Resisting the Billionaire

by Allie Winters

  But really, what has it gotten me? A mountain of debt and no social life.

  No, I love what I do. Honest. I make dreams come true.

  Just not my own.

  I hang up with my mom ten minutes later and work the rest of the afternoon on a seating chart and day-of timeline for an upcoming wedding booked next month, stopping only when Diana knocks on my open door.

  “Can I get your help potting something? I need a second set of hands real quick.”

  “Sure.”

  I follow her into the back, holding a plant in place as she wrestles it into a decorative pot, adding fresh soil until it’ll stand on its own.

  “This is beautiful. I’ve never seen it here before.”

  “It’s a canna lily. I randomly had two different people ask about it last week, so I decided to stock it.”

  “So business is picking up then?”

  “Thanks to you. I swear half the orders I’ve had lately are your clients needing flowers too.”

  “That’s great.” I move to the sink to wash my hands as she wipes the loose dirt from her palms into the trash can.

  “Listen, I wanted to apologize if I came on a little strong yesterday,” she says in a soft voice.

  “It’s okay-”

  “No, I promise I’m not accusing you of anything. You’re allowed to be friends with a guy. And if his fiancee is cool with it, I especially don’t have any right to poke my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  I roll my lips between my teeth, my insides doing a weird flip as guilt settles over me.

  “It’s just… when my dad had that affair-”

  “I know.” It basically imploded her whole family. He ended up moving away, deeding the flower shop to her in an attempt to make up for all the hurt he caused.

  “Anyway, I know you’re not like that. And I’m sorry if I implied it.”

  The guilt intensifies. No, Gabriel and I didn’t touch each other, but would she see it the same? Would Serena? Mr. Bishop?

  The urge to confess it all is strong, but I don’t want my image tarnished in her eyes. She’s my closest friend. Plus, there’s that non-disclosure agreement I signed. I’m not supposed to discuss any private details regarding the Bishops for time indefinite.

  And I’m fairly sure last night falls under the category of private.

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” I tell her, wanting this conversation over with already. She’s the type to consider a lie of omission still a lie. “How about I order in dinner for us? My treat. Business is picking up for me too.”

  “Ooh, how about Thai food? I’ve been craving pad thai lately.”

  “Done.”

  We eat an early dinner in my office, making plans to go out one night later this week, and it almost feels like it used to. Back when I was only working for Denise, unaware of the stress I’d soon be putting on myself breaking away to start my own company. Back when I only worked forty hours and could plan a girl’s night out anytime with Diana.

  Back when I might go out on a date every once in a while with a guy, very few sparking any real interest, and none with any lasting potential. I never found myself in over my head. Life was full of optimism then. Hope.

  My working life is my personal life now, the two indelibly intertwined. And if one gets screwed up, so does the other.

  What am I going to do about last night?

  Okay, calm down. Yes, it was amazing, but it was a one-time event. Not happening again, despite Gabriel’s hinting at doing something like it soon.

  Anything else is skirting the line too much, getting too far in. He’s engaged, even if it really isn’t cheating.

  I try to settle back into work after we clean up our takeout containers, restless, and breathe out a sigh of relief for something to focus on when an email comes in asking about my availability to put together an event for a couple’s engagement.

  I’m just finishing up crafting a response when my phone rings. It’s… Serena.

  “Hello?” I answer tentatively. Usually I’m the one calling her.

  “Hi, do you have a moment to talk?”

  “Sure.” I shift in my chair, something about her tone not quite right. Maybe she feels bad about canceling that final dress fitting.

  Or maybe she somehow found out I went over to Gabriel’s apartment.

  No, no. How would she even know about that?

  “I, um,” she starts, then pauses. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to.” Her voice trembles before she lets out a small laugh. “But you probably figured that out when I didn’t choose any attendants.”

  It’s true, I’ve never worked on a wedding where the bride literally had no one as even a maid of honor. “Okay… you can talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to marry Gabriel.”

  I thought we’d already discussed this. “I know.”

  “I mean, I won’t marry him. I’m going to tell my dad tonight.”

  All the breath leaves my body, almost like the wind was knocked out of me, and it takes me a moment to recover, but she’s still speaking.

  “I wanted to tell you before the whole thing blows up. And I’ll make sure you’re paid, don’t worry. You’ve done so much and you deserve full compensation. I actually have a fundraiser I was hoping to hire you for in a few months time since you’ve proven to be so capable.”

  Seriously, I don’t know what to say, even as emotions start flooding through me. Guilt for her praise when I went behind her back last night. Elation that she’s ending this whole charade. Hope that there’s possibly a chance for me and Gabriel.

  “Am I making the right decision?”

  “I…” What can I say? How is anything I tell her not completely biased? “You’re very brave for doing it, and yes, I think it’s the right decision. You don’t deserve to be trapped in a loveless marriage.”

  She lets out a relieved breath, my heart soaring, just as the pit in my stomach sinks. I’m going to hell for this, aren’t I?

  “Thanks, Mackenzie. I’m so glad I have you to talk to.”

