Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  “What upset you?”

  His out of the blue question startled her. She didn’t know how to answer, then realized she didn’t have to answer. Knife and fork resting beside the plate, fingers steepled, he waited her out. Those coppery eyes missing nothing. For some reason, she caved when she didn’t have to. “I told you. I felt ill.” The lie rolled off her tongue certain he didn’t believe it and she didn’t care.

  “And now you’re well enough to eat?”

  Point taken. “Apparently.”

  He sat back. Arm hooked over the back of the chair, glass of water in his hand. “Did someone say something? Insult you again?” He pressed.

  She took a long sip of her tequila. Appetite gone, she moved the remains of her meal around the plate. Avoidance only lasted so long. He wouldn’t get the answer he wanted. Her business was her business and dredging up the past…

  She downed the rest of the tequila and decided to try the wine and reached for it. The vintage wasn’t known to her, but she doubted she’d find it back home in Target. She shouldn’t be drinking, regardless how desperate the need to get plastered and forget rode her. Getting drunk while on the job was unprofessional and reckless to herself and the client. But after the Erica and Harvey show, she needed to blot out the memory, smudge it a little so the jagged edges didn’t hurt so badly. Before she returned the bottle to the table, Julius snatched the wine away.

  Anger came quickly. “What are you doing?”

  “You had tequila on an empty stomach and barely ate.” In other words, she’d had enough.

  “I don’t need babysitting.”

  “Then don’t act childish.”

  The chair screeched against the tile as Calista surged to her feet. “I’m not the one that needs five bodyguards.” She’d swung low intentionally to inflict pain.

  “Four.” He corrected, remaining in his seat. “The world thinks you’re my assistant.” His voice was steady, though she caught a flick of anger in the depths of his eyes.

  Hands braced on the table, she leaned in. “That’s right. But you and I”—she waved a finger between them—“we know what I really am.” A gleam entered his eyes and she wondered where his thoughts had led. “I get to standby while people hand me their empty glasses.”

  Julius stood. Hands braced on the table, he leaned in. Face to face, once again they were too damn close. Close enough for her to catch a hint of his cologne mixed with his natural male musk. “I’m sorry that happened. I’ll bet you ten grand it won’t happen again.”

  Affronted, she reared back. “Bet me? Bet me! That’s all you people think about. Money.”

  Head cocked to the side, his gaze narrowed to mere slits, he spat. “You people?”

  She wasn’t cowed. “You one percenters. That’s all it comes down to is who you can buy and sell. Fine! I’ll take that bet. I bet you fifty thousand—”

  “You don’t have fifty thousand to spare,” he shouted, which infuriated her because, damn it, he was right.

  “Take it out of my salary.” She marched away.

  Julius grabbed her arm. She spun, unsure whether to pull away or attack, which shut down her anger and replaced it with regret. By the anguish on his face, she wasn’t the only one with regrets.

  “It won’t happen again because I won’t let it.”

  He really believed that. The sincerity was written all over his handsome face. Her anger leveled, but it was tenacious. The hope flickering in his eyes, the belief he alone could change the world, not for humanity, but for her… It was sweet, and stupidly idealistic. She remembered feeling that way. Then her father brought home his new wife.

  “It will happen again. Like the tide coming in. The sun rising in the east. Water is wet and Karma is sweet. I know this because that wasn’t the first time, Julius. It wasn’t the second time either.” A sudden weariness enveloped her. She hadn’t needed to explain her life to someone in a long time. She hadn’t wanted someone to understand in what seemed like forever.

  “Calista.”

  Her name said in that soft toned edge with a subtle plea did something to her. Something she liked way too much. She had to get away, run, before this moment devolved even further into a toxic mess… Or evolved into something dangerous.

  “I’m trying to help you,” he said with such sincerity she had to yank away or risk crumbling.

  Suddenly free, she took one step on a slick spot and slipped. Balance compromised, she went down, her ass hit the rim of the pool and over she went, headfirst into the cold water.

  Chapter 17

  Julius knew Calista would pull away and released her. Their power dynamic had changed, and she wasn’t taking it well. Keeping her here against her will—not that he had any delusion he could—wasn’t want he wanted.

  So, he let her go and watched her fall into the pool in slow motion. He could be the hero and jump in, but somehow, he knew Calista wouldn’t appreciate it. Independent. A trait he thought he liked in a woman. Until he met her. She was too independent, too opinionated for his liking. Too damn confident, and he found each trait intoxicating.

  Hands off, he told himself and waited for her to climb out of the pool on her own. And waited. His chest tightened as ten seconds bled into twenty which felt like an hour.

  She doesn’t know how to swim!

  Suddenly, Calista bobbed to the top, gasped like a fish out of water and sunk again. For a woman that seemed to know how to do everything, it was strangely refreshing that she needed him. Right now, gloating wouldn’t win him any points. He dove into the pool, wrapped his arm around her flailing body and hauled her to the surface. Sputtering, she clung to him, her entire body plastered to his, much like her hair plastered to her skull. And he loved the full breast to chest, abdomen to abdomen, cock to pussy, legs tight around his waist, feel of Calista Coleman.

