Billionaire Body Heat

by Sasha Gold

  Just as I finish, my phone pings. It’s a message from Roman.

  I have to tell you something crazy.

  I read the words several times. He’s kind, and funny. He’s a little off, but he has a lot of money, that much is clear. I’ve worked with lots of rich people and he’s nowhere near as eccentric as some of them. He’s gorgeous too. The memory of the dream I had of him last night makes my heart somersault. I smile and text him back. How crazy?

  I can’t stop thinking about you.

  A flood of warmth comes over me. I read the text again and again, and yelp when another text comes in.

  I told you it was crazy.

  I’m flattered. I wince, wondering if I should say more, decide against it and send the text.

  I’m not sure if that was the right thing to say. He doesn’t respond, so I keep myself busy by cooking a few dishes for Mr. Savage. My thoughts ping-pong between the two men. I overcook the noodles for the lasagna and scorch the tomato sauce. My mind is in complete disarray.

  I go to the formal dining room to get silverware for his dinner setting. My phone chimes. It’s Roman. His deep voice makes me smile.

  “I’m taking you to dinner. Tonight.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a request.”

  “Because it’s not. It’s a statement of fact.”

  He’s bossy, but I sort of like it. Maybe. One thing I’m sure of is that he’s not creepy like Brendon or any of the guys Chels usually dates. I was locked in a freezer with him last night and he was a perfect gentleman. I can’t imagine being locked in a confined space with any of the nasty guys Chelsea’s gone out with. No, Roman has a way about him that makes me feel safe. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace nice. Elegant.”

  I scoff, eyeing my combat boots and the ragged hem of my jeans. “I’m not dressed for that.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Pretty much what you saw me in last night.” My heart sinks a little. It stings that I have absolutely nothing that would work for an upscale restaurant. “I wouldn’t know what to wear to a place like that. I’d be more at home in the kitchen than in the dining room. Give me an icing bag and I’m good. Silk and heels, not so much.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Over dinner we can talk about your living arrangements. I have an idea.”

  I bite my lip. He’s making this hard to turn down. His seductive voice washes over me and makes me think about last night. He carried me in his arms. The memory makes me blush. He’d been sweet and protective.

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask softly.

  “Nothing illicit. You like to cook. I like to eat. I think we can figure out an arrangement that would make both of us happy.”

  My breath catches. “Like… an arrangement-arrangement?”

  I cringe with embarrassment. I’m probably reading way more into this than is really there.

  “It will make more sense when we talk face-to-face.”

  His voice is a sexy rumble. Chocolate on a summer day. I shiver. Is this how Chels feels when she meets a guy and agrees to a hook-up after the second day? She’d laugh if she saw me now, flailing awkwardly with a man I barely know.

  “I need to Google you before I agree to dinner.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He’s back to bossy and my heart flips. I’m an idiot. There’s no way I can meet this man for dinner if this is what he does to me.

  “Why don’t you want me to check you out? Because you’re some sort of serial murderer or something?”

  He doesn’t respond for a moment, and fear squeezes my heart. After a long pause he replies.

  “I’m not a serial murderer.”

  Another long pause, one that has me getting more worried by the minute.

  Finally, he mutters. “It’s complicated.”

  “You’re married. That’s it, isn’t it? You have a gorgeous country club wife and 2.5 children and you’re looking for a side piece.”

  “Tessa,” he says, his tone stern. “We’ll talk over dinner. I promise I’m none of those things.”

  Why did I give this guy my number? Last night he was kind to me, and he’s handsome and sexy, but the last thing I need right now is more trouble. And this guy is trouble with a capitol T. I cup my forehead and slump against the buffet. It shifts, the ornate, carved feet screeching across the parquet flooring.

  A vase sits near the other end of the buffet. It wobbles. For one horrifying moment, time seems to slow. I try to cry out but can’t make a sound. The vase twirls crazily, spinning and when it tips over and hits the surface of the table, the delicate ceramic lip makes a sickening crack. I watch, rooted to the floor as the vase rolls to the edge and plunges over the side.

