One Night With a Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  “What nicknames?”

  “She has a hard time remembering names so she gives us new ones.” Kylie picked at a piece of bread absently. “I think Snoopy got her name because Daphne jokes that she treats her like a dog.”

  “That’s . . . terrible.” He looked rather shocked.

  “I kind of thought so, too, but everyone seems to just accept it, so what can you do? Whatever Daphne does, everyone turns a blind eye to it.” She was a little surprised he didn’t know about some of Daphne’s bad behavior. If they were as close as she’d thought, wouldn’t he know more about how she acted on tour? The tantrums she threw on a daily basis?

  But he was still frowning and looked uncomfortable. “She has nicknames for . . . everyone?”

  Kylie nodded, dipping a piece of bread.

  “So what does she call you?”

  She suddenly felt awkward, staring at the cheese-dipped bread in her hand. “Uh . . . so she calls me Fat Marilyn.”

  “She what?”

  Kylie dropped the bread on her plate, embarrassed. “Fat Marilyn. I guess because I was dressed retro so she thought I looked like Marilyn Monroe? And fat for obvious reasons.”

  His jaw clenched. “She called you that the other day. I thought I misheard. And it doesn’t bother you?”

  Oh, it bothered her. But no one went against Daphne. Not when she was the headliner. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

  “It is a big deal.” He ran a hand over his chin. “I’m going to talk with her. She has no right to rename you based on what she perceives as a flaw.”

  “Oh no, please don’t.” The last thing she wanted was to get more of Daphne’s attention. But when his nostrils flared, she realized he was actually really furious. Wow. “Cade. Please.” She put her hand back on his. “For me, all right?”

  She watched as his jaw worked, as if he were trying to swallow the concept of not speaking up. Eventually, he gave a terse nod. “Fine.”

  Now her stomach was all clenched in knots. She took another swig of wine, feeling the pleasant burn move through her body.

  “The more I learn about her, the more I’m horrified,” Cade said in a low voice. He shook his head. “She’s really not the girl I thought she was. I don’t know how it took me so long to see it.”

  “It’s . . . not an easy situation. She’s in a fragile state of mind, and I think a lot of people let her get away with things simply because it’s easier than arguing with her. And if you make her upset? The repercussions go on for days.” Heck, Marco was still in the doghouse because Daphne was convinced he’d given her bad drugs. He’d been her favorite boy toy up until that point. It wasn’t hard to fall from Daphne’s favor lately. Things changed in the blink of an eye, and the entire tour felt a little uneasy around the star.

  “Perhaps I should step in, then,” Cade said, his look grimly determined. “If she won’t listen to me, she won’t listen to anyone.”

  “I think”—Kylie poured more wine into both of their glasses—“that we need to drink up and stop talking about Daphne while we’re together.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and his foot nudged hers.

  She took another sip of wine and then gave him a teasing look. “Was that your foot? Are you playing footsies with me under the table, sir?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Pity,” she said, and eased off one of her flip-flops. She rubbed her bare foot against his leg, curious to see how he’d react. Maybe it was the wine—okay, it was probably the wine—but she suddenly wanted to flirt.

  He closed his eyes and groaned low. “You know I want more than just your foot on me.”

  “Yes,” she teased. “But my foot’s all you get. Now drink your wine.”

  He clinked his glass to hers again.

  ELEVEN

  Next door, a maid started a vacuum, and Kylie’s head throbbed in crescendo with the sound. She groaned and pressed a hand to one aching temple. Even the pillow against her face felt too hard. Wasn’t it too early for noise like a vacuum? Surely that was against the rules somewhere.

  God, her head hurt. Too much wine. Nothing got her toasted quite like wine did. Smacking her dry mouth, Kylie pulled the pillow over her head.

  Something on her hand caught on the pillowcase at the same time a warm arm wrapped around her waist.

  And slowly, these things didn’t add up. Through the pulsing of her head, Kylie forced herself to roll over in bed, which was harder than she’d anticipated.

  It put her nose to nose with a sleeping Cade Archer.

