Ruthless Tycoons: The Complete Series (Ruthless Billionaires Book 3)

by Theodora Taylor

  My arm shoots up before I can stop it, and my hand cracks across his face. Shocked at myself, I drawback, rubbing my other thumb over my sharply tingling palm. And that’s when I notice…

  The low murmur from the party has come to an abrupt stop. I freeze, able to tell without being able to see it that absolutely everyone at the baby shower is staring at us.

  Five years.

  I haven’t spoken to Luca in nearly five years. Haven’t touched Luca in nearly five years. And the first time we speak, we end up yelling. And the first time we touch, it’s a slap.

  I stand there, frozen. Not sure what to do. Or what to say next.

  But then Luca says, “Well that’s one way to say hello, Mrs. Ferraro,” with a grin in his voice.

  “Luca…Amber…is everything all right now?” Sylvie’s lilting Jamaican accent floats over to us on top of all that shocked quiet.

  Before I can answer, Luca calls out, “Sorry, sorry about that, Sylvie. Things got a little heated. But we’re leaving now, so.”

  He takes my hand, and starts leading me across the grass, like I came here with him. Like we’re still together, and I’m still his wife.

  But none of that is true, and even though I don’t pull away, not wanting to cause another scene, I drop my voice to inform him, “I’m not leaving here with you.”

  “So, you wanna stay here and explain all this to the nice nanny who you asked to recommend somebody to help you raise this kid—since obviously your boyfriend’s too fucking important at his no money dojo to quit his job and become a stay-at-home dad like he should?” Luca asks, his voice vicious and low.

  Arggh!!! The only thing that would have made that sentence any more insulting would be if he tacked “for his blind baby mama,” on the end of it.

  But then Luca adds, “Plus, this place is huge. No way you’re getting out of here without asking for an escort. And do you really want to have that awkward convo with Sylvie or the jackhole you still can’t believe she married?”

  No, no, I guess I don’t.

  “Just to the front of the house,” I tell him, more than a little ashamed of myself. “Then I’ll wait there for a Lyft.”

  He doesn’t answer, and maybe I shouldn’t be surprised when instead of letting me go after walking back through the house and down a short set of stairs, he says, “Alright, here’s your Lyft,” and all but shoves me into the back of an idling car before slamming the door behind me.

  I’m still yanking on the handle, trying to get myself out of the back seat, when the door on the other side of the car sounds. “Those childproof locks are a bitch and a half, right?” Luca says, his body filling the seat beside me before I can make a dive for his open door. Then we’re moving, which leaves me with the choice of buckling up or jumping out of a moving car.

  “Joey, this is Amber. Amber, this is Joey,” Luca says, tone casual, like we all just ran into each other on the street.

  “Hey, nice to meet you, Amber,” Joey says. His voice has the nasal confidence of a New Yorker born.

  “Ambs, give Joey your address, so he can take you there,” Luca says.

  I give Joey the address of my apartment in Astoria between clenched teeth.

  “So, you decided to move, but stayed in the same neighborhood,” Luca observes. “Just couldn’t live in that apartment without me, huh?”

  I don’t answer, and I refuse to tell him that no, the apartment became unbearable nearly as soon as I returned from the hospital. And that I barely managed to serve out the lease before I moved to another one free of his ghost.

  Accepting his forced invitation doesn’t mean I have to talk to him, I decide. It’s been a long week. Full of life-changing news, a break-up, my usual sixty to eighty-hour work week, and now this confrontation with my own personal Voldemort. I’m tired. So tired…. I fold my arms and turn my face away from him, refusing to give this asshole any more of my breath as the car ferries us into the city.

  A hand shakes me. “Hey, Mrs. Ferraro, time to get up.”

  I come awake with a start to the smell of summer linen and cologne. I can feel the shoulder of a suit jacket underneath my cheek, and my hand rests on what feels like the open collar of one of the soft chambray shirts Luca likes to wear with his summer suits.

  Luca… I must have fallen asleep on his shoulder again. Maybe while listening to one of the few DVDs we could find with Audio Description.

