The Big, Bad Billionaire

by Ashenden, Jackie

  You love the idea of me hunting you . . .

  Ella swallowed.

  He stared at her from across the table, sitting carelessly relaxed with his long fingers curled around his champagne flute and smiling. Yet there was nothing relaxed about the look in his eyes or the edge in that smile. It was clear he believed every word he said.

  He’s right. You do love it. And you do want him to catch you.

  “Well, that’s not true,” she said aloud, hoping her voice didn’t sound as scratchy and shaky as she thought it did. “You don’t know what I like. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  He tilted his head, his gaze unblinking. “I used to.”

  Oh and she really didn’t like him reminding her of things she had no memory of. Such as how she’d once apparently had no fear of him at all. It bothered her that he remembered that and she didn’t.

  “Like I said, I don’t remember that. It’s been a long time since I was . . . what, two?”

  He lifted a shoulder as if to say that didn’t matter. “So tell me then. What’s the first thing I should know about the adult Ella Hart?”

  “That I don’t like you.”

  “I know that already. What don’t you like about me?”

  She took a silent breath, trying to give herself a moment to think, because she didn’t want to give him the truth—that he scared her—even though he’d probably guessed that already. Still, saying it out loud felt like admitting a weakness and she really didn’t want to do that, not to a predator like him.

  “I don’t like that you’re a . . . a fake,” she began hesitantly, finding it difficult to articulate. “That you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. You don’t actually like people, you only like to play with them.”

  If he found her words offensive, he gave no sign. In fact, he smiled, as if she’d said something amusing. “And you’ve based this off of . . . what? Your wide and varied experience of me?”

  She could feel her cheeks getting hot. Okay, no, she’d never really spent any time with him, so she didn’t know him per se. But she’d seen him interact with people. She’d seen the sharpness in his smile and the hungry glitter in his eyes. She knew all that charm was a front, a façade to lull people into a false sense of security.

  Or those could just be the excuses you’re looking for so you don’t have to admit how drawn to him you are.

  No, that was ridiculous. Her parents had told her that he was dangerous and she hadn’t seen any reason to disbelieve them. In fact, given how unsettled her made her, she thought they were probably right.

  “I’ve seen you at . . . things, Rafael. I’ve seen the way you behave. You’re not quite as charming as you like to think you are.”

  “So you watched me then?” He grinned and she felt herself blush yet again, not quite knowing what to say to that, because yes, by admission she had been watching him.

  Just like you can’t take your eyes off him even now.

  Wrong. She could take her eyes off him. Easily. To prove it to herself, she tore her gaze away and looked down at her lap, smoothing her napkin.

  “Perhaps if you got to know me better, you wouldn’t think of me as a fake at all,” he said. “I mean, that is the whole point of this dinner.”

  “I don’t want to get to know you.” She flicked out a corner of the napkin that had gotten folded over. “I’m only here because you’re not going to give me the money to go to Paris unless I have dinner with you.”

  “This is very true,” he agreed, sounding in no way ashamed of that fact. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it.”

  Ella lifted her head. “Get used to what?”

  That sharp, hungry smile was playing around his mouth, his eyes glittering in the light coming through the window from the city outside. The city she’d momentarily forgotten about.

  He didn’t say anything immediately, merely leaned forward and knocked the rim of his champagne glass against hers. “A toast, like I said. To new beginnings.”

  She didn’t move, a shiver coursing the length of her spine as he raised his glass and took a sip, staring at her from over the top of it. It made her anxiety curl tightly inside her, along with a sharp, hot feeling that she refused to acknowledge.

  “Drink, Ella.”

  “No. Not until you tell me what I have to get used to.”

  “What do you think I meant? Spending a summer at the Paris Conservatory is expensive, and yes, I’ve investigated exactly how much it is. If you want to go, you’re going to have to convince me that it’s worth the money.”

  “But it’s my money,” she pointed out, irritated.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Your father entrusted it to my father for a reason. Presumably to protect your fortune.”

  Anger began to bloom inside her. He was just so . . . arrogant. How dare he tell her what to do with her own money. How dare he. She’d been managing herself for years now and that included the meager wages she got as a dancer. She was perfectly able to deal with her own finances, and what she did not need was him coming in and telling her what to do.

  She was the one in control of her life, not him.

  “What?” she demanded. “You think I’m some kind of spoiled trust fund baby, wanting Porsches and diamonds and furs?”

  The bastard only smiled calmly at her. “Requests for Porsches, diamonds, and furs will be denied. I’d have thought you’d have better taste than that.”

  “That’s not the point.” She leaned forward, waving a finger at him. “The only things I have asked for have been dance related and—”

  “I know you’re angry,” he interrupted, his tone mild. “You’re used to pleasing no one but your bad self and now you have to report to me. I understand how annoying that must be for you. Nevertheless . . .” His gaze sharpened, the relaxed quality of his stillness changing, a tension gathering about him. A dangerous tension. “The fact of the matter is that you’ve had it far too easy, for far too long. My father let you have anything you wanted without question, which is all very nice for you, but not much of a learning experience. Which is why I’m going to be doing things differently.” With a short, precise movement, he put his wine glass down on the table. “From now on, when you want something, you’re going to have to make a case for it. You’re going to have to convince me that it’s absolutely necessary for your career and continued personal development.”

