The Billionaire’s Promise (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance)

by Ivy Layne

  "You want my ice cream?" I asked. He nodded, giving me his sweetest look. With anything else, it might have worked, but this was really good ice cream and it had been a very long day. I was also completely useless at saying no to Vance Winters.

  I scooched closer on the couch and dipped the spoon into the ice cream, lifting it to his mouth. I hadn't been thinking, or I would've been ready. His tongue flicked out, scooping the ice cream off the spoon, his eyes on mine, hot and blue. I shivered.

  I took the spoon back and dipped it into the pint. Sliding it across my own tongue, knowing the cold metal had just been in Vance's mouth, was unbearably intimate.

  Did he know I was thinking about that kiss? I pretended like I didn't remember. It was easier that way. I'd been drinking and too much of a coward to deal with the aftermath of kissing Vance.

  It had been a bit more than just a kiss to me. A lot more than just a kiss, but I refused to go there.

  We’re sharing ice cream, I told myself. It’s not intimate. It’s just dessert. Then why didn't I get him his own spoon? Because he couldn't feed himself while he was feeding Rosalie. That was my excuse for scooping out another bite of cookies and cream and raising it to Vance’s mouth.

  A blush rose to my cheeks as I watched his lips close around the metal and his tongue flick across the bowl, making sure he got every drop of ice cream before releasing the spoon. I wanted to pretend he didn't affect me, but the redness in my cheeks made me a liar.

  I should have put the ice cream away, but I didn't. We ate almost half the pint like that, Vance silent, his eyes on me, my cheeks pink with embarrassment.

  Not embarrassment. I had to be honest with myself if I wasn't going to be honest with Vance. I wasn't embarrassed. I was turned on.

  Rosie finished her bottle, and Vance turned his attention to the tricky task of burping her without getting thrown up on. He was better at it than I was. I escaped, returning the ice cream to the kitchen.

  "Would you put the game on?" Vance called out on his way upstairs. "She's half-asleep. I'm just going to lay her down."

  I did, flipping through the channels until I found the basketball game I thought he was talking about. Sports weren't my thing. I thought about going up to my room, pretending I was too tired to stay up any longer. It wasn't a lie. I was exhausted, but it was still early. Too early to go to bed.

  I was going to have to learn to deal with Vance. He hadn't been flirting with me. He'd been eating ice cream. I was the one who was reading too much into it. We were just going to watch a game, and that was it.

  I made the mistake of sitting down in the middle of the couch. I wasn't used to sharing it, and that was where I normally sat, with my feet up on the coffee table. Vance came back and sat down beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his chest. Alarm bells went off in my head.

  If sharing a spoon with him felt too intimate, this was way off the charts. But his arm was warm and solid around me, his heart thumped under my ear, and his fingers trailed through loose strands of my hair, the gentle tugging lulling me into submission. I stayed where I was, curled into Vance, my eyelids drooping. Above me, he said in a low, laughing voice, "I put all the girls to sleep."

  "Rosie's out?" I murmured.

  "Like a light. She'll be up again as soon as she's hungry, but for now, she's asleep."

  "Thank God," I said, letting my eyes drift shut.

  I didn't care about watching basketball. I just wanted to stay exactly where I was. I drifted off, lulled by the sound of Vance’s strong heartbeat and the distant noise of the game on the TV.

  I don't know how long I was asleep. My eyes opened when Vance leaned forward with the remote and shut off the TV.

  "The game over?" I asked, not really caring.

  "Mmmhmm," Vance said, stroking my hair off my face.

  "K," I said, intending to get up. I was slowly waking up, but I was too comfortable to do anything about it. I'd move in a minute. Stalling, I asked, "What time is it?"

  "It's late. Past your bedtime." Vance was half-joking. He knew I wasn’t a night owl.

  "Rosie still asleep?" I asked. His body was warm and solid against mine, his arm still holding me close. He smelled so good, clean and male. I wished I could curl up right there and go back to sleep.

  Vance didn't answer.

  "What time is it?" I asked again.

  "Late," he said, tossing the remote on the couch beside him. He turned, shifting me from his chest to lay back into the cushions.

