The Big, Bad Billionaire

by Ashenden, Jackie

  Her mouth opened then shut. Then she took another sip of her brandy, gazing at him from over the rim of the tumbler. “How do you know my form has been off?”

  “Because I go to all your performances. And I do mean all of them.” There wasn’t any need for her not to know. After all, he had been there every night for the past three nights, and had seen that she wasn’t quite as on point as she should have been.

  Ella’s gray eyes went very wide. “What do you mean ‘all of them’?”

  “Every one of the fairy tale production so far.” He sat back against the seat, propping one foot onto the opposite knee. “In fact, pretty much every one of your performances since I first saw you dance four years ago.”

  She looked shocked. “But that was . . . I was sixteen.”

  “Yes. I know. My father dragged me along to see one and I didn’t want to go. But because it was you, I thought I’d better. And I watched you and . . .” He stopped, suddenly aware that if he went on, he was going to reveal far more than he’d meant to. “Anyway, I thought you were amazing. So I went to another and another, and pretty soon I found I couldn’t miss even one performance.”

  She stared at him like he’d suddenly dropped in from Mars. “I don’t . . . Why? Why on earth would you come to see me?”

  Because you were beautiful and skillful. Because you calmed me, helped me focus. Because watching you dance made me feel more at peace than I ever have in my entire life.

  No, he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t reveal himself so completely.

  “Because I found I liked ballet more than I thought. Anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is that if you don’t get some rest, your dancing will suffer. And I don’t think you want that, do you, Little Red?”

  She looked out the window abruptly, lifting her glass and swallowing the rest of the brandy. “I can rest at home.”

  “You could,” he agreed. “But that’s not what’s going to be happening. Like I said, I’ll be taking you back to my house and I’ll be—”

  “F-Fucking me on the floor,” she finished, much to his surprise.

  He tilted his head, gazing at her, noting how her color had come back and that the spark in her eyes made her seem much less exhausted and scared.

  Better, much better.

  “Actually, I said that to make you mad. Because you were panicking.”

  Her chin jutted. “I wasn’t. I was just . . .”

  “Panicking,” he finished with gentle insistence. “And blaming me for Aurora’s condition, which isn’t fair to either of us.”

  She flushed and looked down at the empty glass in her hands, fiddling with it. “Gran is . . . all I have left in the world. So yes, you’ll forgive me if I panicked just a little bit.”

  The words slid inside him, squeezing around his heart, making it feel tight.

  Perhaps it wasn’t any wonder she’d been scared then. Because it was true, her grandmother was all she’d had left of her family. But all that she had left in the world? No, that wasn’t true. Because she had him. He’d already decided that years ago.

  Rafe leaned forward and took the glass out of her hands, putting it back in the drinks cabinet. “You don’t need to panic now. I’m going to take care of you, understand me?”

  “And if I don’t want you to?”

  “Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” He reached into his pocket and extracted his phone. “Now you sit tight. I have to deal with a few work things.”

  Even though he was more than happy to argue with her, he thought she could probably do with sitting quietly for a while, so he ignored her, looking down at his phone and checking on the texts and voicemail messages he’d missed. And when he next glanced at her, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, her head lolling to one side, a curtain of golden hair hiding her face.

  It satisfied him on some deep level that for all her mistrust, she’d still fallen asleep in his presence, though to be fair, that might have been due to her complete exhaustion, helped along by the brandy.

  He preferred to think that she trusted him more than she thought, and his presence was a reassurance rather than a source of fear.

  Ella stayed asleep the whole way back to his West Village loft conversion and didn’t move even when the limo stopped and Clive opened the doors for them to get out. So Rafe gathered her up into his arms and carried her inside himself.

  She stirred briefly, but only to snuggle against his chest, and he found himself reluctant to let her go once he’d gotten her inside and up to his bedroom. But he forced himself to put her down on the bed and throw the soft black velvet quilt over her, making sure she was covered and warm.

  Then he had to make himself leave the room, because lingering was not a good idea. Seeing her in his bed, fast asleep, made him think all kinds of hot, possessive thoughts. Impatient thoughts . . .

  But no, he was determined not to rush things, and especially not now that she was finally here in his house, in his bed.

  He left her to sleep, going out and down the stairs to the huge living area with its bank of windows that ran the length of the walls on two sides. There was a long, low sectional couch that faced the glass, and Rafe moved over to it, throwing his overcoat over the back before sitting himself down on the cushions. In front of him was a heavy wooden coffee table with a sleek laptop sitting on top it, yet for the first time since he could remember, he didn’t actually want to work. What he wanted was to go back upstairs and watch his Little Red while she slept in his bed.

  Ridiculous. There would be plenty of time for that later.

  Because now she was here, he was going to make sure that she stayed.

  * * *

  Ella opened her eyes with a start, not quite sure what had woken her.

  She lay there for a long moment, blinking in the darkness, trying to figure it out, but she felt too groggy with sleep. And besides, it was warm and comfortable, and maybe she should just close her eyes and try to forget about it.

  But then she slowly became aware of two things: The bed she was lying in wasn’t her bed. And the room she was in wasn’t her room.

