What's Yours Is Mine: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Cerise Preston Story Book 1)

by Moore, Sasha

  “Sorry, Mr. Blake Hamilton, I am NOT a booty-call kind of girl,” she mused sleepily, talking to her now-silent phone before tossing it on her night stand to be charged. Whatever he wanted could wait until morning if it pertained to business, and would wait a hell of a lot longer than that if it didn’t. She slipped into her softest pink flannel boxers and a stretchy matching cami and climbed between the covers, sleep overtaking her almost immediately.

  “Where the hell were you last night?” Blake demanded, storming into her office without warning. Cerise’s wide-eyed assistant Marcus was at his heels blathering apologetically about not having time to ask her if it was okay for Mr. Hamilton to come in.

  “Thank you Marcus, that will be all,” she smiled sweetly at the clearly-rattled young man. It wasn’t every day that the owner of the company violated protocol and blazed into an office without proper notification. “Hold my calls, please,” she directed kindly, then turned, eyes blazing, to Blake when Marcus closed the door.

  “What is the meaning of this, Blake,” she demanded, eyes narrowed with annoyance.

  “I tried texting and calling you several times last night and you never bothered to respond,” he accused, as though he had the right.

  She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Did the thought ever cross your mind that I don’t work 24/7 and am not accountable to you after hours?” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “When I try to contact you that many times in one evening, did the thought ever cross your mind that it might be regarding something pretty fucking important?” he shot back, undeterred in the least by her sarcasm. Cerise was entirely taken aback. Typically when she challenged Blake Hamilton, he realized that she was almost always right and conceded, but there was something different in his manner today, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She pursed her lips, studying him for a moment before replying.

  “And just what is so damn important that you couldn’t wait until this morning to talk to me about it?” she inquired, beyond annoyed, but wary as to what might be behind Blake’s odd behavior. He brought out a manila envelope, in a hand he’d been strategically keeping behind his back, and tossed it onto the desk in front of her. Cerise’s mind raced. Had Constance shown him the photographs with which she’d threatened Cerise? And if so, was she asking for a divorce? Blake’s low voice interrupted her thoughts as she stared blankly at the envelope in front of her, masking her reaction.

  “Open it,” he ordered, through clenched teeth. Looking up at him with clear resentment in being treated in this high-handed manner, Cerise took her time selecting a letter opener out of her top drawer and sliding it effortlessly through the golden paper. She shook the contents onto her desk, and was astounded to see photographs taken at the Scat Cat of Frankie embracing her in a bear hug and kissing her on the cheek. The angle at which the photos were taken contributed to a much more intimate feel than had actually been the case. “Is this how we’re getting all the best clients?” Blake snarled, disgusted.

  “What are you talking about?” Cerise was actually confused. Blake knew that she and Frank’s son were friends and that a great many of their New Starts came from auditions at the Scat Cat.

  “You’re fucking Frankie Michaels,” he spat the accusation, eyes narrowed jealously. “Is that how we’re getting all of our new people? Are you fucking every club owner in town, or just the young ones?” he taunted, his mouth curling with contempt. “I refuse to have a whore working for me,” Blake thundered, “that is NOT how we do business at Black Vinyl Records.” He was quite ironically the picture postcard of righteous indignation. Those who knew Cerise best, knew that if she raised her voice, stomped her feet or slammed a door, you were still relatively safe in your interaction with her, but when she got quiet, that eerie, entirely self-possessed quiet, you’d better run for the fucking hills.

  Maintaining a completely neutral expression, and not giving in to the impulse to leave her handprint on Blake Hamilton’s arrogant face, Cerise paused thoughtfully, and decided that it was time to play her ace before things escalated out of control.

  “I have known Frankie Michaels since grade school,” she began quietly, taking control of the conversation by locking her unwavering gaze firmly with Blake’s. He had to lean forward to hear her words, despite the force with which they were being delivered. “I have been to his graduations and his wedding, and occasionally I go shopping with his beautiful wife. I never have, and never will fuck Frankie Michaels or any other business contact that I have. I don’t need to. If you’ll recall, I’m the best in the business and I didn’t get that way by opening my legs, Blake Hamilton, but since we’re on the subject of whores…” She decided to drop the bomb, despite the fact that she knew it would hurt him. After his spiteful accusations, she didn’t give a fuck if he got wounded emotionally. Tit for tat, motherfucker.

  Blake eyed her suspiciously as she unlocked and opened a file drawer, withdrawing an envelope very similar to the one he had just tossed on her desk.

  “Your turn,” she directed ominously. He reached for the envelope and slowly removed its contents, closing his eyes briefly and swallowing hard at what he saw.

  “Where did you get these?” he asked, beaten.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she returned dismissively as the photos of Constance Hamilton in a variety of sexual situations involving first her pool boy, then her lesbian manicurist and finally her middle aged and married therapist, slipped from his hand and hit the floor as he sank into a chair in front of her desk. “What does matter is that your pretty little wife is plotting to destroy everything you’ve worked for and will succeed if you don’t strike first.”

