Shameless Kiss: A Billionaire Possession Novel

by Amelia Wilde

  She’s not the same as she is at the Rose. Her shoulders slope down delicately, and though she sits up straight, there’s a certain vulnerability in the back of her neck—exposed, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun—that makes me want to cross the room, fling open the door, and kiss her there until she melts into my arms.

  She’s not going to want to give this up.

  That’s the truth that makes my heart ache.

  Things between us have gone far beyond games, far beyond arrangements. For someone like Juliet James to admit love is a small miracle, and I know it. From the way she talks about her father, I’m the antithesis of everything she was taught to value. I could make her life an easy one. She would never want for anything. She would never be more than a phone call away from anything she could ever dream of.

  But Juliet would wither away in that kind of life, and I’m not sure what else I have to offer. I’ve spent so much of my time chasing women, flipping through them and discarding them like a bad hand of poker, that the hunt is all I have up my sleeve.

  Then it dawns on me.

  Before I can think twice, I’m moving quickly through the suite and opening the sliding door with too much force. Juliet jumps in her seat, her hand flying to her chest, and whips her head around, eyes as big as the moon.

  “Weston, Jesus—”

  “I’m sorry.” I drop to one knee beside her chair and take her hands in mine, putting her pen down on the table. I raise one hand to her neck, and her pulse is fast and hard underneath my fingertips.

  “I was just—”

  I kiss her knuckles. “I don’t care. I mean, I care that I’m interrupting your study session.” A grin flashes to my face, but what I have to say to her is too serious for it to last long. “I’ve been holding out on you, Juliet James.”

  “What?” Her forehead wrinkles. “About what?”

  I take a deep breath. “When I was twenty-two, I got burned.”

  “Burned? Like on a stove?”

  “Burned by a woman.”

  She nods, blinking. “Okay…”

  “It felt like having my heart ripped out and eaten while it was still beating. It was the most excruciating thing that had ever happened to me.”

  Juliet’s mouth quirks like she’s going to smile, but she keeps a serious expression on her face. “It’s awful when that happens.”

  “After that, I turned love into a game.”

  “A game like the one you’re playing with me?”

  “A game that became the one I’m playing with you. Only this time it’s not a game. This isn’t a game, Juliet. That’s what I’m trying to explain. I’ve spent all these years finding the next—” There’s no good way to say it. There’s no way to say it that doesn’t make me sound like a total jackass.

  “The next notch on your belt?”

  “For lack of a better term.”

  She lifts her chin an inch. “So, what does that make me, when all this is over?”

  “That’s the thing.” I take her face in both of my hands. “That’s the thing, Juliet. I don’t want this to be over. Two weeks with you could never be enough.” She opens her mouth like there’s a protest on the tip of her tongue, so I barrel ahead. “I know there are things you want to do. I know you have certain…expectations for the way you live your life. But I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t say this to you.”

  “What’s—” Juliet clears her throat. “What kind of deal are you proposing?”

  I laugh out loud, and something unclenches in my chest. A grin spreads slowly across her face. “It’s not a deal. It’s not an arrangement. It’s just—let’s just be together. Being together…that’s it. We can figure all the rest out in the morning.”

  She throws her arms around my neck, abandoning her seat at the table, and covers my mouth with hers. Her skin is so warm that it makes the air around us feel cooler, and her heat kicks my need for her into overdrive.

  “Do you have—” Juliet gets the words out between passionate kisses. “—a plan—” I never want this to stop. “—for right now?”

  I don’t bother telling her with words.

  Chapter 39

  Juliet

  It’s the strangest mix of delight and fear, being with Weston. My heart pounds all morning on Sunday, thinking he might tell me that we can’t go back to New York—like this might all be some kind of elaborate ploy to get me somewhere far from the city when the clock runs out.

  I spend my moments alternating between feeling like I have vertigo, and feeling like I’m flying.

  But we board his private plane just before noon, landing in New York with plenty of time for me to make it to class and study group.

  I don’t know how the hell I’m going to manage to wrench my hand away from his, and when Dave pulls the car up to the curb at Anderson, I actually can’t bring myself to do it.

  Weston smiles at me and brings my hand to his lips, kissing every one of my knuckles before wrapping both hands around my neck, pulling me in for a kiss so long and deep that all the traffic noises fade away. Everything but the clean, pure taste of Weston and the heat of his body melting into the hazy background.

  Before I’m ready—far before I’m ready—he pulls back, a grin on his face. “Go to class. This is why we left Maui, remember?”

  “I remember.” I straighten my back. I got a little taste of paradise over the weekend, but most of it is sitting right here in front of me. And the real responsibilities that I can’t let slide—not even for one more day—are in the building behind me.

  I give him a quick kiss on the cheek, hitch my bag over my shoulder, and open the door to the town car. The midday sun bakes the sidewalk, and the heat wraps itself around my legs the moment I stand up.

