The Cress family is as surprised as the world at the news that our beloved Monica is the daughter of Brock Maynard. Although we were saddened to lose her as an invaluable and dedicated employee no longer living in our home, we do ask that the privacy of the entire Cress family be respected at this time since we have no further information to add to this conversation. In closing, we wish Monica the very best.
Gabe didn’t bother to read the rest of the online newspaper story about Monica after finishing the family’s official statement, released through the publicity team at Cress, INC. The hope was to thin out the paparazzi still driving through the neighborhood at slow speeds in hopes of catching a photo of Monica, who had already moved out of the home.
“Now hopefully that is the end of that,” Nicolette said with emphasis.
He shifted his gaze from a spot outside in the garden over to his mother, sitting at one end of the dining room table. She slapped the folded newspaper she held on to the leather top of the table, beside her plate of fresh fruit and a buttery croissant. He knew without asking that she was speaking of something to do with their ex-employee, Monica.
It was all she’d seemed to want to discuss over the week since the paparazzi had camped outside their house and the press had revealed that Monica was in fact the secret love child of a famous actor. The fact that she worked as a maid made the story even more salacious.
“Time heals all things,” Phillip Sr. said from the other end of the table before taking a deep sip of his cup of coffee.
Will time make me stop dreaming of her?
“I read on the Star Gazette her mother was a maid for her father when she got pregnant, and they gave her up for adoption and she came full circle by becoming a maid,” Phillip Jr. said just before Chef Jillian walked in carrying a fresh carafe of the fresh-squeezed citrus juice they all loved.
She paused midstep at his words and frowned a little before continuing into the room to set the container on the table among the serving dishes of steaming food she’d prepared for them.
Gabe squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, wishing his brother had more tact and less tongue on the matter. “Websites like the Star Gazette are hardly the place to get news,” he said with censure. “We know firsthand they deal more in fiction than facts.”
All he could remember was the fright in Monica’s eyes as she was assailed by the paparazzi that morning. As his car pulled up before the house, he’d taken in the people outside before realizing it was Monica frozen in front of them, her eyes filled with fear and confusion. The desire to protect her had flooded him, and the car had barely stopped before he’d climbed out and barreled through the crowd to rush her back inside the house. He’d had to fight the impulse to swing and connect on the faces of those in the crowd.
“True. It’s to be entertained...not informed,” Cole drawled, reaching for a croissant to tear and dip in the homemade honey butter on his plate.
“Whatever,” Phil muttered.
“Want some, Uncle Cole,” Collette said from where she sat on her knees in the seat beside him.
He winked and honored her request as if her plate wasn’t already stacked with pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse. She giggled and proceeded to lick the decadent honey butter from the croissant.
All of the Cress men chuckled, finding her, as always, adorable.
Nicolette playfully scowled, and her mother, Raquel, gave Cole a reproachful look as she took the croissant and cleaned butter from her child’s sticky fingers.
“Right, the Gazette also claims she’s hidden away, using psychics to try to reconnect with her deceased father,” Lucas agreed, nibbling his fresh fruit as he steered the convo back to Monica.
Gabe remained silent, allowing them to continue speculating on their ex-employee, who the press could not locate to harass. He had thoughts and questions of his own. Like why she hadn’t told him the truth that morning.
“I resigned from my position here last week and gave two weeks’ notice. But I think I should leave today.”
“Today?”
“Is it because of what happened between us?”
“No.”
“Do you have a better position?”
“No.”
Gabe didn’t know why Monica did not reveal more about her departure, but it was clear it involved the discovery of her parentage. Or...she felt it was none of my business.
“I am curious about where she disappeared to,” Raquel said with a one-shoulder shrug. “Maybe she knew all along and didn’t want to be found and that’s why she’s MIA.”
“Who would choose to be a maid when her father is a rich actor?” Cole protested. “Sorry, Raquel, but that’s ridiculous.”
“Hell, the whole damn circus about the mess is ridiculous,” Nicolette said. “But hopefully our inclusion in the drama is at its end, especially with the charity event tonight.”
Bzzzzzz.
Gabe wiped his hands with his napkin before pulling his phone from the front pocket of his shirt to check the incoming call. Felicity. He did not answer.
