Unlikely Allies (42 page)

There wasn’t anything better than the relationship she and Rick had. No matter how many times she watched him with Maximilian, Katarina, and Cece, her heart swooned.

The twins were wide awake. Rick had one tucked in each arm. Their big sister skipped happily toward the kitchen to warm their bottles. “Her job,” as Cece liked to remind them. Every day Maggie’s baby grew up, craving not attention, but responsibility. Her take-charge attitude on full display, Cece’s confidence shined through in her constant smile and tenacity, taking on any challenge and activity without batting a reserved eye. Ballet had been her first accomplishment. A blue belt in jujitsu another. She was well on her way toward her goal of the pinnacle red belt. And her most recent interest had become softball. Close by her side, her daddy displayed his obvious pride through loud clapping and whooping cheers. His positive reinforcement was never overdone though. It came from the heart—sincere and authentic.

As she plucked a squirming Maximilian from his arm, Rick pecked her cheek and whispered his naughty promises for later. In a thousand lifetimes she never could have imagined being married to such a man. Fairy tales had been vanquished from her mind long ago. Her amazing, compassionate husband was so much better than anything she dreamed up in her youth. Richard Maxwell Stone ensured her wishes were his command. As much as she wanted to give him everything in return, he always seemed a step ahead, putting her and the kids first. He leapt into the role of daddy and supportive partner as efficiently as he accomplished anything else.

So she had to get creative and find other ways to please him. A fantasy wrapped in reality, she enjoyed his luscious body first thing in the morning, anytime in the afternoon, at bedtime when the kids were asleep, or whenever she wanted. He was always primed and ready. With her active imagination, she had fun experimenting and driving him crazy. Since she’d always been a dedicated and hard-working student, he scored a lot. For her performance, she earned straight As, which her husband hand-delivered and recorded on every square inch of her body.

Love didn’t seem an adequate or sufficient description for her all-consuming feelings. She had more blessings than she ever could’ve imagined.

Their family and life together was as close to heaven as she could visualize.

Five years later . . .

“The place looks great. Everything will be fine. Stop fidgeting.” Kat grabbed her trembling hands, holding them firm and steady.

Maggie examined the twelve-thousand-square-foot restaurant in trendy NoMad Manhattan. One hundred fifty tables, a lounge that seated sixty, a tavern that accommodated thirty, and three private event rooms on the second floor ranged from a table of twelve to larger groups up to fifty. Her menu included international flavors from around the globe, providing service for lunch and dinner, and Sunday brunch. The grand opening tonight, a dream actualized.
Seven
originated from a free-for-all naming spree.

Emma had come over that night with her laptop and searched each title, making sure there weren’t any others in the city or surrounding area with the same name. Rick’s grandfather, a devoted and spoil-the-kids-rotten papa, lounged in a recliner and rocked four-year-old Maximilian and Katarina in each arm, reading fairy tales and ignoring the brouhaha. Once Cece called him Papa, he didn’t want to hear anything else. Another person succumbing to her charms.

After dozens of names were yelled out, Cece took charge and wrote them on a white board. The rowdy crowd argued and crossed out each one except
Seven.
As soon as the dynamic duo, Rick and Cece, suggested it, they had all agreed on the winner. It was a perfect representation of the wonders of the world, international flavors, and the number of countries that would be featured on the menu each week.

“I’m gonna get a drink in your honor.” Kat saluted, humming a carefree tune and bee-lining her buzzing butt to the bar.

Her wits frayed, Maggie escaped to her office for a few solitary minutes to calm down before booked-solid reservations forced her into the kitchen in less than an hour. Bent over her desk, she rolled her shoulders forward and backward, trying to relieve the stress. She’d been puttering around her grandparents’ restaurant from the time she could walk. This should be old hat. Still, the pressure of owning her own business and taking on responsibility for forty-plus employees scared her to death.

Large hands tugged at her hips, and Rick’s chest molded to her spine. Even with her chin tucked in, eyes closed, she’d recognize him anywhere. “There’s somethin’ I want to show you.”

A messy bun on top of her head provided easy access to her neck. He took full advantage, scraping his stubble along it, shivers washing over her. Greedy, she tilted her head and laid it on his shoulder, exposing more flesh. He rewarded her by nibbling at the hollow, sucking along the ridge, and taking a nip at her chin. “Mmm.”

Always on the hunt, he found a gap in her chef’s coat, shoved her lace bra down and propped her breast up to his feasting mouth. His scruffy, scraggly hair bobbed below her chin. Her nipple caught between his teeth, he circled and flicked his tongue over the tip. “Very good, Mr. Stone.”

“I can do better.” He unbuttoned the flap from her shoulder to breast, revealing more skin. His fingers brushed along her collarbone as his eyes mapped and charted a course. “How much time do I have?”

“Hmm.” She couldn’t think, didn’t want to.

His rumbling chuckles belted out an erotic melody, melting her in his arms wrapped around her stomach. His erection delved into the crease of her behind. She gripped the backs of his thighs, letting him take charge while she reaped the benefits.

Better than any meditation, her personal, magic stress reliever swept an arm over her desk, sending paper, pencils, and a tissue box flying to the floor. He ripped her jacket open and had her khakis undone and off her legs in ten seconds flat. He propped her bare butt on the metal surface. His broad shoulders shoved her legs apart as he dropped to his knees. He blew a heated breath over her slit and swiped his thumb through the slick center. Then he devoured her, a combination of sucking lips, nipping teeth, and thrusting fingers, stirring and fueling her orgasm. His eyes locked on hers, he adjusted his technique in response to her jolts and shutters until she flew over the edge.

