Personal Delivery: A Billionaire Secrets Story

by Ainsley Booth

  I wake with a start in the middle of the night. Jake’s arm is heavy around me, and when I move, he mumbles something into my hair.

  I squeeze my fingers together, then force them to relax. I’d been dreaming. Something confusing and chaotic, and now my pulse is racing. I don’t normally—ever, actually—have nightmares. Not that it was necessarily that, but…it feels weird.

  “So glad you’re here,” Jake murmurs as he shifts against me. He’s still asleep, but his cock is hard and pressing into my bottom. “Need you, Jana.”

  I smile, warmth shifting in and crowding out the nerves. How am I not supposed to flex my hips and rub my ass against him when he says something like that in his sleep?

  “Yes,” he growls. “Love you. Fuck, yeah.”

  It’s just sex talk—and good sex talk, because now I’m on fire. But oh, I like that. A lot. He moves against me, his body hardening up as he wakes. His legs flex as he lifts my thigh on top of his, then notches against my entrance. Super hard.

  Big, and thick, and…bare.

  The flames inside me shoot higher. We’ve done a lot of skin-touching-stuff, but we haven’t talked about birth control yet and he’s always reached for a condom. I’ve got the former covered.

  I take a long, shaky breath and roll away from him and fumble for the drawer. He’s on me as I grab a foil packet, his fingers sliding over mine to take it.

  He’s awake now. I miss the ridiculous sleepy proclamations of love, but alert Jake is a talented Jake. His fingers deftly find my wetness, then he brings us together. Rough and fast, but not too deep. Shallow teases, rubbing all the right spots. Only when I rock back against him does he thrust all the way into me. I cry out, and he covers my mouth.

  There’s no need for that. I made plenty of noise before we fell asleep, when he convinced me to stop worrying and just enjoy the moment of being together.

  Now, though? Now he wants me to hush like a good girl. His breath is loud and fast in my ear as he takes me from behind, on our sides. Nothing polite and spoon-y about this position, though. It’s raw and sleepy and animalistic.

  I need you, too. I fill in the silence with my secret feelings. They grow and pulse in my mind until they tangle up with my physical response and I cry them out against the press of his fingers as I climax.

  “Jake, yes, need, unnnnn…” Love you, too. Please let this grow into that for real.

  He jerks hard against me, coming deep inside me, and as his mouth drops to my shoulder, he sighs. “I could get used to midnight wake-ups like this,” he murmurs.

  It’s the first thing he’s said since he woke up. My heart thumps hard against my ribcage. “Yeah,” I breathe. “Definitely.”

  Hardly declarations of love.

  He ditches the condom, then tugs me back against his side. “Why’d you wake up?”

  “Weird dream.”

  “Okay now?”

  “Mm-hmm. Bone-melting orgasms have a way of scaring boogeymen away.”

  “Are you scared of monsters in the night?”

  “Not usually.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He chuckles. “The first delivery I made to your place, you were on the phone when you answered the door. I don’t know what you were talking about, but you were fierce. And I thought…damn. I hope she gets packages regularly. I want to see that scowl again.”

  I push myself up on my elbow so I can sort-of look at him in the darkness. “My scowl?”

  “Yep. That’s what I fell for. Your hell-no-try-again face.”

  Fell for. Fancy wine, crazy penthouse, weddings with the Queen. There is a lot to be intimidated about with falling in love with Jake Aston. But the way he sees me like nobody else—that’s one hundred percent authentic.

  He keeps showing me over and over again he’s just an ordinary guy in extraordinary circumstances. At some point, it would be a good idea if I start trusting that he’s right.

  Now, for example.

  I lean in and kiss his jaw. “Tell me more about the Hamptons.”

  “The Hamptons?” He grins. “You're willing to admit we might still be dating in the summer?”

  I blush. Oh, he has no idea. I'm starting to think in dangerous terms like forever and always. “Like you say, these middle-of-the-night sexcapades are mighty addictive.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jake

  I wake up earlier than Jana usually does.

