The Boss Vol. 3: a Hot Billionaire Romance

by Cari Quinn

  So I was trapped here, behind a ghostly covered sectional.

  I crossed my arms, hissing when the buckle dipped to graze my nipple. I really needed to wear a shirt under the stupid thing. But I tended to burn the shirts, and I damn well didn’t have money to buy new ones. And I liked the freedom.

  Impatiently, I looked around the room that had been my grandmother’s favorite place in the house. Well, besides the back porch. But in the cooler months like now, she’d sit inside and stare out at the water. Like clockwork, she’d slowly make her way down to the beach and walk the stretch of her property, then come back up and take her daily nap.

  She usually blamed it on the fresh sea air, but somewhere between my days in college and spending every waking moment on work, she’d gotten old on me. Over the summer, she’d perked up and started chattering and laughing like she had when I was a girl, but then she was gone.

  I’d been teased with the woman who had inspired me to do so much, only to lose her again. It had been an unattended death, but had been ruled as natural causes.

  I’d found her on the floor of this very room.

  My vision wavered as the memories swamped me. She’d been wearing her lavender silk suit—the one she wore for brunches—and her pearls were scattered on the Aubusson rug as if she’d ripped at them. The doctor had tried to reassure me that there’d been no pain. That her heart had just stopped, but I didn’t really believe it.

  I’d been across town delivering one of my commissioned pieces. A mosaic glass table, to be exact. And she’d been here, alone—dying.

  A tear broke free and trailed down my cheek. Such an everyday occurrence. She hadn’t even mentioned she’d been feeling under the weather. Not that my grandmother would’ve mentioned it anyway.

  I’d even checked in on her and she’d told me to go.

  By the time I’d gotten home, it was dark. I’d flipped on the light and seen her.

  The tears flowed in earnest as the memories bombarded me. I’d rushed to her and then it was a blur of telephone calls, the ambulance, and nosy neighbors wandering down the beach.

  I looked around the room, at the built-in bookcases that used to be filled with my grandmother’s books and little pieces of glass sculpture I’d given her over the years. Now it was just a wash of white nooks and shelves.

  A few of the nooks were capped in glass. I’d created a one-of-a-kind bookcase for her over the years. Except two panes were missing now. I brushed away the tears and rolled onto my knees. I glanced outside, but Blake was gone.

  I didn’t know if he was really gone or just out of my eye-line.

  I waited a few moments, but didn’t see him move back into view. Curiosity had always been a weakness. I crawled to the built-in and hid behind one of the columns that cut off this room from the foyer.

  The glass fronts had been pried free. The artwork shattered and scattered over the rug.

  What the hell?

  Who would do that? The movers? Had they hit it by accident?

  No, because another three were pried loose and discarded on a lower shelf.

  A thump and scrape outside had me scurrying to the front of the house and around the corner to the hallway. I could only hope Blake hadn’t seen me.

  My chest heaved as I flattened myself against the wall. Minutes ticked by and the room darkened, shadows lengthening with the setting of the sun. Without the sun, the house cooled off quickly. When the door didn’t open—and my frozen toes and girly bits couldn’t take it anymore—I finally gave up and snuck back to my workshop.

  There was no power in the house except where my little generator reached. I’d been conserving gas, so it only lit up my worktable and a tiny sconce near my bed. It wasn’t full dark yet, but the temperature was dropping. I debated a shower, but decided I was too damn cold. I yanked a sweater off the shelf above my bed and pulled it over my overalls before I slipped under my covers.

  I was hungry and really wanted a damn coffee.

  But I also wanted to know why Blake chose now to come to the house, and why the hell someone had broken pieces off of my grandmother’s bookcase? It seemed cruel to deface it.

  I tucked my hands under my arms for warmth and burrowed under the covers. Now I couldn’t chance going out for something to eat. Who knew if he was still out there lurking?

  Okay, so maybe not lurking since it was technically his house, but I sure wasn’t going anywhere.

  Goddamn Blake Carson.

  Three

  “Make yourself come. Do it now, Grace. Do it now.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath. My body wouldn’t cooperate. He filled me up, demanded everything. He even barked orders for my orgasm.

  I wanted to give it to him.

  I wanted to give him everything.

  The roughness of the half wall, the strength of his body behind me, the insane height difference that had me on my tiptoes—none of it mattered. All I could do was reach for that blissful end. I wanted it so very badly. I wanted to lose myself in that piece of madness that existed in the tiny spaces between our skin.

  I loved that little pocket of time.

  I wanted to wrap it around me.

  I reached for it. Reached deeper inside myself and couldn’t find it.

  The ache was pervasive. Frustration and need poured over my senses and bled into the chill of the pearly light.

  That wasn’t right.

  I wasn’t on the rooftop and he wasn’t inside me.

  I rolled over onto my belly, my hand slipping down between the bed and my aching skin, but my overalls were in the way. And I was alone.

  My breath came in pants and I screamed into my pillow.

  Dammit.

  Goddammit.

  My body was on fire. The rooftop was a nightmare and a fantasy all wrapped into one. Blake. Goddamn Blake. I’d gone to sleep cursing his name. Was it any wonder that I woke with a raging orgasm snatched away into dreams of him?