  I move my hand so that it’s resting on the bare skin between his open collar, and rub his hard clavicle, enjoying the feel of his skin against my finger pads. “Ten more minutes…”

  The chest beneath my hand tightens. Then he says, “Ten minutes means I get to do whatever I want to you.”

  It must be another crazy hot New York summer because it’s sweltering in our apartment. I can feel the sweat beading on both his skin and mine. And not for the first time, I consider bringing a suit against our landlord over the A/C that seems to stop working as soon as the temperature rises above ninety.

  But that’s an activity for another day. Right now, ten more minutes hangs in the sultry air between us.

  I agree to his terms, murmuring, “Mmm-hmm,” and nuzzling further into his shoulder, with a sleepy laugh.

  I’m expecting him to play with me like he usually does. Reach underneath my shirt and lazily work my nipple or push me back on the couch and eat me out, until I’m begging for more.

  But this time is different. “Ambs…” he whispers, his breath coming out in a shudder against my still closed eyes. A hand lifts my chin, and then comes the press of his lips into mine.

  The kiss is slow, tentative, like he’s afraid I’ll break.

  But I don’t. Of course, I don’t, and eventually, we both let out a breath, exploding into a much more powerful kiss. We consume each other, tongues tangling, teeth nipping, as his hand finds its way underneath the waistband of my skirt. His fingers feel so good between my legs. Like something I’ve been missing even though he’s right here.

  But it’s not enough.

  “More,” I whisper.

  “Ambs…” His voice is little more than a coarse scrape against my lips, and I can feel the shadow of his incoming beard, rough against the soft skin of my throat.

  “More,” I say again before he can say some bullshit, like, “don’t rush me.”

  “Luca, please,” I beg, because there’s an aching need clawing at my insides, making it so I can’t play along, can’t perform my part of the script. “No games, please,” I plead on a pant. “I need you inside of me. Please, baby, just, just fuck me, okay?”

  A moment of hesitation…

  But then in a surge of hands and lift, I’m suddenly pulled all the way into his lap. His hands and forearms move between our bodies, bumping into my thighs. There comes the thin sound of metal unlatching and unzipping, and then the familiar fragrance of skin and raw desire fills my nose.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice choked and rasping as if it’s taking every ounce of willpower to ask the question.

  What kind of question is that? When have I ever not been sure? This is Luca and me!

  “Yes, of course, I’m sure—” I start to say nonetheless.

  “Oh fuck, thank God.”

  I don’t understand why my arrogant husband is acting so grateful for a ten-minute quickie. But the question blips out of my mind, when he lines me up and pulls me down, fully seating me on his cock with one surge of his hips.

  We both groan, then sigh into another kiss. My hands run up under his shirt, needing his skin on top of his kiss. And he fucks me and fucks me, his hips driving like a piston between my thighs.

  This is usually where the dream takes a turn. When the need just builds and builds, never ending, never satisfied, no matter how long he pumps into me, until I wake up frustrated and sobbing.

  But not this time. This time the fire builds, along with the need, until a swell of pleasure suddenly floods my body, washing over me and leaving nothing behind but a collection o
f nerves and skin, tingling with ecstatic sensation.

  I laugh against his lips. The sound escapes my mouth in an involuntary gasp. Then I laugh again, unable to stop, as the aftershocks of the intense orgasm play along my nerve endings like music.

  Beneath me, Luca’s body suddenly seizes up. With a deep groan, his hips jerk between mine one last time.

  And that’s when I stop laughing.

  That’s when I wake up.

  Because, just like me, Luca has never come when he visits me in dreams. At this point, he’s often just a silent machine, grimly fucking me as I beg him to make me come.

  But now… now I can feel him. In full detail. The hair on top of his thighs caressing the bottom of mine, the bristle of his shadow rubs against my face, and the wet load now seeping out of my pussy.

  There’s also a new scent in the air. Pheromones and fluids combining in the heat to scream the tale of what just happened here to the blind woman.