“Is it even necessary to say tonight is not the night for the ladies you would not bring home to meet me?” Nicolette asked, piercing each son with her steely blue eyes. “And especially not the type who would willingly sneak into someone’s home to lie up all evening doing God knows what with one of my horny sons. Right, Lucas?”
Raquel rushed to cover Collette’s ears as the brothers laughed.
Lucas gave his mother his most charming smile. “Of course,” he agreed.
Bzzzzzz.
He looked down at the screen of his phone. Felicity again. He could block her, ignore her calls or answer. His curiosity was piqued by the back-to-back calls so he chose the latter. “Hello, Felicity,” he said, rising to leave the table with his cup of coffee to step outside to the garden.
“Hello, stranger.”
She was in full-flirt mode right out the gate. He could hear it in her husky tones. She wanted something and not just to catch up. “How can I help you?” he asked, hoping to push the conversation forward.
“So businesslike, Gabriel.”
He took a deep sip of the brew. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I know there’s something you want from me.”
“Maybe I was reminiscing on the good times and missing you,” she said.
“Or...”
She laughed. It was soft. Meant to allure.
“Or?” Gabe asked again, his voice echoing inside the cup.
“Gabriel, did we end on bad terms?” Felicity asked.
“We didn’t technically end at all. We both just stopped calling each other,” he said, checking the time on his watch. “That’s a clear sign we both moved on, but if there is something I’m able to do for you, just ask.”
“A ticket to tonight’s charity event would be nice.”
Gabe looked up to the sky in exasperation. And there it is.
“I won’t be able to do it, Felicity,” he said.
He hadn’t decided whether to bring a date or not, and the last thing he needed was an impetuous ex to ruin his evening out of spite.
“Besides, I gave away my last two tickets,” he added truthfully.
“Ga-bri-el,” she said in a singsong manner. “It’s your family’s event. Surely you can get another ticket.”
“My brother Phillip runs the foundation and is running the show on the ball. He told us over a week ago it was sold out,” Gabe said.
“I think a ticket would just make me sooo grateful. I might lose my mind and do anything to show my appreciation,” she said with a little moan. “You remember how I show my thanks, don’t you, Ga-bri-el?”
He did.
Gabe cleared his throat. “Felicity, I can’t help, but it was good hearing from you,” he said.
“Was it?” she asked, her tone cool.
“Of course.”
“Remember it well, because I doubt it will happen again.”
She ended the call.
He finished off his coffee and reentered the house.
“Where in the world is... Monica Darby?”
His eyes followed that of his entire family to the sizable television over the fireplace in the den that was on other side of the chef’s kitchen. A morning entertainment-news show was on, and the mention of the ex-housekeeper’s name had caught everyone’s attention.
He eyed the video of Monica on the television before reclaiming his seat at the table. Her eyes were round and wide as she stood frozen on the steps of their town house.
“There’s our house on television! When will this madness end? Merde!” Nicolette swore in French.
“The secret love child of Academy Award–winning actor of stage and film Brock Maynard has not been seen since this day, leaving the Upper East Side town house of the Cress family who are well-known for their culinary empire...and their good looks. Take a look at this family!”
The family’s publicity shot filled the screen.
Nicolette groaned.
Phillip Sr. frowned.
Sean smiled broadly.
Phillip Jr. released a heavy breath.
Cole laughed.
Lucas winced.
Gabe tightened his jaw as the image changed to the flashes of the cameras playing over Monica’s face. He wondered about her whereabouts. Was she okay? Was she happy? He hoped so because she deserved it. She had been nothing but trustworthy and reliable as the lone regular employee in their home. He wished her nothing but the best. He thought of the tickets to the ball he’d given her and admitted that he hoped she’d decided to attend.
“We may not be able to zone in on Monica Darby’s whereabouts, but we have recently learned from a trusted source that Maynard did indeed leave his estate, estimated to be worth more than fifty million dollars, to his daughter. Now, that’s how you say sorry...”
That info stunned the entire Cress family.
The last week had been absolutely chaotic.
Monica sat on the foot of the king-size bed of her guest room of the luxury hotel on Fifth Avenue as she used the remote to flip through the cable channels. She paused at the sight of the video of her looking frightened that had been overused the last week, online and on television. “Now what?” she muttered.