  His body rose over mine, his face so close all I could see clearly were his eyes, dark and intent.

  "I know it's too soon," he whispered, "but I can't wait anymore. I've been waiting for you forever."

  I didn't know what he was talking about. I didn't have time to figure it out. It was exactly like the first time he’d kissed me.

  My brain shut off and my body roared to life. My hands came up, pulling his face into mine, my fingers burying themselves in his hair, pulling it loose so it fell around us, smelling of the woods and Vance. His tongue stroked the seam of my lips, and I opened my mouth, all caution gone.

  Kissing Vance was a terrible idea. I knew that. I'd already decided that.

  I didn't care. I wanted this. I wanted the weight of his body pressing me into the cushions and his arm wrapped around my back, lifting me up, tilting my hips so my legs fell apart to make room for him.

  I wanted the thick bar of his erection against the heat between my legs. His mouth moving on mine. His tongue tangling with my own. I let out a whimper. Fingers slid under my shirt, under my bra—a bra he'd somehow unfastened while I'd been wrapped up in his kiss.

  Before I knew it, both shirt and bra were pushed up to my shoulders, my breasts bared. Vance pulled his mouth from mine and sat back, his eyes gleaming as he studied me.

  He started to say something, then he gave a quick shake of his head and slid backward down the couch so his mouth was lined up with my nipples. His hands were strong, his long fingers cupping and molding my breasts as his lips and tongue tasted and teased, switching from one side to the other until I was mindless, writhing beneath him, my legs wrapped around him, my eyes staring blindly at the ceiling as I whispered his name.

  "Vance."

  I should stop him. Stop myself. We weren't supposed to be half naked on my couch, kissing.

  Why weren't we supposed to be kissing?

  My brain was at war, one side telling me to get up, to leave, that we were crossing a line. I wasn't drunk. I couldn't lie about this in the morning.

  The other side of me wondered how fast I could strip off the rest of my clothes and his, desperate to know what it would feel like to have that long, thick cock inside me. I hadn't had anything inside me in months.

  I didn't care about the complications. I just wanted Vance.

  He rose up from between my legs, dipped his fingers beneath the waistband of my leggings, and stripped them off. The less rational side of my brain gave a resounding cheer.

  Yes! Naked with Vance. I'd been waiting forever to be naked with Vance.

  The thinking part of me was drowning. I wanted this. Every part of my body was hot and needy and ready. I'd wanted this man since the second I saw him, and if he was tired of waiting, so was I. His fingers skated up my inner thigh, stopping just at the crease of my hip. So close, yet not nearly close enough.

  His mouth took mine again, distracting me, stopping me from begging. I wanted. His fingertip found my clit and swirled in a firm circle. Holy fucking God. Sensation splintered through my body, the pleasure almost too intense to bear. My neck arched, and I tore my mouth from his to gasp, my heart pounding in my chest, breath tight in my lungs.

  His finger pressed inside, and he whispered, "Fuck, baby, fuck. You feel so good."

  I groaned. I'd lost the power of speech. If I could've said anything, I would have agreed with him. Not about me. But God damn, his fingers were perfect. Heaven. I couldn't begin to imagine what his cock would feel l
ike. A second finger joined the first and pumped in and out, in and out, the heel of his palm pressing on my clit. I rocked against him, my hips thrusting up to take more, my breath hitching in my lungs.

  "Fuck, Magnolia, I have to go get a condom. Don't fucking move. I'll be right back. Don't fucking move."

  He was gone in a blink, leaving me alone, my flushed skin suddenly cold without his body against mine. Without Vance, I was acutely aware of how wet I was between my legs. And how naked. I sat up, my leggings and underwear tangled around one foot. What was I thinking?

  Was I about to have sex with Vance?

  No. No, no, no. Hadn't I already decided this was a bad idea? A terrible idea. Didn't I have a million reasons I couldn't sleep with Vance?

  One kiss and I’d lost my mind. No more kissing. His feet thumped on the stairs. I jerked up to stand, panicked. We couldn't do this. It was going to change everything, and I was going to end up with my heart completely shattered.