  My phone rings in my bag, the ringtone so loud and insistent that I jump. “What the—” My phone is almost always on silent, so the loudest it ever gets is a vibrating buzz. Somewhere between Maui and here, I must have bumped the switch.

  My heart drops to the sidewalk and cracks like an egg when I see the number on the Caller ID.

  “Hello?” I turn on instinct back toward the town car.

  “Juliet, this is Carla.”

  “Hi, Carla. What’s going on?”

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know that your father has decided to leave Overbrook. He’s apparently arranged for a transfer to Havenhill, which is a facility—”

  Holy shit. “I know about Havenhill.” I swallow hard. I looked at Havenhill because it was closer to Lansing, and the place was a nightmare. “Carla, you can’t let him do that.”

  She sighs. “It’s out of my hands, unfortunately. His primary care doctor approved the transfer.”

  It’s then that I notice Weston’s eyes on me, locked on my face, his body turned toward the open car door, every muscle tensed.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I snap the phone shut and throw myself back into the car. “I need to go to Overbrook.”

  Weston nods at Dave in the rearview mirror. As we pull back out into traffic, Weston’s phone starts to ring.

  It’s a conversation that sends chills down my spine, though in my frenzied state I can’t figure out exactly why. The only thing that’s abundantly clear is that it’s someone calling him from Overbrook.

  It sounds like the billing department.

  “That’s not—” The woman’s voice on the other end of the line is powerfully shrill—it has to be Evangeline, my personal nightmare. Weston narrows his eyes, letting her go on for at least thirty seconds before he finally cuts her off. “I’ll be in the building in person in less than an hour. I’m happy to continue this discussion at that time.” He gives the phone a sidelong look before he tucks it into the armrest.

  “What did she want?”

  Weston shakes his head, an amused grin crossing his face. “To give me my money back.” He takes my hand and turns toward me, his green eyes steady on mine. “That almost never happens to me.” />
  “Give you your money—oh.” Naturally. If my dad is leaving Overbrook’s care—which he should not—then Weston’s generous payment would need to be returned. My stomach curdles at the thought of having to discuss this with him a second time.

  “It’s nothing, Juliet,” he says softly. “I’ll send it anywhere you need.”

  “I don’t,” I snap.

  Weston’s hand tightens on mine. “It’s already been given—it’s not—”

  “We don’t have to do this right now.” My voice is tight, my heart beating furiously in my chest.

  “I don’t know why you’re—” He cuts himself off, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “You’re right. We don’t have to discuss any of this right now.”

  The words are bottled up in my chest. If we’re really going to do this—and judging by that moment in the middle of the night, out in the sweet Hawaiian air, we are—then I don’t want it to start out with more debt. I can’t let that happen.

  But the pounding anger in my head won’t relent enough for me to find the words to tell Weston that without sounding like an ungrateful asshole. All of it is compounded by the guilt that’s bubbling in my stomach.

  None of this would be happening if I’d just stayed away from Weston Grant in the first place—if I’d just done my job, if I’d just gone to class, if I’d kept my chin up and powered through the difficult parts. Now I’m tangled up in a financial web that snared my father and drove his temper to the boiling point.

  I press my lips together and stare out the window, Weston’s hand firmly in mine, like he wants to prove he won’t let go just because of a bump in the road.

  All the way to Overbrook, there’s a thought on a loop in my mind:

  Please don’t let this get any worse. Please don’t let this get any worse. Please...

  Chapter 40

  Weston

  Juliet takes a deep breath and stands up tall outside the door to her father’s room. “You can wait out here.”

  “There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell of that.” I give her a grin, but her mouth is set into a hard line.

  “Fine.”

  The door opens and two nurses come out carrying several test tubes in their hands. One smiles benevolently at Juliet. “He’s just about ready to go.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  The nurse’s eyes go wide. “We’ll be out of your way.”

  She moves forward the moment they’re past us, catching the door before it swings shut and stepping into the room with her head held high. I’m right behind her.

  Her dad is sitting in an armchair by the window, silver hair combed, outfit neatly pressed. He’s wearing black tennis shoes, but otherwise he’s dressed for an evening out, a button-down shirt tucked into pleated slacks with a matching gray vest. He doesn’t look like the kind of man who would drive his daughter to tears over what amounts to a minor billing issue. There’s an issue of Reader’s Digest open on his lap, and he flips through the pages one by one, sliding each one between his index finger and thumb.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He raises his head, and his eyes go cold at the sight of us. “Juliet.” The word is not an invitation to have a discussion.

  Juliet takes a seat on the edge of the bed. The sheets are pulled tight over it, the blanket folded at the foot. “Dad, I’d like you to meet Weston Grant.”

  I step forward, extending my hand, and the old man only tightens his grip on the Reader’s Digest, his jaw jutting forward, his mouth a hard line. A chill goes over me. This is exactly the expression on Juliet’s face when she’s preparing to do something she doesn’t want to do. His blue eyes skim over my face, and then he flicks his gaze to my shoes. “So you’re the man who made a whore out of my daughter.”