  Memory tumbled in at that moment. Of Aurora unmoving, of the ambulance ride, of the hospital waiting room and the fear that wound itself tighter and tighter. And then . . .

  Don’t move. I’m coming.

  Rafael.

  Air rushed into her lungs and she sat up quickly, her heartbeat beginning to race.

  She’d been overwhelmed both emotionally and physically by everything that had happened, and he’d given her brandy in his limo. And then he’d told her he was going to take care of things and she’d tried to argue and then . . .

  She’d fallen asleep. In his car. With him, right there.

  Ella put her head in her hands briefly, rubbing her eyes. Why had she done that? God, what had she been thinking? He’d swept in and basically taken over, and she’d simply . . . let him.

  Her throat closed. She didn’t want to examine the reasons why that might be. Why she’d obediently finished the brandy he’d given her then fallen asleep like a good little girl. Why something tense and anxious inside her had relaxed the moment he’d arrived at the hospital, striding into the waiting room like he owned the place and everyone in it.

  As if a part of her had known that now that he was here, everything would be okay.

  So ridiculous. So stupid. He was manipulative. He’d done those things to her in the dressing room, made her able to think of nothing else but him, and because of that Aurora had been sick, and . . . and . . .

  Tears pricked against her lids and she didn’t even know why she was crying, only that she felt overwhelmed by everything. By tiredness and worry and grief. By the strange, conflicting nature of her feelings for Rafael.

  It made her want to lie down, curl up, and sleep, but she couldn’t do that, not quite yet. Now that she was awake and slightly less out of her mind with worry, she wanted to know what was happening with Aurora, not to mention the production tonight. Whi
ch she’d probably missed.

  A memory caught at her, of him telling her that he’d been to every single one of her performances. It made something twist hard inside her, but she didn’t want to examine it now, just like she hadn’t wanted to examine it in the car, so she slipped out of the bed instead.

  She wouldn’t have been surprised to find herself naked since he was the kind of guy who seemed to take advantage of every occasion, but she was still dressed, so maybe not every occasion.

  Shoving her hair back from her face, she went over to the door and pushed it open, stepping out into the hallway.

  Down one end were some stairs, and when she peered cautiously down them, she could see they led to a much larger, expansive-looking living area. She took the first couple of steps then stopped, scanning the massive space below her to see if she could see him.

  There were big windows the lined two sides of the room, and small pools of light from elegant floor lamps illuminated the space and made it look much smaller and more intimate than it actually was.

  On a long sectional sofa upholstered in pale linen, Rafael sat bent over, staring at the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He wore dark suit pants and a pristine white shirt, open at the neck with no tie. His black hair was disordered, as if he’d run his hand through it a few too many times, and the lines of his perfectly sculpted face were drawn tight with focus.

  Ella stilled, breathing very slowly and quietly, taking the opportunity to study him without him knowing she was there.

  Even sitting on the sofa, his attention focused on his computer, she could feel the strange pull she had toward him. The pull she’d once found so uncomfortable and frightening, and yet now knew for what it was.

  Intense, physical attraction.

  Her throat felt dry, a nervous kind of excitement kicking hard down low in her gut.

  He was so . . . hot. And it wasn’t simply because of his looks, though they were pretty amazing in their own right. There was something about the way he sat, so still yet giving the impression of tightly coiled strength, like a predator about to pounce. She was attracted to his strength, to his certainty, and yes, to the way he took control. But not simply because those qualities reassured her, they also challenged her too. They made her want to match her will to his, to fight against him, which made no sense at all given what an anxious basket case she was. Nevertheless it was true. With him she felt afraid and yet brave at the same time.

  How did that even work?

  His dark brows drew down as he typed something, long fingers moving fast over the keys, a restless, vibrating energy humming in every line of him. Any minute she expected him to get up and start pacing around like a caged animal, but he didn’t. He simply sat there, staring at the screen, that energy very clearly under tight control.

  It made an inexplicable shiver race down her spine.

  He’d been like that the night in the dressing room. When he’d held her hands behind her back, so full of restlessness and heat, and looking at her like he’d wanted to eat her alive. Yet when he’d finally touched her, he’d been so very gentle and careful, almost as if he was holding himself back . . .

  What would it be like if he didn’t?

  I’m going to push you down on the floor and fuck you senseless . . .

  He’d told her he’d said that to make her angry, to distract her from her panic, and it had worked. Very well indeed.

  Why are you thinking about him when you should be thinking of Aurora?

  Because she didn’t want to think about Aurora. Not quite yet. She wanted, just for a moment, to think about something that excited her, that made her feel powerful, not scared and anxious. And thinking about Rafael and what he wanted to do to her . . . yes, that made her feel powerful. And excited. And . . . other things.

  Maybe it was the soft, sharp breath she took, or maybe the involuntary movement she made, she didn’t know. But all of a sudden Rafael looked up from his computer and turned his head, and his silver blue eyes met hers.

  And the impact was almost physical, knocking the breath clean out of her.

  He moved suddenly, rising to his feet and coming toward the stairs, not taking his eyes off her, and she had the oddest urge to turn and run. Not because she was scared, but because she wanted him to chase her.