  Shame stabs me with little needles under my skin, but I push the sensation away as best I can. It’s not like I really influenced her. She came to the decision all by herself.

  Or was it because you interrogated her the last time you spoke to her? Made her start truly questioning things?

  No, those were legitimate questions. I didn’t tell her outright to call off the engagement.

  And if it’s Serena calling it off, Mr. Bishop can’t fault Gabriel. He held up his end of the bargain.

  “If you need anything from me,” I tell her, “please let me know. I’ll handle all the cancelations, any disappointed vendors or guests. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Thank you,” she says again, sounding excited for the first time. Happy, even. Maybe this has been weighing on her more than I realized.

  She hangs up, and I find myself at a loss, carefully setting my phone on my desk. Did that actually happen? Is Gabriel really unengaged? Free to be with who he wants?

  And he said he wants me.

  My stomach swarms with butterflies, an indescribable lightness filling me.

  I still have lots to do tonight. Finding potential venues that fit the style and budget of an upcoming wedding. Following up with a baker who was creating a design for a client’s retirement party cake in a few weeks. Replying to yet another inquiry about a couple needing a wedding planner for next year. I’d planned on staying here late then taking my laptop home with me and working some more.

  But all those tasks fade in the wake of this news.

  I find myself packing up my things and practically skipping to the subway station, heading toward the Upper East Side.

  “Ms. Sweet,” the doorman greets me, bowing his head slightly.

  I walk in to the polished marble lobby, the other man at the desk already striding toward the elevator to call it for me. Talk about service.

  “Have a pleasant evening,” he says as I st
ep in, nothing untoward about his tone. But yeah, pretty sure it’ll be a very pleasant evening.

  My reflection stares back at me as the doors close and I realize I should have stopped home first, even if it was out of my way. Should have showered again or brushed my teeth. Something to prepare myself.

  I rub away the mascara that’s already flaked off under my eyes this late in the day and fumble in my purse for my compact, powdering the tip of my nose and forehead to get rid of any shine. I reach for my lipstick, but then put it back, grinning to myself. It’ll only get messed up soon anyway.

  Gabriel won’t care that I last showered this morning. If I know him at all, he’ll just be happy I’m here.

  The elevator dings on the forty-ninth floor and I step out, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering like mad. I knock on his door cautiously, hating this hesitancy rushing through me.

  What if he tells me it’s still not a good idea? What if I came all this way only to foolishly return home? What was I thinking coming here without at least texting him, giving him a heads up?

  He opens the door, dressed in casual workout clothes like he recently came from the gym, brows raising at my unexpected presence. “Mackenzie. What are you doing here?”

  “I want you,” I blurt out, unable to hold it in, to explain myself fully.

  But he doesn’t seem to need any other explanation, a change coming over him as he moves forward to cup my face, his hands gentle but firm. No questioning, no second-guessing as he takes my mouth in a hard kiss, his lips insistent, needy.

  I eagerly submit to him, kissing him back, running my hands over his forearms, squeezing those deliciously thick biceps, up and over his shoulders to the hard muscles of his back. I want him. This man who looks out for me, takes care of me, connects with me. I’ve never met anyone like him.

  And I need him so bad.

  He shuts the front door and lifts me in his arms, the action effortless on his part, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries me down the hallway toward his room. Toward the future.

  Toward us.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gabriel

  I kick open my bedroom door and lay her down gently on my bed, unable to stop kissing her. It’s been an eternity since her lips were last on mine.

  “Gabriel,” she pants, leaning back against the dark bedspread. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

  “No,” I tell her honestly. If she’s warm and willing in my arms, I’m not going to question it, even after Dad’s warning. I need her too much. “If you start talking, you might talk yourself right out of this bed. And I can’t have that happening for any reason.”

  She unsuccessfully tries to hide a grin. She takes a moment to compose herself, then softly says, “Serena’s calling off the wedding.”

  My stomach drops, but in that good way, like when you’re on the summit of a rollercoaster, uncertain what’s in store for you next, but excited to find out.

  “And I figured,” she continues, “since you still held up your end of the bargain, your dad can’t hold it against you.”

  Oh, I’m sure he’ll find a way. But I’m not concerned with that right now.

  “So you’re mine? Fully mine?”

  She nods shyly, reaching a hand up to stroke my cheek. “I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

  If I’ll have her? Doesn’t she know she already owns me?

  I lean down, not wanting to waste time with more words, and kiss the everloving hell out of her, her lips sweet, decadent. I lick my way into her mouth, swallowing her soft groan, and lean on one elbow so I can have both hands free to do what I’ve longed to since the first moment I laid eyes on her.

  Touch her.

  I give in to the urge, moving my palms over her gorgeous breasts, kneading her gently. She lets out a sound of need at first contact, my dick already primed and ready to go at her enthusiasm. “You like it when I touch you?” I whisper, shaping her soft weight.

  “I love it. I’ve wanted your hands on me for so long.”

