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

by Ivy Layne

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MAGNOLIA

  * * *

  Vance's shirt dropped to the floor. I'd have to act fast if I didn't want him to take charge. Not that I didn't like it when he took charge. The night before had been a lesson in everything Vance knew about making a woman come, but this time, I wanted more than that.

  I wasn't ready to tell him how I felt about him. As much as I wanted to have confidence in what was happening between us, the truth was I just didn't. But I wanted him. I wanted Vance and I loved him, and I needed a way to show it to him, to tell him what this meant to me without having to actually tell him.

  Knowing Vance, he'd probably understand me better if I said it with sex anyway. I rested my hands on his chest and pushed, urging him backward until his legs hit the wide sofa. My hands went to the snap of his jeans. I flicked it open with my thumb and lowered the zipper.

  He stood there, his hands at his sides, watching me, the faintest tremble to his fingers telling me he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he seemed. Good, because I was nervous. Turned on, desperate to touch him, but nervous. Most of my sexual experience was limited to Brayden, and he hadn't been adventurous in bed. Neither had I.

  That was behind me. I had Vance, right here, waiting to see what I was going to do with him. I lowered the zipper on his jeans, tugging a little to get it down, his erection pressing into the fabric, waiting for me. I hooked my thumbs in the belt loops and pulled, dropping to my knees.

  His jeans fell to pool around his ankles, leaving me face to face with his cock. Vance had a beautiful cock. No question. Seeing it in broad daylight, I was a little shocked something that big had fit inside me.

  At the time, it had felt like heaven, but now, I wasn't so sure. He was long and thick and very hard. I didn't have any techniques or tricks. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I'd participated in oral sex. My experience was mostly limited to missionary in the dark. But what I lacked in knowledge I made up for with raw need.

  I needed to suck his cock. I needed to taste him, to lick him, to sink my fingers into that perfect ass as I pulled him into my mouth. I wanted to show him what I'd been thinking of all those years we'd kept our hands off each other.

  Putting my mouth on his cock was at the top of that list.

  I didn't know where to start, so I dove right in, parting my lips and closing them around the head of his shaft, licking and sucking before dropping down as far as I could. I didn't get further than halfway. Maybe with practice, and in a different position, I could take more of him. Based on Vance's groan, halfway was good enough.

  My hands trailed up his legs, my fingertips absorbing the striations in his muscles, the silky skin, the rough rasp of his leg hair before rising to palm his tight ass. I stroked my lips over his length, pulling at him with slick pressure, and touching every inch of him I could reach.

  I loved everything about having him in my mouth—his taste, the way he smelled, musky and male, the sounds he made, the way his fingers threaded through my hair. I don't know how long I was on my knees when Vance's grip in my hair tightened and he urged me back. I looked up at him in confusion. I know he liked what I was doing. His moans and his grip on my hair told me he did.

  His eyes were midnight, lashes half lowered, red flags of color high on his cheekbones. He sat back on the couch, pulling me between his legs, then leaned forward to snag his jeans off the floor. Vance pulled something from the back pocket. A condom.

  "I have to fuck you now," he said. I had no argument with that. I would've happily sucked his cock until he came in my mouth. I'd wanted to. He'd barely touched me and I was so wet. Every cell in my body strained toward Vance, wanting to be filled with him. Not just with his cock, but everything. Fingers. Mouth. Tongue. His heart. His soul.

  All of him. I wanted all of him.

  I watched him roll on the condom, scrambling to get rid of my black lace panties and bra. They'd felt like a sexy tease when I put them on that morning, but now, I just wanted Vance's skin against mine. The second I was naked, he pulled me onto the couch, straddling him. Two long fingers dipped between my legs.

  "Fuck, Sugar. You're ready for me."

  I was beyond speech. I rocked my hips into his fingers, taking more. He lined himself up and pulled me down, his hands on my hips slowing my descent, making sure I didn't take him too fast and that the stretch, the invasion of his body into mine, wasn't too much.

