Delilah stumbled into her kitchen the next morning and switched the light on over the sink. With a wide yawn and a stretch of an arm over her head, she used the other to fill the coffee carafe with water and pour it into the maker.
Chas had called her last night, as he’d promised, and they were to meet for lunch to discuss plans for an engagement party later in the week and, she was sure, how she was to conduct herself now that she was his fiancée. Image was everything. She knew that—hadn’t her whole family been both the servants to and the victims of their social image for as long as she could remember? Wasn’t it her stepmother’s driving reason for getting up in the morning?
And now it was all just within Delilah’s grasp to gain it back. As long as she didn’t blow it. And she supposed, she almost had last night, if Chas hadn’t discovered her secret.
She twisted her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger. It hadn’t been a lie—there really was little danger of anyone discovering who she was. But still. With the engagement, and the newly earned fortune, she shouldn’t have taken a chance.
So. She supposed it had been a boon that Chas had discovered her.
Biting down on her thumbnail, she leaned against the kitchen counter. How had he found her, anyway? The coffee made its final burbling noises and she took a mug from the shelf above it.
A crash sounded in the living room.
Delilah dropped the mug and whirled around. It clattered to the tile floor and broke.
While her heart rocketed about in her chest, she grabbed her cell phone from the counter, slid the chef’s knife out of the wood block, and tiptoed on shaky legs across the kitchen. Her thumb firmly over the panic button on her cell, she peeked into the living room.
“We-e-e-lll, hello, Lila, dear.”
It was Endora. Endora from Bewitched. Bright red hair, purple high-necked gown with lime-green cape and all. A tipped-over antique wire hat stand lay on the wood floor next to where she sat. In hopes the hallucination would fade, Delilah opened and closed her eyes several times.
It didn’t work.
“Wh-what’s going on?” She looked around, but everything was fuzzy. “Where—? How—?”
“Falderal and fiddle-de-dee. No need to get into such a dither. It’s only me, dear. Your friendly family fairy flitting in to fix your folly.”
Endora—or whatever her name was—unfurled the leg she’d tucked under her on Delilah’s mauve and blue pinstriped sofa and swept her long silver-nailed finger in the direction of the chair next to her. “Have a seat, dear. You look a bit piqued. And do put that knife away before you slice off a finger, will you?”
This is not really happening. It can’t be. Delilah moved forward on numb limbs and placed the knife on the end table next to the chair before collapsing into the seat. The phone, she tucked safely into her lap. She couldn’t take her eyes off the spectre in front of her. “I know what this is,” she mumbled to herself, “I ate chocolate cake with wine before I went to sleep. I’m actually in some kind of sugar and alcohol induced nightmare,”—she swung her glance around the room and slapped her cheek—“I must be.”
“Don’t be silly, dear, and I see no reason to abuse yourself in such a manner. Sit still and I shall finish this business and be off on my next assignment.”
Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, if this isn’t a dream, why do you look like a television character from the last show I remember watching?”
The fairy laughed. It was full-throated, yet gentle. “Why, dear,” she said, “is it not plain? Because it amuses me to do so!” She lifted both hands and snapped her fingers three times, her thin silver bangles clinking with each new movement. “Now, listen closely, or all will fall to muck and mire: Under no circumstances are you to release control of your fortune to your fiancé.”
Delilah’s spine stiffened. “Bu—”
The fairy waved her finger at her. “Tut-tut.”
“But Chas is a financial genius—”
“Yes, dear, but if you give over control, the fortune will—,” snapping her fingers again, a puff of patchouli-scented purple smoke burst forth and just as quickly dissipated, “vanish. Just like that the moment he tries to use it.”
“But why?”
The fairy gave a Gallic shrug. “It is the way of the magic: It is for you and you alone.” She tapped her finger on her fuchsia-lined lips. “Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Well, there is one way to prevent that outcome: You must find the key.”
“The key?”
“Why, yes, dear. The key to your heart’s desire, of course.”
“But, I already know what my heart’s desire is—Chas.”
“Precisely. See? You’re already halfway there!”
“I—I don’t understand.”