  All these real-world sensations combine into one new horrific fact. This…this is not a dream. But a nightmare come to life.

  “Where are we?” I demand.

  He stiffens beneath me. “What do you mean…?”

  “I mean, where the hell are we? In a small room…?” Unable to wait for his answer, I grope around until I find… a hard-plastic rectangle. It has a depressing button, and a slot....it’s a seat buckle. “We’re in your car?”

  “Shit, Amber, I didn’t…I thought you knew. Yeah, we’re in my car. Sitting outside your apartment.”

  “Where’s that guy who was driving?” I ask, scrambling to remember his name. “Joey? Where is he? Still here?”

  “No, baby, he took a walk. I told him to let you sleep, but then it was getting too hot in the car, and I woke you up so that you could go inside. That’s when you…”

  Pretty much begged him to fuck me, because I thought he was a dream.

  Oh God…oh God…I lift, and my heart cringes at the very real squish my vagina makes when I pull all the way off his dick. God, how much cum did he release into me? I can feel it dripping, even after I readjust my panties.

  “Give me my cane,” I demand, pushing down my skirt.

  “Ambs, hold on… did you really not know—”

  He cuts off when in a total panic, I start looking for my cane with the same kind of desperate blind gropes I had to use until Amber Reynolds paperwork went through and a certified orientation mobility specialist was assigned to my case. I don’t care how it looks, all I want to do is find my cane and get out of this hot car with the not-a-dream ghost I just fucked.

  My reversion to blind newbie doesn’t last long. The backseat depresses, leather creaking as Luca moves in a single direction. And the next thing I know, my mobility cane is pressed into my hand.

  “Building’s to your right when you step out. About twenty steps.” His voice is hard as granite. Then comes the clunk of all four locks releasing at once.

  I hesitate. Not knowing what to say. Or how to feel about what just happened.

  So, I just get out. Leaving without another word. Just like he left my hospital room five years ago.

  22

  Bang Bang (She Shot Me Down)

  Luca

  Joey shows up just a few seconds after the door closes behind her. And Rock must’ve put him on a pretty good salary, because from all outward appearances my guard doesn’t seem to smell or see nothing. He doesn’t give the now sex-drenched air an obvious sniff or ask why the Caddy was rocking just a minute ago, or even glance at me in the rearview, as I put myself back inside my pants, and retuck my shirt before closing everything back up.

  He just pushes the Cadillac CT6 to start and cranks the AC, before asking, “Where to next, boss?”

  Like I’ve been back here, reading a book.

  “Home,” I answer. And the word feels cold.

  Just like my heart.

  Because fuck, what was that?

  I shouldn’t have gone to the baby shower. Cursed myself for doing it during the whole ride to Connecticut. But I’d gotten out of that car, hadn’t I? Dropped my gift off, and instead of finding Holt or even flirting with Prin, that hot best friend of Sylvie’s, now that she and Zahir are done, I scanned the party for Amber.

  I found her on that bench, sitting with Mika—a cutie with dimples, I also wouldn’t mind banging once or twice. But you wouldn’t know I was considering anybody else by the way I steamrolled past all the eligible ladies at the swanky garden party who didn’t hate me, to beeline it straight to my ex. Only to stop short when I overheard what she and Mika were talking about.

  Quite frankly, knowing Amber’s nose, I’m surprised it took her so long to catch me hovering. But did I take the out, when Mika stood up to greet me?

  That would be a big fat not even. Instead, I sent the friendly cutie away so that I could stay behind and pick an argument with my prickly ex-wife. Dropping insults on her like I was back in elementary school and pulling on girls’ pigtails because I didn’t know how else to get their attention.

  I should’ve let her catch a Lyft back to Astoria like she wanted to—shouldn’t have cared about her spending her money since the language in the divorce papers made it more than clear that she didn’t want any money that came from me.

  But I couldn’t stop myself. And then she fell asleep on my shoulder, just like she used to when we watched those full audio description DVDs together instead of going out to the movies like regular couples.

