The Big, Bad Billionaire

by Ashenden, Jackie

  When the entire production had ended and he’d checked with the theater manager that his wishes had been followed to the letter, he waited as the audience filed out. Precisely fifteen minutes after the curtain had come down, the manager found him and led him backstage to the dressing rooms.

  In the narrow corridors behind the stage, dancers were moving hurriedly in the opposite direction, some still with makeup on and their hair pulled tightly back, glancing wide-eyed as he strode past. Excellent. As Ella didn’t have a dressing room to herself, he’d specified that he wanted no one else in it after the performance.

  “Here you are, sir.” The theater manager gestured to the door of the dressing room.

  “Thank you.” Rafe gave the man his trademark smile. “Please make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Rafe waited until the man had gone, then raised his hand to knock. Then he shook his head, his smile turning feral.

  And he pushed open the door.

  * * *

  Ella sat in front of the huge dressing room mirror, her hands in her lap, her heart thundering behind her breastbone. She hadn’t been nervous at all before the performance—she never was—but now . . . Oh, now it was a different story.

  The instructions she’d been given by Deb, the manager of her company, had been very clear. She was to stay in costume after the performance and had to wait in the dressing room for the arrival of a very “special” visitor.

  It had been a strange request, especially when Deb wasn’t able to tell her who the special visitor was, only that he was an anonymous and extremely generous patron whom they couldn’t afford to piss off. The company needed all the cash it could get and if that meant Ella had to personally greet a “fan” and spend a couple of minutes with him, then that’s what she had to do.

  It wasn’t until after Deb had gone that Ella realized she might know who the “generous patron” was.

  Rafael. Of course it was Rafael.

  He hadn’t been in touch the whole week and she’d just started to think that perhaps he’d lot interest in her, and that although she told herself she’d be thrilled if that happened, something else inside her told her that she was a liar.

  Then she’d walked into the dressing room after the performance, and it had come home to her—forcibly—that the likelihood of him forgetting about her was very slim indeed. Not when he’d apparently spent a fortune on red roses.

  The dressing room was full of them, vases on every available surface, filling the room with their thick, heady scent. And they weren’t plain red roses either—they were a deep, dark burgundy, almost black.

  The other dancers had been delighted, chattering about who could have sent them and why, because there was no note. Ella could have told them, but she remained silent as everyone else changed costumes and put on street clothes, ready to go to the opening night party. Apparently they’d all been told they had to change ASAP and get out because a “fan” wanted to meet with Ella.

  They teased her gently about it, several of them demanding a report the next day as they filed out of dressing room. She forced a smile, pretending nothing was wrong, but as soon as the last dancer had gone, she’d had to go and sit down in front of the mirror, anxiety making her feel unsteady.

  It was ridiculous to feel this way, especially after Aurora’s pep talk the week before. Then again, maybe it was simply that she hadn’t had a chance to think about Rafael all week, what with gearing up for the opening night of the fairy tale production.

  You mean, you haven’t let yourself think about it.

  Well, that was true. She’d deliberately kept herself busy so she didn’t have to think. And it had worked. Mostly.

  The vanity in front of the mirror was loaded with at least four different vases, all of them overflowing with the bloodred roses that also filled the other vases throughout the dressing room.

  She reached out to touch the petal of a drooping rose in one of the bouquets. It felt soft, silky to the touch.

  He’d sent these, hadn’t he?

  What a strange man he was.

  “Do you like them?”

  The voice was rich, masculine, and instantly recognizable, and she jumped at the sound of it behind her, only just stopping herself from shoving back the chair and whirling around.

  Rafael.

  She kept her attention on the rose in front of her, her heart rate suddenly going through the roof. Her finger touching the petal shook, so she put her hand in her lap so he wouldn’t see. “One bouquet would have been nice,” she said, hoping her voice was steady. “Twenty seems like overkill.”

  “I got them at a discount.” He sounded amused. “The more you buy, the more you save. I thought the other dancers might appreciate them too.”

  The back of her neck prickled as she heard the sound of the door closing, but she forced herself to remain still, to keep her attention on the flowers, determined not to glance in the mirror to check where he was.

  “You knew it was me, didn’t you?” His voice was behind her.

  “Of course I did. No one else would be quite so creepy.”

  He laughed and she had to repress a shiver at the sound. How could it be that one man could make her incredibly anxious, strangely excited, and yet oddly furious all at the same time?

  “Did you miss me, Little Red?”

  He was directly behind her now—she could smell the dark, spicy scent of his aftershave. It made all the feelings tangling inside her even worse.

  “No,” she said firmly. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Ah. You’re still angry about that kiss.”

  Again she heard that thread of amusement, making her want to lift her chin and stare him down. Show him exactly what that kiss had meant, which was precisely nothing.

  Liar.

  Yes, but he wasn’t to know that.

  She lifted a shoulder as if she didn’t care about the kiss one way or the other. “I’m not.”

  “Bullshit.” Firm hands gripped the arms of the chair, and the room spun as he turned her around to face him.