  Kylie jerked backward in shock. Oh, shit. Shit, shit shit.

  Cade kept sleeping, though. He apparently was a heavy sleeper. Thank God for some things. He was also gorgeous, his full mouth slightly slack, tanned skin—tanned naked skin—peeking out from under the white sheets. While sleeping, she got a great view of his sinfully long blond lashes and the perfection of his nose. What on earth was he doing with a girl like her?

  Then again, what was she doing in bed with a guy she was supposed to be avoiding? She carefully slid off the side of the mattress, tugging a sheet around her. She was naked. Oh, sweet Jesus, this was what she got for not wanting to waste a five hundred dollar bottle of wine. She should have sipped one glass, said thank you, and left it at that. Instead, she had vague memories of licking melted chocolate off of Cade’s fingers, staggering back to the limo drunk, and . . .

  All right, she was pretty much a foggy blank after that. A big, slutty, foggy blank.

  Seriously, though, had she walked under a ladder recently? Broken a mirror? Why on earth was she so damn unlucky? She padded to the bathroom. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, she told herself. Maybe they both got really damn drunk and naked, but no one had sex. Sure, that was entirely plausible . . . if you were twelve. Still, she clung to the hope, heading into the bathroom.

  When she got there, though, the hickeys on her skin told a different tale. Kylie put a hand between her legs and groaned. Damp and sore. Definitely not the trademarks of someone that hadn’t had sex. There was a bruise on one of her breasts, too, and she reached up to touch it, wincing . . .

  And noticed the huge honking ring on her hand.

  She nearly passed out at the sight of it.

  Dear sweet lord, what the hell was that?

  Kylie stared at her hand. Just stared. There was a huge double-ring on her ring finger, big enough to cover her entire knuckle. The stone was a bright red square surrounded by dozens of tiny sparkly yellow stones that she sincerely hoped were fakes. The band was silvery with more of the yellow stones, etched designs swirling over the thick band. It looked . . . really expensive and not fake.

  Oh God. Oh God. Her breathing sped up.

  Bad enough that she’d slept with Cade again after vowing to leave him alone. Bad enough that she’d apparently gotten drunk and climbed him like a tree despite knowing that he was putting her job in jeopardy.

  But seriously—how fucking drunk was she that she’d married him?

  Clutching the sheet close to her body, she headed back out to the bedroom, noticing for first time that this wasn’t her hotel room. It was too big, too opulent. Where was she? She ran to the nightstand and read the label on the phone—the Belaggio. Okay. Okay. Okay. The clock read eleven thirty, so she had time to get back to her own hotel, check out, and head to work as if nothing had happened. She just needed a shower, something to cure her pounding headache, and to get rid of the ring and the husband she’d magically acquired overnight in a drunken bender.

  First things first, she told herself, and tried to pull off the ring.

  It wouldn’t come off.

  Horrified, Kylie twisted at the enormous rock, trying to drag the band over her knuckle. It didn’t move. How had she gotten this thing on? Frantic, she pulled at it for a moment more, then ran to the restroom and squirted hand soap all over it, rubbing wildly. As she did, she noticed a dent in the back of the ring—the soft metal had hit something last night, and that was why it wasn’t c
oming off. A jeweler might be able to snip it, but no amount of twisting and silent praying on Kylie’s behalf budged the damn thing. Now, with all the attacking she’d been doing to her hand, the skin was red and chafed and beginning to swell. There was no shot in hell of getting the bands off now.

  A sob broke from her throat, and she rushed back to the hotel room. “Cade! Wake up!”

  He bolted awake, his soft blond curls sticking straight up. The sheets fell to his waist, revealing a chest covered in scratches and hickeys of his own. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “This,” she cried out, holding up her hand with the huge ring. “This is what’s wrong! Did we get married last night?”

  Cade scrubbed a hand over his eyes wearily. “You don’t remember? Really?”

  “Exactly how much wine did I freaking drink?” She didn’t remember anything beyond fondue, which was fun to dip food in but not so great for soaking up copious amounts of alcohol.