  “What do you want to do, boss?” Joey asked when we pulled up in front of Amber’s building, and she was still knocked out.

  “Take a walk around the block or something,” I answered, because I didn’t want him to see what I planned to do next.

  I’ve worked hard to garner my reputation. No reason to let even my most trusted bodyguard see me wake Amber and tell her I’m sorry. No need for him to listen in, while I apologized for my behavior and told her that if there was anything I could do to help with her situation, I’d be there for her. I’d always be there for her, even if we were exes now.

  But when I’d shaken her awake, she’d suddenly been old Amber. Pushing away the white linen of my Brioni shirt, and going straight for my skin…

  One touch… just one touch and I became concrete inside my pants. Even before she said, “Ten more minutes…”

  Ten more minutes.

  The memory of her never wanting to wake up hit me harder than her earlier slap, and the words, “Ten minutes means I get to do whatever I want to you…” fell out of my mouth.

  It was just a joke. Just a joke… but when she said, “Mmm-hmm,” I stopped breathing. And it didn’t feel like I exhaled again, until she was on top of me, fully impaled on my dick.

  “More…” she begged.

  It’s funny how fast it all fell apart. And guess fucking what, my heart wasn’t made of stone. That was just a façade, I discovered, when the rock fell away, completely exposing my flesh and blood and wildly beating heart. I was a hardened criminal one moment and her husband again in the next. It happened just that fast. In just ten minutes…

  And for ten minutes it was glorious. For ten minutes, it had somehow felt just like old times and completely new at the same time. Amber was mine again. Kissing me, touching me, fuck, moving on top of me in that out-of-control, writhing way of hers, reminding me exactly why I’d made it a habit to always hold her down.

  But not for those ten minutes. For those ten minutes, I didn’t care how wild she got or that she was on top. All I wanted was to give her everything she asked me for. No games, just like she asked. I fucked her and fucked her, the fire building, and I swear the sweet clamp of her pussy when she came was what sent me straight over the edge.

  I don’t dream much anymore. But for ten minutes, it felt like a dream. The best I ever had.

  And then it was over. Her eyes popped open, like the minute I came.

  Fuck… how could I have missed it? That she was still asleep? That the only reason she let me touch he
r, begged me to touch her was because she thought she was dreaming, too?

  Because I wanted it to be real too badly to see that she wasn’t fully awake. Because of the obsession that’s been tampered with alcohol and violence and pussy that wasn’t hers all these years, but never fully extinguished. I wanted it to be real. Wanted it to be true.

  But it wasn’t. Fuck.

  She shot out of the car nearly as soon as I handed her the cane and told her how to get where she wanted to go. Then Joey got back in. And that’s it.

  I’m back to feeling haunted for days… then weeks… then months.

  Five more months of no Amber. And I pretty much know for a fact, another five years will probably go by before I see her again. Maybe more. My ex-wife’s been smart about avoiding me since the hospital. No calls, no texts. She didn’t come to Sylvie’s wedding or her engagement party. And I get the feeling she only attended the baby shower because she’d been told I wouldn’t be there…oh, and to recruit a nanny for the kid she planned to have with Pascoal. Can’t forget about that. Shouldn’t ever forget about that.

  Which is why I’m shocked as shit to see her five months after our hook-up at the record release party for Prin’s twin sisters in the same Benton Grand ballroom where we got married five years ago. I mean, sure Prin and Amber are still close, and I imagine she’s also at least affectionate toward her former assistant’s talented twin sisters, while technically I only got invited because of Zahir’s surprise announcement.

  But Amber’s not the type to make the same mistake twice. My heart drops into my stomach, as I look up from where I’m standing on the dais steps and see her face near the ballroom’s back doors.

  Amber is still one of the most cynical people I know, but she stands totally still, her attention rapt, right along with every other woman in the audience as Zahir asks Prin for forgiveness. What the hell…?

  Once again going to her doesn’t feel like something I can control. I cut through the crowd of leather, black, and gray until I see her. Already heading for the doors.