Page 14

I drag myself into my office, ready to drop dead from exhaustion. I’m so tired I could curl up on my very uncomfortable sofa and take a nap. Being a nonprofit director sucks sometimes. I drop into my desk chair, propping my head up with one hand as my eyes drift shut.

Five seconds of rest later, I snap awake, nearly tipping backward in my seat. I don't have time for this; I've got to sort through the piles of paperwork piling up on my desk. I shove one pile aside to make room for a bigger one. Before I know it, the desk is even more of a disaster zone than when I started.

After a solid hour, I've barely made a dent, but I have come across a few small gems. Looks like my family’s come through for me again. No surprise there. My five brothers all sent in extra donations for the month. I guess the big jerks are trying to make up for pissing me off at our family dinner.

I pick up an envelope from the bank. Inside, I find notice of an anonymous donation that has way more zeroes than I’m used to seeing. I pick up the paper to make sure my sleep-deprived brain isn’t seeing things. It’s a small miracle wrapped in dollar signs. Way over the amount I need to launch the summer reading initiative without cheating other programs.

My jaw hits the floor, the desk, and then the floor again. Who would drop that much cash without taking credit?

It's got to be someone who knows me well and knows what’s going on with the program.

I pick up the phone and jab in the number for the bank. A woman's businesslike voice answers. “Silver Spoon Falls Bank, this is Sally. How may I help you?”

"Hi there, I'm calling about a recent deposit made to my nonprofit's account. I'm trying to identify the donor," I tell her.

She asks for my account information and asks me to hold on. When she comes back on the line, she informs me, "I’m sorry, Ms. Carrington, but I can't release any information about the other customer."

"It's a sizable amount," I argue, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I shuffle through more papers. "I’d like to send a thank you. Is there any way for me to find out?" Darn. Since I’ve been director, I haven’t dealt with anonymous donations. It’s actually the opposite. Most people want to claim more than they donated.

"I can’t help you." She sighs. "But your accountant might have the name for tax purposes."

Well, hot damn. I should’ve thought of that myself. This exhaustion is really kicking my butt. "Thank you," I tell her before hanging up.

I pick up the phone and punch in the number for our accountant, Penny.

"Hey," I say. "I found a large donation from an anonymous donor. Do you have any idea who it is?"

“I might,” she mumbles and I can hear her shuffling paperwork. “Give me one second.”

"Thanks, Penny." I listen to the elevator music while she checks.

“The donation was made by Todd Sharp.”

I sink back into the chair, the phone in one hand as my heart turns to mush. I hurry up to finish the absolutely necessary work, and then I close up my office and head home.

I rush through my garage door and freeze when I see Todd standing at the breakfast bar wearing only gray sweatpants.

Everything slips from my mind, including his generous contribution. Honestly, I even forget my own name as I gaze at him, ready to jump his bones.

My purse hits the floor with a thud. "We're going to talk about your generous donation," I say, and Todd's naked chest flexes as my finger makes its way down, muscles jumping. "But first I'm going to have my way with you. Your generosity really turned me on."

“I’m going to start making weekly donations,” he growls, tossing me over his shoulder. “Hell, make that daily donations.”

He smacks my ass as he rushes down the hallway toward my bedroom. He deposits me at the edge of the bed, eyes locked on mine. "Take off your clothes." The way he says it is pure command, which really turns me on. Who knew I could get off on being ordered around in the bedroom?

I peel off my shirt and shimmy out of my jeans, and he's already ripped away his sweatpants.

Todd collapses onto the bed, limbs splayed with his hard cock bouncing against his abdomen. "What're you waiting for?" he taunts.

I crawl over his legs, my fingers gliding softly over his warm, taut skin. He tenses beneath my touch, a slight twitch betraying his anticipation. "Maggie," he murmurs, a plea hanging in the air. I almost take pity on him, but perhaps some other time.

I wrap my fingers around his hard cock, feeling it pulse and jump in my grip. His eyes roll back, lost in a haze of sensation, as I lower my mouth and envelop the head with my lips.

He jolts as if struck by a bolt of electricity. "Fuck!" The word escapes him in a breathless gasp.

I work him with my lips, tracing every contour with my tongue, and my fist clenches and releases at a steady, insistent pace.

His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, almost desperately.