The fairy patted her lacquered bouffant hair. “I’m confident you will in time.”
“How am I supposed to do this?”
“I cannot say, dear. As the charm is yours, so is the task of unlocking it.” She stood and moved a couple of paces away. “Well, I’m off again. Do not forget what I’ve told you, dear. Ta-ta.”
In a blink, she was gone.
* * *
“So you see, Delilah, it’s probably a good idea if I try and invest at least, oh, I’d say maybe five million to start. I’ll just need you to sign over the rights for me to manage it,” Chas said. He could feel the perspiration under his arms and made a show of wiping his mouth with his napkin to get the sweat off his upper lip before she could see it. He slid the legal documents and the Mont Blanc fountain pen across the white-linen tablecloth until it bumped her left hand.
She settled her fork onto her plate with little sound and then cleared her throat, which put his nerves further on edge, before she said, “I-I’ve decided to handle the investments myself, Chas.”
Chas’s heart dipped into his stomach. “Wow,” he managed to say with an unconcerned smile, “that’s a big shift from yesterday when you told me you had no idea how to handle them on your own. What changed your mind?”
She looked down at her lap and straightened the napkin there. “Oh, you know. I just thought it was time to be a grown up and learn these things for myself.” Finally, she lifted her gaze to his and smiled. “Now,” she said in a brighter voice, “let’s plan our engagement party, shall we?”
“This is really not a good idea, Delilah.”
“Chas, don’t worry! It’s going to be fine, I promise. Do you want to hire an orchestra or go with a DJ?”
“What if you lose your shirt? It could happen, you know.”
“I’ll be careful. Should we have dinner served by wait staff or serve it buffet style?”
Chas could do nothing but follow her lead at this point or risk looking like the fortune hunter he truly was. “Yes,” he said and put the documents back inside his briefcase before taking hold of her hand across the table.
* * *
Delilah let out an inaudible sigh and did a quick look at her watch. “Where should we have it?” Only fifteen more minutes and their lunch date would be over. Backpedaling on the investment help she’d requested from Chas hadn’t been too difficult, thankfully, and he’d yet to mention anything about what had taken place between them the night before—or, well, hadn’t taken place between them—so she figured he wasn’t as freaked out by it as he’d seemed last night. Which was a good thing.
“How about my family’s estate? It’s certainly large enough,” he said. “My aunt loves to host big parties, so if you want, I can call her and ask her to help us get it together.” He filled his wine glass for a second time and took a long swallow.
She sat forward and placed her hand on his forearm. “We don’t have to have it this week—we can wait a week or two if you want.”
“No, no.” He let out a cough. “No.” His smile at first seemed a little strained, which gave her a similar tension in the back of her neck, but then, as he met her eyes and looked into them, it softened. “I’m too excited over my good fortune in winning you. I can’t wait to brag to the world about it.” He leaned in and touched his lips to hers and her heart did a little flip.
A thrill of excitement ran through her and she let her hand move from his arm to the back of his hand. “Well. If you’re sure,” she breathed. When she lifted her lids, she found an odd look on his face, kind of like the one he’d had last night when she’d shown him the back of her dress.
“You want to come over for dinner tonight?” she asked. And stay the night? She yearned to say the words aloud. Even felt them form on her tongue, opened her mouth to say them, but her heart started pounding so hard that it flushed her skin and made her sweat, then her throat constricted and she just couldn’t force her vocal chords to cooperate.
He stood up. “Sure,” he said as he helped her rise from her chair. “It’ll be late though, if that’s okay. Probably around eight-thirty?”
“Eight-thirty’s fine.” Good. That would give her plenty of time to buy a sexy nightie and maybe, just maybe, figure out what to do with him once she got him in her bed.
* * *
Chas rang Delilah’s doorbell and rocked back on his heels. The plastic bag brushed against his knee and he clenched the handle tighter in his fist. He’d been battling his conscience all afternoon, but ultimately, his need to do his duty to his family overrode his repugnance at being a lowdown sonofabitch to Delilah. He needed those funds! Even though they’d given him an extension, the creditors were chomping at the bit waiting for him to wire the money to them.
