One Night With a Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  “Cade,” she moaned, unable to articulate anything but his name. She was existing in a pool of delicious need, and her body was desperate for release.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” he murmured as he kissed his way back up to her mouth. His lips were urgent on her own, and when his tongue speared into her mouth, she licked it in encouragement.

  She didn’t want to wait any longer, either. “Yes, please.”

  And even though she’d been encouraging him, she was still shocked when he pushed her legs apart a little further and sank into her in one swift stroke. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about a condom, but then he put a hand under her hip, raising her at an angle, and stuffed a pillow underneath her bottom. He stroked in again.

  And her entire body came alive.

  Oh God, that must have been her G-spot. When he sank into her, he pressed against something that made her crazy with need, and her skin prickled at the surge of pleasure. A hoarse little gasp escaped her.

  “Is that the spot?” he murmured, his breathing as rapid and harsh as her own.

  Full of wonder, Kylie could do nothing but nod.

  He clasped her hips tight and began to pound into her with sure, deep thrusts. Every single one felt better than the last, and before she knew it, her toes were curling and she was clenching him tight with her legs, and moaning like a wild woman. Her hips rose to meet his thrusts, and oh mercy, that felt even better.

  “Close?” he asked, pumping into her again. He gave his hips a little swivel that made her entire body clench up in response, and she clutched at the blankets, trying to brace herself.

  And oh, sweet Jesus, she was close. He was thrusting into her like a jackhammer, moving so hard that the bed shook and her breasts bounced with every motion. And it felt incredible. She’d never felt so good.

  If this was impulsive, drunk sex, she was all for it.

  His hand left her hip and began to tease one of her bouncing breasts, toying with the nipple and pinching the tip between his fingers. “So sexy,” he murmured. “God, so sexy.”

  Her head went back and a tremor rocked through her body, and then she was coming, hard. A cry escaped her and her body tensed in the throes of an orgasm—the best one of her life—and she seemed to come for what felt like forever and ever and ever, each thrust of his cock into her body just ratcheting the delicious friction higher and higher.

  Then, Cade groaned and his movements became jerky, uneven. She felt a pulse of warmth flooding inside her as he came, and he continued to pump slowly into her, each throb of her body sending another wave of pleasure through her.

  And then she was slippery-wet between her legs, more so than before. He slid out of her, leaned down, gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth, and then collapsed next to her on the bed, breathing hard.

  Kylie stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room, replete. Man, she felt incredible. That was her first time for G-spot sex, and clearly she’d been missing out. With a lazy yawn, she stretched an arm over her head and sighed contentedly. So she was a bit slick between the legs and needed some clean-up. She’d get to that soon. Right now, she was just feeling good. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex bareback before,” she murmured to Cade drowsily.

  He made a soft noise in his throat.

  “I’m on the pill, though, so no worries about kids. I take it you’re clean?”

  A soft snore met her question.

  Surprised, she looked over at Cade and saw him asleep, mouth slack. His angelic curls were sticking to his damp forehead, and she propped up on her elbows to regard him, amused. Well, it was late. Her gaze trailed down his gorgeous body, pausing at his cock, still half-erect and gleaming wet from their mutual arousal. She looked farther down . . .

  He was still wearing socks. Kylie stifled her giggle.

  She got up from the bed and turned off a few lights, then padded to the bathroom and cleaned herself up a bit. Then, yawning, she headed back to the bedroom and pulled her phone out of her purse. She set her alarm for seven in the morning and put her phone on vibrate. She was a light sleeper, so she’d feel the vibrations if she left it in bed next to her. With that, she put the phone on a pillow, laid back down, snuggled next to Cade, and promptly fell asleep.

  SEVEN

  Cade Archer was never going to drink again.

  Ever, ever again.

  He squinted at the broad daylight streaming in through the windows of the hotel suite, and raised a hand to shield his eyes. Ugh. Why was the sun so damn bright? He yawned and then put a hand to his forehead as it protested even that small movement. Rolling over, he buried his face in the pillow.

