The Rake_Billionaire Seeking a Bride

by Melanie Marchande

  “So we’re alone.”

  Shit, did I say that out loud?

  “It seems so,” he says, with a sharp intake of breath. We’re only standing a few feet away. He gives me an appraising look, and I’m really starting to wish I hadn’t brought up The Incident while we were at the store. Now, the implication is heavy.

  “I wish you’d stop acting like this,” he says.

  "Like what, Mr. Wakefield?" I demand quietly, folding my arms across my chest. You could cut the tension between us with a knife. Or a dull spoon. "How am I acting?"

  He takes a step closer, something dark flashing in his eyes. "Like we were nothing," he says, his low, deep voice sending an involuntary shudder through me. "Like your little heart's not beating a million miles a minute just to see me. I know it is."

  "Oh, you do?" I stare him down, trying not to tremble. "And how would you know that, exactly?"

  "Because," he growls, reaching out and grabbing my hand before I can pull away. He presses my palm flat on his chest, against the fabric of his dress shirt, the warmth of his skin. I can feel the thump-thump-thump, like he's just run a marathon.

  "Okay," I whisper, breathless. Because what the hell am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? I came here to get away from him. I came here to forget.

  "I know you think we were a mistake," he says. "And for a minute there, I agreed with you. I'm still not sure. You might be right. I know I might be bad for you, but Cassie, I don't want to keep running. I want to face this and I want to tell you the truth."

  He stops talking. I stare. I realize I'm still touching his chest, and I pull my hand away quickly like he's burned me.

  "The truth?" I echo.

  He takes a step towards me, closing the distance between us. And then his hand’s on the back of my neck.

  And I do nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop him.

  His head bows, face drifting closer. Eyes closing as he breathes in the scent of my skin.

  And then he kisses my neck.

  He is kissing my neck. This is not a drill.

  Devon pulls away, waiting for my reaction. I don’t look him in the eyes. I can’t. But I do grab him by the back of the neck and pull him into a bruising kiss.

  There’s a muffled noise against my mouth, a sort of surprised moan, not at all the kind of sound I would expect to come from a man like Devon. But it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. I kiss him deeper, digging my fingernails into his scalp, praying he doesn’t come to his senses and pull away. I don’t want this moment to end.

  It’s an eternity before I release him. We stay there suspended for a moment, our foreheads just barely touching.

  He strokes the side of my face, gently. “Cassie…” His voice is rough and low.

  I kiss him again.

  It’s electric. Pure lust, or maybe something more than that, but I can’t confront that right now. Can’t even acknowledge it. Right now we’re just mammals, giving in to our instincts. It can’t be anything more than that. Because if I let myself feel what I’m starting to feel for Devon Wakefield, I’ll never recover.

  Instinctively, I melt under him. His tongue is inside my mouth and I suck, hard. He groans, gripping a handful of my hair in response.

  Before I know it, I’m stretched out on the still-plastic-wrapped sofa beneath him. It’s the one single piece of furniture in this whole room, so I guess it’s only fitting that we christen it like this. The muscular bulk of him, not to mention the hot stiffness between his thighs, is pressing into me. I know where this goes. I should stop him. I should protest, I should squirm away. I’m going to regret this in the morning, but right now…oh, it’s so fucking worth it.

  I’m already throbbing and aching for him. I’ve been putting off this desire for too long, pretending it doesn’t exist. Pretending I can ignore it and move on with my life and be a normal person when all I can think about in his presence is…

  Well, this. As well as everything that presumably comes after.

  “What are you doing to me, Cassie?” he murmurs, and I wish I had an answer.

  “You tell me,” I counter, my hand drifting down his back and stopping to rest on his muscular ass. “This is what you wanted, right?”

  “Of course, I just didn’t think -” he gasps as I squeeze. “This isn’t like you.”

  “You have no idea what I’m like.” I nip at his mouth, but he dodges at the last second, turning his head slightly. “Maybe this is what I’m like all the time, with everybody except you.”

  He takes in a long breath, then drags himself up off of me and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Wait…”

  “What?” I ask, sharply, feeling the loss of his warmth acutely. “I’m a grown woman, Devon. I can make these decisions myself.”

  “Of course you can,” he replies, raising both his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “God, Cassie, I want this. You have no idea how much. But…”

  “Let’s not rob the victory, huh?” I purr, crawling to him and swinging my leg over his lap. I wish I had a camera to capture the look on his face. He looks, simultaneously, like a man who just won the lottery and is terrified that the mafia is coming after him for his winnings.

  There’s a moment. Just a moment, where he’s still hesitating. Still questioning it. But then it’s over. He growls softly in my ear, grabbing my hips and grinding me against him.

  “I don’t have any condoms here,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. I giggle, squirming on his lap.

  “I’m on the pill,” I whisper back. “And I bet we both have a pretty good health plan. I’m as clean as they come.”

  He chuckles, hand sliding up my back, my neck, cupping the back of my head. It feels like he’s surrounding me all over, overwhelming me with the closeness of him.

  I reach down and unbuckle his belt. The corner of my brain that usually tells me wait, stop, has gone completely silent.