  Why did she want him to chase her?

  The thought was fleeting, her body turning around without her conscious consent, already beginning to move up the stairs and away from him. Her pulse began to race as she reached the top, and then her heart climbed into her throat as a muscular arm wound around her waist and she was pulled back against a hard, hot and very powerful male body.

  “Caught you, Little Red,” he whispered in her ear.

  Ella turned around, in the grip of something she couldn’t control, something that was deep and instinctive, urgent and raw and demanding. She didn’t know if it because she wanted distraction or whether it was simply that she wanted him, but she didn’t think about what she was doing. She simply lifted her arms and slid them up and around his neck, rising up on her toes and bringing her mouth to his.

  He made a growling sound deep in his throat as his arms came around her, crushing her to him, then took her mouth like he owned it.

  It wasn’t a kiss. It was a conquering. Like it had been that first time in the dressing room, it was hard and savage and fierce. He completely and utterly devoured her, and she could do nothing but hold on tight and hope she didn’t get swept away.

  A vain hope.

  He tasted like the brandy she’d had in the car, a hot burn with a kick to it that made her dizzy. That made her tremble and shiver. She wanted to kiss him back, but he didn’t let her, licking her, biting her lip, sucking on her tongue, kissing her with such perfect, ruthless savagery that all she could was try to withstand it.

  Then things changed. One minute she was standing at the top of the stairs, her head bent back under the pressure of his kiss, the next she was on her back on the hard wooden floor with him kneeling on the step below her, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other by her head, his long, lean body stretched over hers as he continued the soul-stealing kiss.

  It should have terrified her having those long, strong fingers around the base of her neck, but for some reason it didn’t. He wasn’t holding her hard—light enough for her to breathe but strong enough for her to feel it. To know he was there. A dominant hold. One that told her he was in charge and he was going to do whatever the hell he liked.

  And she simply relaxed. Like that was what she’d wanted all along. Someone strong enough to take over, so she could stop fighting. So she didn’t have to be afraid anymore and didn’t have to worry. Someone she could trust to take care of her.

  Maybe it was a stupid move to trust this man, but she did anyway. And she wasn’t taking it back now. She was tired of pretending she was okay. Tired of pretending she was strong. Of trying to protect herself and keep herself safe, and all on her own. She didn’t want to do it anymore.

  She wanted someone else to do it for her.

  She wanted him to do it.

  So when he shoved his lean hips between her thighs, she let him. And when he pressed the hard length of the erection straining the wool of his suit pants against the zipper of her jeans, she trembled. Then he began a slow grind, the ridge of his cock rubbing on the seam of her jeans, hitting her clit, making her groan and rock instinctively against him.

  “Yes, Red, yes.” His rich, dark voice had gone harsh and ragged. “Rub that pussy all over my cock, darling. Get yourself nice and wet for me. Because remember when I said I was going to fuck you senseless?” His gaze was deep and blue and electric, all the gray completely gone. “I meant it.”

  The words hit her some place deep inside, sending a hot flush rippling all over her skin.

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing, simply looking up into his beautiful face, into the fierce blue of his eyes, shaking a little at the hunger she saw
there. Because it was for her, wasn’t it? All that ferocity, all that savagery. It was all for her.

  He laughed, a rough sound. “Fuck, you have no idea what you’ve done to me, do you?” His hand moved to the fastening of her jeans and he casually flicked the button open and took hold of the zipper tab. “No, you have no fucking idea at all.” He jerked down the zipper then shifted back on his knees and reached to slide his fingers into her waistband, holding on tight. “I’ll show you though. I’ll show you exactly what you’ve done to me. And you know what else?” He pulled hard, wrenching the denim down her thighs, taking her panties with them. “I’m going to do it back to you.” Sliding the rest of the fabric off her legs, he tossed it carelessly aside. “And I’m going to do it harder.” His hands were on the insides of her thighs, spreading her legs wide, his gaze dipping down to what lay between them. “Oh yes, Little Red, I’m going make you scream so loud.”

  She was panting and she didn’t understand how she’d gotten to this point so quickly, laying half naked at the top of the stairs, with him kneeling between her legs, looking down at her, his eyes almost glowing with hunger.

  It should be scary. It should be frightening. And on some level, she was frightened. But it was a delicious, thrilling kind of fear. The kind that made the ache in her sex even worse, that made her want his touch as much as she feared it.

  Then he did touch her, his fingers sliding over the slick flesh between her legs, rubbing gently before spreading her open, as if he wanted to see every part of her.

  Heat swept over her, a combination of embarrassment and deep pleasure, making a groan escape her and her thighs tremble. His touch was insanely light, a deliberate tease, and when he brushed one finger over her clit, she jerked helplessly, feeling like she’d been struck by lightning.

  He laughed again, an impossibly erotic sound. “If I was a good guy I’d play with you for longer, little virgin. But as you already know, I’m not a good guy. And I’m not waiting any fucking longer for you.” His gaze flicked up to hers and held it, the color of his eyes luminous, his mouth curving. “I’m the big bad wolf, Little Red Riding Hood. And I’m going to eat you right up.”