  And immediately smelled sex.

  Oh . . . fuck.

  He bolted upright in the bed, ignoring the throb of his head. Confused, drunk memories swam through his head, offering no answers. Had he had sex last night? The blankets were rumpled but he didn’t see another person in the bed with him. He was alone. “Hello?”

  No response.

  Maybe it was just his imagination. He put his head to the pillow and sniffed again. Nope, definitely smelled like sex.

  God, just how drunk had he been last night? His brain was still fuzzy this morning, which told him pretty damn drunk. But Cade wasn’t the type to have a one-night stand. The last one he’d had was Daphne, and he hadn’t wanted to think of that as a one-night stand. He’d been hopeful that it was the start of something else, something brighter.

  Until she’d OD’d, crushing all of his dreams again.

  He scanned the room, trying to remember. Bits and pieces of alcohol-laden memory filtered through his mind. He vaguely recalled a rather arousing striptease, and a pair of large, gorgeous breasts, and flame-tipped hair . . .

  Kylie!

  Oh God, he’d drunk-fucked Kylie? You were supposed to drunk-fuck people you didn’t like, people you never wanted to see again. But he liked Kylie. Maybe he liked her too much. She was nice, and beautiful, and she laughed a lot, and she didn’t belong in his fucked-up life.

  Ugh. He moved to the side of the bed and rubbed a hand over his aching brow. As he did, he noticed a tiny note written on hotel stationary, propped up against the phone. He picked it up and admired her neat cursive handwriting.

  Cade,

  Thanks for last night. Hope you find what you’re looking for.

  XO,

  Kylie

  PS—I slept in the wet spot. You’re welcome.

  That was it. No phone number, no call me. Nothing. It was absolutely a one-night stand. She wasn’t asking for more.

  And damn it, that just sat all wrong with him. Cade wasn’t the kind of guy to drag a girl into his bed with empty promises and deliver nothing. He’d done that with Kylie, and she deserved better than that. She deserved someone to give her all the attention in the world, to treat her like a princess and make love to her for hours, not a drunk that stabbed at her with whiskey dick and then passed out.

  He should call her and apologize.

  He searched through the nightstand and his phone wasn’t there. Okay, it was in his jacket somewhere. Or still in his trousers. He got up and headed across the room to where his clothing was thrown, and noticed with grim amusement that his socks were still on his feet. He was naked . . . except for his socks. What must Kylie think of his smooth moves? He snorted and scooped up his pants. His phone was still in one pocket.

  So was his wallet, where he kept an emergency condom.

  His mouth went dry. Cade ran a hand over his chin and pulled out his wallet, half afraid of opening it. What if he hadn’t used a condom last night? Jesus, what if he’d gotten Kylie pregnant on a drunken hookup? She’d hate him forever. Wincing, he cracked open his wallet . . . and recoiled at the sight of the condom still sitting there in its bright purple packaging.

  “Fuuuuuuck me.”

  That did it. He needed to talk to Kylie. If nothing else, to apologize. To explain. To see if she was clean, to see if she was pregnant. To see if she hated him.

&n
bsp; Hell, all of the above.

  Cade’s phone didn’t have Kylie’s phone number, though. This was just getting worse and worse. Nor did he recall a last name. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but the only image he had was of her pretty, smiling face, the way her hair danced on her shoulders as she moved, the way her breasts heaved and bounced as his cock pounded into her—

  He scrubbed a hand down his face and willed his morning wood to go away. Thinking about naked, moaning Kylie wasn’t helping his control.

  He couldn’t call Daphne, though. What on earth could he possibly say to her? Hey, are you busy? Remember how last night I showed up to give you a car and talk with you and you ignored me? What’s the full name of your cute makeup assistant? I drunk-fucked her bareback and I’d really like to make sure everything’s cool. Hope you don’t mind.

  Because he knew Daphne, and he knew she’d mind. Daphne was many things, but open-minded wasn’t one of them. She was a jealous sort, and that extended to her friends. If everyone wasn’t dancing to her tune, it’d upset her.

