Because He Watches Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Nine) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Hannah Ford

  “Lemon,” he said huskily, and then moved toward me.

  I held my hand up. “Oh, hell no,” I said. “Don’t even.”

  “You’re being so rude, Lemon,” he said, acting mock shocked. “You weren’t nearly this rude to me on the plane.”

  I hated him.

  I hated that he was here, hated that he thought what he was doing was okay. Hated that he was acting cocky, hated this wall he put up that was stronger than how he felt for me.

  “I’m calling the police,” I said, and went to move by him, but he placed his hand on my arm, stopping me.

  “Okay, okay, wait,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just wait. I just want to talk.”

  “I don’t want to fucking talk.” I wrenched out of his grasp and took two more steps away from him. I was so damn sick of fighting, was so sick of pretending he didn’t mean anything to me, was so sick of this anger I felt toward him. “Why are you doing this, Callum? Why? Do you enjoy torturing me?”

  “No!” he said, and every trace of cockiness was now gone from his face. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I told you, Adriana. I can’t fucking stay away from you.”

  “You can stay away from me, Callum, you just chose not to.”

  “I’m not drinking anymore.”

  “Ha! Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

  “I’m serious this time.”

  “Good,” I said. “I hope you are. But I’m not a part of that, Callum.” I shook my head. “I can’t be. You have to leave.”

  “I told you,” he said, and his voice was gruff, his eyes serious and hooded with emotion. “I can’t do that.”

  “If you don’t leave, right now, I’m serious, I’m going to call the police.” I went to move past him, out the door, but he put a hand on my arm again, stopping me.

  “Last night,” he said, his voice low and serious, “was the worst night of my life. And I’ve had very bad nights before, Adriana. But nothing like last night.”

  I felt my eyes fill with tears, and I was afraid to look at him, afraid that if I looked at him, I would fall into those deep blue eyes and he would pull me back in, under his spell, into his whirlwind. Because that’s what he did – he gave me just enough to keep me on the edge, just enough to make me believe that I had a chance to change him, that things could be different.

  “Being in jail will do that,” I said. “It’s supposed to be terrible.” He wasn’t holding my arm that hard, his grip was almost non-existent, but I was rooted in place.

  “It wasn’t because of jail, Adriana. It was because of what you said.”

  “I meant it.”

  “Did you?” His grip on my arm tightened just a tiny bit, not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know he was struggling against his desire to dominate me.

  “Yes.”

  “You meant that you never wanted to see me again?” His tone was low, soft, melodic and sexy. “Look at me, baby,” he said, and there was a faint note of pleading in his voice, like nothing I’d never heard from him before. “Please, Adriana, look at me and tell me you mean it.”

  I looked at him, and I saw the longing and need, the regret, reflected deeply and intensely in his eyes. His jaw clenched and his eyes were blazing so bright blue. “Tell me you don’t love me,” he whispered huskily. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I will leave you alone. It will destroy me, but I will do it.”

  “Love doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Love has everything to do with it. Love is the reason I’m here. Love is the reason I can’t stop thinking about you, why I’m missing the very important meetings I’m supposed to be having, why I’m losing millions of dollars right now, as we speak.”

  “Love isn’t about giving up money, Callum.”

  “You miss the point.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is that before I met you, all I cared about was work.” He was inching toward me, and I could smell his woodsy shampoo, and I was almost sure I could feel his body heat radiating from him. “Now all I care about is you.”

  “And drinking.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No, Adriana. That’s what last night proved to me. I used to control my emotions by not allowing myself to feel them.” He was even closer now, and he reached down and tipped my chin up gently, then brushed a stray strand of my hair off my cheek. “And when I couldn’t do that, I would drink. Now, though, that isn’t working.” His eyes softened and I saw the hunger there, the desperation. “Now I found something worse than emotions.”

  “What?”

  “Losing you.” He lowered his lips to mine, so close that when he spoke, they brushed against me softly. “Losing you would be worse than anything I could imagine. I love you, Adriana. I love you more than anything in this world.”

  He moved to kiss me, but I turned my head at the last moment, so that he was left to brush against my cheek.

  I felt him bristle against me, knew he was still fighting hard against his urge to dominate me, to punish me for refusing him.

  I held my breath, knowing it was a test, wondering if he could do it, if he could put his own need to protect his emotions aside while he allowed me some ownership in this relationship, allowed me to figure out how I felt about everything.

  My breath was coming in short gasps, my heart beating so loudly I knew he could tell the effect he was having on me.

  “Tell me you love me,” he whispered. “Tell me you want me to be here, tell me you want me as much as I want you. Because I know those things to be true.”

  But I wasn’t going to admit those things to him, even though they were true.

  “No.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”

  His hand on my back tightened for a moment, his grip firm as he pushed me against him as he struggled against his twisted need to whip me, to tie me, to bind me and make me his.

  Instead, he took a step back and crossed the room toward the window, like he needed to put distance us in order to be able to stop himself from doing what he wanted.

  He gazed across our front yard, to where our neighbor Mrs. Huggins was unloading groceries from her car on the other side of the street. The room was so silent I could hear the shriek of kids playing a few houses down.