  His fingers remained wrapped around the chair arms, his long, lean body directly in front of her, caging her. His face was inches from hers, silver blue eyes searching her face, looking right into her as if he could read her deepest, darkest secrets. Then his beautiful mouth curved, as if he’d found the particular secret he’d been looking for and it was to his liking. “Of course you’re still furious. But that’s good. I like it when you’re angry. Perhaps I should give you another one to make you even angrier.”

  Her heart gave a hard kick inside her chest, a shiver of fear and excitement chasing through her. She refused to let either show. Instead she met his gaze, trying to ignore the very stupid part of her that was overwhelmed by his nearness. That couldn’t stop staring at his devastatingly attractive good looks, the strongly carved jaw, the high cheekbones, the dark winged brows.

  There was no doubt he was handsome, and she couldn’t lie to herself and tell herself she was unaffected by it. But still, she could pretend to him that she wasn’t—and that she would.

  “Why are you here, Rafael?” she asked, ignoring the whole kiss conversation. “If you wanted another dinner, you could have simply called.”

  “I could. But where would be the fun in that?” He shifted his stance, but didn’t move away, keeping his hands on the arms of her chair, making her very, very aware of his proximity. “Anyway, I wanted to watch you dance.”

  That shocked her. “Why? I wouldn’t have picked you for a ballet fan.”

  “Why not? Maybe if you’d stayed to have dinner with me last week, you would have found out just how much of a ballet fan I really am.”

  She didn’t know how to take that, because his nearness was making it difficult to think. He wore another one of his exquisitely tailored suits—in dark blue this time, with a gray silk tie—and she could feel the heat coming off him, smoldering like coals from a banked fire.

 
It made her want to press herself against the back of the chair, put some distance between them. But that would be giving too much away about how he affected her, and she didn’t want him to know. She could barely even admit it to herself. Already she was starting to feel the way she had the night in the restaurant when he’d touched her, as if she wanted to lean into him, take some of his strength and warmth for herself, because God knew she needed it.

  “So?” she asked instead. “How much of a ballet fan are you then?”

  “Oh, now she wants to know,” Rafael murmured, that fascinating, mocking smile playing around his mouth. “Now she’s interested. But shall I tell her, I wonder? Maybe if she wants to know, she’ll have to give me a few things in return, especially after she refused the dinner I so carefully organized.”

  He was playing with her, teasing her, and for some inexplicable reason she felt the anxiety lingering in the pit of her stomach begin to ebb, an unwilling excitement taking its place. Which made absolutely no sense at all, because again, he was manipulating her.

  Is he, though? It depends on how badly you want to know why he’s a ballet fan.

  She didn’t want to know. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to get to Paris.

  Except then she heard herself say, “You’re one of the patrons of my company, aren’t you?”

  Another of those amused smiles turned his mouth, a deep blue spark flaring in his eyes. “I wonder . . . If I was standing up and you were en pointe, would you be tall enough to kiss me?”

  A hot shock pulsed through her, because no matter how much she didn’t want it to, an image resolved itself in her brain. Of him straightening and standing up, and her in front of him, rising up on the tips of her toes in her pointe shoes, lifting her mouth to his . . .

  She felt dizzy and far, far too hot, her brain moving too slowly to notice that he’d used a technical ballet term that most people wouldn’t. “Don’t be stupid,” she said thickly. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

  But that smile of his became even more wicked. “Aren’t you? Even after I got you all those lovely roses? Surely you can manage a thank-you kiss.”

  Her breath was coming fast, and she didn’t understand why. “I’m . . . not going to do that. I want you to tell me why you’re here.”

  Rafael didn’t move, yet the blue of his eyes had deepened, the expression in them becoming sharper and more intent. “Still scared, I see,” he taunted softly. “I thought you would have been much braver than that, bunny girl.”

  Bunny girl . . . A spark of anger lit inside her. “If you think calling me a coward is going to make me do what you want, you can think again.” She paused, then added, “Asshole.”

  He smiled and her heart gave another of those strange little beats, because this time his smile didn’t have that mocking edge. Instead there was genuine and surprised amusement in it, the cruel glitter in his eyes disappearing, for a second turning his looks from handsome to devastating. “Good,” he murmured. “I like that. I like your claws, Little Red. Show me more. Show me that kiss. Take my breath away. I dare you.”

  I dare you . . .

  Another spark of anger sizzled like a firework, because it was such a transparently obvious way to get her to do what he wanted, and yet she found her emotions responding to him all the same. She didn’t want to be so easy to manipulate, didn’t want her first urge to be to respond to his taunt and show him exactly how much she dared. Staying in control was important to her to keep a lid on her anxiety, and she didn’t like feeling as if she was at the mercy of emotions she couldn’t control and didn’t understand.

  Yet it was also exhilarating, no matter how much she wanted to deny it.

  She stared at him, into those uncanny blue gray eyes, his long, thick black lashes making them seem somehow even lighter. Seeing the taunt and the challenge in them, as if she was more than merely a sad little orphan, alone and ignored. More than a sheltered, frightened girl who found the world too big and too scary. Looking at her as if she was brave and strong, and equal to the dare he’d thrown at her.

  “You can make your own bargains”.