  And he didn’t need to unbalance her more than she already was.

  Cade threw his phone down and stormed off to the bathroom to take a shower.

  By the time he emerged, he had a game plan. He called his personal assistant, Jerome. Unlike his friends, he wasn’t keen on using an assistant to do basic things that he could do himself, like take his clothes to the cleaners or return a DVD rental. As it was, Jerome tended to have it easier than most, and Reese’s wife, Audrey, had laughingly told Cade several times that he needed to hand off more things.

  Well, now was his chance.

  “What’s up, boss?” Jerome said, answering immediately.

  “I hate to bother you—”

  “No bother. You pay my mortgage.” Jerome sounded amused at Cade’s apology. “Least I can do is answer when you call.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  He looked at the clock. One in the afternoon—Daphne’s tour would already be on its way to the next city. “Can you tell me where Daphne Petty’s next tour stop is?”

  A pause. “I can, but there is this neat little thing called ‘the Internet.’”

  “Just pretend I’m a helpless man with tons of money and an inability to do things for myself.”

  “Pretending real hard right now,” Jerome teased, but Cade could hear him typing on the other side of the line. “Looks like her next stop is tomorrow night in Des Moines.”

  “Okay. Get me tickets. And backstage passes.”

  “I’m probably being presumptuous, but can’t Daphne get those for you?” Jerome had worked for Cade for a long time and knew about his mixed-up relationship with the pop star.

  “It’s . . . complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  So he told Jerome about his night, and how it was part wonderful and part awful. And how he wanted to contact Kylie now without getting Daphne involved.

  Jerome was silent when Cade finished.

  “So . . . tickets?” Cade asked to break the silence.

  “You want to know what I think, boss?”

  “Probably not, but hit me with it anyhow.”

  “I think you need to stay far away from anything even remotely related to Daphne Petty.”

  He wasn’t the only one thinking that. The more Cade was around her, the more he felt mired in quicksand.

  “I also think you need to let Reese’s wife know about her sister.”

  Cade rubbed his forehead, his headache pounding. He headed toward the minibar for some hair of the dog. “Noted.”

  “And I think you should get tested to make sure you’re clean of any diseases.”

  He closed his eyes. God, what a nightmare this was turning out to be. The one bright spot in everything was Kylie. Sweet, laughing Kylie with her gorgeous body and her lovely smile. An image of her with her head thrown back as she came flashed through his mind. “I’m pretty sure she’s clean.”

  “You were pretty sure Daphne was stable eight months ago, too.”

  Ouch. “Point taken. All right, then. What do I need to do?”

  “You sit tight. I’ll get you tickets and passes for the upcoming show. And I’ll contact your personal doctor and see if he can fly out to Chicago.”

  “You want to call Reese and Audrey for me?”

  “Hell, no,” Jerome said. “I’ll do the easy stuff. You get the hard work.”

  Cade smiled grimly as he hung up the phone, uncapped a tiny bottle of tequila, and swigged it. Hair of the dog—tasted as awful as it smelled. Still, maybe it would help settle him. Telling a six-month pregnant Audrey that her sister was back off the wagon again? Yeah, that wasn’t going to go over well.

  Then again, he was starting to have a feeling that the rest of this week was going to be a mess. Putting down the tequila, he moved to the bed and looked at Kylie’s note again. So simple, so brief. It was so completely noncommittal that it was driving him insane.

  At least he knew where he’d find her. Wherever Daphne was, Kylie would be there trying to make her look good. He supposed that made things easier, in a way.

  It also made things a lot, lot harder in so many other ways.

  —

  After a nap in her hotel room, a shower, and breakfast, Kylie was feeling rather pleased with herself as she climbed onto the tour bus. She was alone in her bus seat, doing a sudoku puzzle and sipping her coffee while everyone around her chatted and laughed—or nursed hangovers. Daphne had gotten a decent write-up in the local newspaper, the show had sold out, and everyone was riding high.

  Especially Kylie.

