Billionaire's Vacation: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #13)

by Claire Adams

  Words deserted me, and my traitorous body lifted a hand to finger his open collar. All I could do was nod.

  Ford's breath came faster, but he reached up and opened the cabinet behind me. "Then since we're stuck in this self-imposed quarantine, we might as well relax. Would you like a glass of wine?"

  I slipped into the corner between the counter and the sink. Ford followed me and reached behind me again, this time to find two wine glasses. He didn't move to release me as he uncorked the wine on the counter next to me and poured us each a glass of deep-red wine.

  "Here's to Ford Bauer, crusader against corruption," I raised my glass in the small space between us.

  He tapped his glass against mine and it chimed softly. "What, no more Professor Bauer?"

  "You might not be a professor anymore," I said.

  Ford took a slow sip of wine and then smiled as he looked at me. He leaned forward again, and his voice was as rough and soft as I imagined his stubbled cheek to be. "Why does that suddenly make me so happy?"

  "Well, I'm hoping you're a chef instead because I have no idea what to do with any of this," I quipped.

  "Want me to show you?" Ford smiled and stepped back. He found a bowl and started thawing the scallops in the sink. Then he unwrapped the steaks and set them to defrost in the microwave.

  His kitchen was small but well-equipped. The counters weren't Spartan, but they were meticulously clean, and soon he opened drawers and cupboards, covering the counters with ingredients. There were cutting boards with fresh vegetables and apothecary jars full of spices. In between his whirlwind prep, Ford rushed out to the living room and put on a record.

  All I could do was stand back and enjoy the view. Ford was relaxed, and his eyes sparkled. It reminded me of when we met at my father's cocktail party, before Ford knew me as a student. When he taught me how to mix a rub for the steaks, there was no awkwardness between us.

  Ford eyed the stovetop as everything sizzled. "Do you think it's enough?" he asked.

  I took a long sip of wine. "I think it is an amazing last meal," I joked.

  "You're right," Ford chuckled. "We might as well go all out. How about a fire in the fireplace?"

  "I can do that. At least let me help with something." I marched over to his fireplace and grinned. His bare apartment was deceiving; he had everything we needed and more. The pine logs were dry, there was a neat stack of kindling, and the matches were long-handled and easy to strike.

  When I turned around, Ford was smoothing a white sheet over the coffee table. "It's brand new," he said, "just out of the package." He shoved the rest of the sheet set underneath the sofa and then placed two sterling silver candleholders on the coffee table.

  I helped set the table, and my hands trembled as I set down our wine glasses. Ford brought in our plates, and my mouth watered as he sat down on the floor next to me. Buttery scallops nestled next to spice-rubbed steaks and a crisp green salad. The breadsticks were warm and toasty from the oven.

  Ford watched me take the first bite of perfectly grilled steak. My eyes rolled up to the ceiling as I savored it, and a small moan escaped my lips. His fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. "So, what do you think? Can I be a chef instead of a professor?"

  I murmured my agreement through a large bite of scallop. "How about you skip the chef part and just be my personal kitchen slave," I said.

  His eyes darkened to midnight blue, and Ford reached out to brush his finger over my lower lip. "I know I'm not supposed to say it, but I think I'd be happy being your personal anything," he said.

  I laid my fork down before I dropped it. "You would?"

  Ford brushed his thumb over my lower lip again. "You know, I pretty sure my department head has already left a voicemail firing me. I'm not your professor anymore."

  I dipped my chin and kissed his passing fingers. "I'm not your student anymore either."

  He pulled back his hand with a sharp intake of breath. "You know, even if I was still employed by Landsman College, I don't think I could let that stop me." Ford took a swig of wine. "I'd have to go to the administration and declare our relationship."

  "Wait, you can do that?" I asked.

  Ford cut a bite of steak and pretended like we were having a perfectly normal conversation. "Your father mentioned it once. He was telling me about an economics professor that fell in love with an art student. At the time, I thought he was really talking about his crush on Polly."