  Anger burned inside her like a magnesium flare, white hot and bright. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so furious. For the last five years, since her parents’ deaths, she’d been the one looking after herself and her grandmother. There had been no one else to help her, no one else to confide in when things had gotten tough. She’d had to do everything herself. When her grandmother had had the stroke that had curtailed the last of her physical independence, it had been Ella who’d called the ambulance. And it had been Ella who’d cared for her since.

  And now this . . . asshole was treating her like a spoiled rich brat who knew nothing about anything. It was enraging.

  “I don’t need ‘learning experiences,’” she said through gritted teeth. “I know how to manage money.”

  Rafael raised one dark brow. “Do you? You’ve had a lot of experience dealing with large sums of cash then?”

  Her palm itched and she wished she had the guts to crack it across his stupid, handsome face. Either that or upend her untouched champagne over his head.

  But she didn’t have the guts. She was nervous, anxious Ella, who’d thought she’d been doing pretty well all things considered, until this . . . bastard had come into her life.

  “I don’t need to sit here and listen to this.” She shoved back her chair and got to her feet, a dim part of her vaguely shocked once again by the intensity of her anger, not to mention puzzled about where it was coming from. But she was too furious to examine the feeling.

  Rafael merely watched her with mild interest. “Ah, right. I guess we’ve reached the stage
of the evening where you storm off in a huff. I must admit, I’d thought that would happen later, after I point out that a kiss is mandatory.”

  A kiss? Was he serious?

  Ella opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought about mandatory kisses, but was too angry to speak so she shut it again.

  Instead she grabbed her coat and her purse, turned in the direction of the door, and walked determinedly toward it.

  “How predictable of you.” Rafael sighed. “I was hoping you might be a bit more unexpected than that. But I guess I should have known that a little bunny girl like you couldn’t deal.”

  Bunny girl?

  He thinks you’re a coward—which, of course, you are.

  It shouldn’t have mattered what he thought of her, yet a small splinter of hurt lodged inside her all the same. Yes, she was afraid, but that was not the same as being a coward.

  So why are you running then?

  The thought made her even angrier because under all her rage, a part of her knew the truth. That she was finding this—him and his orders—far too scary, and instead of trying to overcome it, she was letting the fear win and covering it with anger.

  But so? Sometimes it was better to run. To get somewhere safe and examine the situation in retrospect where it didn’t feel quite so threatening.

  “I suppose this means you don’t want to go to Paris after all,” Rafael murmured just as she reached the door.

  Despite herself, the soft, lazy words wrapped around her, catching her. Holding her still.

  “Because if you walk out that door, I’ll be refusing your request for money,” he went on in the same, unhurried tone. “Make no mistake, Little Red. I meant what I said when I told you what I wanted from you.”

  Her heart thudded hard.

  Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

  “I could get money.” She had to work to keep the shake out of her voice this time, keeping her back to him. “I don’t need you.”

  He laughed, the sound soft and disturbingly sexy, making a shiver chase itself over her skin. “Could you? What could you do to get it, I wonder? Be a waitress in a diner? Clean the floors in office buildings?”

  Wait. He sounded . . . closer. Was he walking toward her?

  She tensed, suddenly breathless, every instinct telling her to run and yet her pride holding her rooted to the spot. Because she wasn’t a coward, she wasn’t.

  “Or you could work behind the counter in a high-end fashion store. Take a position as someone’s secretary. But let’s not be sexist here. You could be a cop. Or a firefighter. Or, hell, get into politics. The world is your oyster after all, Ella. You have such a wide depth and breadth of experience, you could do anything.”

  Yes, he was definitely close now, she could sense him. Very, very close.

  Her heart thudded even harder and she struggled to catch her breath, refusing to move. Refusing to give into the fear tangling inside her.

  She could feel his heat at her back, smell the dark, spicy scent of his aftershave. It was subtle, intoxicating, making something turn over inside her. Something that made the fear inside her get even worse.

  No, she did not want to feel that.

  “You’re right.” Oh God, her voice sounded hoarse. “I could do any of those things. And maybe I will.”

  There was a silence behind her, and she didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to see how close he was.

  “So go then.” His voice was very, very near. Deep, dark. Hypnotic. “Walk out right now.”

  She should. She should do it just to show him. To prove to him that she wasn’t to be manipulated or intimidated, that she had options.

  You have no options, and you and he both know it.

  Ella stood there stiffly, staring at the exit, rage and fear burning a hole inside her. Leaving would mean she could kiss goodbye her chances of going to Paris, but staying, staying would mean she had to deal with him.

  You’re not a coward, are you?

  No. Hell no. If she could handle her anxiety issues, then she could definitely handle him. And she damn well would.