  When he was in me to the hilt, I let out a breath, leaning forward, resting my temple against his cheek. It was so good. So right. His arms came around me, holding me to his chest, his heart thumping in a mad pace. I never wanted to move again.

  Vance kept me there, pressed to his body, his breath warm against my cheek. I don't think I'd ever felt so safe, so wanted by anyone.

  "I need to feel you come on my cock," he said, sliding his hand between our bodies, his fingers splayed across my abdomen, his thumb on my clit. His other hand dropped to my lower back, holding me in place. In a slow, lazy circle, he moved his thumb, pressing and rolling my clit until I squirmed, moaning low in my throat.

  "Shh," he warned. "Don't wake Rosalie up."

  I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't know if I could make that promise. It felt so good. I wanted to move, to ride him, but his arm around my hips held me still. I was so full of him, stretched wide, my clit tight against the base of his cock, trapped between his hard shaft and his thumb.

  I stretched up, trying to move just a little, putting my breasts even with his face. Vance took advantage, closing his lips around one nipple and sucking hard. A gasp escaped before I bit my lip. I'd never thought about being quiet before. Not like this. It had never been an issue.

  I loved Rosie to pieces, but I had to come. I was going to explode if I didn't come. And if I woke her up . . . that didn't bear thinking about. Vance switched breasts, licking then nipping, changing the pattern of pressure of his thumb on my clit, speeding it up, pressing harder.

  Everything in my body tightened, the muscles in my pussy clenching down, pleasure gathering, coalescing into a knot of need and desperation that grew bigger with every twist of his thumb.

  "Vance," I whispered, "please let me. I have to move."

  "You want to come? Then come. Come for me, right now."

  He turned his hand and caught my clit between his thumb and one finger, squeezing hard. A white-hot bolt of pleasure slashed through the knot of tension between my legs. I cried out, something between a gasp and a scream. I couldn't help it. The wave of bliss hit me just as Vance tumbled us both to the carpet and finally began to move.

  He fucked me hard. My orgasm, finally set free, grew in waves that had me crying out, wrapping my legs around his hips and arching my back as he pounded inside me. Vance groaned out, "Magnolia" as he came, his breath harsh rasps in my ear.

  I wasn't surprised to hear noise coming from the kitchen when my brain settled back into my skull. My cheeks flushed hot. We'd woken Rosie up having sex. We were the worst parents ever.

  Vance had rolled to his back, taking me with him. I splayed across his long body, every muscle in mine limp. I didn't think I could move. I didn't want to move, except I could tell from Rosie's plaintive sounds that while she wasn't crying yet, she would be soon.

  "I have to get up," I said. "I don't think I can look her in the eyes."

  A rumble of laughter sounded from beneath me. "Who, Rosie? Magnolia, she's a baby, and she was in the other room. She doesn't know what we were doing."

  "But I know."

  "I'll get her. I'm not ashamed," he said, laughing. "I'm proud. If I didn't think you'd get pissed, I'd hire a sky writer to say, Magnolia Henry is the best lay in the universe."

  "Classy," I commented wryly. "Please restrain yourself."

  "Hey, I said I wasn't going to do it. Doesn't mean it's not the truth."

  I peeled myself off Vance and grabbed his discarded button-down from the floor. When we were having sex, I'd felt like a goddess, but now that it
was over, I was back to being a mere mortal. This mortal woman was not walking around naked in front of Vance. Not in broad daylight.

  Still a little embarrassed, I escaped upstairs for a quick shower while I let Vance handle feeding Rosie. On my way back down, I checked the mail at the front door, idly thinking about the contents of the fridge and wondering what we should have for dinner.

  The mail was the usual junk, a few bills, and an 8.5 x 11 manila envelope with nothing on the front, no address and no postage. Weird.

  I carried it into the kitchen, where Vance was feeding Rosie. Dumping everything else on the center island, I opened the envelope, only half-listening as Vance said, "You dodged a bullet when you ran upstairs. You don't even want to know what was in her diaper."

  I drew the contents from the envelope and froze. I heard Vance say my name, but the power of speech had been ripped from my mind by the sight of the photograph in the unmarked envelope.