  A lot earlier.

  She makes a growling sound as I roll out of bed, and I kiss the top of her head. “Go back to sleep.”

  “What are you doing up?” she mumbles.

  “I’ll workout while I catch up on the markets out of Europe and Asia, then we can have breakfast before I head to the office.”

  “’Kay.”

  She’s back to dreamland before I’ve got my shorts on.

  I’ve got a workout room at the other end of my apartment. I turn on the TV, then put my Bluetooth headset on and use the voice commands to pull up my email and messenger apps on the second screen.

  Aston Corp systems and Starfish Instrumentation hardware. Toby and I make some pretty slick stuff these days. Well, us, a thousand engineers, and ten thousand skilled manufacturing workers.

  It’s too early to see Toby on our private message chain, because he’s on the West Coast, but Ben comes online as I’m racing into my third mile.

  Ben: Morning

  Jake: What’s up?

  Ben: I’m having breakfast with my sister

  He has two sisters, but he means Elana, who also lives in New York. She owns a cosmetics company, but also sits on the board of their family company, Gladiator Inc, where Ben is now the CEO.

  Their baby sister, Cara, lives in Canada and does her best to ignore the family business.

  Jake: Tell Elana I might want two tickets to the Met this year.

  Ben: You know what she’ll say

  Jake: Pay up or don’t bother showing up

  Ben: Exactly

  Jake: It’s a good cause

  Ben: That’s never been reason enough in the past

  Jake: True enough

  Ben: So you’re doing this for a chick

  No reason to hide that.

  Jake: A woman. Her name is Jana.

  Ben: When did this happen?

  Jake: Before the holidays. When I was in Baltimore. We’ve been taking things slow.

  Ben: But come May, you’ll want her on your arm on Page Six?

  Jake: It might take me that long to convince her I’m serious about us.

  Ben: Whoa. Really?

  Jake: Is that so hard to believe?

  Ben: ….Yes

  Jake: Fuck you

  Ben: Love you, too, brother

  Jake: Tell your sister!

  Ben: I will. Damn. Jake’s a goner.

  And how.

  From down the hall, I hear Jana moving around.

  Jake: She’s up now. Gotta go make her breakfast.

  She spends all day in meetings with her editorial and production team, then she has dinner with her agent, so I work late. When she texts me that she’s done, I meet her at the Starbucks next to the restaurant they were at. We walk back to my place, holding steaming lattes in our outside hands, the fingers of our near hands entwined.

  “Did you have a good day?” I ask her.

  “I did. I like going into the office. Most of the time my work is so solitary. And then getting to spend another night with you is a sweet treat, too, even if we don’t get much sleep.”

  “You can sleep in tomorrow.”

  “But not with you.”

  “I could be convinced to come back to bed after I check the markets.” I give her an easy, broad grin as my doorman welcomes us to my building. “Thanks, Pierre.”

  She waits until we’re on the elevator before responding. “I don’t want to drag you away from work.”

  I crowd against her, unbuttoning her coat. “Please drag me. I can work after you leave again.”

  We kiss, her
pressing up on her toes and me curling down to meet her. I tangle my free hand in her hair as our lips brush, then press closer. Her tongue slides against mine, and suddenly we’re exchanging a lot more than passion. Her lips tremble against mine as I lick her skin and taste her fear, her regret.

  “I’m starting to realize a long distance relationship comes with a lot of negotiation and compromise,” I whisper as the elevator stops on the top floor. I swipe my key access so the doors open, revealing my private foyer. “Come on.”

  We set our lattes down and strip each other out of our winter clothes.

  It’s an hour before we wander back to fetch our now-cold coffees. I drink mine, making a face, and Jana laughs. “We could go out and get another one. Or use that fancy machine in your kitchen.”

  “I’ll do that, too.” I grab her hand and drag her into the kitchen. “Two nights in a row using this space. It’s a record.”