  He feels so hot and thick in my hand. I can’t believe I fought this for so long. We both want it - what’s the harm?

  You know exactly what the harm is.

  I grip his dick so tightly that he winces.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Don’t apologize for being eager,” he replies.

  That’s not the issue. But I’m not going to argue with him.

  He yanks my panties aside, and I shift my hips to let him nudge at my entrance.

  And then he’s inside me.

  I cry out at the sudden fullness. It occurs to me that the contractors could come walking back in at any moment. Presumably, they’ve got keys. I should be mortified, but instead, a shudder of lust goes through me.

  We move together, slowly at first, then faster, breathing into each other’s necks, whispering meaningless sounds, lost in the moment. I don’t know how long we stay like this. After what feels like an eternity, all the pleasure and intensity builds in my core and I clench and pulse around him, moaning his name without a hint of self-consciousness.

  Moments later, he stills inside me with a groan.

  And it’s over.

  And nothing will ever be the same.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For a long time, we just sit there in silence.

  Someone has to say something. I guess it’ll have to be me.

  And just like that, he speaks. “So what happens now?”

  His voice sounds so subdued. He knows we’ve made a mistake. I was hoping, somehow, the spell wouldn’t be broken in the wake of the afterglow. But that was stupid.

  My heart sinks into my stomach.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him, honestly.

  I get to my feet, and go into the guest bathroom to freshen up. It’s pretty sparse, but there’s at least a towel and a working faucet.

  Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself.

  I don’t do this. Ever. Like it or not, Devon Wakefield has changed me.

  When I come out of the bathroom, I’m not sure what I’m expecti
ng. But he’s pulled himself back together, more or less, sitting on the sofa with his legs folded, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, and his right arm stretched across the back. Unless I sit a full five feet away from him, he’s going to wrap it around my shoulders. I can already tell.

  He looks smug as hell.

  Clearing my throat, I sit down delicately, leaning forward on the plastic-covered cushion so that I don’t accidentally fall into a cuddle session.

  “So, do you have any dinner plans tonight?” he asks me, his voice still a low, sexy rumble.

  "You're making some pretty big assumptions there, Mr. Wakefield."

  "I wish you'd stop that," he mutters.

  "Stop what?"

  "Stop calling me Mr. Wakefield. Like you're trying to sell me door-to-door magazine subscriptions." He glances at me, sidelong. "Like we don't know each other."

  "I'm sorry," I reply. "Just trying to keep it professional."

  "Right," he says. "Because I really fucked that up, didn't I?"

  "No need to sound so bitter about it," I reply, calmly. "We're both to blame for that. I didn't exactly stop you."

  "That's right," he says. "You didn't. You didn't even try. In fact, I think you wanted it as much as I did."

  "Again, that's a pretty big assumption." I look at him. "Devon."

  He nods, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "A big assumption," he agrees. "But am I wrong?"

  "What do you think?"

  He chuckles, deep in his throat. "I think you're obsessed with me, and you don't know why. I think you dream about me at night and you're scared to admit it. I think....I think you don't want to help me find love, because you're jealous."

  “It’s nothing personal,” I mutter.

  “Really?” One of his eyebrows twitches, skeptically.

  “Really,” I insist. “I’ve just…it’s just that I’ve violated my personal code of ethics. You were a client.”

  “Under duress,” he reminds me. “You didn’t want to take me on. Because you thought I was too much of a degenerate…”

  “I don’t think that!” I protest. “I never thought that. Stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “Oh, so words is where you draw the line?” He grins. “Good to know. Because I hope to put a good number of other things in your mouth before the night is done.”

  “Really?” I smirk at him. “A good number? Name one thing besides the obvious.”

  “Popsicles,” he says, without missing a beat. “My fingers. Anything vaguely phallic, really. I do like a good visual tease.”

  He’s got me giggling; I can’t help it. “Want to send your assistant to flag down an ice cream truck?”

  “Sue me,” he says. “It was the first penis-shaped food I could think of.”

  “Tempting,” I admit. “But I have other work to do. You know, you’re not my only client.”

  “Right,” he sighs. “Well. I suppose another day of brining won’t hurt the turkey.”

  That stupid turkey. I’d almost forgotten.

  “Just read the recipe yourself,” I tell him. “You don’t need me for that.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me,” he says. “But I don’t completely share it, to be honest.”

  ***

  “So,” says Becca, with a sly smile. “What are you wearing tonight?”

  I stare at her, my heart pounding. It’s been a few days since my last encounter with Devon, and we haven’t got any plans tonight. Even if we did, how would she know?

  “For what?”

  “Come on,” she rolls her eyes. “Did you think you were gonna keep it from me forever? I’m not mad. I knew it was going to be hard to get just one ticket, let alone two. I’ll just check out the Instagram story later and live vicariously.”

  What the hell is she talking about?

  Then, she slides a long white envelope across her desk towards me. I grab it and rip it open. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Blackmail photos? A ransom note cut out from copies of Soldier of Fortune magazine?

  It’s a ticket. One VIP entrance to Broken Machine. Tonight, doors at eight PM.

  Holy fuck.