  I can’t see it fall or land, but I hear the shatter and tinkling of shards flying across the floor.

  “Tessa,” Roman says sharply. “Are you okay?”

  I can’t move. Can’t think. My feet feel like they’re glued to the floor. All I can do is stare at the spot on the buffet where a moment ago a vase sat.

  “Tessa.” He’s practically shouting.

  “I just broke a vase.”

  He doesn’t say anything. I kneel beside the shards, pick up the thick base and turn it over in my hand. “I just broke a vase…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says gruffly. “It’ll be all right.”

  “I can’t imagine what this thing costs.”

  “I said don’t worry about it, Tessa.”

  I stand up. “Don’t worry about it. What do you mean don’t worry about it? Not everyone can write big checks to the Com Center. Some people have to worry about things like this. Everything in this house looks like it came from a museum. I have $400 in my account. How am I going to pay my boss back for something that probably costs more than I’ll make in a year?”

  “Listen, Tessa. Let me explain.”

  “I don’t need an explanation, Roman. I can’t have dinner. I’m not a fancy date kind of girl. I don’t want to meet you or anyone. I can’t do anything until I…”

  “Until you do what? Glue my vase back together? Just listen to me for a second.”

  Warmth oozes from my palm. My hand’s covered in blood. My fingers throb. Blood drips onto the parquet tiles. “I have to go, Roman,” I whisper. “I’m bleeding.”

  Chapter Six

  Roman

  Driving home, I scowl at the dark gray sky. The blizzard stalled to the north, dumping more snow on those towns with every passing hour. The massive storm will arrive sometime in the night. Perfect. I’m doubly glad I have Tessa in my grasp. Almost.

  I tamp down my frustration and concerns. She was bleeding. I’m sure it’s a wound on her hand, and not too serious, but still, I don’t like that she’s hurt and alone. She’s probably fainted too. This girl stirs up all sorts of protective urges inside me. I can’t stop thinking about her but imagining her hurt or in pain hits me hard.

  I grip the wheel tightly as anger flows through my veins. I heard the suspicion in her voice when she asked about an arrangement. She thinks I’m some sort of predator. I want her, no doubt about that, but I’m not the type of man to coerce a woman into bed. And I’m not the type of man to shove or bruise a woman like her roommate’s boyfriend. How will I make her see that I want to protect her from predators?

  I park the car, jog to the private elevator and go up to my penthouse. I had hoped to do this with a little more finesse, not just burst in on her, but if she says she’s bleeding, I have no choice. I don’t think Tessa is in grave danger, but she’s hurt. Blood means she needed help.

  I wanted to explain things gently, so Tessa wouldn’t be shocked or even afraid. Now she might be both, but there wasn’t anything I can do about that.

  The doors slide open. I step into the penthouse. “Tessa?” I say quietly.

  I walk past the dining room, noting the debris on the floor, and continue down the hallway. When I get to the end of the hallway, I hear a noise coming from the g
uest bathroom.

  “Tessa, don’t be afraid.” I enter the guest room. “It’s Roman.”

  She sits on the floor, pale and stricken-looking, tissue wound around her hand. Shaking her head, she stares at me with wide-eyed disbelief.

  I crouch beside her, take her hand and pull the tissue away.

  “Roman… Savage,” she murmurs.

  “That’s right.”

  The cut isn’t deep, but it spans more than half her palm. I go to the medicine cabinet and get a tube of ointment and a box of Band-Aids.

  “I washed it already,” she says.

  I smile at her. “Good girl.”

  She doesn’t smile back. “You tricked me.”

  I can see the hard look in her eyes. Aaaand here we go. She’s not going to cooperate. I squeeze ointment onto the bandage and cover the wound with the dressing. Tamping the bandage down gently, I make certain it’s going to adhere. “I could say the same about you.”

  She narrows her eyes.

  “You tricked me, Tessa. Didn’t you?”

