The Billionaire's Passion (His Submissive 3)

by Ava Claire

  I felt dizzy and suddenly grateful I hadn't eaten anything to vomit all over the floor. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

  "For better or worse, I'm a public figure, Leila. The one place that isn't very private is my private life." He tossed the tablet on the bed and took my face in his massive hands, forcing me to look him dead on. "I know it's not fair, but it is what it is. And it could have been a lot worse."

  His thumb stroked my cheek and for a beautiful moment, I lost myself in the gentle caress, letting the rare moment of tenderness carry me to a place where there was no one, nothing, but he and I. But the niggling feeling of invasion crept back in when his hands trailed down my body, cupping the curve of my bottom. The same bottom that was probably plastered all over blogs right this minute. And Oh My God what if the mainstream ran with this?

  I could see my mother perched on the couch, cursing the keyboard as she pulled up her home screen. After checking her email, she always clicked over to the ‘Entertainment’ section to get her fill of Hollywood gossip. She’d probably think her mind was playing tricks on her before she let out a squeal that would rock Daddy from his nap in his old recliner.

  When I’d told her that I’d been promoted on my first day and Jacob needed me in Italy on our way to the airport, she’d winked and said I must have made ‘quite the impression’. To her, the only weapon a woman had in her arsenal was her wiles and I’d spent most of my adult life trying to show her that brains were just as important. Those pictures would negate every single argument and when I finally called home, the first words out of her mouth would be ‘I told you so’.

  "Everything is going to be okay, Leila."

  I looked up at him stubbornly, not sure if I wanted to hug his neck for trying to make me feel better or wring it for obviously missing the point.

  "My mother might see my derriere over dinner tonight," I said acidly as I reached behind me, gripped his wrists and broke his hold. "Things couldn't be further from okay." I looked up into his face, hoping for something, some part that was digesting what I said, empathizing even, but I came up blank.

  Of course he doesn't get it Lay. He's used to his sexcapades being splashed all over tabloid rags. And when he looped an arm back around my waist and sent my body crashing back into his, it was clear he wasn't taking me seriously.

  He leaned down, achingly lush lips pressing against mine, trying to wear me down. Trying to get me to let go. But not even his kisses could get me to turn off my frustration.

  I pulled back and let out a sigh of aggravation when his fingers gripped my chin and he forced his mouth back on mine. I kissed him back, feeling his arousal swell against me before I gave myself a mental slap and yanked from his grasp.

  Distance was good. Vital if we were gonna discuss this, because I couldn't think with him so close, knowing that he was still burning hot for me. Not with a world of things he could still do to my body. Distance reminded me of a sobering fact. While he knew its ins and outs and ways to fit inside me like some lost puzzle piece, outside of the bedroom he was all thumbs. An indifferent stranger that couldn't grasp that a couple of photos would change everything.

  He took a step forward and I took two back, stopping when I ran into the vanity. I heard the crystal baubles tinkle and my gut clenched at the memory of my fingers tracing them just yesterday. Today it all felt like a fantasy, like I was living someone else's life. Someone who slept with billionaires and tangoed with mega celebrities and was supposed to shrug off tawdry pictures as no biggie.

  The patience in Jacob's voice was nowhere to be found when he squared his jaw. "I don't understand what this is all about. The possibility of paparazzi was outlined in the contract. In the past, it blows over as soon as they find something else to fixate on."

  "I thought we weren't dredging up the past?" I snapped. "Last night you acted like bringing up an ex was a capital offense." I held up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. "It's okay, I get it. You're in charge. You say jump, I say how high. You get to ride the fence and act like what we have is different, special--until you decide that I should just follow the script like all your other little toys.” From the way his eyes were flashing, I knew that I was all but playing with fire, but I couldn’t back down. Not until I said it all. “I’m not some toy. I’m not some ass shot or headline that’ll be forgotten. I’m a real, breathing person...and if-” My voice caught in my throat and I stopped, swallowing before I started again. “When this whole thing between us fizzles out, I won’t have a limitless bank account to fall back on.”