  Finally, Callum turned around.

  “When is your sister’s wedding?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Just give me until then. If you decide after the wedding that you don’t want to see me again, then I will respect that.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.” He took a step toward me. “One day. Just give me one day to prove it to you.”

  He leaned down and kissed me, sending shocks of pleasure shooting through my core. His kiss was soft and gentle, controlled, but I could feel the desperation behind it.

  “Say yes,” he whispered. “Please, Adriana, say yes.”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

  He trailed kisses down across my neck, and I wrapped my arms around his him, my body shuddering.

  He grabbed my ass and pressed me to him, and I could feel his cock hard in his pants. His pelvis pressed into me, and I felt my panties start to get damp.

  I extricated myself from him and headed for my bedroom door.

  “One day,” I said as we walked back toward the kitchen, making sure the rules of our agreement were clear. “And then you won’t contact me again.”

  “If that is your choice, yes.” We were almost back to the kitchen when I heard him mutter the words, “But we won’t have to worry about that,” under his breath.

  Twenty minutes later, Callum had officially charmed the pants off my mother and sister.

  “Callum, check it out,” Ciara said excitedly as she whipped up a dressing in a bowl. Callum had taught her how to make a homemade blue cheese dressing and now she thought she was Martha Stewart. “It’s thickening up just like you said, Callum!”

  �
�Nice,” he said with a smile. He was over at the bowl of crab, wearing the apron he’d put on when he’d first got here, a red and white gingham that barely covered his broad shoulders.

  “What are we going to do about the crab cakes, though?” my mom asked. Her question was directed to no one in particular, but she was looking at Callum. He’d barely been here an hour, and yet somehow he was the one everyone was looking toward to take control.

  Not that I blamed them.

  He was the only one of us who seemed to know anything about food.

  “Do you have any tuna?” Callum asked.

  My mom’s eyes brightened. “Yes! I do!” She bustled off toward the pantry to get it, and Callum caught my eye and gave me a smile. I was standing by the counter sipping a Diet Sprite.

  I gave him a small smile back, still not completely sure how I felt about him being here, at my house, hanging out with my family, cooking and acting like he was a part of us.

  Part of me loved it.

  The other part was screaming that I needed to put an end to this, that I needed to stop him before I allowed him in any further, allowed him to get any closer to me.

  “Here,” my mom said, thrusting two cans of Starkist at him helpfully.

  “I don’t think Callum meant canned tuna, Mom,” I said.

  “Taste the dressing, Adriana,” Ciara said, picking up a carrot from the veggie plate she’d cut up. She slid it through the dressing and handed it to me. “Isn’t it so good?”

  “It is good,” I admitted.

  She beamed with pleasure.

  “I don’t have any fresh tuna,” my mom said mournfully. “I only have canned.”

  “That’s perfectly fine,” Callum said, taking the cans out of her hands gently. “We will make it work. Adriana?”

  “Callum?” I said back, kind of bratty.

  “Come assist me at the counter.”

  I sighed and walked over to him, let him lead me through adding the canned tuna to a separate bowl, watched as he whisked eggs and added flour, shook spices and did it all with the deftness that came from always being good at everything you did.

  When we were done, we had two separate bowls full of mixture – one for crab cakes, one for tuna cakes.

  Callum took a fork and dipped it into the tuna bowl, forked up some of the mixture and held it out to me.

  “Taste,” he said.

  I took a bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue.

  “Good?” he asked me, brushing a stray crumb off my bottom lip. His eyes blazed bright blue, his gaze focused solely on me, and I couldn’t help but think he was asking me about way more than just a bowl of tuna.

  “Good,” I said.

  “I want to taste!” Ciara said, running over to the bowl and breaking the spell.

  She picked up her own fork. “Delicious,” she said, clapping her hands. “Thanks, Callum! You totally saved the day.”

  Callum smiled and turned around, back toward the bowl, where he began chatting with my mom as they formed the mixture into cakes.

  “He’s amazing!” Ciara mouthed to me once his back was turned.

  Oh, honey, I thought, you have no idea.

  Ciara’s fiancé Bryan showed up right on time, along with his parents and his niece, a little girl named Chelsea who was wearing a pink tutu, carrying a sparkly silver wand and had what looked like an Easter basket thrown over her arm.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bryan’s mother said as Bryan greeted Ciara with a kiss on the cheek. “Bryan’s sister had to leave Chelsea with us last minute. I tried to call and ask if it was okay to bring her, but there was no answer.”

  “My phone was charging,” Ciara said. “But I’m sure it’s fine.” She had a strangled look on her face, and I vaguely remembered something about Chelsea, that she had once locked Ciara and Brian out of the house while they were babysitting her, and refused to open the door even when they bribed her with promises of ice cream and trips to the toy store.

  “I have a tiara,” Chelsea announced.

  “It’s very pretty,” I said politely.

  “Hey, Adriana,” Bryan said. “Nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you, too.” I liked Bryan, and thought he was good for my sister. I thought she was crazy to get married so young, but that had nothing to do with Bryan -- I would have thought the same no matter who she was engaged to.