  She’d just had a one-night stand with a gorgeous man. She’d done something completely out of character, and she was feeling pretty darn good about it, actually. Instead of worrying that he was just hooking up with her as a rebound, she’d controlled the situation. She’d gotten her rocks off (so to speak), had come so hard her brain felt like mush, and then she’d left before the situation had a chance to get awkward.

  No phone numbers exchanged. No excuses, nothing. Just one night of fun and then done. She couldn’t even regret things—what was there to regret? That she’d had meaningless sex with a sexy man?

  Maybe she should have felt bad that he’d shown up for Daphne, but Daphne had made it quite clear that she wasn’t interested in Cade. That made him fair game. Even Cade had said there was nothing between them.

  So she did her puzzle and enjoyed the pleasant soreness between her thighs, and her daydreams were full of blue-eyed men with blond curls and sad smiles.

  Blue-eyed men with big packages that they knew how to use really, really well. She couldn’t forget that part.

  She was lost in pleasurable daydreams somewhere outside of Cedar Rapids when a familiar figure flopped down in the empty seat next to her.

  “Hey, Fat Marilyn,” Daphne said, plucking at the hem of her designer T-shirt. She licked her lips and then rubbed her hollow eyes. “You got any sleeping pills?”

  Kylie sat up and frowned, putting down the sudoku. “Why would you think I have sleeping pills?”

  “Because I can’t sleep and I’ve tried everyone else?” Her eyes were red and she was twitchy, a sure sign that she was on something. Daphne leaned her head back against the bus seat and to Kylie’s horror, her lower lip trembled. “I think someone gave me some bad shit last night.”

  “That sucks,” Kylie said sympathetically. “I have some Advil and Midol, but nothing else.”

  “Can I have those?”

  “Which ones?”

  “Both.”

  Seriously? “You can have some Advil, I guess. Unless you’re cramping?” When Daphne shook her head, Kylie got out her purse and carefully doled out two pills.

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all I feel comfortable giving you,” Kylie told her.

  Daphne snorted and shook her head, but took the pills. She swallowed them dry, and Kylie made a mental note to hide her purse
in the future, just in case Daphne came snooping for more. And when her boss didn’t leave, Kylie supposed she should continue talking to her, even though she was feeling a lot of uncharitable things for Daphne at the moment. The way she’d treated Cade last night was deplorable, but it wasn’t her problem. She couldn’t get involved. She had to remain neutral, because Daphne was her employer. So she said, “Sorry you’re feeling bad. How late were you up last night?”

  “I haven’t slept,” Daphne said, rubbing her eyes again. For a moment, she looked childishly young. “I think. Last night’s pretty much a blur. But the papers said the concert was good, so that’s something at least.”

  “Do you remember . . . anything?” Kylie edged.

  “Drugs,” Daphne said with an unhappy sound. “I remember bad drugs.” And she rubbed at her eyes again.

  Kylie frowned and dug through her purse, then pulled out some eyedrops and offered it to her. “Do you remember . . . an old friend showing up to visit you?”

  “Thanks,” Daphne said with a grateful smile. She tilted her head back and put the drops in her eyes, then handed it back to Kylie. “And nope. I was pretty wasted, and not in a good way.” She wiped at the corners of her eyes, smearing black liner that was probably a leftover from last night.

  And like a mother hen, Kylie pulled out a package of makeup wipes and offered them to Daphne, as well.

  Daphne giggled as she took them. “Jesus, what don’t you have in that enormous purse of yours?”

  Dignity and self-respect, she wanted to retort, but she was feeling wounded on Cade’s behalf, and that was a dangerous road to go down. She had to work for Daphne, after all, and she’d likely never see Cade again. “I just try to be prepared,” Kylie said in a neutral voice. “So you don’t remember Cade visiting you?”

  Daphne’s overbright eyes popped open and she sat up straight in her chair. “What?”

  Oh, hell. “Cade Archer? Good-looking guy? Blond hair? He showed up last night and you blew him off.” She tried to keep the judging out of her tone. Really, she did. Tried and failed, but hey.