Mated To The Dragon Of Manhattan (A BBW Paranormal Romance Book 1) (15 page)

When he returned not even an hour later, my sexy thoughts were reaching a fairly frustrating fever pitch. I shut the TV off, sat up a little straighter in bed, and crossed one of my legs over the other in what I imagined was a sexy, enticing way just as he entered the bedroom. "I'm glad you're home."

Truman stopped dead in his tracks and began loosening his tie while sweeping his gaze over every inch of my body. "Not half as glad as I am."

"So, did the engineers figure out what happened with the chandelier? And what did Matthew say?"

Tossing his tie on the dresser and then proceeding to do the same with his suit jacket, Truman didn't answer right away. And when he did, he did so with his gaze locked on my body, seeming a bit distracted. "Matthew's very sorry. And the engineers said he must have not put a certain special washer on the end of the bolt securing the chandelier to the ceiling."

"So, all the other chandeliers were fine, then?"

Truman raked his gaze over my legs while unbuttoning his shirt. "Yes."

"And did they re-hang the chandelier that-"

"Dear God, Brette, you have no idea...no earthly clue...how sexy and ravishing you are." He tossed his shirt aside and then peeled off his undershirt, revealing his well-defined abs and the hard planes of his chest. "You have no clue how absolutely stunning you are...and just how worked up you can make me simply by sitting up in bed like how you are, wearing that sexy little nightie, and with your gorgeous legs crossed like that. You have no clue just how...just how damned sexy you are."

More than a little worked up myself, just from the sight of his bare chest and muscular arms, I set my champagne glass on the nightstand. "Well, maybe I
don't
have a clue how sexy I am and how worked up I make you. Maybe I need you to show me."

With his breathing accelerating, Truman began unbuckling his belt. "Gladly.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Truman kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and then took down his pants, and I saw just exactly how worked up the mere sight of me in my sheer red negligee had made him. His manhood, which was exceptionally thick and long, pointed nearly straight at the ceiling, clearly straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. The sight made me develop an  ache low in my belly almost immediately. I wanted him. Badly. And I didn't want to have to wait very long
,
fortunately, I didn't have to.

Within half a minute, we were both completely naked, clinging to each other, kissing, on the bed. And soon, Truman rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I straddled him, panting, and positioned the head of his thick shaft at my entrance before sliding every inch of his very-above-average length inside of me with a moan.

He grabbed my hips, lifting me a bit, nearly holding me aloft, and began slowly lifting his own hips before bringing them back down on the bed, working his rod in and out of my slickness. "Just absolutely gorgeous, Brette. You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

Whimpering with pleasure, I looked into his charcoal-colored eyes while beginning to move my hips in rhythm with his, taking his thick, granite-hard
dick
deeper and deeper inside of me. And when, after several minutes, he began stroking my sensitive feminine bud with a single fingertip, while I continued to ride him, my pleasure peaked, and I threw my head back, crying out. Almost simultaneously, he groaned with his own climax, grinding his head into the pillow.

Not long after, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, wrapped in his strong arms. Surprisingly, or maybe not, considering what a pleasant, relaxed state of mind making love with Truman always put me in, I didn't have any nightmares about falling chandeliers.

The next morning, he brought me breakfast in bed, as he often did on Sundays. I loved the fact that despite being lord and leader of not only New York City, but the entire nation, he still loved doing simple things to make me happy, like cooking for me and bringing me breakfast in bed. He
could
have just showered me with expensive gifts and had the best chefs in the country prepare meals for us, and he did, sometimes; and I couldn't deny that those things were nice. But his time and caring meant much more to me than all that. And very fortunately, he seemed to know this.

While we ate, he glanced at the diamond-and-ruby engagement ring he'd put on my finger several weeks earlier. "I'm counting down the days until you're officially my wife."

I smiled, butterflies zipping around in my stomach. "Me, too. Only a few more weeks to go."

