His Resolution – Kisses at Midnight

“Anthony…” I call as I look down at the instrument panel, annoyed at myself. “Tomorrow can you call the marina and have them send over the fuel boat? I was in a hurry. I forgot to fill up before I left and the boat’s on empty.”

I’m fucking nervous and excited for tonight, and in my haste to get back here to Doralee, I must have forgotten to check the fuel gauge when I left the marina.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll call them now. It’s New Year’s Day tomorrow, they may not come…”

“Just pay them whatever is necessary. I don’t like the boat sitting here low on fuel just in case.” I hand the keys to Anthony, who places them in the key box on the wall of the boathouse.

“Will do.”

I step onto the dock and my phone buzzes. When I look down, the excited tightness in my gut twists.

It’s the Captain of my new sixty-foot Sunseeker, confirming they’re all set and will be on their way in a couple hours. It’s part of the surprise—not just the yacht, but what I’m going to do with Doralee when we get out to sea at the stroke of mid-night.

I have a full staff ready. A chef, wait staff, the Captain, attendants. They are in the process of decorating The Doralee right now; there’s about ten thousand twinkling white lights, a round sparkling ball that will fall exactly at midnight and confetti bombs set to blow right at the stroke of twelve.

That’s not all I have planned, but it’s what I have under control at the moment and now I just need to get to Doralee, get us dressed and ready before the boat gets here.

I settle with Anthony a few more instructions for the packages and the plans for the evening, before heading to the house, my dick already hard knowing I’m going to be close to my precious Doralee again.

It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like weeks. This girl has me turned upside down, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But as I slip in through the back door, I find Stella standing there with tears in her eyes.

My nerves are on edge in an instant. “What’s wrong, Stella?”

Her lips are tight, then she answers. “I’m sorry, Mr. Damon. I don’t know what happened. I came in, Miss Doralee was on the computer there.” Stella nods toward the laptop I keep in the kitchen for the staff to use. “She was crying. When I try to ask what’s wrong, she just ran upstairs.”

I step over to the laptop and click on the open tabs. When I see an email open, I click then scroll down and chills race down my spine.

Clicking back, I read some of the other emails, and a mixture of black dread and red fury clouds my vision.

There’s ten emails. The first is from her friend in L.A., January, worried about her, and I’m a fucking idiot because that oversight has undone everything. I was so focused on controlling everything about our life here that I forgot to take care of the life Doralee had before. I should have made sure January was aware of what was going on, because she’s like a dog with a bone. Next morning, she sent another email, telling Doralee she was supposed to call her when she landed in Paris. She called her father, worried.

The rest are from her father and Melany.

As I read them, my fury grows. Before I even get to the last word, I’m on my feet, turning and punching the wall above the computer, making Stella yelp from behind.

I grind my teeth together until my jaw pops. I knew taking Doralee wasn’t the way most would have done things, but I needed to be sure she was away from everything. Not only her father and Melany, but the agency too. I knew they would pimp her out like the newest virgin flavor of the week.

I wasn’t thinking clearly, I just needed her with me. I need to control everything.

Her father called the agency when she didn’t show, and from there I knew a shit storm would start, but I didn’t think there was anything they could do that would truly hurt Doralee.

I didn’t care that her money might be cut off, or that they would be mad. I have ten times more than we can spend in our lifetimes anyway. I thought I had everything covered, that all the angles were closed off.

Wrong.

Because what I didn’t know—what I should have checked but never thought to ask—is that the real collateral was always her two dogs. That fucking bitch Melany was holding their lives over Doralee’s head.

Who fucking does that? And why did she want Doralee to go to Paris so bad?

The last email, sent this morning, had no hint of concern for her safety, just irritation that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. It says the dogs will be put down today if Doralee fails to get in contact with them.