Her Millionaire Master (4 page)

Claire looked at Bella with concern in her eyes, and then petted her hair gently. “If you want me to come home, just call me, OK? And if you want to join us, text me and I’ll let you know where I am.”

Bella nodded, then settled down onto the couch to watch television as Claire headed out. It was useless, though, to even try to concentrate on anything other than Kane and his scotch. Did he know, yet, what she’d done? If it was as rare as the Internet said, he probably only drank it on special occasions, right? So there was a chance he hadn’t figured it out yet, and might not for a long time. Time enough, hopefully, for her to figure out what to do.

Somehow, despite how nervous and horrified and embarrassed she was by the whole situation, her mind kept drifting back to the video. To the woman on the desk. In her fantasies, though,
she
was on the desk and Kane was behind her. She could almost feel the cool air on her bare bottom, the hard desk underneath her naked breasts, the anticipation as she sensed Kane moving closer and closer to her, as she held still and waited for the first taste of the leather on her skin. A tingling began between her legs as she allowed herself to think about it. What if?

Claire’s words from breakfast came back to her.
Maybe he’ll give you a spanking and call it even
. Her roommate had been joking, but Bella couldn’t help fantasizing about just that. Kane certainly didn’t need the money, did he? While she didn’t know the details of his finances, one look around his house made it clear he probably wasn’t worried about money. So perhaps he’d be willing to work out a deal with her?

“You’re ridiculous,” she told herself. As if he’d be interested in spanking her in exchange for money. And, wasn’t that pretty much prostitution anyway? She’d just have to cough up the money, as hard as it was, and start saving all over again. It had taken years—years of depriving herself—to save the down-payment money. Years of worrying that the couple who owned it would want to sell it sooner. They’d told her they’d wait as long as they could, but they were getting older, she knew, and wanted to move somewhere more modern. Somewhere safer. There was no way they’d agree to wait another few years while she scrimped and saved some more. But it was her own fault. She’d done this to herself.

Her phone rang, waking her up from her depressing thoughts.

“Hello?” she asked, not recognizing the number.

“Bella.” It was Kane. She knew it instantly, the low, stern tone giving him away in those two simple syllables.

“Kane,” she whispered, then focused on speaking in a normal tone, though it was difficult. “Um, hi.”

“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Will you join me for a drink?” He sounded friendly, so much more pleasant than he had last night when he’d caught her in his office with her hand down her pants.

“Oh. OK,” she responded. “Should we meet somewhere?” What did he want? He’d fired her, so why was he being so nice?

“I have a fully stocked bar right here. Why don’t you come over? Are you free now, Bella?” The way he said her name made her shiver in desire, though that was stupid, wasn’t it? How could his tone, her name in his voice, affect her so physically like that?

“Sure. Yes. I’ll be over.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, and then hung up.

“Oh, fuck,” muttered Bella, sagging down on the couch. What did he want? And why did her body come alive just from hearing his voice? She headed into the bedroom to change into something presentable.

* * *

Bella spent more time than usual selecting an outfit and doing her makeup. She finally decided on a pair of black pants, which were by far better than her jeans, most of which were pretty worn out, and a tight black shirt. She wanted to look sexy but also professional.
Or as professional as possible
, she thought, slipping on her favorite pair of black boots. They had definitely seen better days, and one of the toes was scuffed badly. She’d covered over the worn spot with permanent black marker more than once, but it was still obvious the shoes were pretty shabby. Oh, well. It’s not like Kane was going to be staring at her boots, she thought. She took her time doing her makeup too, lining her eyes with black, putting on mascara, and covering her lips in a shiny mauve.

When she was ready, she shoved her checkbook into her purse. Hopefully she wouldn’t need it tonight. Hopefully he didn’t know, yet, about the scotch. But in case that’s what this meeting was about, she needed to be prepared.

The night was cool as she made her way down the block to Kane’s house, which looked warm and inviting, lights shining from behind curtains in the downstairs rooms, and a pretty glow making the front door look safe and homey. But Bella didn’t feel safe at all as she made her way to the front door and rang the bell. Max’s barking inside calmed her nerves a touch, but as soon as the door began to open inward, her stomach felt scrambled and scared.