  "The art professor? Oh my god, that makes so much sense," I said. I remembered the way my father always talked about painting in a whole new way.

  Ford looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Have you ever been in love?" he asked.

  I looked at the candles on the coffee table. Ford leaned back against the sofa and sipped his wine as he watched my face. I shifted my glance to the fireplace, then up to the record player crooning a bluesy ballad. I thought about my past boyfriends, but nothing about those relationships compared.

  I had never felt such a jolt of recognition and desire as when I ran into Ford at my father's party. Even when I caught my high school boyfriend kissing another girl, it didn't compare to the depths of disappointment I felt when I saw Ford was my professor. Now my heartbeat echoed his words over and over again. He couldn't let that stop him.

  "I've had boyfriends, yes. I'm not some naïve girl." I defied the new sensations even as they racked my body.

  Ford's lips quirked around the rim of his wine glass. "I have never thought of you as a little girl," he said. "So, I guess the question is, what do you think of me? Am I some old, lecherous professor?"

  I snorted. "Some lech, we've barely even touched."

  A spark ignited in his eyes. "What about that kiss, or am I really so out of practice that it had no effect whatsoever?"

  The memory of that kiss still spun my head like a top. I fought off its dizzying affects and tried to sound cool and in control. "Out of practice?" I asked.

  Ford turned his attention back to his plate. "I've been taking a little break from relationships. I don't know, trying to atone for past mistakes, but also there hasn't been anyone that stood out."

  I wondered if his self-imposed break had lasted two years. Suddenly the sore topic of Libby Blackwell seemed like a distant and forgivable instance. It was a mistake, and Ford had spent long enough trying to pay for his mistakes.

  "How do you know when someone really stands out?" I asked.

  His gaze flicked up to mine in surprise, and he took hold of the new subject gratefully. "It feels like you've already know them, or you recognize them somehow."

  Ford's words unknowingly echoed my thoughts, and my heart leapt against my chest. I pressed a hand to it to calm myself down. "Like love at first sight or just strong attraction?" I asked.

  Ford set down his wine glass and leaned forward. The corner of the coffee table was small in between us, and I wondered if I might have fallen right into his arms if it wasn’t between us.

  "I think I might believe in love at first sight," he said quietly.

  "Really?" I scooped up my wine to hold something between us. "That statement was riddled with qualifiers."

  Ford smiled and plucked my wine glass from my weak fingers. "You of all people should appreciate my desire to do firsthand research," he said.

  He set aside my glass and closed the space between us. I held up a shaky hand and asked, "You would really declare our relationship to the college administration?"

  "So there wouldn't be a single thing between us," Ford said. He captured my hand and pressed it to his heart.

  I could feel his pulse racing under my palm, and the pace matched the blood rushing like wildfire through my body. Ford's mouth was serious, but his lips parted with a faint smile. I leaned forward, holding the corner of the coffee table for support.

  Ford's lips brushed lightly against mine. "I'd lay it out on the line, just please, tell me it leads somewhere."

  I slipped my hand from his heart up to curl around the ba
ck of his neck. I pulled him close and parted my lips to welcome his kiss. We fell together, and our lips moved hungrily. Ford groaned deep in his throat, and I caught his desire on parted lips. He delved deeper into the kiss, and our tongues tangled together, tasting each other, until we both gasped for air.

  I pulled back half an inch and whispered against his mouth. "There aren't any rules holding us back anymore?"

  "You tell me, Clarity; I want you, I want all of this, but I won't push." Ford pushed himself back and leaned against the sofa again. His eyes were a clouded midnight blue, his lips still shining from our kisses.

  "Was it only hot when you felt like we were breaking the rules?" I asked.

  Ford gave a harsh laugh. "No. It was never about the rules or some illicit affair. It's just this." He lunged forward again and caught me in a searing kiss.

  His mouth pressed against me, demanded me to open, to give in, and it felt so good. I moaned my surrender. Ford was right. This passion that passed between us like a crashing wave had nothing to do with cheap thrills or taboos. It felt as natural and as powerful as a storm, and we were powerless to control it.