  “I’ll have to visit more often.” She says it in a teasing way, but yes, I want that. I pull her close and rub my hand up and down her back. She’s wearing my shirt and nothing else, and I want her again.

  But just as I’m about to suggest a counter orgasm, her phone chimes, and she regretfully spins away.

  I make a coffee for myself and a hot chocolate for her, then meet her in the living room. She’s furiously typing an email, so I grab my tablet and get into some work myself.

  After a while, she sets her phone down and starts pacing.

  I glance up. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Great.” Her face is tight, though.

  “Really?”

  She laughs, then goes back to frowning. “Yes. Super. I just got a green-light to present another line of cards—but I don’t have an idea. And they want to hear a pitch in the morning.”

  “Can I help?”

  She shakes her head. “I just need to do some thinking. What are you working on?”

  I tilt the tablet so she can see the screen. “Reviewing mission letters for the new executive team at SwiftEx. We just poached a kid from Silicon Valley to be the new COO—that was the first successful hire. We’ll have more, though, and I want all the positions to have clear instructions from me for when they hit the ground running. So I drafted letters earlier today and they went through legal and HR. Now they’re back to me.”

  “That sounds…complicated. And here I’m stressed because I can’t think of phrases that rhyme with booze.”

  I set the tablet down on my chest. “You have my full attention.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Go back to what you were doing.”

  “No, seriously, this fascinates me.”

  “Umm. Okay. So…everyone likes a margarita, right? Or a martini? That’s my hypothesis, anyway. The key to a good line of cards is that when someone is standing there buying one card, they like another, too, and then they buy both. Getting someone to buy just one card isn’t enough—they won’t remember you that way. But if you can sell them on a couple of cards, enough that they start to see the similarities in illustration or writing style, then you’ve got a fan.”

  I lean forward and brace my arms on my knees. “So…how can you connect this new idea to what people have liked in the past? Like the everyday superhero pictures?”

  Her eyes go wide and she snaps her fingers. “Yes. Everyday…everyday… Gah. That’s it, but it’s still hazy.” She purses her lips together and nods. “I’ll get it. Anyway, go back to your work.”

  “Do you want me to give you some quiet thinking space? Because I like talking about this.”

  “Space first. Then I’ll tell you where the thoughts land. Deal?”

  My heart swells in my chest and I lean back. “Steal of a deal.”

  When she returns to Baltimore, we start talking more on the phone. I find myself calling her when I might have reached out to Ben or Toby in the past, when I need an understanding sounding board who doesn’t have a vested interest in whatever I decide.

  And I want to hear about her work, too. She finally figures out what rhymes with martini, and an everyday “congratulations, you’ve survived!” line of cards is borne.

  January folds into February. We go skiing with her family, although Jana manages to avoid using my last name and other than a “rich guy from New York,” they don’t exactly know who I am.

  I’m fine with that.

  She meets Ben, and I meet Nina.

  March brings a big storm to the East coast, and we end up snowed in together for two days. I make her hot chocolate and peppermint lattes and she draws pictures of me at work.

  My invitation to the Met Gala arrives, and I make a sizeable donation to the charity.

  “What are you doing the first week of May?” I ask her.

  “Drawing pictures and trying to convince my cats not to go crazy at the windows just because spring is blooming, probably. I lead a very glamorous life,” she teases.

  “Can you get a cat sitter? I’d like to take you to a thing in the city.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jana

  It’s not until a week later, when I text Jake for the actual days he wants me to be in New York, that I realize “the thing” he wants to take me to is a formal gala on the first Monday of May.

  I devour celebrity news like Girl Scout cookies. The first Monday of May in New York City means the Met Gala.

  “It always matters. There will be some super awkward meeting at the Met Gala. I’ve seen how it goes on TMZ.”

  “I’ve never been to the Met Gala. Do you want to go? Ben goes every year. As far as I can tell it’s a pretentious bore.”