There he was, tall and imposing as usual. He was wearing dress pants, with a stark white shirt tucked in. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone casually, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was still in dress shoes, though, and overall had the appearance of a wealthy man unwinding after a busy day. Which, thought Bella, was exactly what he was. His face was set in a stern expression, his mouth firm and unsmiling, his eyes boring into Bella as she attempted a smile. Evening shadow gave his face a rough look.

“Bella.” His voice was low as he uttered her name. “Thank you for coming over.”

“Of course,” she murmured, meeting his eyes but blushing furiously as she did. What was wrong with her?
Get it together
, she urged herself. There was no way she had a chance against him if she blushed and stammered every time he spoke.

“Please. Come in.” He stepped aside, gesturing into the foyer.

Once again Bella was struck with how beautiful his home was, simply but elegantly decorated. Today, a fresh bouquet of flowers graced the table in the entrance, gorgeous white blooms mixing with lush greenery. “Those are pretty,” Bella said, gesturing at the flowers.

“Thank you. Come, Bella. Let’s speak in the living room.”

Bella followed him, noticing how confident his walk was. In the living room he pointed at the elegant gray couch, and she sat awkwardly, crossing one leg over the other. Instead of sitting down, Kane walked to the wet bar along one wall. It looked big enough to be in a real bar, and bottles were stacked behind it, high-end liquors, from what Bella could tell. “What will you have, Bella?” he asked casually, gazing over at her.

“Oh. Um. Anything.”

“You must have some preference. Would you like wine? Or perhaps beer? A mixed drink?” His gaze intensified, his brown eyes boring into hers. Even from across the room she could feel his strength, could feel the power behind this man.

“Whatever you’re having,” she finally managed, despite the fact that her stomach was filled with butterflies. Mostly because of what he’d discovered her doing yesterday, but also because every time she thought of that, she remembered the video and what was happening in it. She remembered her fantasies, about being the girl bent over his desk. And thinking about that now, in his presence, was terrifying and insanely nerve-racking, and made her pussy tingle despite the fear of not knowing what he wanted to discuss.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Will you excuse me for a second, Bella?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. She watched him retreat from the room, heading down the hallway. It was impossible not to notice the way his pants fit him so well, perfectly tailored for his body. And it was impossible not to notice his ass, so firm underneath the expensive material of his slacks, and his long, confident stride. His back was wide, his shoulders strong. His dark hair was just long enough in back to touch the sparkling white collar of his shirt, and Bella was struck, once more, with how handsome he was.

As soon as he left the room she breathed deeply a few times, trying to relax and regain even a hint of confidence. She’d need it, she knew, for whatever this conversation was going to be about. What if he talked about yesterday, about the video she’d watched? If he brought it up, she was sure she would actually die of embarrassment. But she had to face the music, whatever the tune, so she breathed out and steadied herself.

Every single ounce of courage she’d just mustered, though, evaporated the second he came back into the room. To Bella’s horror, she saw he was holding the bottle of Mortlach, that gorgeous teardrop-shaped bottle that no longer held expensive liquor, but instead the cheap whiskey she’d poured in there yesterday.
Fuck
, she thought.
Oh fuck fuck fuck
.

Kane set it down on the coffee table, then retrieved from behind the bar two glasses, rounded at the bottom and slightly smaller at the top.

“These are Glencairn whiskey glasses,” said Kane, holding one up to the light. “They’re crafted to enhance the specific flavor of scotch whiskey. You could drink scotch from a regular glass, but when you are drinking an especially fine or rare variety, you want a glass as perfect as possible.”

Shit
. Bella felt like she was in a horror movie or a bad dream, but she was trapped. The only way to end this would be to tell the truth. Right now. But she couldn’t. Words were stuck in her throat.

“Mortlach,” he said, picking up the bottle, and Bella swore she heard a slight Scottish brogue in his voice. “In 1938 my grandfather worked at the Mortlach distillery. That year he helped fill cask number 2656. At the time it was just a number. But for three generations, through wars and upsets and famines, that cask stayed untouched. For seventy years. And then it was decanted, poured into fifty-four bottles this size and some smaller ones as well. It is the world’s oldest scotch, Bella. And it is, as I’m sure you can guess, quite rare. I was given this bottle by my grandfather, who spent his life as a master taster in Scotland, a highly revered and respected position.”