He rose, licking her from pubic bone to chin and melting every brain cell she had left. Mouth to mouth he mumbled, “That was your appetizer. Call me when you’re ready for the next course. I’ll be at the bar stuffing myself with your treats in the meantime.”

Unable to talk, mush on the inside and out, she let him take control again. He tugged her sprawled body off the desk and on to her wobbly feet. Unwound and on cloud nine, she let him dress her for the grand entrance. When he snapped the last clasp at her waist, she pulled him into a thankful embrace, breathing in his refreshing scent and invigorating spirit. “I love you, Mr. Stone.” She batted her eyes and nipped his upper lip, glossing it with a lick. His wink and sweet-as-pie grin blessed the occasion, a reflection of her own happiness and fond appreciation for all they accomplished together.

“I aim to please, Mrs. Stone.”

Oh, he did. No doubt about it, Richard Maxwell Stone had no problems satisfying his wife—over and over and over again.

Five years later . . .

Before entering her bedroom, Rick stood in the doorway and watched her primp. A dusting of pink shadow brushed over her eyes, a hint of rose on her cheekbones, and bubblegum-flavored gloss swiped across her lips. His heart lodged in his throat, anxiety clenched his gut, and a throbbing ache in his head told him he wasn’t handling this situation well.

Cece tossed the makeup into a zippered clutch, glanced in the mirror and blotted a tissue between her lips, catching his watchful gaze. “Daddy, you okay?”

Whatever he looked like on the outside couldn’t come close to how he felt on the inside. He’d been practicing a never-let-them-see-you-sweat face for a long time. Yet, in the twenty-plus years he’d been CEO nothing came close to the fire in his belly now.

Cece got up from the bench seat, greeting him at the door by grabbing his cheeks between her hands as she’d been doing from the moment they met. “It’s just a date, Daddy. No big deal.”

Not so. He knew what seventeen-year-old boys obsessed about. He pulled her into a tight hug and held her close, his chest pounding against hers. He rocked her side to side in a silent dance, her head tucked under his chin, wishing he could freeze time and she wouldn’t grow up.

“You’re my baby, you know that, right?”

She squeezed his back and pinched his ribs. “You’re my daddy, the only one I ever had. Ya know that, right?”

Their strangled chuckles lightened the pressure some, but the fond memories left them both teary-eyed. He swept a thumb along the corner of her eyes, the green in them darker and bolder than the four-year-old version that captured his heart.

“Mama went over the rules: no kissing on the first date and only hold hands. And Kitty told me not to go past first base.”

Pounding a fist on his chest, he hacked up the spit that clogged his airway after Cece’s nonchalant presentation of her evil aunt’s instructions. If it were up to him, his daughter wouldn’t glance at boys or go out with men until she turned fifty. Outnumbered in his domain, the females of the house voted against him, ensuring he lost that battle.

After several long and drawn-out breaths, he pulled himself together and sucked up the inevitable. At some point it would happen. He might as well get it over with now. Besides, the doorbell ringing almost guaranteed the “date” hadn’t ditched his daughter.

Wonderful.

Cece patted him on the cheek and reminded him of another time. “Itta be okay.” Then she kissed his chin, leaving him alone to stew on that thought, taking him back to simpler, less traumatic moments.

Determined she wouldn’t step foot out of the house before he got his hands on the boy toy and dispensed his do-and-die message, he raced down the stairs and into the living room. Hyped up on adrenaline, his grin came easily at the sight of a room full of reinforcements.

His evil-looking enforcers, Matt and Alex, stood behind the couch with their arms crossed over their bulky chests. The boy of the hour, a blond, pimple-faced geek with wire-rim glasses, eyeballed him just as Rick did. Adam’s apple bobbing, his daughter’s date sat squished between Gramps and Kat.

Rick marched forward in attack mode as he rubbed his palms together and warmed up by cracking his knuckles.

“Mr. St-Stone. Nice to meet you, sir.” The stutterer got up and extended his hand. “Robert Stanford.” Grandpa’s snort and Kat’s clucking had Robert’s firm grip turning damp before Rick released it.

“Where you going? Who’s driving?”

Shoulders firm and square, Robert looked him right in the eye and gave him a straightforward answer. “The movies, sir. I have a Mustang my dad got me last year for my birthday.”

Matt chimed in. “I already checked. No tickets.”

Robert’s chin whipped over his shoulder, aiming his reply at Matt. “I don’t speed.”

“Don’t blow smoke, kid. You got a car built for zero to sixty in five seconds. You’re not foolin’ anyone.” In a relaxed state with his arms bent and leaning on the back of the sofa, Alex’s intense stare dared the kid to snap and challenge him, so he could strike swift and hard.

Robert pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Stone, you have my word. I won’t go over the limit.”

Just what Rick wanted to hear and opened the door for the next stage of his assault. He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, squeezing them as he laid down the law. “Bring her home no later than ten. No R-rated movies. You touch anything but her hand, I break yours.” The kid’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Anywhere else, I smash that part on you. Got me?”

Robert nodded, slowly.

“Any questions?”

More than Robert’s head shook this time; the quakes under Rick’s pinching grip indicated he understood.

“Good. Treat my daughter with respect at all times.” His ominous message delivered, Rick wandered into the kitchen where Maggie kept Cece entertained. Their plan formulated in advance, his wife supported his need to protect his daughter. Maggie hadn’t questioned his defensive approach, much.