“The secret love child of Academy Award–winning actor of stage and film Brock Maynard has not been seen since this day, leaving the Upper East Side town house of the Cress family who are well-known for their culinary empire...and their good looks. Take a look at this family!”
Monica’s eyes went to Gabe’s face in the photo. Nothing had changed in the week since she’d last seen him. The very sight of him still made her feel more alive than the moment before.
She looked over at the opened envelope on the dresser, holding the tickets to the charity event. An opportunity to see him once more. “Should I?” she mouthed.
“We may not be able to zone in on Monica Darby’s whereabouts, but we have recently learned from a trusted source that Maynard did indeed leave his estate, estimated to be worth more than fifty million dollars—”
Click.
Monica tossed the remote behind her onto the bed after having cut off the television. “Trusted source?” she protested. “You mean Phoebe Maynard? Then just say that.”
It was indeed her aunt that had planted the stories with the press because she refused to allow her brother to do in death what he’d done when he was alive—pretend he didn’t have a daughter. And Monica appreciated the show of support from Phoebe, but it had sent the press into her life with the vengeance of bees whose nest had been knocked to the ground.
She was tired of being stung.
With a sigh she moved across the room to the dresser and picked up the invite and pressed it to her nose. With every passing day the scent of his cologne lessened and now it barely held a hint of the warm and spicy aroma. She shifted her eyes up to see herself in the mirror, dressed in the luxury hotel’s plush white cotton robe, with her hair pulled up into a messy topknot, face free of makeup and her eyes bright with the light thinking about Gabe brought to them.
For the last week she had stayed cooped up in the posh hotel room in Midtown Manhattan, where the wealthy played, intending to remain until she’d made some final decision on where to start the newest chapter in her life. Every well-appointed detail of the room with its high ceilings, stylish decor and city view of Central Park was now imprinted on her brain.
No work. No guests. Nothing to keep her occupied. Nothing but her thoughts. And room service.
“Why let boredom be the death of me?” she asked, tapping the envelope against her chin as she decided it was time to have a little fun.
The next few hours were a whirlwind in Manhattan. Behind oversize shades, she ventured out of her room, and thankfully she faded into the fast-walking crowd with ease. Armed with advice from the concierge, she ventured to a nearby boutique, where she enjoyed trying on designer gowns until she found the one that made every eye in the shop stay on her. Diamond earrings from Van Cleef. Shoes from Bergdorf Goodman. Hair, makeup and manicure by the spa at the hotel.
Aside from the cost of the hotel, it was the first of her inheritance she’d dared to spend. And what felt trepid at first got a little easier with each swipe of the card connected to one of several bank accounts she’d opened. It felt odd to spend such an amount when before it would have taken weeks to earn that much, but it had felt good—for once—to treat herself. Not even a sales clerk asking her to provide photo ID to prove it was indeed her card had shaken her. She’d shown her identification and then left the store to spend her money elsewhere.
And now I’m here.
Monica looked out the tinted window from her seat in the rear of the chauffeur-driven Tahoe, taking in the entrance to the marina. It was beautiful at night with the moon’s light reflecting on the gentle waves of the Hudson River. The lights from the towering buildings in the distance gave the perfect New York backdrop. When the SUV pulled to a stop in the parking lot, she forced herself to wait for the driver to leave his seat and come around to open the door.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the offer of his hand to help her from the sizable vehicle.
“Have a good night, Ms. Darby.”
Ms. Darby? That flustered her for a moment. Everything felt new and different. Even experiencing a show of respect.
With a nod, she took a deep inhale of the scent of the river. Attendees clad in elegant evening wear were already making their way down the wharf toward the sleek two-hundred-foot navy megayacht docked on the other side of the marina. She smiled at their excited chatter—a clear sign of everyone’s anticipation of the festivities.
A warm breeze blew in from the river as Monica stopped to look up at the yacht. The party was already in full swing and the music echoed from inside the three-tier vessel.
She knew from overhearing the family discuss the preparations that more than five hundred people were scheduled to attend the event. There should be a live band, open bar, decadent hors d’oeuvres, a silent auction of more than fifty culinary experiences with acclaimed chefs, a charity poker tournament, and a grand finale with a popular celebrity performing a miniconcert.