  “I HAVE A TIARA!” Chelsea screamed. This time she stamped her foot.

  “I know,” Ciara said. “I see it. It’s beautiful.”

  Chelsea rummaged around in her basket and pulled out another tiara, and held it out. “Wear it,” she said.

  “Oh,” I said. “Um, I’m not –”

  “Not you,” she said, like I was a common peasant and the thought of her wanting to bestow me with a tiara was completely out of the question. “Him.”

  Her gaze was focused on something behind me, and I turned to look.

  Callum had come into the front hallway.

  “Him,” Chelsea said, pointing at him. “I want him to wear it.”

  “This is Callum,” I said by way of introduction to Bryan and his mother.

  “Nice to meet you,” Bryan said, and shook Callum’s hand.

  “I WANT THE MAN TO WEAR MY TIARA!” Chelsea yelled.

  “Now Chelsea,” Bryan’s mom said. “I’m sure that Callum doesn’t want to wear a tiara.” She rustled around in her purse and pulled out a stuffed bear that was missing an eye and wearing a crooked bow tie. “Why don’t you put the tiara on Mr. Wrinkles?”

  “Not Mr. Wrinkles,” Chelsea said. “I want the man to wear it!”

  She was obviously one second away from a full-on meltdown.

  Callum knelt down in front of her. “Wow,” he said. “That’s a very beautiful tiara. I’d love to wear it.”

  “Okay,” Chelsea said, as if this was a special request from Callum, and not a demand she’d been making just a second ago. “I will put it on you.”

  Callum tipped his head so Chelsea could reach it, and Chelsea put the tiara on him. “Now you are a princess,” she said proudly.

  “Thank you,” Callum said.

  “You are quite welcome.” She took his hand, obviously having decided she’d made a new friend. “Now come with me, we have to create our castle.”

  I covered my hand with my mouth and tried not to giggle as Callum followed her gamely into the backyard.

  We ate outside at a long picnic table that my mother had covered with a baby blue linen tablecloth.

  The crab and tuna cakes were a big hit, and we ate and drank iced tea and sangria and my mom was getting along with Bryan’s parents and everyone was talking and laughing and I knew my sister was loving it.

  Callum was charming as all get out, attentive to me, serving me food, making sure my every need was taken care of.

  We ate strawberry shortcake made from thick slices of store-bought pound cake for dessert, and it was the most delicious thing I’d ever had in my life.

  After all the food was cleared away, the adults drank coffee while Callum and Chelsea played in the backyard, constructing a castle out of sticks and stones and dirt.

  I’d gone inside to get some more coffee when my sister ran up to me in the kitchen excitedly.

  “Bryan’s mom said that Callum is famous!” Ciara’s eyes were shining.

  “He’s not famous,” I said as I emptied coffee grounds into the garbage and began refilling the filter.

  “He looks famous to me,” she said, obviously expecting my rebuttal. She held her phone out to me, showing me his google results. Her index finger slid against the screen and articles went flying by, all of them about Callum’s wealth or who he was dating or some new business venture he’d been involved in.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were dating a rich, famous person!” she said.

  I kept quiet, knowing there was nothing I could say that would even being to explain why I would have kept something like that quiet, knowing that the trut
h was way more unbelievable than any lie I could have told.

  We turned and looked out the window to where Callum was playing with Chelsea, wearing a tiara and helping her carefully shape the top of a dirt tower into a point on their castle.

  “He’s so laid back for a billionaire,” Ciara said thoughtfully.

  “He’s not usually,” I said. “He’s doing it for me.”

  We left together.

  I could have taken an Uber or called a cab, but I went with Callum. He’d rented a car, and as we walked down the driveway, holding a plastic Tupperware of leftover crab cakes, I told myself that it was because it would have looked strange to my family if I didn’t go with him.

  But the truth was that I wanted to leave with him.

  He held the car door open for me, and I slipped by him, his woody scent tickling my nostrils and sending heat through my body.

  The car was a red Chevy Malibu, and once the key was in the ignition, I couldn’t help but remark on it.

  “This car doesn’t seem like your style,” I said.

  “Maybe my style is changing.”

  I raised my eyebrows skeptically.

  “It was the only car they had that was ready immediately,” he admitted.” And as you can imagine, I was in a rush.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and I blushed, thinking about him in a rush to get to me. A secret thrill ran through me thinking about him being on the ropes because of me for once, instead of the way it usually was – me always waiting for him, wanting more, wondering.

  When we got to the hotel, Callum insisted on walking me in and taking me to my room.

  “Thank you,” I said when we got to my room.

  “I don’t like you staying here,” he said, looking up and down the hallway. “It doesn’t seem safe.”

  I rolled my eyes as I slid my key card into the door. “It’s fine.”

  “I’m staying with you.”

  I shook my head. “Not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” His eyes bore into mine.

  “You know why not.”

  “Are you afraid of what might happen, Adriana?”

  I thought about telling him no, I wasn’t, but then I realized I was sick of trying to deny my feelings, was sick of having to hide things from him just because I was afraid of pushing him.