  I keep her hand in mine. It’s delicate and I’d like to lace my fingers through hers, but that can’t happen now. I let my smile fade and give her a stern look. “Breaking and entering is a crime, Tessa.”

  “I had a key. The one Margie gave me.”

  “Then she’s complicit.”

  Fear and anger shadow her eyes. She tugs her hand free. “Are you threatening to have me arrested?”

  “We don’t need to involve the police. Do we?”

  “This is blackmail.”

  “I’d rather think of it as hardball. I’m upping my game to make sure you don’t have to live anywhere near your roommate or her boyfriend. You’ll live here. With me. You’ll pay off the cost of the vase by making me dinner five nights a week. We’ll go out the other two nights. If I have an evening function, you’ll go with me.”

  Her eyes flash with indignation. “As your date?”

  “That’s right. My date.”

  I get up, offer her my hand to help her rise. She ignores me. “What about your girlfriend?”

  “What girlfriend?”

  “The doorman delivered a bunch of bags and boxes today. Women’s clothes.”

  Was that jealousy I hear in her voice? “I don’t have a girlfriend. But I do have a very well-dressed personal chef.”

  Intense surprise lights her eyes. The fringe of her lashes flies up. Her eyes grow large. She steps past me, a little unsteady on her feet. Her hand trembles as she points. “You bought all that for me?”

  “Technically, my shopping service picked out the clothes.”

  “Shopping service…”

  “I didn’t want you to have to go back to the apartment you share with Chelsea. The sizes should be close. If not, they’ll exchange anything you want.”

  I can tell she’s overwhelmed. She’s had a rough week. It started with her getting in a fight with a bully and getting injured. Then she broke the vase and got injured once more, and now I’m blackmailing her. Yeah. Tough week. I should feel a twinge of guilt, but I don’t.

  I’m sorry she got hurt, but I’m also gripped by the thrill of winning my prize, because she is my prize. She won’t get hurt anymore, not here with me. She’s cornered, and I’m not going to let her out of that corner until she accepts my offer.

  Her phone chimes with a message. She glances at it, furrowing her brow. “Chelsea wants to know if I’m making dinner.”

  “Tell her you don’t live there anymore.”

  Her lips part with surprise. After a moment of stunned silence, she responds to the text. “My boss has kidnapped me,” she mutters as she types the words.

  “I like the sound of that.”

  Instantly her phone chimes, and she reads the text aloud. “Awesome.” She shakes her head. “She thinks I’m kidding.”

  I step closer, not enough to crowd her, but close enough to get her attention. “You’re not going back there, Tessa.”

  “You can’t tell me that.”

  I sigh, knowing the conversation was going to veer south with her arguing and giving me attitude. And then I’d have to act like a dick to keep her from doing something dumb. After years or working with clients who think they know better than me, I’m used to laying down the law.

  “That vase cost almost fifteen grand. I intend to recoup my money. If you get knocked around by your roommate’s boyfriend, I won’t get my investment back, will I?”

  “I’m an investment?” she whispers.

  “Right. You’re staying here. You can leave when you need to go shopping but you’ll clear it with me.”

  Shock gives way to anger. My body responds to the fire in her eyes. Blood courses through my veins, turning my cock to steel. I’d been in a state of semi-arousal the moment I stepped into the penthouse, knowing she was near. Now lust roars through my body, making my self-control slip.

  “I’m your prisoner?”

  “I can’t have you coming and going as you please. What if you run off? How am I going to get my money back?”

  She eyes me warily. “What exactly…” her voice drifts off. “Are my duties?”

  Lie back on the bed. Let me strip you down and devour you.

  That’s what I want to say, but I won’t right now. She’s mine, but she’s a present I need to wait to open. I need to offer more to her a little at a time, so she doesn’t think I’m some sort of stalker. “Your duties are the same as they have been.”

  A small panicked sound huffs from between her plump lips. She blinks. Waits.

  A strand of hair, a soft curl, has escaped her ponytail. I grasp it between my thumb and forefinger. Inside me a battle wages. I want to protect her. I want to own her.