  I expected the glacial look on his face to stay the same. Uncaring. Frigid. Instead, it flickered and I watched as the ice melted and his attractive features softened. “Is that how you think I see you? As some toy to be discarded when I get bored?”

  I wanted to say no...to say that last night changed everything. But it would be a lie. There was still a part of me that knew that rich or poor, a man that gets skittish whenever you open up is generally someone that isn't looking for something beyond the physical.

  And wasn't that the whole point of a contract? To remove all traces that this would be anything other than a business arrangement?

  So I looked at him and told him the truth that hurt. "Why wouldn't you? I let you have me in some shady stairwell fifteen minutes after we met. I knew you gave me the job and the promotion because of whatever chemistry we had, then I signed a contract agreeing to be at your sexual service." I felt the tears brim at my eyes, and they punctuated every word. "I have no right to expect anything more of you. You've made it perfectly clear from the beginning that anything more would be a mistake." The tears I'd been struggling to keep at bay broke free and spilled down my cheeks.

  He stood there awkwardly, clearly disturbed by my outpouring of emotion and goddamn if that didn't make me cry even harder. "You know what? Just forget I said anything." I turned my back to him and snatched up a fistful of tissues, blotting at my leaking eyes.

  "You should go," I sniffled. "There's Rachel's press conference and the junket-"

  "No," he cut in, stepping up behind me.

  I glanced at him in the mirror for a moment before I looked down. I was embarrassed to have him see me like this. Embarrassed that I let him get close enough to have this effect.

  "Rachel can do these things with her eyes closed,” he said hollowly.

  I rolled my eyes at that, knowing he spoke the truth. I couldn't help but wish that maybe she woke up this morning with a blemish she couldn't hide or some papparazzo caught her tripping or with her finger up her nose. But she'd be stellar, completely on point--especially when she saw the unflattering pictures of me over her coffee.

  I gripped the edge of the vanity, trying to exorcise her from my mind. When I still couldn't see anything but her smug grin I just gave up. Even if I hated her guts, I still had a job to do and not even Rachel Laraby could take that away from me unless I let her.

  I straightened my spine and faced Jacob. "I need to get ready for the conference. So do you."

  The callous man that had shrugged off my concerns was replaced by one that took both of my hands in his. There were no orders. In fact, he was the one looking to me, trying to show that he would follow my lead.

  "Let's just spend the day together. We can go sightseeing."

  I faltered. "You would go sightseeing with me?"

  He nodded. "Anywhere you want to go."

  Yes was on the tip of my tongue. I longed to see St. Mark's Basilica and Teatro La Finice. "So you and I are going to play tourist, while we feed our client to the scandal hungry press?"

  "I'm just trying to make you happy, Leila," he said, looking at me intently. "I'm trying to show you that you mean more to me than some headline."

  I couldn't stop the warmth from spreading over me at his confession. It wasn't much by normal standards, but for Jacob Whitmore, it was huge. And as much as a day in the city with him by my side would thrill me, I needed to show I was there to do more than sunbathe
and museum hop. I was here to do a job.

  I nibbled on my lip then dropped it. Say it--even if all you want to do is ask him to cart you away on his white horse.

  "If you really want to help me, you'll let me get ready for the conference. We'll support Rachel and make sure it goes off without a hitch."

  Disappointment colored his eyes. "You're sure that's what you want?"

  I was so far from sure it was ridiculous and I had a feeling Rachel was going to be especially vicious, but I forced a smile. "Of course." When he looked ready to knock me over the head and carry me off like some prehistoric caveman, I insisted. "Let me do the job you hired me for."

  He scratched his chin, the faint look of the stubble giving him a warm, lived in look that made me want to take him back to bed. I let out a sigh of relief when he gave me a curt nod and began to pull on his clothing from the day before.

