a naked man. A woman named Clarisse would never do that.”
“But a woman named London would?”
“A woman named London would, and did.”
“I guess I did, huh? But I haven’t gotten the chance to take advantage of your nakedness...yet.”
Ace shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“So it’s my turn for answers. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were running a design house in San Francisco. And engaged.”
“You heard correctly. A couple partners and I opened OTB three years ago. The engagement didn’t work out.”
“I can relate.”
“Yeah, I saw somewhere that you and the director called it quits.”
“I thought you weren’t the search engine stalker type?”
“I didn’t search out the information. If I remember correctly it was a major network’s breaking news.”
London nodded. No denying the truth. “I get that OTB stands for outside the box, and your looks certainly are that. But why didn’t you name it Ace something or other?”
“There are already several Ace lines. Plus, this is a collaborative effort. It’s not all about me.”
“Is that why you left modeling, and Europe, so suddenly?”
“I didn’t leave suddenly, even though it seemed that way. I’d planned my exit, had charted the next course of my life.” His gaze slid to her then away. “It obviously didn’t matter to you, anyway.”
London sat up in genuine surprise. “Why would you say that?”
“Don’t put on that act like you would have cared. You used me up in a one-night stand and walked away without a backward glance.”
“Um, I seem to remember the situation quite differently, and it wasn’t a one-night stand...it was two.”
“How do you remember it?”
“You said you’d call me. You never did.”
Ace rubbed a hand across the shadow of his unshaven jaw. “I don’t remember that. It was a long time ago, though, so you might be right. But so what. You could have called me.”
“Negative, darling. That’s the desperate move of a thirsty girl.”
“Not necessarily. It could be the move of a strong, independent woman who knows what she wants. Like the one who bogarted her way into my bedroom.”
London gave a noncommittal brow raise, nothing more.
“Besides, that wasn’t the last time you saw me. If you had feelings about the weekend we shared, why didn’t you say something?”
“Why didn’t you?”
Ace sighed. “Young. Foolish. I was really digging you, London. But life moved fast back then—a little too fast. By the time I met you, I’d already been on that whirlwind grind for six years. The underwear campaign had blown up into something none of us expected. What was supposed to be a six-month magazine and billboard ad turned into commercials, public appearances, people grabbing at me from every direction.”
“Well...if you were digging me so much, you should have let me know. That’s what a strong man does...goes after what he wants.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Another look at her, his gaze intense. “Is that what the director did?”
“Max and I met at a party. I’ve been working on making the transition from modeling to acting for a while. Asked him for pointers. He suggested I star in his next movie.” She shrugged. “Things went from there.”
“So what happened that made y’all break up? You couldn’t act or what?”
“Whatever, fool!” London reached for a decorative pillow and swung. He grabbed it, laughing.
“Max has a Jekyll and Hyde quality. He can be as charming and debonair as he can be manipulative and controlling. It was an exciting lifestyle but not one I could see myself in for the rest of my life. So I ended the relationship.”
“Got marriage on the mind, huh? That surprises me.”
“I’m full of surprises.” She wriggled her brows, then got serious. “But being ready to get married isn’t one of them.”
Now that the shock of seeing her had worn off, the conversation between them flowed as easily as London remembered from past encounters. She relaxed against the opposite couch arm and idly twirled a curl.
“Yeah, everybody wanted Ace Montgomery. I remember that. How old were you back then, at the height of the underwear frenzy?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Really? I thought you were older.”
“How old are you?”
“Now? Twenty-five, with a birthday coming up.”
“When?”
“August.”
Ace nodded. “Planning on being on time for this celebration? You were known for being a tardy model back in the day.”
“How’d you know that?”
“The industry talks.”
“Have you ever booked fifteen shows during fashion week? Been pulled in every direction at the same time?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Besides, I work hard to be the best walker on the runway. I’m worth the wait.”
“Had I been the designer and you weren’t on time, there would have been consequences.”
“Sounds like something I might have enjoyed.” Ace fixed her with a scowl. She laughed while making the mental observation that a screwed-up face shouldn’t look so sexy.
