The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“And I wouldn’t wish to do that tonight, of course,” El-Mudad said quickly. His voice lowered to a deep, intense tone. “Tonight will be all about you. Your obedience. Your pleasure.”

My pussy went all silky and tingly, and a breathy, “Oui, Monsieur,” broke from my throat.

“I’ve been needing to hear those words for a long time.” His voice was almost a groan of relief.

“Can we just do this right now?” I wheedled, knowing I wouldn’t get what I wanted. Making me wait was part of the fun for him and Neil.

“Later, my love. Right now, I just wanted to hear your voice and remind you how thankful I am that you’re alive. And you’re mine.”

“Oui, Monsieur,” I answered automatically.

He laughed again. “Is Neil there? May I speak to him?”

“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen. I’ll go get him,” I said. Then I remembered my mom was in there and I couldn’t say goodbye properly in front of her. “I love you.”

“And I love you. Don’t let Neil forget to give you the present I sent,” he said, adding, “As if you ever would forget a present.”

He was right. I loved presents.

There was a giddy skip in my step as I sprinted to the kitchen. Since I could still hear Mom and Neil talking, I knew they hadn’t killed each other. So, that was good.

I held the swinging door open with one hand. “Neil? It’s El-Mudad. He wants to talk to you.”

Neil had just taken a sip from his coffee mug. He set it down quickly and reached for the phone. “Thank you, I’ll take it in my study.” He shot a look at my mother. “Alone and undisturbed.”

I took a plate of cake and melting ice cream from the island and went to the kitchen table so I could face the big windows that overlooked the sea. I glanced over my shoulder at my mom. “Do me a favor and don’t ever mention that you can see my husband’s junk through his sweatpants ever again.”

“I admit, that was unfair.” She made a pained face. “And gross. And creepy. Sometimes, I have a hard time remembering he’s my son-in-law because he’s so much older than I am.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, he’s not ‘so much older’ than you are. He’s like six years older than you.”

The age gap between my husband and me was a big issue for my mom. He’d turned fifty-four in March, and I’d just hit my...thirties.

I choked on my cake.

“Sophie!” Mom ran over just as I coughed up a mouthful of crumbs.

I waved my hands in the air the way my grandma had taught both of us to do. When I could stop hacking, I gasped, “It just went down the wrong way!”

“I’ll get you some water,” she said, bustling toward the island, her silk caftan fluttering behind her.

Neil returned to the kitchen, phone in his hand. “Damned call cut out—” His eyebrows shot up in alarm, and he dropped the handset on the floor to run over to me, despite my frantic head shaking and attempts to explain. He’d nearly dragged me from my chair for a Heimlich before my mom managed to get through to him.

“She’s fine, she’s breathing.” Mom nudged him out of the way and handed me a tall glass of water.

The drink I took helped. When I was finished hacking, I gasped, “Oh my god. I could have died. I could have choked to death and died. On my birthday.” My eyes filled with tears as I looked up at Neil and bleated, “And I’m thirty.”

“Oh, honey,” my mom said.

Neil struggled to hold back a smile. That was wise of him.

“Sophie, you’re making Rebecca and me feel very old,” he said, petting my hair back from my forehead.

“I’m sorry!” I wailed. “How unfair of me to be freaked out about my mortality on a milestone birthday that has been nothing but one disaster after another when I haven’t even been awake for a full hour yet!”

“Sophie…” Neil began. Then with a heavy sigh, he asked, “Would a present make the morning any better?”

I sniffled. “I think it would.”

“Of course it would,” Mom said with a shake of her head. She’d dealt with my materialistic self for a lot longer than Neil had.

He offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come along. Rebecca, could you excuse us a moment?”

I followed Neil out of the kitchen. “So, it’s something you can’t give me in front of my mother?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, it’s just in my study.”

Our house is huge, so it took us a few rooms and a couple of hallways to reach his study. Though the former occupants had used the space as a second formal dining room, it was too far away from the kitchen to be practical, and the built-in bookshelves, all painted white, made more sense in a library. The gauzy drapes over the tall windows brushed the wood parquet floor. His desk stood in the center of the room, with a comfortable armchair and chaise, both of which Neil insisted were for long afternoons of reading, at the far end of the room. I’d only ever seen him nap or play on his phone on those, though. Today, a signature forest green Harrods box rested on the soft gray leather.