  Blake sat forward. “What do you mean?” he demanded, still shell-shocked, but definitely paying attention.

  “Constance tried to blackmail me a little over a week ago.” Cerise showed him the folder of photos that Constance had thrown on the trunk of her car and he closed his eyes again, rubbing a hand over his forehead in frustration.

  “Well, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” he shook his head, overwhelmed and pissed.

  “She told me that if I didn’t alter the books to start cutting her in on the profits, she would go to the press with the photos, ruin your career, divorce you and happily take your share of BVR,” Ceri lied smoothly, without a pang of conscience. Constance Hamilton was merely an obstacle to be conquered, and Cerise was laying the groundwork for her imminent downfall. Besides, it was almost true, and only served to highlight the fact that what the bitch truly cared about was money, not her husband.

  “What did you do?” he asked, somewhat dreading her response.

  “I made some calls, had her followed, found out that if you divorce her because of adultery she loses any interest in BVR that she had as a result of marriage. Turns out the little deal fashioned by your fathers on your conniving wife’s behalf isn’t quite as airtight as she believes it to be. There’s only one way to handle this, Blake, you have to take her down, before she takes you down. Go to the press, call her out on her gold-digging bullshit. I have an entire file of information that will not serve her well in divorce court,” Cerise replied.

  Blake steepled his fingers under his chin, the way he typically did when he was weighing important information, and sighed. “I would really rather handle this in a civilized manner and just divorce her quietly, no press,” he decided. Cerise threw up her hands in frustration.

  “Handle it quietly?” she snorted derisively. “After what that bitch was prepared to do to you? Are you fucking crazy?” When Blake stared down at the desk instead of responding, she knew she had to take control and fast. “Look, Hamilton, if you don’t go to the fucking press, and fast, she will. If you even mention divorce, she will do everything she can to ruin you, because she’s not just greedy, she’s hateful, and that is NOT a personality that you can afford to trust. If you’re worried about
it coming back to you, don’t – I have friends who can get these pictures and the supporting info to the press with no ties to you. It’ll happen out of the blue and you can act just as surprised about it as the rest of the world.”

  “But what about these?” he gestured at the pile of photos taken of his evening with Cerise.

  “I tracked down the photographer, who interestingly happens to be a big fan of R&B, and had the files deleted. I also had my private investigator confirm that only two copies of each photo existed, Constance’s private stash and the ones that she gave me. Turns out her claims to have met with her attorney and given him copies were bogus, she was bluffing, so we’re clear there too.”

  “I don’t even want to know how you found all of that out,” Blake shook his head.

  “No. No you don’t,” Cerise agreed.

  “What about Connie’s copies?” Blake asked, drained.

  “Taken care of,” Ceri replied vaguely.

  “You are quite the force to be reckoned with, Cerise Preston,” he stated with exhausted admiration.

  “Damn straight,” she agreed. If he only knew.

  Blake Hamilton leaned forward on the desk with something a bit more than admiration warming his gaze. “I owe you an apology…” he began.

  “Indeed you do,” Cerise acknowledged, cocky, “And honey, it’s going to be expensive.” Her mock-predatory grin stirred something within him and he nodded, smiling.

  Chapter 14

  “Here’s to happy endings,” Blake Hamilton raised his cut crystal glass of $2000 champagne, toasting his completed divorce.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Cerise agreed. This cool cat had not only eaten the canary, she had plucked, skinned and fileted it first. The champagne went down easy, particularly when paired with a sampling of dishes from literally the entire menu at Le Petit Chateau. She hadn’t been kidding when she told Blake that his apology was going to be expensive. They were in a private dining room and took their time enjoying fine food and wine. Cerise kept looking up to find Blake looking at her with an expression that she couldn’t quite define. He seemed to be making a habit of staring at her while she ate. Maybe he got turned on by seeing women put things in their mouth. She knew what she’d like to put in her mouth…

  “How’s the new place?” she asked, before her vaguely intoxicated thought process could get out of hand.

  “I love it,” he responded, clearly enthusiastic about the topic. “The windows go on forever and there’s no heavy, overbearing baroque bullshit going on. Everything is sleek, clean-lined and masculine,” he raved, taking a deep swallow of champagne.

  “Sounds like you,” Cerise flirted despite herself, nearly making him choke on the expensive bubbly. Things had been going so well at the office since they had joined forces to take down Constance. Blake checked in with her regularly, leaning over her shoulder, the heat of his breath teasing her ear, but trusted her entirely with the management of her side of the business. The few times that she had brushed past him in the hall had causing a crackling of sexual tension so profound as to be nearly palpable, but they had kept their distance while the divorce proceedings rocketed to the finish line. Being that close to this gorgeous man who was capable of giving her the finest sexual experiences she’d ever had was tough on a single girl. She was horny and she was here, and she might just make the most of the relaxed inhibitions brought about by very expensive champagne.

  “Wanna see it?” he offered, seemingly innocent, but with an air of expectation that belied his affectation.

  “Hell yeah,” she nodded, bringing her glass to the sweet fullness of her lips.