“So, you’re what...twenty-nine, thirty?”
“Twenty-nine.”
A loud, unmistakable sound filled the silence.
“Dang, is that your stomach?”
Ace’s sheepish look made London laugh. “Sorry about that. I’m starving. Went for a run and didn’t schedule enough time between appointments to eat.”
“I haven’t eaten, either. Let’s go get something.”
“Naw, I don’t feel like getting out. The food here is amazing. The chef is a foodie genius from the Caribbean. I think I’ll place an order for them to bring here.”
“In that case,” London said as she slithered over to his side of the couch, “why don’t we start with dessert first?”
She was halfway on him, leaning in for a kiss when strong hands gripping her shoulders stopped her progress. “Stop acting like London. I want to get to know Clarisse.”
London sat back in a huff, attitude evident.
Ace was unmoved. His posture remained casual and relaxed, but his next words were firm. “That strong man you mentioned earlier? You’re looking at one. And we not only go after what we want, we plan when the party will happen. And then we lead the dance.”
Chapter 4
There are circumstances in life that sometimes derail even a strong man’s plans. That happened when London was summoned first by her cousin and then by her mother to return to the Drake mansion and bid some of the relatives who were leaving goodbye. Their impromptu lunch date was changed to a late dinner date instead and Ace was able to keep the original appointment on his itinerary—the one that he’d been ready to cancel in a heartbeat for a certain spoiled, entitled, irresistible woman named London—no, Clarisse.
His celebrity hidden behind a Raiders baseball cap and shades, Ace climbed into a golf cart for a tour of the winery. It would be conducted by the company’s vintner, Dexter Drake. This was a rare occurrence. Normally the wine shop manager performed this task. But as life would have it, Dexter was a fan of the OTB line, with several of their designer duds lining his closet. So when he heard Ace was taking the tour, he offered to conduct it.
“It’s really great to meet you, man,” Dexter said once they took off. “Your designs are amazing. They fit my personality and style to a T.”
“Thank you, Dexter. I appreciate that.”
“Are you the designer?”
“I’m the visionary behind what people are wearing, but can’t claim total ownership of the final pieces. I sketch out what’s in my head and hand it over to a team of amazing designers who then add their own spin that often takes the look to a whole other level. In the end it’s a collaborative effort.”
“Whatever you’re doing is working. I never thought I’d go for the double-breasted look again, but the new spin with the super narrow lapel, short coat and high-waisted slacks... Genius.”
“Thanks, brother.”
Dexter’s phone rang. “Excuse me a moment.”
For Ace the call was a welcome interruption. Dexter seemed like a nice guy and all, but Ace’s mind was consumed with London. She’d acted miffed that he hadn’t called her. Had she actually been hurt, or was that just an act? The way he remembered it, she couldn’t have cared less. He recalled how he’d felt the first time he saw her—stunned by her beauty, aroused by her fire, frightened by the intense feelings her presence evoked. She’d walked in the room as if she owned it and brightened the whole place. She was carefree, obnoxious, bubbly and bold. Quiet by nature, suspicious by life, he’d immediately wanted to know her. But her largesse had reduced him to the gangly, acne-prone preteen he was before a six-inch growth spurt and a face-cleansing regimen had begun his transformation. He wanted to approach her, but to say he’d been intimidated would not have been a stretch. They’d flirted from opposite sides of the room. She’d seemed interested. He still didn’t approach. One of the setbacks to being a teenage heartthrob—no time to perfect the rap game. All the women he’d been involved with had come to him.
So their chance meeting in the hallway had been perfect. Even though he’d begun the conversation with a lame comment about her name. Thankfully, she hadn’t cared. Much. Later, when her publicist brought them together, he’d been more relaxed. They’d clicked. Most of the night he’d asked the questions. Then...she’d asked one. It led to their finding an empty room in the huge castle her agency had rented out and exploring every inch of each other’s bodies for forty-eight hours, interrupted only once to eat and recharge their batteries. But then he’d gone back to the United States on tour and she’d become the toast of Incomparable, and they’d lost touch. A few more casual meetings had followed, but never a chance to reconnect more intimately.