“We should drink something else,” said Bella. She was sweating, her palms clammy and warm. This sucked. “This is much too valuable. You should save it.”

“I have been,” Kane responded, opening the bottle. “My grandfather and I had a drink together every time we saw each other. We would drink the finest scotch available to us, wherever we were at the time. He was fond of the belief that you shouldn’t save things for too long or it might be too late.
You’re a long time deid
, he always said.”

That accent! When Kane slipped into the Scottish brogue, it was so sexy that Bella could almost forget about the fact that right now, she was totally and completely screwed. The way the words flowed off his tongue, so naturally, was swoon-worthy. If she wasn’t in so much trouble right now, she’d enjoy it more. But now he was pouring from the bottle into the glasses.

He handed a glass to her, and Bella took it in shaking fingers. She watched while Kane picked his up, swirling it around and watching the liquid inside cling to the sides of the glass, then run down. She felt even worse knowing the history of Mortlach and what it meant to Kane and his grandfather.

“Taste it,” he said, like he was giving her an order.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“It would be rude to refuse, don’t you think, Bella? And how many chances in your life will you have to taste a drink this rare?” The intensity in his eyes brooked no argument. Bella felt pinned to her seat, as though it were impossible to get up and leave.

“Yes,” she whispered, bringing the glass to her lips. She tilted the glass so a tiny bit of the scotch ran into her mouth, burning her lips and tongue with its cheap harshness. She bit back a grimace.

“Do you like it?” Kane leaned forward, one corner of his mouth raised in a smirk, but his eyes hard and cold.

“Um, I guess?”

“Bella. One doesn’t
guess
about liking one of the finest scotches in the entire world. Tell me. Did that sip you just took taste expensive? Did it taste like what you’re holding in that glass is worth a thousand dollars?”

He knows. He knows, and he’s fucking with me
. The realization hit Bella as she stared into Kane’s dark brown eyes and saw anger in their depths. His jaw was tight, his teeth practically bared.

“Look, Kane,” she began, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but knowing she needed to say something.

“The problem,” he interrupted her, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping, “is that this doesn’t taste like seventy-eight-year-old scotch, does it? It doesn’t taste like a rare drink. What it tastes like to me, Bella, is cheap liquor store whiskey.”

Now his eyes were flashing, and Bella leaned against the back of the couch as though his gaze was physically pushing her backward.

“How do you suppose it’s possible,” he asked, “that the scotch in my Mortlach bottle was replaced with this swill?” He set his glass down hard on the table.

Bella jumped at the loud noise. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Kane. I did it. This.” She gestured at the bottle.

He waited silently, so she continued.

“Last night? Before you came back? I saw the bottle. And I just wanted a taste. But then I spilled it, and I was scared you’d come back early before I had a chance to replace it, so I filled it up with my roommate’s whiskey. I’m so sorry. I’m going to pay for it, OK?” She rummaged in her purse with shaky hands for her checkbook.

Kane smiled humorlessly. “You can’t afford a proper pair of shoes,” he said. “How are you going to pay me over ten thousand dollars for a new bottle? If one can even be located, that is.”

“I have some money saved for… well, it doesn’t matter. I have enough. I can pay you. How much do you want?”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Right. OK. Twelve thousand.” Her hand scrambled around in her purse again until she found a pen, then she began to write the check. It hurt. It physically hurt to write it out, so much of her savings gone. In an instant. For a stupid bottle of scotch. But she’d made a mistake, and she had to pay. “Here,” she said when she was done, ripping the check out of the book and handing it to Kane.

He took it and placed it on the coffee table, setting the Mortlach bottle on top of it. Then she remembered what Claire had said, about exchanging a spanking for the price of the scotch. She couldn’t ask him that. It was absurd.
Crazy
. Then again, so was paying thousands of dollars for a bottle of alcohol. And the worst he could do was laugh at her. She could handle that. It would be nothing compared to everything else she’d been through.