That was why, an hour and a half ago, he’d pulled into the parking lot of the adult sex toy store and made his first-ever purchase from such an establishment. ’Course, he’d circled her block ten times before finally pulling into her driveway, his guilt still trying to talk him into doing the right thing by her—the noble thing—and leave her the hell alone. Leave her money the hell alone. But, in the end, the higher imperative won out over scruples.
He’d have to get her real relaxed first, though, and then, afterward, he’d see if he couldn’t talk her into letting him manage her money. Just kind of off-handed like, so she didn’t get suspicious of his motives or anything. He figured the best way to put her in a pliable mood would be to help her out with her little problem. After he’d had time to think about it—a lot of time, actually. More time than he should have, in fact, since a good portion of that time had been more along the lines of fantasy than calculating social risk of discovery—he’d decided that if she needed to do this dominatrix thing as some means of relieving anxiety, then he’d be her guinea pig. It was the least he could do for her, let her use him, since he was sure as hell using her. Or going to. Once he managed to get his fists around a few of those millions of hers.
A couple of clicks of the lock from the inside sounded and the door swung open. “At last,” she said. But Chas’s brain barely registered the words. His eyes—every cell in his body—were drawn, like a super-high powered magnet, to her seductively-clad body. Clearly, her intentions for their evening were much the same as his own.
His brows slammed together. Except.
The satin and lace she was wearing told him that hers had a much more romantic bent. And no doubt involved actual penetration—which he was determined to abstain from. At least he’d keep from screwing her literally, until he’d paid back what he owed her. Which, if all went as he planned, wouldn’t be more than a month or two down the road. “Jesus, Delilah.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.
Suddenly, her hands were moving, sweeping the satin wrap around her, and tying the sash, effectively covering her much-too appetizing female parts from his view. “You don’t like it. How embarrassing. I just thought—well, it doesn’t matter.” She swung the door open further and whirled around. “Come in. Dinner is ready. I’ll just go change,” she said as she scuttled across the living room toward what Chas assumed was the hallway leading to her bedroom.
It only took him a second to catch up to her. He grabbed hold of her arm and swung her around to face him. She stumbled and fell into him, her hand brushing his erection. They both gasped.
He recovered before she did. “Don’t be embarrassed, Delilah,” he said. “I like what you’re wearing.”
He felt her relax, though her shoulders still rose and fell with rapid breath. She had her head bent so he couldn’t get a good look at her expression. “Really?” she asked.
“Yes. Maybe a little too much.” He nudged her chin up with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his eyes and dragged her hair away from her cheek. Her face was as red as his father’s Ferrari. For some reason, his heart tripped and then a new rush of blood flooded his groin. What the hell are you doing, man?
He let his hands drop to his sides and stepped back. “But, I—” His voice rasped.
He cleared his throat. “I guess you should go ahead and change. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on eating with you dressed that way.”
* * *
Delilah bit down on the inside of her cheek. The pressure not to cry nearly overwhelmed her. He doesn’t want me. “Okay,” she said. But as she was turning away from Chas, she noticed the bag in his hand—and the emblem on the front. Her heart leap-frogged in her chest. She knew that store. Which meant he did want her! Without further thought, she made a grab for it and had it opened before he could put up the slightest protest.
When she saw what he’d brought with him, a rainbow of happiness exploded inside her and eviscerated every last particle of despair. A grin broke over her face and their eyes met. “Why Chas H. Regan. You little devil.”
* * *
It was Chas’s turn to flush. His face felt as hot as a Houston sidewalk in the hell-month of August and his pits and hands were suddenly clammy with sweat.
This was not going at all the way he’d envisioned. He’d had it all planned out: He’d have the upper hand. Be the one who was in control of the situation. He’d sit her down right here in the living room after dinner and have that long heart-to-heart about propriety, their social status, etc., etc., and then he’d offer to be her—what was it called? Oh, yeah—submissive.
In private.
Just between them.
No intercourse, just fun and games.
No one ever needed to know.
He shrugged. “It was—just an idea. Since you seem to like kink.”
* * *