  He paused at the door, giving me one last chance. "I guess I'll see you at the venue."

  My stomach was in knots, but I pushed away the urge to say the hell with it all. "I'll see you there."

  ****

  The ballroom was packed with reporters buzzing like locusts, their eyes locked on the makeshift stage and the celebrities perched behind it. The dark comedy You and I featured an up and coming actress and even a veteran actor or two, but they weren’t even a blimp on the radar. Question after question was directed at Rachel.

  "Ms Laraby, how challenging was the shooting experience so close to your release from Haven Rehabilitation Center?"

  Rachel gave the reporter a demure smile. "Shooting a new film is always challenging. Leaving family and friends for an extended period of time, being immersed in the story, falling in love with that story and hoping the viewer falls in love with it too...it is all extremely stressful." She glanced to her right at one of the actors from the movie. "You remember that contest you did the first weekend of shooting? First person to figure out and remember all the names of the cast and crew?"

  I let out an impressed chuckle as the man picked up the baton and she settled back into her seat. She might be a bitch, but she was an expert at this. For the past thirty minutes the press fired one question after another, trying to trip her up, find some chink in her armor they could run with. She'd effectively deflected every single attempt.

  "She must have been a politician in another life," I murmured, leaning over toward Jacob. He gave me a smirk before turning his attention back to the stage.

  The press manager cleared her throat behind the podium. She'd been slowly losing every trace of color in her cheeks over the course of the conference until she looked physically ill. She was probably envisioning the chewing out she'd get from the studio for not steering the press back toward the movie.

  "U-Uh the last question is from Marguerite Salazar from El Cine."

  The reporter stood promptly. "My question is for Ms. Laraby."

  Of course. The rest of the cast just sighed. This was the Rachel Laraby show--but at least it was almost over.

  "One of the biggest themes of the movie is that love, however inappropriate, conquers all. Is there anyone in your life now that makes you feel the passion you carried for the antagonist throughout the movie?"

  The press chattered excitedly, ready and waiting for the first scoop on the state of Rachel's love life. She'd dated Mark Stone, an action movie star off and on for three years, but since she'd emerged from rehab this last time, she'd kept a pretty tight lid on it.

  My face burned red as she glanced at Jacob. The way she looked at him, the way he began to fidget in his seat; something more happened between the two of them.

  And no one knew.

  I went rigid, remembering the horror at seeing my pictures earlier that morning and Jacob's shrugs like it just came with the territory. If they were together, the same pictures had to have been taken of her. Incriminating photos. Private moments. But there had never been a set of grainy photos of Jacob and Rachel.

  She locked eyes with me and gave me a smile that was a punch to the stomach. The pieces were falling together and the picture they painted was like a glass of water to the face. She wanted to do more than just embarrass me by getting the paparazzi to snap pictures of me. She was testing Jacob--and he failed.

  He reached for me then, picking up on our silent exchange. "Leila."

  I didn't dare look at him. Not when he said my name in the same low, pleading voice that he'd whispered last night when he shared my bed. Because then I imagined him whispering another name. Her name.

  I rose to my feet as the conference ended, ignoring Jacob as I booked it to the stage. The press manager was rounding up the actors for a few publicity shots. I knew my face had to be as red tomato. It was flush in preparation for our exchange, making me tremble so hard that walking was hard. Talking was impossible.

  The press manager gave me a hurried smile. "Miss Montgomery! Rachel will be all yours in just a second."

  Rachel's emerald eyes glittered. "Nonsense, Britta. Can't you tell Leila is just bursting with something to tell me?" She maneuvered around the frazzled woman, letting out a haughty chuckle. "Leila dear, you look winded. Perhaps you should sit down."

  When she reached for my arm I whipped it back. "Don't you dare touch me."

  I felt the room quiet around us and I didn't need to turn to feel the reporters inching toward the edge of the stage where I stood.

  Her smile curled up a few more inches but her jaw was tight. "Calm down, sweetheart."