  I completely forgot.

  Devon didn’t, though. He kept up his end of the bargain, even though it stopped being about the ticket a long time ago.

  “I….” What the hell am I supposed to say? How do I explain myself without spilling everything that’s been in my heart and mind for the past few weeks?

  “It’s okay,” says Becca, smiling. “Really.”

  “I didn’t think it was really going to come through,” I hear myself blurt out. “I was trying to get two, but I guess…I guess my contact couldn’t make it happen. You should take it. You should go.” I throw the ticket back on the desk and try to push it towards her, but she shakes her head.

  “No way. You deserve this. I would faint if Matt talked to me, anyway.”

  Obviously, Devon intended the ticket for me. Becca’s not quite as stubborn as I am, but she’ll never accept it if I don’t.

  So I hug her, and I smile, and I go home to change into something casual and a little bit daring. I remember to slip my copy of their first album into my purse, and I smear on eyeshadow in a way I haven’t done since those old days.

  While I’m waiting for my cab, I text Devon.

  Thank you.

  He reads it, but he doesn’t answer.

  About half of the trip is spent getting to the venue, and the other half is just sitting in a line of cars waiting to get past the security barricades so I can get out without being tackled by security. When I finally get out onto the sidewalk, I’m instantly swept into the excitement.

  The venue’s already thumping with music and energy. I step into the bag-search line and smile at the other excited women crowding around the entrance. It’s infectious. I’m already foreseeing myself squealing and screaming like a middle school girl once the show actually starts.

  After what feels like forever, I’m finally inside with a beer in my hand. The VIP level is elevated above the stage, with a pretty good view, but still pretty far from the stage. I guess they figured most of us are too old to enjoy the pit. Well. They’re not wrong.

  I’ve had a couple of pleasant, if shallow conversations with a few of my fellow concert-goers. We have plenty of room to wander around, along with some plush seats and our own bar.

  There’s one thought rattling around in my mind - is it worth it?

  Devon’s the reason I’m here. If it weren’t for him, I never would have gotten in. And if it weren’t for him, I would still be my old self. My sane, boundary-defining, professional self.

  As I’m contemplating this, I feel someone tap my shoulder. I whip around, startled.

  It’s my little sister.

  “Becca?” I hug her fiercely. “How the hell did you get in?”

  She grins sheepishly. “I’m not supposed to tell you. His name starts with a D and he might or might not be the same person you got your ticket from.”

  Staring at her, I try to understand what the hell’s going on. “But…I thought he only had one.”

  All she can do is shrug uncomfortably, hugging herself. “Cass, seriously. He swore me to secrecy.”

  “You know I’m not going to stop bothering you until you just tell me.” I fold my arms across my chest. “C’mon, spill. I won’t let him know that you told me.”

  “It was supposed to be his ticket,” she confesses. “He was going to take a girl here, but they broke up. He had the tickets before they went on sale, because he knows the owner.”

  Of course he does.

  “So what…he was going to show up here and surprise me?” I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I don’t know, Cass. Maybe. Maybe he was going to give it to somebody else. He just told me he wanted me to have it, that he wanted us to have a fun girl’s night out. I wasn’t going to question it too much.”

  She’s still lying to me, but I can tell I’m not going
to get anything else out of her. Not right now, anyway. After a few drinks, though? The sky’s the limit.

  I wave over the bartender. “Vodka tonic, please. And make it a double.”

  ***

  The concert is fucking magical.

  The moment the first song starts up, I’m transported. I’m fourteen years old again, reckless and hopeful, my heart swelling at the knowledge that somebody else understands me, somebody is writing music and words that feel like they’re pulled right out of my secret diary.

  After three encores, saving their most famous single for last, the concert is finally over. The strobe lights go down, and we all scream. I’m going to lose my voice, and I don’t even care.

  The meet-and-greet is meant to take place in the VIP area, so I order another drink and settle in with Becca. She’s already yawning. Always was a lightweight.

  “You okay?” I ask her. I’m pretty sure I’m yelling. My ears are certainly still ringing.

  “Uh huh,” she insists, through another yawn. “Honest. There’s no way I’m leaving before you get a chance to meet your man.”

  “If you embarrass me in front of him, I swear to God -”

  “Trust me,” Becca cut me off, “I won’t be getting within fifty feet of him. You know what they say, never meet your…uh, teenage crushes. ‘Heroes’ is probably a strong word.”

  I shake my head, laughing. “I can’t believe Wakefield went behind my back to give you that ticket.”

  “I thought it was awfully sweet of him,” she says. “He’s a surprisingly nice guy, you know? Very down-to-earth.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d gotten to know him so well.”

  “I haven’t. But we talked a few times.” She glances at me sidelong. “How’s it going with him, anyway? You never talk about it.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, a little too quickly. “Going pretty well. You know. Same old, same old.”

  She’s frustrated with me, I can tell. She knows by my tone when I’m shutting her down, but I’m not even remotely ready to talk about what’s going on between me and Devon.

  “I got this feeling from him,” she says, after a silence. “I dunno. He’s really…when he says your name, you know, he just lights up. His eyes get brighter.”