We were going to get married in a small, intimate ceremony in his rooftop garden paradise, which had really now become
our
rooftop garden paradise. Not only did we love our garden-paradise-within-the-city, but we also thought it was a fitting space to get married since it was where we'd defeated Dominic together. It would also be late October at the time of our wedding, and all the fruit trees in the garden would be at their peak of autumn color, with their leaves in brilliant shades of red, orange, and gold.

After the wedding, we were going to have a reception for several hundred people in the ballroom, which I realized I now had concerns about.

Seeming to read my mind, Truman took a sip of his black coffee, suddenly frowning, and then set the mug back on our tray. "I realize you might have some very valid concerns about having our reception in the ballroom now, but I want to assure you that I am going to do absolutely everything to ensure that the ballroom is a completely safe space to have our reception. And it
will
be. I promise you that."

Nodding, I set my own coffee mug down. "I know. And I'm really not
too
concerned. I know what happened last night was just a freak thing. I'm just glad that no one was permanently injured. And now, I'm just looking forward to putting the whole thing behind us."

Over the next few days, we pretty much did. After having the chandelier reinstalled, Truman then had literally no fewer than a dozen separate teams of engineers perform no fewer than a dozen different safety inspections on it, as well as on all the other chandeliers in the ballroom and tower, including those in our penthouse.

Brianna, Annabelle, and I had lunch at a new bistro in Midtown Manhattan, but we didn't talk about the chandelier incident much. Annabelle seemed kind of quiet, like maybe she was embarrassed about Matthew's role in it, which I could understand.

She and I had begun working on plans for a fundraiser for Truman's charity together, a fundraiser where I'd be doing some oil paintings and she'd be hosting an auction to sell them; and when we met at the charity's offices in the tower later that afternoon to discuss things a bit more, she was all business. I contemplated saying something to her about how nobody faulted Matthew for the chandelier incident, but ultimately decided against it. She seemed a bit flustered and preoccupied, and I figured it was probably best to just let things go.

On Wednesday, I ran into Mara twice in the tower, and each time, I felt a little guilty for thinking that she might have had something to do with the chandelier falling. Which wasn't to say that I was  ready to become her best friend or anything. Brianna told me the day before, that when Truman was having lunch with some of his advisors at a restaurant in the tower, Mara had come sidling over to his table, "just to say hi." And she'd been wearing a very tight, very low-cut red dress that Brianna said she was just about spilling out of. However, Brianna said, Truman had all but rolled his eyes at her before curtly saying that he had to get back to a discussion with his advisors.

Because I trusted Truman, and because he didn't seem to have any lingering feelings for her at all, I wasn't
super
concerned about Mara, although I did feel the need to keep an eye on her. Which wouldn't be that hard, considering she now both lived and worked in the tower.

By Thursday, I'd just about completely forgotten about the whole chandelier incident. Or, I had, until Brianna told me over coffee that afternoon that Owen seemed to have lost all of his psychic abilities since it happened.

"And I know they were kind of spotty to begin with, but now they just seem to be completely gone. Which, of course, has been kind of upsetting and disappointing for Owen,  because of how often his skills have helped Truman in running the country and dealing with other leaders. Not to mention that it's been confusing for Owen, too. His actual physical injuries from the accident healed completely within a couple of hours, but his psychic gifts  seem to be staying gone. It's like the good bonk on the head he got from the chandelier completely knocked his psychic abilities right out of his head permanently or something." Brianna took a sip of her coffee and set the cup back on the cafe table with a sigh. "He's going to talk to Truman about it later today."

Owen apparently did, because that evening, while we snuggled in bed, Truman mentioned how strange it was.

"Just because all his other injuries have completely healed. Although, maybe it's not so strange, really, considering that psychic gifts are, of course, on a level having nothing to do with the physical. Not to mention that Owen's gifts, as he himself admits, were pretty come-and-go even before the accident with the chandelier. It's  unfortunate that now we might not ever have benefit of them again to use for the good of the nation."

Just then, the soft chimes of the new doorbell we'd just had installed sounded.

I glanced at the nightstand clock and then looked at Truman. "Who could it be at eleven
o'clock
at night? Are you expecting anyone?"

He looked just as puzzled as I was. "No
,
t
hough, it has to be one of our good friends in order for the guards to let them past the checkpoint and through to our door."