  "You think I don't know what you did?" I growled, my heart thumping in my ears. "I know it was you."

  "We should have this conversation in the next room," she hissed through her teeth, the grin not faltering. "Unless you want to ruin any chance you'll ever have in this business."

  The last thing I wanted was to listen to anything she had to say, but I knew she was right. As much as I wanted to deck her, a brawl with the celebrity client I was tasked with keeping away from scandal had bad idea written all over it.

  She made a grand gesture. "After you."

  Fuming, I preceded her, pushing aside the dark curtains that hid the double doors leading to the neighboring conference room. The room was empty except for a maid with a duster on a ladder, polishing the glittering chandelier. As soon as she saw me, she began to dismount.

  “Mi perdoni, signorina.” She gestured at the door. “I leave.”

  My face softened and I plucked a phrase from my Italian dictionary read the day before. "Va bene."

  The woman immediately relaxed. She'd probably had to deal with people's attitudes and diva-like celebrity behavior all day. Or even worse, ignored altogether.

  I caught a whiff of Rachel's perfume before I saw her, the musky notes of Chanel invading my nostrils. She strutted right past me, her attention on the maid who stood frozen in place. The emotions on the poor woman’s face where a mixture of starstruck and terror.

  "Missus Laraby," Her words were broken and unsure. "I w-was ju-"

  "Can't you do whatever it is you're doing some other time?" When the woman gave her a confused look, Rachel let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Do you even speak English?"

  I stepped forward, knowing that whether the woman could understand English or not, Rachel's body language needed no translation. "There's no need to be rude to her, Rachel. She was leaving."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Rachel scoffed. "It's her job to be invisible." I watched in shock as she turned back to the maid and broke the words down like she was talking to a child. "You...go...now."

  On the verge of the tears, the woman darted from the room, leaving us alone. Well not completely alone. It was me, Rachel, and her enormous ego.

  I shook my head with disgust. "Just when I don't think you can sink any lower, you outdo yourself."

  She clutched a hand to her heart. "Why thank you, Miss Montgomery."

  "It wasn't a compliment." I fired back.

  She turned to face me full on. "I beg to differ, sweetie. It implies that you've been t
hinking about me hard enough that somehow I'm the villain in this story. I, on the other hand, don't lose any sleep on glorified secretaries."

  In her form fitting dress, turquoise blue bleeding into slate gray then pewter, eyes slints of emerald and teeth sparkling, she reminded me of some reptile-like creature. A snake lying low in the weeds, waiting to strike. But I wasn’t her poor defenseless prey.

  I knitted my eyebrows in faux confusion, twisting a corkscrew curl around my finger. "Huh. For someone that doesn't care about glorified secretaries, you sure went to a lot of trouble to try and embarrass lil’ old me."

  "Oh it was no trouble at all," she said flippantly. "Just a little call here, a little text there." She shrugged her shoulders. “You know how it goes.”

  "You should watch it, Rachel," I said feeling anger grip my throat. "Jealousy isn't a good color on you."

  "Jealous of what?" she said with a snort. "From the picture I saw, who would be jealous of an ass with so much cellulite that it could be mistaken for the surface of the moon?"

  My nostrils flared and holding my peace was getting harder by the minute. But I knew that was what she wanted. A reaction. "I just want to hear you say that it was you."

  "What was me?" she said innocently, her false lashes fluttering around her olive eyes.

  "The picture, Rachel."

  "What picture?" She gave me a look full of contempt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  "What picture indeed."

  Just the sound of the deep timbre of Jacob’s voice was enough to send shivers down my spine and almost make me forget the issue at hand. Almost.

  Rachel's face broke into the first genuine smile she'd worn all day. "Jacob!”

  Before they even got into it, I squeezed from between the two of them. It was hard enough to stomach Rachel, but Rachel making googly eyes and Jacob pretending like nothing went down between them? Nope.