Page 4 of The Billionaire’s Secret Twins (Love for the Holidays #11)

Dominic

I haven’t seen much of Angie during our time in New York.

She’s been nothing but one hundred percent appropriate and unfailingly polite at every turn.

When the car pulled up in front of the mansion to pick us up, her cheeks flushed a bit because I tend to travel in style.

The Rolls Royce was a little over the top, but the service had no other cars available, and so this one was booked.

But the young woman is decidedly independent. When the trunk popped, Angie immediately hoisted her bag herself, getting ready to put it in the compartment. I stepped in, gently taking the suitcase from her.

“Here, let me,” I said in a deep voice, my huge form towering over her own. “A petite woman shouldn’t be throwing heavy bags around like they’re bowling balls.”

That’s when the chauffeur interrupted us both, seizing the handle to Angie’s carry-on.

“This is my job, ma’am,” he said with a friendly smile. “Sir? Is this all? Any other luggage”

I handed over the handle to my small roller board and chuckled.

“No, because I keep doubles of everything in my New York apartment, so there’s no need to bring anything when the identical item is waiting for me on the opposite coast. This is it.”

“Perfect,” the driver said, not at all surprised at my statement. “We’ll be at the airport within an hour.”

Then, we settled into the back of the Rolls Royce and I shot a sideways look at Angie.

The young woman was composed, despite a flush of color on her cheeks.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, with just one small wisp escaping from her temple.

I wanted to smooth down the errant strand before pressing my lips to that sensitive spot behind her ear and hearing her gasp.

I wanted to gently trail my lips over the hint of clavicle I could see beneath her loose blouse, before pulling her into my lap for a deep, all-consuming kiss.

After all, Angela White is just my type, but I haven’t acted on my desires, which is astonishing.

Usually, a woman will be in and out of my bed within twenty-four hours, with the emphasis on out .

Relationships aren’t my thing, and I’ve yet to meet a female who can keep my attention once we’ve consummated our attraction.

But Angie is different, and I’m not sure what it is. It could be her looks, but all the women I sleep with are gorgeous. There have been a plethora of models, actresses, and other professionally-beautiful women who grace the pages of magazines every day, so I don’t think it’s her looks alone.

It could also be Angela’s demure personality mixed with sparks of verve, but we don’t know each other well enough for me to know for certain.

But I want to know more, and I guess that’s the rub.

The curvy girl’s a mystery to me, and that’s probably what draws me in.

It’s her vivacious smile paired with big blue eyes that also carry a hint of shadow deep inside.

Something is pulling me to this female, and I want to know what it is.

Then again, I’m acting like a fucking lunatic because there is no “drinks event.” I mean, there is, but it’s certainly not something that requires extra help from my Austin household.

It’s a shindig that I manufactured out of thin air in order to have an excuse to spend time with my sexy housekeeper.

I want to keep Angela in my vicinity, and I want an excuse to talk with her.

I want to watch the young woman at work, and bringing her to New York for this sham event is the perfect opportunity.

Of course, there will be a party, make no mistake.

Guests aren’t a problem when you’re a billionaire, and although I have no true “friends,” people will come just to ogle my penthouse while critiquing my décor.

But I don’t give a shit because Angela’s the real reason I’m hosting this thing, and what other people say or do is of no interest to me.

Unfortunately, these past few days in New York haven’t gone as planned.

We stepped off my private plane at JFK and were escorted by limo to the apartment, which is a gorgeous space on the top floor of a pre-war building bordering Central Park.

There are five bedrooms and five baths, as well as a formal dining room, living room, two maids’ rooms, and a full-size kitchen and attached butler’s pantry.

But the best part of the penthouse is the attached terrace, which overlooks Central Park.

The views are sweeping, and the grandeur of the vista can never be denied.

Come Thanksgiving, there’s also a firsthand view of the Macy’s parade, and the overall feeling is one of overwhelming fun and good fortune.

But Angela hardly noticed because she went to work immediately.

She began speaking with my butler in New York, and they put their heads together to get the party-planning going.

As a result, I’ve hardly seen the curvy girl this past week.

I’ve caught glimpses here and there, as she instructs the staff, and I’ve overheard her voice on the phone as I walk the halls.

But nothing more. We haven’t had a private moment, which I suppose is to be expected since she’s working.

But now, it’s the night of the party, and my guests are enjoying themselves.

Handsome men and beautiful women mill about on the terrace, laughing and talking with drinks in their hands.

A makeshift bar is set up in the corner, complete with a bartender with his sleeves rolled up, and lilting music plays from an invisible sound system.

It’s a gorgeous night too, with a deep blue expanse of sky overhead, lit only by small pinpricks of light.

Central Park is spread out below per usual, its lush greenery cloaked in a velvety black.

“So Dom,” a woman purrs at my left. “What have you been up to? We haven’t seen you in New York for ages.”

I shoot her a perfunctory smile. What was her name again? Melissa, I think.

“I’ve been busy in Texas,” I say in a smooth tone. “Re-locating a company as big as Regeneron AI is never easy, and I needed to be there myself to oversee the process.”

“But surely it’s done now,” a blonde titters to my left. When I shoot her a look, she literally shimmies a bit, making her tits bounce. “You’ll be spending more time with us now, right?”

To be honest, their overt flirtation turns me off.

I prefer subtlety, dynamism, and a certain sass mixed with innocence.

By contrast, these women are practically ready to strip off their dresses before heading inside for an intimate threesome in the master bedroom.

So I merely incline my head, ready to say something when a movement off to the left catches my eye.

Is that ...?

It is, and a frown marks my stern features.

“What are you looking at, Dom?” the blonde asks, turning to see where I’m glowering. Of course, the woman would never notice the help and remains clueless.