  Aurora’s voice sounded suddenly in her head and for some reason she felt the heavy fabric of her cloak settle around her shoulders, reminding her that she was still in costume. That she was still Little Red Riding Hood and in the story she was the one who vanquished the wolf, not the other way around.

  “Okay then,” she said, her voice not quite steady, though this time she found she didn’t care. “You want another kiss, then I’ll give you one. But only on one condition.”

  Blue flared in his eyes, dark and deep and hot. “I’m not sure you’re in any position to give me conditions.”

  “In that case you don’t get a kiss.”

  His smile turned sharp and feral. “What’s your condition?”

  A thread of triumph wound through her. “I want you to give me your word that you’ll release the funds for Paris,” she said, suddenly reckless. “All of it. Living expenses, flights, course fees, the whole lot. Oh, yes, and you can pay for a nurse to look after my grandmother while I’m away, too.”

  Rafael’s gaze narrowed, the look on his face becoming sharper. “That’s a lot of things to ask for Little Red. And they’re worth more than a kiss.”

  “Are they?” she shot back. “How would you know when I haven’t kissed you yet? My kisses might be worth every single cent.”

  He laughed, and like that rare smile, it sounded like she’d surprised it out of him, warm and deep and so incredibly sexy she had to clasp her hands together tightly in her lap to stop them from doing something really stupid like reaching for him.

  “Well now, that’s a very compelling argument.” All the silver had gone from his eyes, they were a deep, hot blue. “I could be persuaded. Except, before I commit, I’m going to want a . . . preview.”

  Dammit. He was the CEO of a huge company, so of course he’d be better at doing business deals than she was. Still, if the “preview” was good enough for him, then she would get everything she wanted. All she had to do was kiss him and make it really, really good. Which would be fine if she’d actually kissed someone before, but she hadn’t.

  Then again, she was still in her Red Riding Hood costume and she was still furious with him. Furious enough to forget all her fears and doubts. Furious enough that it didn’t matter how much experience or otherwise she’d had, she’d do what he’d said. She’d take his damn breath away.

  “Fine,” she said. “A preview it is.” And before she could second-guess herself, she lifted her hands and shoved them hard against his chest, pushing him back from the chair.

  Slipping off it, she took one precise step toward him and rose up onto the tips of her ballet shoes. Then, lifting one hand, she curled her fingers through the thick, soft black silk of his hair, and pulled his mouth down on hers.

  Chapter 6

  Ella’s mouth touched his and for a second Rafe remained absolutely motionless, reveling in the moment. Her lips were as soft as he’d thought they’d be, and there was a hesitancy to her and to the kiss that he found delicious.

  She’d been so full of anger sitting there in the chair, her gray eyes electric with it, reminding him of the passion he’d seen in her on the stage earlier, and he’d loved that. It turned him on the way she refused to give in to him, refused to back down, even though she was scared.

  He hadn’t meant to start straight in with talking about kisses, but she’d lied so delightfully about how the kiss he’d given her the week before hadn’t made her angry, that he hadn’t been able to help himself. He wasn’t going to stand for denial or let her pretend it hadn’t affected her—not when he knew it had.

  He shouldn’t have let her bargain with him either, but he simply hadn’t been able to resist her. She was sharp, refusing to be intimidated by him even when he pushed, which only made him want to push harder, see how far she’d let him go. And, Christ, he wanted to go far . . .

  She smelled of cost
ume makeup and hairspray, and beneath that, clean sweat. And underlying it all was the sweet scent of roses, now made even more pronounced by the flowers he’d bought and had flamboyantly delivered to the dressing room. The combination of scents made him want to growl in hunger, shove her down onto the chair, and do terrible and wonderful things to her, but he knew he had to be patient. He knew.

  He waited to see if she would deepen the kiss, but she didn’t, releasing him and sinking back down onto the soles of her feet. Her face had gone pink, the hood of her cloak falling back, exposing the tightly pinned wealth of her golden hair.

  “There,” she said in a husky voice. “That enough of a preview for you?”

  There was something in her eyes that told him she knew what she’d just given him wasn’t satisfying in the slightest, and that he was pissed about it. And a part of him was impressed at how she was managing to play him.

  Seemed the little virgin didn’t have only claws. She had teeth as well.

  Didn’t make him any less pissed though. He could of course demand more a “preview,” hell, he could even take the kiss he wanted without any of this fucking bargaining bullshit. But that wasn’t what he’d wanted and never had been.

  She had to give him all of it willingly.

  Fuck, he was an idiot. Because now if he wanted that kiss, he was going to have to agree to pay for her Paris trip, which would give up the leverage he had and leave him with nothing he could use to bind her closer to him. Especially when he was certain she wouldn’t ask him for anything again.

  Then again, there was her ballet company he was patron of. He could use that as a way to make her do what he wanted.

  You could actually court her like a normal person. Ever think of that?

  No. Without anything to hold over her head, she wouldn’t want him anywhere near her. She’d keep him at the distance she’d always had, and he couldn’t bear that. Not now that he’d touched her skin and tasted it, felt the way she’d melted against him. He wasn’t giving that up, no way in hell.