His Gift 3(6)

I breathed in the aroma and walked into the room just as Jake walked in from the opposite side. I opened my mouth to say good morning, but he beat me to it.

“I can’t stay,” Jake said.

My jaw snapped shut audibly, and my mind shut down along with it. I had been preparing all of my questions for him, but now that he’d thrown me off course I couldn’t think of any response.

“Wh…What do you mean?”

He only raised one eyebrow. I pulled the robe tighter around me, and stammered as I leaned against the table. Come on Lacey, what are you going to do, faint?

“I thought… I thought we were going to talk and, you know, have breakfast together.”

“Some of us have work to do today,” Jake said, coming around the table. I waited none too hopefully for a kiss, but instead he slapped my ass and continued on to the hallway without missing a stride.

Okay, the romantic vibe was definitely gone. I turned around, irritation flushing my cheeks.

“Hey! What about me? You said that I couldn’t go back to work!”

“You can paint, you can read, you can relax,” Jake said. “Nothing more.”

“Oh, I have to stay home like an invalid while you go do important man things?” I gestured out towards the city skyline.

“That’s right.”

“That’s hypocritical!”

He didn’t bother to argue with me. He only picked up his jacket from the coatrack and shrugged it on.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. “Remember: paint, read, relax. You’re not allowed to leave.”

“Maybe I’ll call the police and tell them that Jake Carville kidnapped me,” I said, crossing my arms and following him to the elevator door.

“Then Officers Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee will come get you, and you can go back to painting A-line cars,” Jake said.

I frowned. He was right. Another day of painting was well worth being held captive in a penthouse. Even if it wasn’t what I’d hoped for.

“I’m sorry we can’t spend all morning getting to know each other,” Jake said, the sarcasm so evident in his words that I hated myself for even thinking that we would have another romantic breakfast. He wasn’t keeping me around to be a girlfriend, I reminded myself.

“I’ll just eat all these pancakes for myself,” I said, plopping down at the head of the table with an attitude I hoped looked like I didn’t even care if he stayed or not. I loosened my robe. These pancakes were all mine, and I was taking no prisoners.

“Good,” Jake said, smiling warmly. I could feel my heart melting under his smile, and I shook myself off to harden up. He didn’t care about me, not really. I shouldn’t care about him.

“Will you be a good girl while I’m gone?” he said.

“Depends on what you define as good.”

“How about this: just keep the painting inside of the art studio and not on any of the living room walls.”

“I’m not sure I can agree to that,” I said jokingly. “That main window looks like it would make an excellent stained glass piece.”

“Do I need to lock you up before I go?” Jake teased.

“No,” I said, but I tried to pout.

He bent down to me, and before I knew it he’d hooked his finger into my bra, pulling it down. His mouth took my nipple, sucking it hard and sending electric thrills through my body. I gasped as he stood back up.

“And if you’re a good girl, you’ll have that to look forward to tonight. Understood?”

I breathed in sharply, unable to speak for a moment because of the insane desire that made me want to shove Jake Carville against the door instead of waiting patiently for tonight. Then I forced myself to nod.

“Yes,” I said. “Understood.”

***

Home alone. Hmm. I finished breakfast and did the dishes, even though I was pretty sure he had one servant to wash and one servant to dry. I wasn’t about to leave his place a mess.

And what a place!

I poked around the house for a bit to see how a billionaire lived. The rooms were all elaborately decorated with the same kind of style, and I actually got bored wandering from one perfectly styled bedroom to the next. The room where he’d tied me up was locked up securely, and none of the rooms were all that interesting, except for the art gallery.

I spent an hour or so perusing all of the paintings there. A half hour to go through them all once, and another half hour to see if there was anything I’d missed. All of the artists I knew said that they could spend hours staring at a single painting, but I was always too impatient for that. Still, I was glad that I went back through the gallery again, because if not, I would have missed it.