Despite being lord and leader of the nation, Truman had never been big on having security guards on his personal residence floor. Partly because living on the top floor of the heavily-fortified and guarded tower was security enough. However, after I'd moved in, he'd become very protective and safety-conscious, and he'd had a permanent security detail installed just outside the elevator at the end of the hallway leading to and from our luxury apartment; and these guards had very specific instructions to not let anyone pass who wasn’t one of Truman's advisors or one of our group of close friends, which included Brianna and Owen, and Annabelle and Matthew. Though Owen and Matthew would have been allowed anyway, even if they weren't close friends, simply because they were Truman's first and second lieutenants, respectively.

I reluctantly removed one of Truman's arms from around my shoulder and began getting out of bed. "Well, maybe it's Brianna. And actually, it probably is. You know how she gets thoughts sometimes that she just absolutely has to tell me. Though at this hour, I'd think she'd just text me. Or just wait until tomorrow."

Truman got out of bed as well. "I'll go answer the door with you, just to make sure it's her."

While the doorbell chimes sounded again, we both put on robes, his a navy blue one, and mine a pale lavender color, before making our way down the plush-carpeted hallway and out to the marble-floored foyer. The doorbell chimes sounded yet again just as Truman began unlocking the door.

Wondering what on earth could be so important, I sighed. "Geez, Brianna. Hold on."

But it actually wasn't Brianna. When Truman opened the door, Annabelle stood just beyond it, some of her caramel-colored curls hanging in her face, which was blotchy and red. Her eyes were a little red, too, like she'd been crying.

She sniffled, twisting her slender fingers, which were clasped at her front. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced, and so late like this, but have to tell you both something. And it's about Owen. And Matthew. And the chandelier. And it may make you both want to rethink your wedding plans."

*

Truman ushered Annabelle inside, just as stunned as I was, I was sure. "Come in. Please."

I couldn't imagine what she had to tell us about Owen, Matthew, and the chandelier incident. I also couldn't imagine how whatever she had to tell us might make Truman and me rethink our wedding plans. I really didn't have a clue.

But I was going to have to wait to find out, because not a second after Truman and I had seated Annabelle in an overstuffed tan chair in the living room, the doorbell chimes sounded again.

Annabelle gasped, her eyes widening. "If that's Matthew for some reason, just tell him...just tell him you both called me over here. You both called me over here to watch a movie, and it was very sad. You and I have both been crying, Brette. Please."

Miles beyond confused, I nodded anyway. "Okay."

Frowning, Truman looked from her to me. "I'll get the door."

Just in case it
was
Matthew, I figured I should come along. "I'll go with you."

After handing Annabelle a tissue from a box on the clear glass coffee table and giving her shoulder a little squeeze, I followed Truman out to the foyer to answer the door. And to my surprise, it was Brianna and Owen. And to my astonishment, Brianna looked like she'd been crying, too. Her big green eyes were just as red-rimmed and watery as Annabelle's.

She sniffled, hiccupping. "We're sorry to bother you both so late. But we have something very urgent to tell you about. And now that Owen's finally told
me
about it, and now that we've made up our minds to tell it, we have to do it right now. It can't wait. It's about what happened to Owen with the chandelier, and it's about Matthew. And it's about something that might affect you two getting married in a few weeks."

Thoroughly
dumbfounded
, I ushered her and Owen inside. "Brianna, just what in the hell is going on? Annabelle's already inside, and she just told us she has to tell us about the same things...Owen, Matthew, the chandelier, and something that might make Truman and me rethink our wedding. So, what is it? What's going on?"

Brianna looked at Owen. "So I was right, then
,
Annabelle already knows something. Or, at least, she suspects something."

I sighed. "Knows what? Suspects what?"

Fresh tears suddenly welled in Brianna's eyes, and she winced, sending tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. "It's all going to take a minute to explain. And it's all so sad because...." She took a shaky, deep breath. "We've all been friends with Matthew for so long. Decades now. And now, I just can't stop crying. I'm just hoping we're all wrong."