  "No more rules," I murmured. "We're both consenting adults."

  "I consent," Ford panted against my wet lips. "You can have me, Clarity. You can have all of me, and there's not a single policy that can keep you from taking what you want."

  His kisses, peppered hard and soft against me, dispelled my guilt more than his words. My mind raced back to the first moment we met when we were simply a man and a woman meeting at a party. The freedom of that thought felt like wings on my back. I lifted off the ground.

  Ford sat back, fearful that I was getting up to leave. All I could do was shake my head. I reached a leg over his seated body and slid into a straddle across his lap.

  "Oh, god, Clarity," Ford's whisper was rough with passion. His hands clasped around my waist.

  I leaned forward, capturing his strong jaw between my hands as I kissed him with abandon. He answered by running his wide palms up my back, pressing every inch of me against his taut chest. When his hands reversed direction and ran down to the curve of my lower back, I whimpered with delight. He pressed me down against him, and I felt the surging press of his desire.

  Still, we were not close enough. I needed more of him. I sat up and slipped my shirt up and over my head. Ford's eyes seared my bare skin as he let me unbutton and tug loose his white shirt. When I yanked his undershirt up and over his head, he sat forward and captured my lips in another devouring kiss.

  The press of our bare skin sent shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Ford's hands traced up and down the naked curves of my waist and back. Then, his fingertips traced around the lace of my bra to tease the undersides of my breasts.

  He broke the kiss and trailed his lips down my throat to the heated skin just above the lace. When his tongue ventured out and licked the press of my cleavage, I arched back against the coffee table. The shift rocked my hips against his hardened reaction, and once I started the electric friction, I couldn't stop.

  Ford's breath came in hot bursts against my skin as his fingers reached behind my back and fumbled with the hook of my bra. The lacy scrap of fabric fell away, and I gasped as my taut nipples tingled in the cool air. Then, an absorbing heat pulled me to a new level of passion. Ford's mouth closed around one breast, and his tongue rubbed ever-widening ripples of pleasure from me.

  "The bedroom," he murmured and struggled to lift me from his throbbing lap.

  I stood up and pulled him up. When Ford towered over me, I couldn't resist nuzzling my cheek against his muscled chest. The brush of my cheek undid him. Ford caught me up in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck as his arms scooped my legs up effortlessly. In mid-air, our lips met again, and I felt like I'd broken free from the bounds of gravity.

  Ford spun us around and laid me on the couch. The blaze in his dark-blue eyes burned away any thought of the bedroom as he slipped his body over mine. I arched up to welcome his weight and grasped the hard contours of his back.

  "Are you sure," he whispered against my neck.

  The fire crackled, and the candles glowed. Somewhere far away, my phone buzzed on vibrate. The whole world was shut away and couldn't reach us. Ford and I were all alone, wrapped in each other's arms. I pressed up against every inch of his body and knew there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

  "Yes," I said. My hands tangled in his hair and lifted his head so I could see his stormy eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Please."

  The 'please' was his final undoing. With a guttural sound somewhere between a moan and a chuckle, Ford captured my lips again. His hand slipped between us, and I helped him undo my buttons. When he pushed back to peel away my jeans, I let my eyes rove over his sculpted body.

  Strong shoulders, a hard chest tempered by springy dark hair, and a tapered waist; Ford was more than I had ever hoped for. I plucked at his leather belt, and he obliged with a burning look. Then he slipped back down over me, and I welcomed the hot caress of his bare body against mine.

  Ford's lips found mine, and his kiss slowed to molten lava. I opened beneath him, and he pushed into me with a volcanic heat. Our kiss was punctuated with panting cries as our bodies took over, and the joining rhythm built up to a shared eruption. I quaked under him, and Ford wrapped me tightly in his arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ford

  Even without a buzzing alarm clock, my eyes flew open at 5:30 am. Formative years in the Army had embedded an early morning habit in me that was impossible to break, no matter what I had been doing the night before. I squeezed my eyes shut and chased the remnants of a very sweet dream.