  Vance’s parents, their dead bodies lying on the carpet in his childhood home. I wanted to shove the obscene thing away and throw it in the trash. I racked my brain for an excuse, any reason I could avoid showing it to Vance.

  I knew what had been happening, about the picture of their bodies that had been delivered to Jacob. I knew this was important, and I couldn't just make it go away, but I couldn't bear for Vance to look.

  "Magnolia. Magnolia, what is it?"

  His voice filtered to my ears as if he was at the end of a long hallway. I pushed the photograph back in the envelope and closed it, laying it on the counter.

  "I'll finish feeding Rosie," I said. "You need to bring that to the Sinclairs or the police."

  Vance's eyes went dark, and I knew that he knew what was in the envelope on the countertop.

  "Is it the same as before?" he asked, his voice low.

  "I don't know," I said, leaning down to ease Rosie from his arms. "I didn't see the other picture, so I can't say it's exactly the same, but it looks like a crime scene photo of your parents."

  The second I had Rosie, Vance stood in a surge and moved to grab the picture.

  "Don't look at it," I said, suddenly desperate that he not see what was inside. “Don't. It's probably exactly the same as Jacob's. Why don't you let me drive it over to Sinclair Security? You stay here with Rosie. They can take care of it."

  "It's okay, Magnolia. I've seen it before."

  "It doesn't mean you need to see it again. Let me bring it to the Sinclairs, okay?"

  "Everything's fine, Magnolia," Vance said, his voice distant, restrained. All his attention was on the plain, unmarked manila envelope in front of him. I didn't want to watch as he opened it and slid the picture out.

  The first look had been more than enough, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Two bodies, obviously dead, lay sprawled on a Persian carpet. The man wore a suit and had a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. She wore a red dress, torn in the center of her chest by another bullet hole. Her long, white blonde hair was spread around her, shockingly pale against the dark carpet, her legs at an odd angle, knees to the side and feet askew as if she'd crumpled to the floor.

  Vance stared at the picture in silence, his body stiff, his breath shallow and tight. Finally, he put the picture back in the envelope and said, "I'm going to take this in, then go for a run. I'll be back later."

  I didn't remind him that he'd already gone for a run that morning, or that I could take a picture to the Sinclairs for him. I didn't say anything except, "We'll be here, Vance."

  I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him I loved him, but I didn't. Now wasn't the time. I just stood there, holding Rosie in my arms, and watched him stalk out the door, alone and hurting.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MAGNOLIA

  * * *

  Vance was gone for hours. I was in the kitchen when he got back, putting together a simple dinner of spaghetti with meat sauce, figuring he could reheat it when he turned up. He came through the front door wearing the same jeans and a different shirt, his hair wet from a recent shower. He'd either gone for another run or worked out.

  I didn't ask. His eyes were shuttered, his jaw stiff. I didn't want to push. Instead, I said, "Hungry? Dinner’s almost ready."

  "Yeah, starved. Do you want me to take the dog out?" I looked at Scout, whose head had popped up from his paws when Vance walked in the room. "Sure, it's been a while and he needs to get a little exercise."

  Vance disappeared through the back door, Scout trotting behind him. I watched them for a few minutes as I stirred the sauce. Vance threw the ball again and again, patient, not minding the slobber or the way Scout would drop it just a few feet away, never into his hand. I always thought Scout had the idea his humans should run for the ball, too.

  I was plating dinner when they came back in. For the first time, we ate in the kitchen sitting room with the television on, barely speaking. Vance was locked up tight, and I had no idea what to say to break him free. I didn't even know if I should try.

  Seeing that picture earlier, the violent end of his parents’ lives, I couldn't imagine how hard it must have been. We went to bed early. I tucked Rosie in, and by the time I was finished changing and feeding her, Vance was asleep. I stood at the side of the bed watching him, his mouth tight even as he slept, creases at the corners of his eyes.

  He should've looked restful. It made me nervous to see him under this much strain. He hadn't had a drink in over a year. But, I knew it wasn't that simple. And losing his family was at the root of the demons that had driven him to alcohol in the first place. It was a triumph that, when faced with that picture, he went for a workout instead of to a bar.