  I yanked my tank top back down and leaned over, struggling to get my bare foot back in my leggings before Vance returned to the living room. He came through the door just in time to see me hopping on one foot, wiggling the stretchy fabric over my hips. He still had his shorts on, but they did little to hide the length of his erection.

  My knees wobbled at the thought of what I was denying myself. Heat and need pulsed between my legs. Inwardly, I swore, cursing myself for being such a fucking idiot.

  "Magnolia," Vance said, condom in hand, his eyes shadowed. "Don't leave. We don't have to do this if you're not ready, but don't leave. Don't run out on me again."

  So he knew I was lying when I said I didn't remember our first kiss. Vance was too smart to fall for that bullshit. Damn it. I didn't want to have this conversation. I couldn't look him in the eyes when I said, "We can't do this. I'm so sorry. I should've stopped it sooner. I shouldn't have kissed you, but we can't do this."

  Vance's hand dropped to his side. "Why? Why not?"

  "Why not?" I asked, my voice tight and a little hysterical. "Why not? For a million reasons."

  "Give me one," he said.

  "Because I just broke up with my fiancée," I said.

  Vance crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw. "A month ago. You broke up with the dickhead a month ago. Give me a better reason."

  "Because it's confusing," I said. "I can't play house with you and Rosie and then start sleeping with you. I can't be casual. I don't want to end up getting hurt, okay?"

  "Who says I want this to be casual?" Vance demanded. "How could you think I would want anything with you to be casual?"

  "Because I've never seen you do anything else. What do you expect me to think? You never say anything about having feelings for me, other than comments about liking the way my ass looks, and then you just kiss me, and then we're almost having sex. How am I supposed to think it's anything but casual? I'm just convenient. And you know what? I'm tired of being convenient. That's all I've ever been. Convenient. I want more than that."

  "So do I, God dammit," Vance shouted.

  I stared at him, confused. He sounded sincere, but it just didn't add up. He'd had plenty of time to say something, anything, about wanting a relationship. Even to ask me out on a date.

  He'd kissed me a month ago, and he hadn't said a word about wanting more. Now, he was exhausted, in no frame of mind to go find a hookup, and we ended up naked on my couch? I didn't want to think Vance was lying, but I couldn't afford to believe he was telling me the truth. I had to look out for myself.

  "I'm sorry,” I said, looking at the ground as I rushed past him and up the stairs.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  VANCE

  * * *

  Magnolia was stonewalling me. It had been two weeks since I'd kissed her, and she was resolutely pretending nothing had happened. Exactly like the last time we’d kissed.

  Not like I hadn't fucked it up on my own. I'd known it was too soon. I'd known Rosalie made everything infinitely more complicated and that I had to be careful. Cautious. But there was something about Magnolia when she was half-asleep that completely destroyed my resolve.

  Awake, she was brisk and efficient and brilliant. I respected the hell out of her. Her brain was as much a turn-on as her body. And Magnolia was tough. She was a survivor. I respected the hell out of that too. All of these facets of her personality added up to a woman who captivated me, but who was also more than a little intimidating.

  Yes, intimidating. I know what you're thinking. I'm Vance Winters. How can any woman intimidate me? But that's the thing. Magnolia was the first woman, the only woman, who ever really mattered. I'm man enough to admit that scared the shit out of me.

  I couldn't afford to fuck things up with her. She'd been hurt enough by her parents and by Brayden. She was still struggling with the loss of her grandmother.

  And I wasn't exactly a prize. On paper, maybe. Rich, successful, good-looking, fantastic in bed. I was also a recovering alcoholic who wasn't even two years sober, now a single father, and I had no fucking clue how to have a relationship or deal with a woman I cared about. Magnolia wanted stability. She wanted a family. I didn't know if I could offer her that.

  The family, sure. Now that Rosalie had shown up, I was pretty much a ready-made family package. But the rest of it? I had no clue how to be the other half of a couple. I definitely didn't know how to be a father. Every day since Rosalie had shown up was a new adventure. So far, we were doing okay, but that didn't mean I had any idea what I was doing.

