The Don and his Lover

Lucien Delano was dreaming.

He was recalling a night when he had entered the house late and strode to his room. The house had been in darkness, the children safely in bed. He could hear Bea and Camille murmuring as Camille left for the cottage on the grounds where she lived with Beston, her husband.

A gun deal had gone wrong, and he was still smarting from the failure.

All he wanted was to shower and climb into bed with his pretty little wife, maybe take her roughly…

When he walked into his penthouse suite in the mansion, he saw that the walk-in wardrobe door was open; his pretty wife, her luscious body wrapped in a robe, was standing, her back to him, intently examining something in her hands. So riveted was her perusal that she had not heard him come in and she jumped when he growled.

“Woman?’

A guilty flush spreading over her cheeks, she hastily turned, her hands going behind her back in a pathetic attempt to hide what she had been holding. The Don stared hard at her, eyes narrowin