Aboard the yacht, with her heart pounding from excitement and a bit of nervousness, she went straight to the bar for a glass of champagne. Over the rim she took in the mingling crowd and the entertainers among them. Contortionists, magicians and jugglers performed for the crowd amid colorful decor, lighting effects and towering floral arrangements.
A uniformed server presented her a tray. She selected a small plate and used tongs to choose a bacon and chèvre tart, lamb lollipop and a mini potpie she soon discovered was filled with lobster. She was looking about the colorfully lit room when she spotted Gabe standing by the bar, looking devastatingly beautiful in an all-black tuxedo that fit him so very well. She nearly choked on her bite of food when she finally noticed the tall and shapely brunette in a strapless cerise jumpsuit beside him. His date?
The woman in red laughed as she stroked the velvet lapel of his tuxedo and removed the flute from his hand to press her crimson lips to the crystal for a deep sip of the golden champagne. Monica turned away from the sight so quickly that she felt loose waves of her hair tickle her spine. She hated how easy it was to notice how different she was in comparison to the woman. Even with the costly transformation that had given her confidence, Monica felt that familiar pang of being not good enough. A remainder of her broken and unstable childhood.
Needing to be out of Gabe and his sultry date’s line of vision, Monica stopped another server to place her unfinished food and drink on his tray before she took her exploration elsewhere.
“Monica?”
A warm hand lightly wrapped around her wrist. She knew before she turned that it was Gabe. The goose bumps and soft hairs on her body standing on end were truth tellers. Facing him, she confirmed their accuracy. “Hello, Mr. Cress,” she said, her heart racing as he eyed her from perfectly coiffed hair to painted toes.
Her black lace gown was delicate and sweet with its scalloped sweetheart bodice and bow-embellished straps, while still being sexy with her appearing to be nude underneath. The sheer A-line skirt showed hints of her thighs, and the lace border skimmed her ankles above the strappy heels she wore. Her hair was down in soft loose curls that passed her bare shoulders. Smoky eyes and a soft nude lipstick completed her look.
What does he think? she wondered.
“You...you look amazing,” he said, his warm appreciation filling his voice.
She laughed softly. “You seem surprised,” she teased.
“No. Not surprised,” he said, easing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I’ve seen you even prettier than this.”
That made her cheeks warm.
Monica tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing dangling diamond earrings. “I wasn’t sure if the dress was too much or not enough,” she confessed.
Gabe’s eyes were intense. “It’s perfect,” he admitted.
Their eyes locked and held. Silence reigned, but there was a charge—a current—that fueled the air between them. She knew from the heat in her belly and in his eyes that he felt the same stir of desire as she did. “Just once. Remember?” she reminded him as her pulse sprinted.
“I thought you forgot that night,” he said, his gaze searching hers.
She looked away from him, seeking relief from his unspoken temptation. “We were supposed to.”
“I couldn’t forget it even when I tried.”
She shivered.
“Look at me, Monica.”
With an audible swallow over a lump in her throat, she did. And at that moment, she remembered a dozen different things about that night, from the feel of his hands gripping her buttocks to the way she’d moaned from the back of her throat in pleasure at his deep strokes.
“Excuse us?”
They looked to find a couple behind them. They’d not realized they were blocking the stairs.
Gabe grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him. Several times people called out to him or attempted to step in his path, but he bypassed them all as he led her up the stairs of the next two levels to the sundeck. As soon as they came to a stop, he pulled her body close to his and weaved his fingers through her hair as she tilted her chin up and clutched at the lapels of his tuxedo blazer. He lowered his head to kiss her.
First, a soft press of their lips together. Then, lightly touching their tongues in that hot little moment before the kiss deepened with moans that were guttural. His head leaned that way and hers the other. Their bodies pressed closely together.
The seconds seemed infinite. Monica ended the kiss with reluctance, not sure of how much time had passed from the very first feel of his mouth. She felt tipsy. And as if in a dream.
Her Prince Charming looked too delicious in his tailored tux for her not to long to undress him and have him for another night of passion.
Is it midnight? Will the carriage change back to a pumpkin? Have I lost my shoe?
She smiled at the whimsy.
“Just once more?” he asked, his voice deep and thrilling.