  I was teasing him. I was…oh God. I’m going to have an awkward run in with one of the models he’s had sex with. The prophecy is coming true.

  I call Nina in a panic and fill her in.

  “You are a lucky bitch,” she says.

  That’s not helpful. “I’m aware,” I say through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t change the fact I’m a country bumpkin in comparison to…well, everyone.”

  “Don’t compare yourself to Beyoncé.”

  “I’ve heard that Anna Wintour personally approves each guest. She clearly hasn’t gotten to my name on the list yet, and when she does, Jake’s going to get a call regretfully declining because who is that person?”

  “Maybe he put you down as the future Mrs. Jake Aston, and Anna Wintour knows better than to piss off a hot billionaire?”

  I squeak. I’m not cool enough for any of this.

  Nina laughs. “Seriously, this is a sign he’s serious about you. Or things have gotten slack in the bedroom and he knows the Met is a sure-fire way for you to give up slot C.”

  “Things haven’t gotten slack,” I mutter.

  “But still, put a Brazilian on the to-do list the week before.”

  I’ve been keeping up with that maintenance, not that I’m going to tell her that. Jake doesn’t complain when the hair is growing back in, but when we see each other and I’m freshly waxed, he goes down on me for like an hour.

  Only a fool wouldn’t keep that monthly appointment with that kind of reward.

  “I need a dress,” I whisper.

  “Nope.” Her voice goes crisp and business-like. “Okay, so here’s your first big lesson in dating a billionaire, in public. Things like this? You need a stylist. The stylist will—”

  “I know what a stylist does.” People subscription. TMZ addict. I know what celebrities do. I’m not a celebrity. “I can’t really afford…”

  “Ask Jake who dresses him.”

  “Jake dresses himself.” I frown. “I think.”

  “His tuxes come from somewhere, and I don’t think he spends a lot of time on Fifth Avenue. Just ask.”

  So I do, and when he stops laughing at the question about who dresses him—he agrees, the answer is almost always himself—he apologizes for not mentioning the dress thing yet.

  “I was going to bring it up when you come here next weekend. I should have known you’d have figured out it
was the Met Gala on your own.”

  “Sorry for being too clever.”

  “I love how clever you are. I’ll have to work harder at making the next surprise more of an actual surprise. So yes, the weekend before the Gala, there will be a few dresses for you to pick from, and people to help you get ready on the Monday.”

  “And that’s not weird at all for you?”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s weird, kind of vain, and pretentious…but also a lot of fun. You deserve to be spoiled like a princess, Jana. Don’t think twice about it.”

  Of course I still think about it, but I let my thoughts drift in an excited direction instead of worrying about being spoiled. I’m not going to pretend he can’t afford to treat me to a crazy night out.

  And I’m already thinking about how I can give him a special surprise of his own right.

  April drags on forever. Jake comes to Baltimore twice, but by the time I arrive in New York at the end of the month, I’ve made a mental decision that this just can’t continue like this.

  Something has to change, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be my address.

  When I arrive at Jake’s building late Friday afternoon, the doorman greets me by name. “Hello, Miss Jana. Mr. Aston just called, he’s ten minutes away, but I can take you up to the penthouse.”

  “I can wait—” But Pierre is already moving toward the elevator. “Okay. Thank you.”

  He hands me a keycard once we’re inside. I’ve seen Jake do this a dozen times now, at least. More, with coming and going. Pierre presses the P button and the elevator swiftly ascends. When we stop on the top floor, he gestures for me to swipe the card to open the doors.

  With a near-silent whoosh, the foyer reveals itself. “Thank you,” I say again, holding out the card.

  He just smiles and waves his hand. “Mr. Aston said to leave it with you.”

  While I’m waiting for Jake, I unpack my bag. I didn’t bring too many extras for this weekend. A few nice bra and panty sets, although I’m not sure what I’ll need under the dresses. I’ll discover that tomorrow, when the stylist brings the short list of outfits over, and there’s time to shop on Sunday, too.