  Red wine spilled into kisses from Clarity's sweet, plum-soft lips. I dreamt about her body in candlelight, lit from a fire in my long unused fireplace.

  Something wasn't right. The flashes of the dream held tactile memories so real I could still feel her soft skin under my fingertips. My hands flexed, and my eyes flew open.

  Clarity was curled up next to me in my bed. She murmured against the pillow and nestled farther under the covers. I moved my hand a scant millimeter and realized she was naked against me. The throbbing response of my body was nothing compared to the tsunami of images that flooded my brain.

  Clarity straddling my lap, her back arched to let me taste her delicious breasts. Clarity's red hair brushing my bare chest as she pressed her cheek to my heart. Her moving beneath me, opening, as we fell together onto the sofa.

  My hand stroked up and down the bare length of her thigh, and my vision was unfocused by awe. I buried my face in the back of her neck and breathed her in. She was real, and she was there next to me. My heart pounded against her back, and I closed my eyes to calm my racing pulse.

  I remembered the exact moment Clarity had let go. I was still shocked at myself for admitting I would declare our relationship. The idea that I would go to the administration and declare my feelings for her had lifted all the doubt and worry from her deep green eyes. Clarity's quick mind had ran over all the possibilities and seen that the policies that held us at bay were flimsy excuses. Once she saw I would go above them and clear the way, she had let her passion ignite her flame.

  A molten wave passed through my body at the memory. Clarity had lit me up like no woman had ever done before. The awkward innocence of her moves combined with the searing hunger of her lips had burned me up completely.

  I hadn't even been able to make it to the bedroom. The brush of her cheek against my chest, the tease of her taut nipples against my bare stomach, had been too much. I had never lost control so fast, and she had welcomed every inch of my passion.

  Afterwards, we had stayed wrapped in each other's arms. I remembered rolling over and tucking her against me. Clarity had sighed with such easy contentment as her fingers traced electric circles across my chest. We had let the fire die down to embers as neither of us had any desire to part.

  I released a shuddering sigh against the sweet curve of her neck. Clar
ity was different from any woman I had dated. Even before I started at Landsman, I had always held back. There had been reasons and obstacles—many made-up—and I had always felt the need to keep my distance from the women I saw.

  With Clarity, we were close the moment we met. I remembered the intimate space beneath the stairs, the removed murmurs of her father's party. Clarity had strolled right up and fit into a place in my life I didn't know was there. She filled a place in me that I hadn't known was empty.

  Clarity shifted in her sleep and responded to the strokes of my hand down her thigh. She pressed her hips back, rubbing against my throbbing body, before she nestled back into sleep. Every inch of me pulsed with desire for her. I was keenly aware of every delectable, naked inch of her, and it took all my willpower not to throw back the covers and explore her in the brightening sunlight.

  She muttered in her sleep, and I thought I caught the word 'exposé.' Clarity was fretting in her dreams about the article we had published and the consequences we would have to face. I lifted my hand from her silken thigh and smoothed it over her hair. The worrisome dream disappeared under my soft touch, and I felt her body relax back into a deep slumber.

  It was too early for her to wake up and worry. I kept still beside her, guarding over her peaceful sleep even though my body burned and throbbed for her. I eased back an inch only to give myself a tantalizing view of the curve of her hip. My mouth watered, but I kept still.

  I pressed my heated thoughts into my pillow. It was a miracle we had made it to the bed at all last night. Clarity had been languid and so comfortable with our naked lounging on the sofa. It wasn't until the loose spring started to stab at our backs that she shifted.

  I had pushed past the lump in my throat and asked her, "Do you want me to walk you home, or do you want to stay?"

  "Can I stay?" she had asked with such an open, hopeful look that my heart tumbled right out onto the floor.

  I had scooped her up in my arms despite her giggling protests and kissed her with a possessive fire I hadn't known I had. Clarity had melted in my arms, and I had moved quickly to get us to the soft sanctuary of the bedroom.