Her eyes fell to his mouth before she swiped the gloss from his lips with her thumb.
He eased his hands down to her lower back to gently knead the spot just above the curve of her buttocks. “You don’t work for the family anymore,” he said.
“No, I do not,” Monica agreed, before stepping back out of his embrace and walking over to the railing to look out at the waves highlighted by the glow from the moon. She enjoyed the feel of the breeze, but it was nothing akin to the heat of Gabe’s body.
He walked over to close the gap between them. “I’m not built for a relationship,” he admitted.
“And I wouldn’t want one with you,” she countered, tilting her chin up a notch as she turned to lean back against the railing as he came to a stop before her.
“With just me? Or with anyone?” he asked, his voice as deep as the river surrounding them.
“Anyone. Love is for fools.”
He chuckled and gripped the railing on either side of her body as he leaned down to press kisses from her chin to her lips. She released a telling gasp of pleasure.
“This thing between us is going to happen again,” he said near her ear before shifting his head to taste her mouth.
Anticipation nearly made her weak. “Just...once...more,” she spoke against his mouth.
Gabe stepped back from her and extended his hand. “Then let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.
Monica bit her bottom lip and smiled as she slid her hand in his.
The sun rose over Manhattan with ease, casting the city with light streaked with crimson, pinks and orange. Monica eyed the beauty outside the window of her hotel room as Gabe pressed warm kisses from one shoulder to the other. It was how he awakened her after a night of the most electric sex of her life.
First round was in one of the private cabins aboard ship. That had been fast and furious, leaving them both sweaty and breathless.
Not done with each other, they used one of the family’s cars to reach her suite, where the next round had been slow and passionate. Against the door. The floor. The sofa. The windowsill. And finally, the bed. At times he took the lead. Sometimes she was in charge.
Pure pleasure.
And now, from the length of his hardness against her buttocks, he was ready for round three.
She lay on her back, causing the sheet to twist down to her waist leaving her breasts exposed. She reached to pull it back up, now feeling shy under the light of day.
He shook his head before lowering it to suck one tight brown nipple into his mouth.
“It’s morning,” she gasped, even as her back seemed to arch up off the bed of its own accord. “We said just once more.”
With one last delicious lick, Gabe freed her breast and looked down at her again. “Yes, but this part of me doesn’t agree,” he said, tightening the loose white sheet against his curving erection.
“She’s regretting the deal we made, too,” she said, giggling when he raised the sheet to look down at the smooth, flat hairs covering her vee.
Thank God for the waxing at the spa.
“Then maybe we need to do this again?” he asked, briefly locking his eyes with hers before he lay on his back and pulled her body so that she was atop him.
“Now?” she asked as she straddled him.
“And in the future.”
She looked down at him, Gabriel “Gabe” Cress, and thought of all the nights over the last five years that she had only dreamed of having him naked and hard beneath her. She wasn’t looking for love, because it was synonymous for heartbreak. But maybe she could just enjoy carnal pleasures knowing one day, when the heat cooled, they would just walk away and say a fond farewell? She had no doubt it would be very easy for him.
“No strings,” she stated, mostly to let him know she was quite clear on the rules.
“None,” he agreed, sitting up to lightly nuzzle her neck.
“The only thing I expect from you is great sex when I call,” she teased, surprised at her boldness and liking it.
“And what about me?” he asked, his voice and his eyes smoldering.
Who have I become?
She felt naughty and flirty. Desirable and sexy. Was it her sudden wealth or the way she knew she made him feel? The only word for it was powerful.
Monica turned on his lap and then slid her body to all fours between his open legs. The bed dipped under his weight as moved to kneel behind her. She gripped the sheets and pressed her face against the bed as he eased his hardness inside her until nearly all of him filled her completely. They both hissed at the connection. With a wince and soft bite of her lip as Gabe reached around her to press his hand to her throbbing bud, she moved back and forth on his inches with a rotation of her hips when she reached the base. Such a sinful glide. Meant to build a slow explosion in them both.
Ten glides—maybe less—and she felt him tremble with his release. He swore with force as she felt him harden even more inside of her. Like steel. That plus the smooth circular motions of his fingers against her caused her to cry out into the mattress and pound the softness with her fist as she joined him in sweet, white-hot bliss.