  He rubbed his head, which only caused his hair to stick up even further. It might have been gorgeously adorable if she hadn’t been so panicked. “You liked the wine so much we ordered a second bottle.” His lips twitched with amusement. “You insisted, actually.”

  Oh God. “Why did you let me insist?”

  His mouth curled into one of those panty-melting smiles. “Because I can’t resist when you ask for anything.”

  She stared down at the vivid ring on her finger. “Did I . . . did I ask for this?”

  “If I recall—and my memory is pretty hazy, too—we passed by a jewelry store, and I suggested it, and then you threw your arms around my neck and started kissing me.” He was grinning now, the bastard. “Do you like the ring? We thought it matched your hair. Rubies and yellow diamonds.”

  So those weren’t fakes. They were expensive and real. “And the band?” she asked faintly.

  “Platinum.” He held up his hand. “Mine, too.”

  “I bent it,” she told him, moving toward the bed. Her voice sounded as weak and tremulous as she felt. “Look at the back of the ring. I bent it.”

  He patted the bed and because her knees probably wouldn’t hold out much longer, she went and sat next to him, tugging her sheet-dress close as she showed him her hand.

  “It won’t come off,” she said, and had to sniff to hold back tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, but her stupid brain wasn’t listening all that well. “I thought platinum was supposed to be a hard metal.”

  “Shh,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Let me look at it.”

  Kylie sniffed quietly as he examined her hand, pulling her fingers apart and gazing at the ornate band. He was taking this well, all things considered.

  Cade shook his head. “Look at your poor fingers,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss one. “You’ve rubbed them raw, Kylie.”

  “But the band—”

  “Will stay put for a bit longer,” he murmured. He looked up at her with hooded eyes and kissed the tip of her finger again. “I can’t say I’m sad to see you still in my bed this morning.”

  His mouth on her fingers was making her shiver. God, this was such a bad idea. She really should pull away.

  He kissed her palm.

  Any moment now, she was going to pull away.

  His tongue flicked over the soft center of her palm.

  Any moment.

  But then he nipped at the fleshy part of her hand and she had to bite back a moan. “Can you please concentrate?” She sounded out of breath and incredibly horny . . . which she was. But now wasn’t the time. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

  “Do?” He arched an eyebrow at her and kept nibbling at her sensitive hand.

  “About these rings. About us.”

  “Well, I know what I’d like to do.”

  She braced herself. “What’s that?”

  He nipped again, sending a shiver through her body. “Pull that sheet off of those plump breasts and get my mouth on them again. Lick you between your legs for hours until you’re quivering and begging me to fuck you again. Push my cock so deep inside you that when you come, I feel every bit of your body tensing around mine.” He flicked his tongue over her palm. “Again.”

  Her nipples responded by tightening into traitorous little buds.

  “But . . . marriage—”

  “Married people have great sex, or so I am told.” He kissed the soft flesh at the inside of her wrist and began to move up her arm.

  “But we’re not supposed to be married!” Why was he not listening to her? Didn’t he care? This was the worst possible thing that could have happened to them. To him for sure. The last thing he needed was to be saddled with a fat, insecure, broke makeup artist. She yanked her arm out of his grip as the implications of everything began to roll through her mind. “Oh God. Did we sign a prenup last night?”

  “I’m pretty sure both of us were too drunk to sign anything,” he said with a chuckle. He slid closer to her on the bed and brushed a lock of her hair off her shoulder, then leaned in and kissed her skin. “But don’t worry, I won’t go after your money.”

  Was he trying to be funny? She couldn’t be funny right now. Not when he was kissing her and her nipples were aching with the need to be teased and her sex was aching with a memory that Kylie’s brain didn’t have. Not when her head was pounding and her conscience was screaming for her to get out of bed right now, right now.

  “Cade,” she said, pushing him away. “Listen to me. Please. Just listen.”

  “Listening,” he murmured, tugging at the sheet she was holding to her breasts. “Be assured that you have my utmost attention.”