  “Last night, you walked right into that freezer, didn’t you? Not even thinking about someone following you into a sound-proof, isolated room, am I right?”

  She draws a breath. To argue, I’m sure of that.

  I shake my head and give her a look of warning to stop her. “You’ve got to be more careful.”

  A thought takes hold in my mind. A game of cat and mouse. A game where I lie in wait for her, she has to evade capture and fight me off when I grab her. I’d show her how to escape if a guy grabs her and a few other moves. My cock hardens at the idea of sparring with her, wrestling with her while showing her how to escape my hold on her.

  I hadn’t planned on trying to show her how to take better care of her surroundings. And yet, it fits. She strolled into the freezer last night, like she was taking a walk in the park. Anyone could have followed her in and done any number of bad things. Someone trailing behind her and pulling the door shut. I grit my teeth. Just the idea makes me feel dangerous.

  She doesn’t say anything. The seconds drag past. I release her lock of hair. Suddenly she looks so scared, I want to wrap around her and shelter from bad thing in the world. Including me. Maybe especially me.

  Chapter Seven

  Tessa

  He leaves the room, but not before announcing that he’s taking me to dinner. We’re not going anywhere far away. With the blizzard, the whole city is practically shut down. We have reservations at a nearby restaurant at seven-thirty, two hours from now.

  When I resisted the idea of dinner with him, he told me dinner was my first assignment. No arguing. No negotiating. I’d chosen to trespass in his home, and it was his prerogative to deal with me as he saw fit.

  Left alone in the room, I stand in the middle of the sea of bags and parcels. The whole evening leaves me feeling stunned and completely shocked. His prerogative…

  He’d spoken in a clipped, business-like tone. He basically announced that I’m his prisoner until he’s decided I’ve paid off the value of the broken vase. This seems an awful lot like kidnapping or extortion or some very bad thing, the type of thing that doesn’t happen to me. I’m a sensible girl. Boring, I’ve been told, most recently by Chelsea.

  Eyeing the bags and boxes, I consider my options. I can’t stay, but I have n
owhere to go.

  A few hours ago, I entertained all sorts of naughty ideas about Roman. I’d reveled in the way he held me in his arms last night. Now I’m practically his prisoner. He’s made it clear. I owe him a debt he intends to collect.

  Warmth flutters in my stomach. I pick up a bag and pull out a dress. It’s a basic, little black dress, and after looking a little more, I find a pair of ebony heels. The clothes are beautiful, expensive designer labels that I’ve only seen in magazines.

  The bags and boxes and parcels cover the floor and half the queen-sized bed. The man hired a shopper. For me. I shake my head as I unpack several bags of bras and panties that a stranger picked out with me in mind. Everything is my size. I can’t help blushing with embarrassment as I try to imagine Roman giving this person instructions on what to buy for me.

  How long ago did he put this plan in motion? I have so many questions.

  Darkness falls. Snow swirls and the wind whips past the windows. I’m not leaving. Not tonight. Tonight, I need to go to dinner and work out some sort of arrangement. I cringe at the word.

  Arrangement…

  I try on a few things, and on a whim decide to wear the black dress to dinner.

  Over the next hour and a half, I get ready for dinner. I shower and blow-dry my hair. I have makeup in my purse, thank goodness. The bathroom is fully stocked, even with hot rollers, so I take the time to curl my hair. Why not? I might as well look my best when I’m sitting with Roman.

  When I’m done, I stand in front of the full-length mirror and appraise myself. The dress molds to my body, showing off every curve, which I don’t care for, but I’m going with it anyway. The heels help a lot. I leave my hair down and the soft, bouncy curls tumble past my shoulders.

  I leave my room at a little past seven to look for Roman. I hadn’t heard any sounds coming from the hallway while I dressed, so I assume he hasn’t stepped out. He might be reluctant to leave me alone in case I make a run for it. Which won’t be happening in these six-inch heels. As I pass the dining room, I notice that the broken vase has been cleaned up. I stop in the doorway. A wave of shame washes over me.