  It couldn't have been easy. None of this was easy. I just wished I knew how to help. I climbed in bed beside him, rolling my body into his and draping my arm across his chest. In his sleep, he held me close. Fingers tangled in my hair, he let out a sigh. I drifted off, lulled by the beat of his heart, holding him as if my touch could heal him while he slept.

  I jolted awake in the dark of night and froze, not sure what had pulled me from sleep. Rosie? But there was no sound from the sitting room. The bed jerked beside me, the mattress shaking as the headboard smacked the wall.

  Vance. Vance had woken me.

  I sat up, pushing my hair out of my eyes. The moon was full, bathing the room in translucent light, just enough to show me Vance's wet cheeks, the sight of his mouth open in a soundless cry. His breath came in pants, and his legs shifted restlessly beneath the sheets. He made a sound of agony, low and guttural, that was almost a word.

  "Vance. Vance, wake up." I framed his face with my palms, running my thumbs over his cheekbones to wipe away the tears. Asleep, trapped in his nightmare, he looked young and defenseless. He made another sound, a moaning protest, but I couldn't decipher the words.

  Whatever he was saying, only he could hear it. I sat up and pulled his head and one shoulder into my lap, stroking my fingers through his hair, scratching my nails against his scalp, making soothing sounds and saying, "Vance, wake up. It's okay. Wake up."

  His restless movements calmed as I stroked his head, the tears on his cheeks drying under my touch. "Baby, please," I whispered. I didn't want him to drift back into sleep. I wanted him to wake up, to see his eyes clear of the nightmare, for him to know he was safe and loved.

  When his breathing calmed, I shifted to the side, lifting his head out of my lap and sliding down to lie beside him, twining my legs with his and pulling him into my arms, trying to surround him with comfort and affection. Finally, he let out a long breath and his eyes opened.

  "Vance, you awake?" He nodded, raising one hand and brushing his palm across his eyes.

  "You had a bad dream," I said. "Do you remember what it was?"

  Knowing Vance, he probably didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to push, but I was afraid to let the nightmare fester inside him. He nodded again.

  "Will you tell me?" I asked gently, expecting him to deny me.

  "I was t
here," he said. At first, I didn't understand. Then, thinking of the picture, I was terribly afraid that I did.

  "When? Not when it happened," I said, positive he hadn’t seen his parents murdered. I knew, everyone knew, that the police had ruled their deaths a murder-suicide, but many believed the real killer was still out there. If Vance had seen them die, the truth wouldn't be a secret.

  "Right after," he said, his voice so low I could barely hear him, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, seeing something other than white plaster. "We were supposed to be at Aunt Olivia and Uncle Hugh's house for a sleepover. Annalise was with Charlie and Aunt Olivia. Charlie was just a baby. Tate and Holden were only five. Annalise liked helping with them. Aiden was at a friend’s house. Maybe if he'd been home, he would've kept the rest of us out of trouble. Aiden's always had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility."

  Vance fell silent.

  "He kept you guys out of trouble?" I prompted.

  Vance let out a humorless laugh. "Most of the time. But some of the worst shit we did was his idea. That night, we were bored, couldn't sleep. It was spring break, just getting warm out. Uncle Hugh wasn't home, at the club I think, and Aunt Olivia had stayed home because Charlie wasn't feeling well and she didn't want to leave her with the nanny. Not with all the kids staying at their house.

  "My mom and dad weren't even supposed to be home. Gage and Jacob and I wanted to play Sega, but the cartridge we needed was at my house. I was the youngest, and Gage and Jacob dared me to go home and get it by myself."

  "In the dark?" I asked. "How far away was your house?"

  "It was close. Less than a quarter-mile through the trees. I didn't have to leave the estate. It was dark and the woods were kind of creepy, but there was no way I was going to tell Gage and Jacob I was chicken. Not when I'd been bragging that I could crush them at Rayman. I ran the whole way. Something spooked me, probably just a bird or my imagination, and I booked it down the path.