  ****

  She toyed with him in the limo, touching him, flirting with him, but refusing to allow him to kiss or touch her. She was driving him crazy and they both loved it. The sleek car wound down an impossibly long drive, at the end of which loomed a manse that resembled a contemporary version of Tara.

  “I had no idea that this much property existed in the heart of the city,” she remarked, keeping Blake’s roving hands at bay by turning to look out of the window.

  “I love the privacy of it,” Blake said suggestively. “Maybe we should start the tour with a walk around the grounds.”

  Cerise was feeling more than a bit tipsy after they shared a second bottle of champagne and agreed easily, needing some fresh air. Blake’s driver, Sato, assisted the stumbling couple out of the car and drove out of sight, into the carriage house. The property had several buildings aside from the main house, including a private gym, indoor tennis courts, and a stable. The setting was park-like, with winding trails that encompassed a golf-course-quality lawn.

  Cerise slipped out of her pumps, tossing them aside as they made their way across the carpet-like lawn. She stumbled slightly and Blake caught her elbow, not letting her go, even when she moved perfectly well under her own power. Stars glimmered overhead, and the fairy tale setting of Blake’s castle made a very romantic backdrop as they navigated through the formal gardens behind the house. Cerise plopped down on a massive cement bench that was tucked snugly beneath the gracefully cascading branches of a willow which concealed the view of the house and all of the outbuildings.

  “Tired?” Blake asked, sitting down beside her.

  “A little,” she admitted, shivering slightly as a breeze brought goose bumps to her arms. Noticing the chill, Blake stood and held out his hand to her.

  “What?” she asked, wanting to sit a while.

  “I’m going to warm you up,” he husked, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. The heat of his body and the tenderness of his kiss brushed away any reservations that Cerise might have had about following their current path. She melted against him, unashamed of her wanton response. He held her away from him for a moment, gazing into her eyes as the boughs of the willow swayed in the breeze.

  “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he whispered, his hand tenderly tracing the delicate planes of her face. Her eyes shown, and she looked away, suddenly shy. Placing his fingers under her chin, he gently tilted her head up to face him, continuing to gaze at her in admiration and wonder. Cerise’s mouth opened slightly, and she ran the tip of her tongue against her lips unconsciously craving his kiss, which he promptly remedied. He inclined his head slowly toward her and possessed her mouth with a quiet confidence that rocked her to her core. He was seducing her, whether intentionally or not, and she was embracing it with every fiber of her being. Pressing in, she felt the intoxicating sensation of his hardness against her midsection, her breasts crushed wonderfully against his powerful chest. She couldn’t get enough of his touch, his taste, his scent. He explored her mouth with sweetly agonizing slowness, teasing her tongue with his, relishing the hot warmth of her. He caressed her back, moving his hands down to her hips and drawing her even more tightly against his arousal. She groaned against his mouth, her need spiraling out of control. In the heat of passion, he drew back from her gently and with a smoldering look, held her gaze as he took off his suit coat and spread it on the bench. He whipped off his tie and tossed it aside, then unbuttoned and removed his deep purple, raw silk shirt, spreading it out carefully next to the suit coat. He then removed his trousers, his erection bouncing in anticipation, and laid them on top of the shirt and jacket. He slipped off his black silk boxers and kicked them aside before approaching Ceri again and slipping his hand under the back of her hair, kissing her ever so softly. She was spellbound, and he pulled back once again, moving his hands behind her to the zipper of her dress. He drew it down slowly, kissing her neck, her collar bone, the top of her breast as the dress slipped to the ground, leaving her in matching white lace panties and bra. Her nipples were fully erect and she longed for his touch. He bent to retrieve her dress, she stepped out of it and he picked it up placing it at the end of the bench opposite the blanket of his clothing that he had fashioned.

  After taking care of her dress, he placed bo
th hands lightly on her shoulders, reveling in the satiny softness of her skin. He slid the straps of her bra from her shoulders, then reached behind her to unhook the clasp, breathing deeply through his nose when his cock tickled her soft belly. He tossed her bra aside and stood back again, taking in the beauty of her high, firm breasts as she trembled with longing before him. She quickly removed her panties and stood proudly naked, his eyes feasting on her beauty. He literally swept her from her feet, swinging her up into his arms as though she weighed no more than a feather, and placed her delicately on his blanket of clothing. Lying beside her, he began a slow, sensual exploration of her beautiful form, tracing his fingers over her breasts, down the silky tautness of her abdomen and stopping just short of the freshly-shaved smoothness of her sex. His lips followed the path that his hands had taken, raining kisses down the length of her, flicking his tongue out to tease and taste her. He spread her legs and moved to kneel between them, her desire flooding through her in anticipation of his touch. He touched her pussy lightly, running his fingers up and down, causing her to moan with longing. He pushed into the slick opening with one fingertip, eliciting a gasp from Ceri. Moving his finger slightly in and out, he watched her face as she arched her back, trying to take in more. Withdrawing the finger that was now wet with her juices, he slid it between her ultra-sensitive lips to her engorged clit, rubbing in soft tiny circles.