  She panted, her breath hot on his jaw and neck as he waded through the pool to the stairs on the opposite side. He climbed out of the water. Calista’s grip slackened, but his tightened. He wasn’t ready to let her go.

  Ignoring the deep ache in his chest and lower back, there’d be time enough to take care of the pain later, Julius carried her down the spiral staircase, to his bedroom, through the closet, to the bathroom. Only then did he allow her to slide down his body. He kept her close, his hands resting on her waist, until he was sure her feet accepted her weight. Stepping away now would be the wise thing to do. He couldn’t do that, not yet because she hadn’t moved away. Stock still, a sheet of curly wet hair shielding her face, Calista remained with barely a centimeter separating them when she could’ve run away.

  With a single finger, he lifted her chin. He used another finger to sweep her hair away and trace the soft skin from her forehead to her chin. Eyes downcast, she refused to meet his gaze. Yet, her breath stroked his hand with quick pants. She licked her lips and those greenish hazel eyes locked onto him. The hostility was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that tugged at his heart.

  Fuck!

  A shiver ran through her entire body causing him to respond with a shiver of his own. They were cold. Only one way to remedy that unacceptable condition. His fingers went to the buttons of her shirt, a shirt now nothing more than a transparent sheath covering her black bra.

  She had plenty of opportunity to stop him.

  She didn’t.

  He didn’t rush as he freed each button, revealing the woman who haunted his dreams almost from the instant she pressed her hands against his gushing wounds. Her shirt hit the floor with a wet slap. He could’ve stopped there and let her take over the stripping.

  No. Actually, Julius couldn’t. He was locked into the moment. Nothing could stop him, except a single word from her luscious lips. A word she didn’t give.

  He worked her slacks, sliding the button free, the zipper down, allowing them to pool around her legs. She chose to kick them away. She chose to reach behind and unsnap her bra. She chose to hook her fingers into the waistband of her panties and drag the wet s
crap of fabric off her lush body. He stared at her face, nothing else. Not yet. And she watched him as if daring him to let his gaze dip and take her in.

  Calista inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Damn it! The moment was over, and he wasn’t pleased. Not. At. All. He had an opportunity to do what he’d thought about for weeks and he’d fucked it up.

  He braced for her to walk away, return to her bedroom, and lock the door. He wasn’t prepared for her to open the shower door, and leave it open as she entered the glass enclosure.

  This was entrapment, pure and simple, her leaving the door open for him. Entrapment, all that caramel skin stretched over a body that made his dick weep. Full breasts more than his hands could contain, a flat stomach, long legs with clearly defined muscles, a dimpled ass that deserved worship, and between her thighs, a small piece of heaven shielded by a tiny triangle patch of hair. Entrapment. He had a certain type and Calista—damn, she made his insides sweat—blew that type out of the water. Seeing her rearranged his DNA.

  What would kissing her again do? Fucking her? Jesus, he had to know.

  Like a starving man in front of an all you can eat buffet, willingly, Julius entered the shower with her. She’d waited for him as if she knew he hadn’t another choice. A saner choice. He stepped right up to her and held his breath as her hands came to his shirt.

  He caught her fingers when the first button slid free. “I have a rule,” he said, his voice husky with lust. Her head rose, and God he wanted her to continue stripping him, along with a list of other more decadent things. “I have a rule,” he repeated more for himself than for Calista. “I don’t have sex with employees.”

  She blinked. He expected the heat in her gaze to diminish. It hadn’t. That heat he spotted still blazed. “That’s a good rule. I also have a rule. I don’t have sex with my employer.” Yet her hands remained on his chest, his one hand covering both of hers. They stayed that way for ten long seconds, then she said, “What are we going to do?”

  There was only one thing he could do.

  Julius flicked on the shower. From several directions water hit their bodies. On a nearby shelf waited an assortment of bottles. He chose a shower gel, squeezed a generous amount into the palm of his hand. She watched him, her face neutral, yet those eyes of hers… All he ever wanted to know about her lay within their depths. Sinking into those hazel orbs.

  He came to her slowly, giving her plenty of time to balk at what he was about to do. No surprise, she didn’t. But she did make a slow turn, giving him her sleek back. He took in the water cascading over lightly defined muscles, coasting all the way to her dimpled ass. Fine. He had no problem starting here.

  But first, her hair. The mass was tangled into a wet bun and drooped onto her shoulders. It had to go. The removal of a few hairpins and the mass unraveled. Not one muscle twitched as, one-handed, he took his time to spread the heavy mass on her shoulder. Its weight and length, the heady floral scent drifting from the mass, surprised him.

  He brushed her hair to the side and glided his hands over her wet skin, leaving a soapy trail down her arms, elbows, and each finger. No rush, he took his time. More shower gel was needed, then he coasted down her back, dipped his fingers into the dimples above her curved ass.