  Ella swallowed hard. Then gripping her purse tightly, she turned around.

  And all the breath left her lungs.

  Rafael was standing bare inches away. He was so tall, she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, making her intensely aware of how small she was. How fragile, too, in comparison with his wide shoulders and broad chest. He radiated power, strength, and an intense, vital energy that made her feel literally weak at the knees.

  Panic fluttered in her throat, though she had no idea what exactly she was panicking about.

  Trying to wrestle the fear back under control, she forced herself to meet his silver blue gaze and hold it. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay. But I am not a goddamn bunny.”

  His beautiful, cruel mouth curved, a gentle mockery of a smile . “Yes, you are. You’re very scared, Little Red. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “No, I’m not—” she began, only to have the words die in her throat as he calmly lifted a hand and cupped the side of her jaw in his palm. The heat of his touch was astonishing, making every inch of her bare skin tingle where it was contact with his.

  “You were afraid to come here tonight,” he went on in his dark-honey voice. “ Afraid to sit down at this table. Afraid to talk to me. Afraid of me making demands on you. Afraid of what I might ask you to do. So very afraid.” His long fingers curved under her jaw, his thumb tracing a burning line across her cheekbone. “That’s why you’re so angry with me. You’re trying to hide your fear, hoping I won’t see it. But I do, Little Red. I see it in your eyes very clearly.”

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe. The entire world had narrowed down to the touch of his fingers on her skin, that point of contact burning brightly like a star, like the lights of the city beyond the windows.

  His gaze searched hers. “What makes you so scared, Ella? What are you really frightened of?”

  She couldn’t answer, because the strangest feeling was sweeping through her. As if something tight and knotted deep inside her was unraveling, the scared, frightened part of her relaxing. It made no sense, absolutely no sense at all, especially when she’d been so angry and afraid. Yet for some reason, the touch of his hand was like cool water on sunburn, easing the frantic buzz of emotion. Her anxiety began to fade in response, a weird calm taking its place, and she had the oddest thought that now she didn’t have to worry about anything, because he was here.

  Ella blinked up at him, confused. Why did she feel like this? Nothing had changed. He was still holding her Paris dream over her head to get her to do what he wanted and he still made her feel uneasy, yet . . .

  “You,” she heard herself say thickly, his touch somehow drawing honesty from her whether she wanted it to or not. “I’m afraid of you.”

  “Why?” His thumb moved on her cheek again, making her tremble. Making her want to lean into his palm, because he felt so hot and so strong, and some part of her found that insanely reassuring. “I would never hurt you, Ella. That’s not why I’m doing this. Surely you know that?”

  He wasn’t holding her. She could pull away from his touch at any time. Yet she didn’t. She just stood there, letting his thumb stroke back and forth across her cheek. Almost as if . . . she liked it.

  How? How could she like it? She didn’t like him. “I don’t . . . trust you,” she forced out. “And I don’t want to do any of the things you’re asking me to do.”

  “What? Sit down and have dinner with me? Talk to me? Interact with me the way you would with any other human being?”

  It all sounded so reasonable, nothing to be anxious about, so why was she being so ridiculous? God, the warmth of his palm against her cheek felt so good. She wanted to close her eyes, let the heat of his touch seep through her, because she felt cold and she hadn’t realized how cold she was until now.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled, the words feeling thick and unwieldy on her t
ongue. Her gaze had dropped to his mouth and she found herself staring at it. At the shape of his bottom lip, the full curve of it surprisingly sensual.

  “Or maybe it’s what else I might ask of you that you’re scared about.” He must have followed her gaze because his thumb shifted, trailing down the side of her cheek to her mouth, tracing her own bottom lip lightly. “I did already make it clear that I want you, so that shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

  “Why do you want me?” Her lip was tingling, the sensation getting worse with each pass of his thumb, sending sparks of electricity through her. “We barely know each other.”

  “It’s true that you don’t know me. But I know you, Little Red. I’ve been watching you for a very long time.”

  He’d been watching her? How? Why?

  Her brain struggled to catch up with what he was saying, but she couldn’t seem to focus, not when his thumb was stroking back and forth. “I don’t want to sleep with you,” she said, more to herself that to him.

  “I know you don’t. Yet you don’t apparently mind me touching you right now.” His thumb paused in the middle of her bottom lip and he pressed down very, very gently, as if testing the give of her flesh.

  Ella didn’t understand what was happening to her. One minute she’d been angrily storming out, the next he’d cupped her jaw in one large, warm palm and she was simply . . . letting him.

  His touch was calm and unhurried, a fine tremor taking hold of her. But this time it wasn’t fear, she knew that much. She wanted to not only lean into his hand, but into him. Into that tall, powerful body inches away from her. Rest against him. Let him deal with her fears, all the terrible anxieties that made simply stepping outside her door difficult at times. The fears that something bad would happen to her, leaving Aurora on her own, or that something bad would happen to Aurora and she would be the one alone. Fears of random things like car accidents or subway crashes. Or slipping on an icy street and a headache that wouldn’t go away . . .