  Magnolia was stonewalling me, and I was letting her. I'd known it was too soon to kiss her again. I'd known, and I'd done it anyway. When she was awake, Magnolia had her defenses up, a constant reminder that I had to be careful and patient.

  But Magnolia asleep? Her eyes soft and warm, her creamy cheeks flushed pink, those full lips half open, her voice a low murmur . . . I'd lost my head. My feelings for the waking Magnolia were complicated. Important and real, but complicated. My reaction to sleeping Magnolia was primitive and demanding.

  One look at her blue eyes half-lidded and drowsy, and I wanted to scoop her up, throw her over my shoulder, and take her to bed, where I could spend hours showing her all the ways I’d dreamed of touching her, of making her come.

  Two weeks since our last kiss, and I was done with waiting. I’d been watching, waiting for her to work up the courage to say something, for her to face what was between us. I'd finally realized she would run forever if I let her.

  I was going to make a move. So far, I was playing it by ear, waiting for my moment. If it didn’t come soon, I’d make it happen. I was down in my studio, putting the finishing touches on a few pieces while Rosalie slept in my bedroom and Magnolia worked in the office.

  I had a monitor in the studio now, so I'd know if Rosie woke up and Magnolia needed a hand. I didn't have a lot left to do for the show. At this point, most of the prep work was on Sloane and Magnolia.

  I'd been messing around over the past few days, making toys for Rosie out of scraps in my workshop. I'd never done anything on such a small scale before, and it was challenging trying to imagine what would catch her attention.

  I'd had accolades showered on my work ever since Sloane had taken over managing my career, but nothing matched seeing my daughter grab a toy I'd made and shove it in her mouth with glee. The books said it was too early for her to be teething, but I was starting to wonder because the cool metal of the toys on her little red gums seemed to soothe her when she got fussy.

  The front doorbell rang. I rolled my stool over to the desk, hitting a button on the monitor to pull up the security camera.

  Sloane stood at the door in a black suit, her dark hair pulled back from her angular face, her expression in its perpetual arrangement of annoyance and disdain. Since I was closer to the door, I clicked the button for the microphone and said, "Be right there."

  By the time I got to the door, Sloane's face had rearranged itself into a smile. She was a lot of things, an excellent ma
nager among them, but she wasn't subtle. I often wondered why Rupert put up with her. It was well known that she slept with most of her artists, but he didn't seem to care.

  "Vance," she cooed, leaning in to kiss my cheeks, first one side then the other, an affectation that had always annoyed me. Her perfume was heavy, and the neckline of her blouse beneath the suit jacket was low enough to skirt the edge of good taste. I stepped back to let her in.

  "Sloane," I said, stepping out of her reach, "What can I do for you?"

  "Nothing, darling. I've got everything I need from you for the show. I'm here to speak with your assistant. Where is she? She's not answering her phone."

  We'd been avoiding this confrontation, but I couldn't think of a good way to get rid of Sloane before she saw Rosalie. If the secret was about to get out, I might as well do it all at once, I decided. Leading Sloane to the freight elevator, I said, "Sloane, I don't know how many times I've told you. Magnolia is not my assistant. She's my business manager. Big difference."

  Sloane tossed her head and shrugged as if to say, whatever, Vance. She knew better than to speak the words out loud.

  We entered the main level of the loft to find it silent and empty. Magnolia must have heard the elevator doors open because she greeted us at the door to her office. Her expression was polite and composed, but I knew my girl. I could see annoyance and nerves simmering in those clear blue eyes. I winked at her, knowing it would aggravate her enough to chase off the nerves. When she scowled at me, pressing her pink lips together, I couldn't help but grin back.

  Deciding to ignore me, she looked at Sloane and said, "Sloane, what are you doing here?"

  "I needed to talk to you about the publicity we've set up for the show, and you're not answering your phone."

  "Why didn't you just email me?" Magnolia said.

  "Because I didn't want to type it all out. I wanted to talk to you. Why aren't you answering your phone?" Sloane's voice was shrill at the best of times. When she was annoyed, it could cut through glass.