  The word hits me like a bolt of lightning. It seemed odd in Juliet’s mouth the night she came home from Overbrook in tears, but now I know exactly where it came from. I put my hands in my pockets and step back, over to her side. “I’d disagree with that assessment.”

  His lip curls in a snarl. “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Then he deliberately turns his gaze to Juliet. “What are you here for?”

  She shakes her head, looking to the side for the barest instant, and then looking back at him, meeting his eyes. “What has gotten into you, Dad?”

  “You should ask yourself the same question.”

  “I have asked myself that same question. I think it would be more worthwhile to focus on why you’ve decided to transfer to Havenshill.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Her dad lets out a bitter laugh. “At least at Havenshill I won’t be someone’s charity project.”

  “You’re not someone’s charity project now.”

  “Ask your boyfriend whether that’s true.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Juliet says it so casually, without missing a beat, that the bewildered shock takes a few heartbeats to set in. I resist the urge to stop the entire conversation and ask her what she means. After last weekend— “This doesn’t have to do with him. It has to do with you.”

  He shrugs one shoulder, closing the Reader’s Digest with a sharp snap. “I’ll choose where I want to be. And I won’t be living there on anyone else’s dime.”

  “You were living here on my dime, Dad. How do you think you’ll pay for Havenshill if I don’t chip in?” Juliet’s voice is trembling, but she’s doing her best to keep it even.

  “I wasn’t living here on your dime.” There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her father’s eyes. “I paid my way.”

  “You didn’t. Not after the first month, when your savings ran out.”

  He raises one arm and slams his hand down on the arm of the chair, his furious gaze turned back on me. “What the hell did you do to her? You’ve turned my daughter into a whore and a liar.”

  “She’s telling you the truth.”

  “Oh?” His eyes are wild. “Is that so? Am I supposed to believe you?” He makes a low noise of disgust. “You could be anyone off the street.”

  “This is the man who was trying to help me.” Juliet is barely keeping her anger contained. “He paid for your care here to get us through until you qualify for Medicare. This is the best place I could find, Dad. This was the best place in the entire state. That’s why you’re here. I just needed—”

  “What?” He sneers again and my heart breaks for Juliet. “You just needed a man to give you money? What did you give him, Juliet? Are you his mistress now?”

  “Stop right there.” I can’t keep my mouth shut anymore. “Don’t speak to Juliet that way.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fuck you.”

  I take a single step toward him, rage coursing through my veins, and Juliet’s hands are instantly a vise around my bicep. “Stop. Stop.”

  “You don’t have to let him treat you this way. You don’t,” I say; her eyes are on fire.

  “Just—take a step back, Weston. Stay out of it,” she pleads.

  “No. I’m not letting anyone do this to you. Not even your father. Let him go to Havenshill, if that’s what he wants. I’m happy to transfer the payment there, so you never have to think about it again. Be done with this man.”

  Juliet’s mouth drops open, and she lowers her hands to her sides. “I think you should wait in the hall.”

  “I’m not waiting in the hall. We’re leaving.” My heart is pounding. I need to get both of us out of this room before that horrible man says another word to my—

  Not my girlfriend, apparently.

  “I’m not leaving.” Juliet narrows her eyes. “You can go if you want to, but I have to have this conversation.”

  I reach for her arm again. “Let’s go, Juliet.”

  “No.”

  I take her just above her elbow and start steering her gently toward the door. Juliet jerks her arm out of mine, and I whip around to look at her. She’s trembling with rage. “This is just how you are, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “This is just how y
ou are. You take what you want, and you do what you want, and you never bother considering that other people might have other plans.”

  “That’s not—”

  “You’re just as bad as he is.” She jerks her head over her shoulder, to where her father is watching us with a sick delight. “You’re just as bad, and I’m not going to do this. I’m not even going to start this with you.” Juliet takes in one last deep breath. “Go get your money back. I’ll send you payments for the rest. But for God’s sake, Weston, leave me alone.”

  Chapter 41

  Juliet

  Weston’s expression goes from determination to shock, his green eyes blazing.

  What the hell have I just said?

  Worse, why does part of me feel relieved?

  The tension in the room is so tangible I could reach out and strangle it with my bare hands. My father puts us both out of our misery.

  “You heard her. Leave. Her. Alone.” He enunciates each word with a sadistic glee that I’ve never heard in his voice. I don’t know him at all.

  But I do know him. I do know him, because he’s my dad. And despite the combed hair and the fresh outfit, there’s something going deeply wrong with him that I can’t quite figure out yet.

  Weston looks from me to my dad, then back to me. For a moment, I think he might ask me if this is what I really want, but right now, I just need the scenario to change. I need to get back on solid ground. I need a second to clear my head.

  He doesn’t say a word. He turns and walks out the door, his footsteps receding quickly down the hall.

  My entire soul aches to chase after him.

  There’s a muted ding as the elevator arrives back on the floor, and I know he’s gone.