  I flipped onto my back and palmed my breast under the bulky cable knit sweater. The scratchy wool just made things worse. I struggled out of it and curled into myself. My breasts were tender and my nipples were so tight I could barely stand it. My thighs quivered with the need to go over. All I needed to do was reach down and stroke a few times to ease the ache.

  Would I forever be calling out his name as my body betrayed me?

  I clamped my thighs together, trapping my hands between my knees. I knew how to please myself. I’d been alone for so long that some nights called for it, but I didn’t want the storm chaser to be Blake’s name, so I resisted the urge.

  The madness climbed. I breathed through it.

  The need would go away. It had before.

  I sat up and flipped the buckles of my overalls free. I wiggled out of them, flicking the lightweight cotton across the room to my laundry bin. I hurried into the shower and blasted the hot water against my tingling skin. I nearly poached myself as I stood under the scalding spray, soaping away his scent, scrubbing my scalp.

  I couldn’t quite stand the idea of a cool shower with the wind howling outside the windows and the tide roaring with a late fall storm, but I finally had to turn the taps to cold.

  I had to push away the lust that threatened to put me under.

  The icy needles of water didn’t help.

  It tightened my nipples to diamond points and created another layer of torture on my skin. The shrill old-fashioned phone ring from my cell saved me. Only one person had that ringtone. I slapped the water off and wrapped myself in my huge bathrobe. Heedless of the puddles I was making, I rushed to my phone.

  “Hi, Philomena.”

  “Oh, thank God. I thought for sure I was going to get your voicemail.”

  “I was in the shower.”

  “You’re not working?” The hopeful tone made me smile.

  “No, that job didn’t work out.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  I laughed. “Gee thanks, Phil.”

  “No, no. I’m sorry
.”

  I could see her ringed fingers fluttering in my head. How many times had I talked her down from a full blown flutter? Too many to count.

  She sighed. “You know what I mean. You’re an artist, not a corporate assistant. That sort of environment will kill your creativity.”

  But it was okay to do all her bookkeeping and paperwork of course, but I didn’t mention that. She was right. I’d never been suited for the office. Well, not until Blake. I’d adapted almost immediately. I liked taking care of his things and showing him just how capable I was.

  God.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I’d gone in there to convince him to sell me my house somehow, not take over his assistant’s job. Just because I was good at a job didn’t mean I was meant for it.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “Are you all right, sweetie?”

  My eyes misted at Philomena’s careful tone. “I’m getting there.”

  “I really wanted you here yesterday, sweetheart.”

  “I know.” I played with a fraying string off my cuff.

  “Margaret made the most amazing turkey. It was just like when I was a girl. We totally went traditional this year.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I listened with half an ear as she went on about food and who was there, who got drunk and who was sleeping with who. Phil was definitely the gossip queen of Marblehead. She had a huge Thanksgiving feast every year, and couples, orphans, and all manner of people in-between went to her yearly get-together.

  One of the many reasons I couldn’t go. There was no way I could deal with all of that, nor the people giving me sad eyes about the loss of my grandmother. Nope. No way.

  “So, Jennifer Corbin is off the list next year. I can’t believe that harlot had the balls to have sex with Theo Baldwin. He just got married last year, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Wouldn’t that be Theo’s fault, Phil?”

  “Have you seen the breasts on Jennifer?”

  I laughed. “Breasts do not lure married men into temptation.”

  “Mine have.”

  I flopped back onto my bed with a chuckle. “You are terrible.”

  “That’s how I got my Robert.”

  “You haven’t let Robert out of your sight in twenty years. And he wasn’t married when you nabbed him.”

  “Damn right. My girls might not be quite as perky, but they still do the job. He doesn’t need to be lured away by someone like Jennifer. I know how to handle my man.”

  I was used to this game and I played along. “Robert loves you madly.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Her girlish voice trailed off into a giggle.

  Robert Stanwick had more money than he knew what to do with, so he let Phil have her gallery and a central place for all her gossip. I’d worked there for longer than I could remember. I’d learned a lot about how the art world worked, and how to promote myself.

  I’d forever be indebted to Phil for that.

  “Not that I don’t love to catch up. And honestly, you need to come over for a proper tea so we can discuss everything.”

  “Yes, I promise I will.”

  “But I have a huge favor to ask.”

  “I kinda figured when you got excited that I wasn’t working.”

  “Yes, well, that is fortuitous.”

  I played with my terrycloth belt. “Well, I’m open to distraction. What do you need?”

  “I have a showing tonight and could really use your talents.”

  I rolled my eyes. “To organize you?”

  “No, everything is set up. The new girl I had to hire after you…well, left.”

  “I left long before…well, before.”

  “I know, sweetie. And we all miss Annabelle. And I applaud your need to go out on your own.”

  I swallowed a lump at her name. “I know you do.” Even though I was drowning on my own, and missed my grandmother so much that my heart literally ached with it.

  “I could really use your help at the gallery tonight. The RSVP notices have tripled this year.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s wonderful.”

  “Definitely for sales, but I could really use all hands on deck. And your commission would be very generous.”