  “We can’t be married,” she protested, trying to keep the sheet over her body even as he exposed one nipple and began to tease it with his fingers. A hot flush of need slammed through her body and she had to bite back a moan as he rubbed the underside of her nipple in the way that drove her craziest. “We weren’t even supposed to go out last night. You and me . . . it was only supposed to be one night. Nothing else. No strings, nothing. We weren’t supposed to see each other ever again.”

  “But we did see each other again,” he murmured, flicking her aching nipple with a practiced thumb even as he continued to kiss her shoulder. “Also? You are so fucking pretty naked. My cock is aching just looking at you.”

  This time, the moan did escape her throat. “Cade, we shouldn’t.”

  “Oh, we should. We definitely should.” His fingers coaxed her nipple to a stiff little point, and his other hand eased the rest of the sheet down, until Kylie was topless and covered only by the pooling fabric in her lap. He took her hand again, kissed the palm, and laid it on his cock, thick and hard and aching.

  And she sucked in a breath, fascinated by that intimate touch. Her fingers grazed the head of his cock and she was surprised to find it wet with pre-come already. “You’re that turned on?”

  “Are you kidding me?” He took her big, heavy breast in his hand and lifted it until her nipple was pointing toward his mouth, and he gave it a long, lascivious lick. “Just seeing you makes me so hard I can barely stand it.”

  She moaned again. Her fingers tightened around his cock and she gave him a squeeze as his mouth nipped at her breast. “We need to talk about this marriage—”

  “Talk later. Breasts now.”

  “But you’re not listening to me,” she said, torn between frustration and desire. “We shouldn’t be married.”

  “I see nothing preventing us from the fact,” he murmured. “I want you.” His hand covered hers on his cock. “See how much I want you?” Then, his hand slipped between her rounded thighs and pushed to rest against her pussy. “And I can feel how wet you are for me.” His fingers slid along the damp seam of her. “So tell me that you don’t want me, Kylie? Because I have proof.” He lifted his hand and showed it to her, gleaming with her fluids.

  She shook her head, still dazed. “We-we can’t. Cade—”

  “Shhh,” he murmured, pressing those damp
fingers against her lips. The taste of her own salt hit her tongue, and it was strangely erotic. A gasp escaped her.

  “That looks delicious,” he murmured, and leaned in, capturing her mouth with his and then lightly sucking on her lips, cleaning them of her taste. “Mmm.”

  “Cade,” she moaned. Oh God, he was driving her to distraction. She couldn’t think when he was kissing her own juices off of her mouth. All she could think about was his hand on her pussy again, or her hand on his cock. And even though it was wrong and she shouldn’t want him to touch her, she positively ached deep inside for him.

  “Condoms,” he murmured, kissing her jaw, her neck, and then pulling away reluctantly. “We need condoms.” He leaned over the bed, giving her a gorgeous view of his long, lean, tanned body, and her hand gripping his length as if she were holding on for dear life. He pulled a drawer open on the bedside table and then cursed. “I know I have more condoms around here somewhere.” He sat up and kissed her quickly. “Be right back.”

  Then, extracting himself from her grip, he hopped up and headed across the suite to the bathroom, tight ass flexing as he moved.

  The moment he left the room, reality set in. What on earth was she doing? They needed to annul this thing and forget it ever happened. The last thing she needed was to have sex with him again. It was supposed to be one freaking night, damn it. She was never going to keep things from Daphne at this rate. She was going to lose her job at this rate.

  And . . . then what? Mooch off of Cade? Let him think she was a gold digger? Become his burden?

  Her stomach clenched hard at that.

  She heard him rummaging in the bathroom. “Just a moment,” he called out. “I know it’s here somewhere.”

  Her jeans were pooled by the bed and she grabbed them and slid them on, shoving her feet into her flip-flops. She grabbed her shirt, hauled it overhead, snagged her purse, and ran for the door, closing it quietly behind her.

  So she was a chicken and was going to run away. So what? She told herself Cade was a nice guy. That he’d understand why she needed to get away. Why she needed to get away so fast that she’d abandon him in a petting session and leave behind bra and panties. She frantically hammered at the button on the elevator, glancing back at the hotel door. Come on, come on.