  She brings her own hands up over my shoulders, her nails scraping lightly down my back. Oh, fuck, that’s good.

  I fumble to tug my shirt over my head, flinging it on the floor. There’s time for smooth seduction later. Right now, I just need her.

  She sits up and presents her backside to me, coquettishly peering at me over her shoulder. “Will you take this off?” she asks, indicating the zipper down the back of her dress.

  I slowly slide it down, peeling off her clothes, her white lingerie a tantalizing mixture of innocent and seductive. Settling her on the bed, I slip a bra strap down to reveal a perfect breast, the temptation to taste her overwhelming.

  I give in, bending down to take a nipple into my mouth, her groan of satisfaction spurring me on until I remember her words from last night.

  I like it slow.

  I reduce my efforts, gently lapping at the hard bud, enjoying the way she sifts her fingers through my hair, the way her breaths become increasingly louder as I continue, the way she eagerly moves underneath me.

  “I need more,” she moans, tugging at the ends of my hair.

  “My woman likes it slow,” I smirk. “She told me herself.”

  She lets out a half feral growling sound. “Not when I’m desperate.”

  I tug down her other bra cup, taking my time switching sides, laving her with small kisses, sucking her nipples gently. And just when she’s probably ready to hit me over the head, I snake a hand down her body, dipping two fingers inside her pussy to tease her.

  Her thighs tense, heels digging into the mattress to leverage herself further up, but I keep my strokes shallow.

  “Tell me you want me,” I murmur against her tender skin.

  “I want you.”

  I increase the pressure. “You need me.”

  “I need you,” she cries, gripping my hair tightly.

  You love me, I think, keeping that to myself as I speed up. Is it too soon for that? We’ve known each other barely a month and been intimate far less than that.

  But sometimes, there’s no reasoning with your heart.

  I continue plunging in and out of her, finding her clit with my thumb to give it a gentle nudge.

  “Right there,” she gasps, her hips arching off the bed.

  I press down more firmly, sucking a nipple in my mouth as I build her up, massaging her clit until she cries out, “Don’t stop. Oh my God, don’t stop.” More nonsensical words issue from her as she crests, interspersed with harsh pants and my name. There’s nothing I’ve wanted to hear more in my life than my name on her lips as she comes for me.

  Her eyes squeeze shut, cheeks flushed and curls spread wildly over my pillow as her body eventually goes boneless, hands clinging to my shoulders. A possessive sense of fulfillment runs through me at her obvious pleasure, more than I’ve ever experienced. With Mackenzie, everything is deeper, sharper.

  I finally divest her of her undergarments, taking in the beauty of her nude figure, then hop off the bed to remove my pants and grab a condom out of my nightstand drawer.

  She turns over to watch me roll it on, her gaze alight with heat. A man could get used to that kind of look.

  “Do you know how incredibly sexy you are?” she asks.

  “I may have been told that once or twice,” I grin, my eyes cataloging the dip of her waist, the small thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs, the creamy perfection of her skin. Now that this moment is finally here, I almost can’t decide where to start. Exploring every inch of her is on the list for later, but the overwhelming urge to be inside her takes precedence over everything else.

  “Are you ready for me?” I lean down to give her a long, thorough kiss, the taste of her already familiar, essential.

  “I’m ready,” she whispers against my lips, laying back against the pillows and parting her thighs.

  I take a moment to look my fill at her seductive pose, then position myself at her entrance, slowly filling
her. “You’re the one who’s sexy,” I murmur in her ear. “Everything about you. Especially this tight, wet pussy.”

  She grips my upper arms as I feed myself into her, her warmth enveloping me until I’m all the way to the hilt.

  “Yes,” she breathes, locking eyes with me. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  “You don’t have to wait anymore.” I lean down till my chest brushes against her bare breasts, capturing her mouth in a hot kiss.

  We move in tandem, our bodies in sync as I plunge in and out of her, taking my time at first, teasing us both until she demands, “Faster.”

  Well, how can I refuse that request?

  I bring one of her knees up close to her chest to change the angle of my thrusts, positioning myself so I can grip both her hips, holding her steady as I pick up the pace.

  She lets out a long moan, arching her back in pleasure, and brings her hands above her head to grasp the pillow, gaze hot on me.

  I want to consume her, learn every part of her as we continue, my movements turning nearly savage, unable to get enough of her. I can’t go slow anymore, not when I finally have her underneath me, when she’s finally mine.

  A tingle races down my spine, signaling I’m close, and I have to look away from the way those breasts I’ve waited so long to see are bouncing, the way her back is bowed in pleasure.

  I have to stop myself from listening to her panting breaths, the way she whispers words of encouragement under her breath.

  I have to resist the temptation to lean down into the crook of her neck and find out if her scent of gardenias has intensified, taste the forming beads of perspiration on her sweet skin.

  Any of that will push me over the edge. And I can’t do that until she comes for me again.

  I thrust into her, bringing a hand between our bodies to tease her clit once more, her desire ratcheting higher until her arms are tense, gripping the headboard behind her tightly, her knuckles nearly white.