  That certainly perked me up. I could really use the money. “Absolutely. You can count on me.”

  “Wonderful. How fast can you get here?”

  I laughed. “I’ll be in within the hour.”

  “Bless you. Okay, I’ll see you then. Thanks so much, Grace. You’re a lifesaver.”

  She hung up before I could reply. Ever the fluttering Phil. I set my phone on my chest and stared at the ceiling. One night of work could get me at least a down payment on an apartment if I needed it. My old boss only had established artists at these showings.

  Finally, a little something positive in my life.

  I rolled over, plugged my phone in, and padded to my small wardrobe. I’d packed most of my things away, but my classic little black dress would do. I dug into my bin of shoes and unearthed my black and purple heels.

  Yes, those would do nicely.

  I got ready quickly. I pulled out the last pair of pantyhose I had. Garters were fun, but the lines of the dress were unforgiving. So, the suck-it-in hose were definitely on the menu. I only had to impress on the outside tonight.

  The familiar excitement of being around art pushed away the sadness. I’d missed it. I hadn’t really allowed myself to the last few weeks, but now that I had the opportunity to do something related to what I loved most, my mood lifted.

  I fluffed out my straightened hair with a few curls. Smooth, professional, and a little artsy. I’d perfected the look for the gallery for years. Easy and familiar as a Sunday walk on the beach.

  I grabbed my clutch and tucked my phone inside. I added my fold-up ballerina flats, lipstick and a hair tie for when I was cleaning up, and I was ready. I pulled out my purple wool wrap and headed for the door.

  On the way by, I trace a finger over the spread wings of my “Fallen Angel”. It had named itself, and I hoped like hell that I could sell her. Part of me bristled at the idea, but I knew she was meant to be shared.

  She needed to be my savior.

  Blowing out a breath, I locked up. It was barely after noon, but it was going to be a long day.

  Four

  “No, no, not there!”

  I walked in to the familiar shouting that seemed to precede every gallery showing. Philomena had always been a last minute re-designer. Pedestals for sculptures were placed in a maze to promote the flow of people through the gallery.

  It was a huge room with spotlights and flawless white Carrera marble stands all over. Tonight, everything smelled of apples and spice for the holidays. And…chocolate?

  I glanced to the back of the gallery and shook my head. Jax. He was on his own tonight, which was odd. He was one of a trio of owners of a bakery from the nearby Salem area.

  Kiss Kakes.

  I’d always liked their modern take on displays. Jax, their chocolatier, was too attractive for his own good, but he was exceptionally talented. More than enough to get away with making the new girl, Linda, flutter like Phil.

  He turned to me, wiping his hands on a crimson towel tucked into his dark chocolate-colored apron. That was Jax—just a little left of traditional. “Well, hello there. Long time, no see, beautiful.”

  “Behave, Jax.”

  He grinned and clasped my fingers, brushing a kiss at my cheek just a touch too close to my mouth. “I always behave.”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  He shrugged and gave me a ridiculous, perfectly white, toothy smile. Icy blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “When I’m on the clock.” His coffee-colored hair was scraped back into a messy high bun with a few silky strands framing his equally ridiculous face. Did I mention he was too good looking for his own good?

  The first time I’d met him, I’d had the same slack-jawed reaction as Linda. Some men just had that air to them. Jax b
elieved his own press a little too much for my taste.

  I nodded to Philomena’s assistant. “Nice to see you again, Linda.”

  The fair-haired woman was hugging her iPad to her chest. “Oh, I’m so glad you came in to help.”

  I looked from her to Jax. “I’m sure you have everything in hand.”

  “Oh, I was just helping him out.”

  I tipped my head and met Jax’s gaze. “Just where is Stella or Eryn?”

  “Wedding expo in Boston.”

  I winced. “On Black Friday?”

  “No thanks. I made them three dozen salted dark chocolate caramels and washed my hands of them.” He wrapped an arm around Linda’s shoulders. “Besides, I have this lovely woman as my assistant.”

  Linda tipped her head up to stare at him, her eyes locked and dreamy.

  Jax was a menace. I didn’t blame Linda for being all fluttery. The man could melt chocolate at fifty paces.

  “She’s got a gallery to worry about, Romeo.”

  He let Linda go. “C’mon, you know I need someone to taste the masterpieces.” He lifted a truffle off one of the tiers and held it out to me. “Try this one. I’m told it’s exceptional.”

  I squinted at him, but took the chocolate. “Menace.” I took a bite and swallowed the urge to moan out loud. Incorrigible man didn’t need that kind of help with his preening ego. I quickly licked my lips, hoping he didn’t notice. “Very good.”

  “Very good? Come on, you can do better than that.”

  “You know it’s a masterpiece. You don’t need me to tell you.”

  It was his turn to spike a brow at me.

  “Oh, right.” I shook my head. I glanced at Linda with an easy smile. “Let me know if you need an insulin shot after helping Jax.”

  Linda smiled back at me before her adoring gaze tracked back to Jax. “Isn’t it cruel? How can he be allergic to chocolate?”

  “Tragic.” I brushed a hand down Jax’s arm. “Don’t monopolize all her time, huh?”