“Did we miss something?” the brunette burbles, also scanning the crowd in that direction. “Did a celebrity arrive? A movie star? Oh my god, could it be Taylor Lake, the new bachelor? I heard he’s to die for.”

Their chatters fades as I stare hard at Angela because this is not what I anticipated when I invited my housekeeper to New York.

Yes, she was going to organize a party for me, but she wasn’t going to work said party.

But I see the curvy girl clad in a plain black dress and black flat shoes, lifting a catering tray to her shoulder.

On the silver platter is perched a bunch of dirty dishes, precariously balanced, and she frowns a bit, struggling with the weight.

I stride over in a flash before easing the tray off her shoulder and taking it myself.

“Mr. Masters!” she whispers, blushing hotly as she stares with surprise. “What are you doing?”

I nod at the entryway to the apartment.

“Follow me.”

Angela’s stock still for a moment, but then bursts into motion, almost running behind me as I stride into the apartment. We get to a darkened hallway, and then turn into a side room before I ease the tray off my shoulder and onto a table.

“Mr. Masters, there’s no need—” she begins. But I frown.

“What are you doing?”

Angie stares at me, perplexed.

“I’m working the party,” she says in a slow tone. “It’s my job, remember? You hired me to oversee this event.”

“No, that is not your job,” I growl. “Your job is to oversee the party. You shouldn’t be working it like a humble maid.

There’s plenty of staff at your disposal, as well as an outside catering service that was specifically brought in to handle the canapés.

Why are you busing dirty dishes and collecting used glasses?

I don’t want to see you doing that again. ”

Angela stares at me, those blue eyes like huge pools of ocean water.

“Mr. Masters, you may not remember, but I was a maid before I came to work for you. My job was to clean, and I’m not above getting my hands dirty. These used dishes needed to be taken in, and our staff is busy, so I figured I’d do it myself.”

Respect for the young woman washes over me, and I nod.

“I understand. You’re pitching in because we’re short staffed—”

“We’re not short staffed,” Angie says in a firm tone.

“We are staffed just right, but we’re currently in a busy phase and there was no one else on hand.

Again, I’m more than happy to get my hands dirty, and it’s no trouble at all.

Now if you’ll excuse me,” she says, reaching behind me for the silver platter.

But I don’t move, and remain blocking her way.

“There’s no need for you to serve, Angela,” I say in a deep tone. “I won’t allow it.”

Her cheeks color as her eyes shoot sparks at me.

“ You won’t allow it ?” she parrots, a disbelieving expression on her pretty features.

I shrug my broad shoulders like nothing’s wrong.

“I don’t like seeing you dressed like this, and I don’t like seeing young women lifting heavy trays they have no business lifting.”

Angela stares at me, a flush on those pretty cheeks.

“Dressed like what? This is a perfectly serviceable black shift. I wear it whenever I work events and it’s never caused problems before.”

I skim over her frame, taking in her lush breasts, narrow waist, and long legs. Of course, the fabric is boxy and stiff, but nothing can hide the curvy girl’s delectable figure.

“It’s ugly,” I say in a bored tone. “It’s a uniform.”

“ Of course it’s a uniform !” Angela splutters, red spots on her cheeks now. “I’m the hired help! I wear a uniform so that guests know that I’m here to serve them.”

Again, the word “serve” riles something deep inside my chest when it’s expressed in conjunction with this woman.

Yes, I want to see Angie serving, but I only want her to serve me – preferably nude, with her big breasts out, her cunt dripping, while on her knees.

I don’t want her to serve anyone else because that’s not how I see my infuriating housekeeper. Hell, my guests should be serving her .

But Angie’s sassy voice brings me back from my fantasies.

“My dress is fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Masters,” Angie says in an arch tone, one hip cocked out to the side with one brow raised. “I need to get back to do my job.”

There’s a split second of silence and then I move without even realizing it.

One moment, we’re glowering at each other, locked in a showdown to the death.

The next, I have a big hand on the back of her neck and I’ve dragged Angela forwards before swooping down and plundering that plush pout with my lips.

She gasps, but it’s perfect because those delectable lips part, allowing my tongue to sweep inside.

“I’ve wanted to do this a long time,” I rasp, pulling her close so that her wide hips are angled against my own. “Fuck yeah.”

She battles me for a moment, those small palms pressed against my chest. But then with a small moan, Angie’s hands slide up to lock around my neck, pulling me close against her curvy figure. Her breasts are smashed against my broad chest as I deepen the kiss.

“Yes,” I rasp. “Let me taste you, baby. You are so fucking irresistible.”

Angela moans a bit before kissing me again, this time allowing her tongue to touch mine. The intimacy is astonishing, and we both break away for a moment, gasping and panting as lust pulses in the air.

But before I can take things further, Angie’s big blue eyes flicker with horror.

She comes to herself, and then pulls away like her life depends on it before darting out of the room, her hair mussed and cheeks flushed.

I hear the pitter-patter of light footfalls as she runs off, clearly stunned by my asshole-ish ways.

But what did she expect? I’m Dominic Masters, billionaire extraordinaire who always gets his way.

Of course, the current situation is rather unusual, seeing that a woman just ran off, leaving me with an aching boner.

Groaning, I adjust myself because there’s no way I can go back out into the crowd with a piece of wood like this screaming for attention.

But damn. One kiss with the curvy girl was enough to set me on fire, and my cock could punch fucking holes right now.

I want Angela trussed and naked, her creamy thighs spread wide on my bed as she smiles at me.

But what’s a man to do? With another growl, I make for the door, but then stop in my tracks because somehow in her haste, Angela dropped one of her shoes.

It’s a plain, black thing without even a hint of a heel.

But somehow it fell off... and Prince Charming is just the one to return it.