Page 32 of The Billionaire Submissive
If America ever had royalty, they’d surely come to Lake Minnetonka to vacation. Massive million-dollar houses lined the shoreline but they looked like weekend cabins compared to Donovan’s monstrosity of a house. Three stories high, great walls of windows with breath-taking views of the lake, towers and spiraling stairs and a gorgeous pool with fountains and waterfalls that boggled the mind.
“I thought you said lakehouse. Not lakecastle.”
“The castle is about two hundred and fifty years older.” He parked in front of the house and a fucking maid came out to open her door. At least she supposed that’s who the woman was. She was dressed in very smart black trousers, a crisp white polo, and had long, sleek black hair pulled back in a tidy ponytail. She didn’t bat an eye when Hank jumped out as soon as the door cracked.
“Lilly Harrison, this is Annette Sullivan. She runs the property here and makes sure the boat’s ready to take out at a moment’s notice. She’s the only reason I’m actually able to enjoy these little vacations because I know everything will be ready. Annette, this is Lilly Harrison and her very smelly and hairy dog, Hank.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Morgan,” Annette said. “I try to make your visits as smooth as possible and it’s always sad to wave goodbye. How do you do, Miss Harrison?” She sealed the deal for Lilly when she went down on her knee to love on the dog. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. And you, Hank, will have a wonderful time swimming around in the lake.”
Donovan groaned. “So he can shed on the seats and spray dirty water all over my car on Sunday when it’s time to go back to the city.”
“I kept him in the floor by my feet all the way.” Guilt churned Lilly’s stomach, making her voice ring defensively. Donovan had been a good sport about her dog so far, but it was obviously something he only put up with for her. “I couldn’t leave him at home all weekend alone, and Marie couldn’t take him today. She has to work.”
He surprised her by taking her hand and pulling her into his embrace right there in front of his employee. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just teasing you.”
“No, you’re right. Your stuff’s too nice and he’s going to make messes. I’m going to make messes.”
He pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Like what you did to my bed last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I don’t care if he chews a hole in the Jag’s leather seats or poops in the Jacuzzi.”
Suddenly, she wanted to cry. The tears were in her throat, a rising, scalding flood. It was just too much to take in. The crazy expensive car, the massive house, the servants, the fucking designer clothes he’d bought for her. One pair of shorts cost more than her car payment. And then for him to be so sweet. How dare he be sweet and kind when he was supposed to be Mr. Douchebag?
Horrified, she pressed her face against his chest, hiding her face until she had control again.
“What’s wrong? Lilly?”
“Nothing.” She forced her head up and smiled for him. “Just an attack of nerves.”
Eyes narrowed, he lowered his voice to the mean snarl that must send Miss Wruthers into a tizzy. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Miss Harrison.”
“Don’t you dare make me curse in front of Annette, Mr. Morgan. She’ll think I’m a trash-talking street urchin and kick me out of your ridiculous mansion before lunch, and I’m starving.”
Annette made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle smothered beneath her hand. “Don’t worry about the bags, Mr. Morgan. I’ll have Trevor bring them up for you. And lunch is ready and waiting, Miss Harrison.”
Donovan tucked her hand around his arm and led her up the sweeping marble staircase to the front door. “Well you do curse like a sailor and I ought to know. My grandfather and father were both ship captains, so I grew up on a boatload of foul-mouthed fishermen and dock workers.”
“Glad to know I’ve succeeded in my aspirations to join such hallowed company.” Lilly tried not to gawk around like the waitstaff at Dmitri’s when he’d pulled up in the oversized limo, but she’d never seen anything like it. If this was his “vacation house” he used for weekend escapes, she couldn’t imagine how over the top the “swanky” Paris apartment would be. Her stomach rolled hard enough she wasn’t even sure she could eat, and that was a sad, sad state of affairs.
What are you doing here, Lil? You’re so out of your league with Mr. Moneybags that no amount of “Yes, Mistress” can possibly make up for the difference.
“Will Hank stay close or do you need to bring him inside with you?” Donovan paused in the entry, oblivious to the grandeur he lived with every single day.
The thought of her dog puking on the priceless Persian rug after the car ride—which inevitably made him sick—made her want to vomit herself. Fighting down her rising panic, she tried not to automatically start adding up dollar signs in her head for every single item in the room she or her dog might destroy. “If we put his bed on the front steps, he’ll come lie down once he’s explored.”
Donovan didn’t even have to give an order to Annette; the efficient woman was already heading back out to instruct the young man unloading their bags from the car. A double staircase flanked the open great room with floor to ceiling windows of breath-taking lake views. Massive stones stacked together on another wall to make one of the most unique fireplaces she’d ever seen in her life. Yet the enormous white sectional still managed to dominate the room.
Yes, white. God. I don’t even dare sit on it.
The next room was just as opulent with a dining table for at least twenty guests and enough silver on display to pay off her mortgage. She almost wilted with relief when he didn’t stop, but kept right on through the room to the kitchen.
“Sit,” he pointed at the high granite-tiled bar while he passed into the main room. It was a sign of her nerves that she did so without telling him exactly where he could go. Her whole apartment could fit inside this kitchen with room to spare, but its old-world stone and wood features made it feel homier than the cold whites and marbles of the rest of the house.
A man about the same age as Donovan dressed in the ubiquitous white chef’s jacket greeted him like a long lost brother, pounding him on the back. “Thank you for inviting me, Donovan.”
“Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