  She angled her head and their gazes met. He waited for her to tell him to stop as his hands glided over the globes of her perfectly round ass. She swayed and her eyes went smoky until she closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto his shoulder. Her plush lips parted as she breathed. He wanted to kiss her, taste her on his tongue again and knew to do so would pitch him over the edge of no return. Right now, he had control, it was razor thin, but he had it. Kissing her, having her tongue duel with his, Julius would be naked and she’d be on the wall, legs spread with his cock balls deep inside her heat.

  His cock jerked inside his wet pants at the erotic image his lust addled brain provided. What about tomorrow? What about the repercussion afterward?

  Tomorrow…would wait until tomorrow. Tonight, was all about Calista.

  He spun her and pushed her against the tiled wall. Still, not a word of protest left her lips. Instead, she shifted, her restless energy contagious. He waited no longer to smooth his hands down her body to cup her breasts, the heavy weight in his palms a revelation. They were real, not silicone enhanced. Dark areolas with tight bullseye nipples in the center. Tempted to lick, pluck, tweak her puckered nipples, he took the safer route and swept his soapy hands over the tight buds. She sighed as he dragged the center of his palms across her nipples and eased down the valley between her breasts to her flat, toned abdomen.

  She trembled and a rash of goose bumps covered her flesh. He loved it. More gel and Julius sank to his haunches, bringing him level with that perfect triangle. It was positioned like an arrow pointing to nirvana. All he had to do was lean forward and… He forced his gaze lower to her thick thighs. Clearly defined muscles made her legs appear almost sculpted. Black suits had kept this hidden.

  He started at her feet. She was kind enough to raise one, then the other, her balance perfect. He touched her, not the other way around, which was good. He couldn’t handle it if she put her hands on him. The fragile tether on his self-control would snap, which was already frayed as his hands moved to the inside of her thighs.

  Was her skin softer here or was that his imagination playing tricks on him?

  Her legs parted a fraction, giving him access all the way to her sweet spot. No. It wasn’t his imagination. She was truly that soft. Was that a whimper as he stroked her inner thigh? He looked up at her. Long strands of her hair were plastered to her breasts and curtained her face. But it was her needy gaze that snared him in an erotic web. She wanted this, even though she whispered, “We shouldn’t—”

  His hand settled on her sweet spot. Her breath caught, shutting down her lame protest. He slid a single finger along the seam shielding her core. A shudder went through her and Julius parted her flesh. She was slick, wet in a way that had nothing to do with the water pelting their bodies.

  He dipped into her core, rimmed her opening, teasing, teasing. Then slid two fingers into her tight, wet heat. The tiniest cry escaped her, and her head dropped back onto the tile. Easing out of her core, he brought a single finger to circle the outside of her clit. Her breath hitched, her body shuddered, and she sunk her teeth into her plump bottom lip. This woman, fuck, she was Goddamn beautiful.

  Three fingers went into her slick passage. She was tight, hot. So fucking hot. Her clit got the attention of his thumb. Her hips bucked as he drilled into her.

  He watched her break apart. She slumped in his arms, clinging to him, where she belonged. He swept her off her feet and carried her fully under the water. Soap free, he carried her out of the shower and placed her on her feet.

  He’d pleased her, petted her, now was the time for pampering. He grabbed two heated towels off the rack, wrapped one around her hair and the other he dried her body leisurely. No rush at all. Each limb got the attention it deserved, then her back, and finally her front. He dragged the soft towel across her breasts, paying special attention to her hard nipples. He dried the soft plane of her abdomen and passed the towel over the tuft of hair between her legs. By the end of it, both were panting all over again.

  Yet, all good things must come to an end. He wrapped the towel around her, for now hiding all that he desired. She waited as if she knew what was coming and wanted it. He didn’t disappoint and picked her up, cradled her against his chest and took her to her bedroom.

  The staff had already turned down the sheets and he slid her between them, the towel still around her. The temptation to climb in was there, but he was creating a puddle on the carpet. He could strip and be beside her in seconds.

  Too soon. Regardless of what she allowed him to do in the shower. Them between the sheets was too soon. He’d never taken the long approach to getting any woman in his bed. Calista wasn’t any woman, and getting her in bed was more than worth the wait.

&n
bsp; “Good night, Calista.” He left her to make his way back to his room.

  He didn’t expect a reply and much to his disappointment, he didn’t get any.

  Chapter 18

  Morning came ten hours later with the sun shining brightly on Calista’s dark thoughts and her luggage inside her room, next to the door. Good thing because her clothes were ruined by her tumble in the pool.

  Which led to her being carried into the shower.

  The shower where Julius touched every inch of her body and made her explode.

  In the light of day, she couldn’t hide from the truth. She’d crossed a line…a bit. They hadn’t literally had sex, she reasoned, using the Clinton definition. Heavy-duty foreplay was not sex, even if one of them had the best orgasm she’d had in years.

  Still, she’d never allowed more than a handshake with any of her previous clients. Professional distance was how she approached each client, each job. With Julius, from the moment she met him, he was different. Arrogant, bossy, privileged, he was all that plus vulnerable. He needed her, her gun and her body as a living shield.

  He’d needed her. She’d seen him at his lowest point, which wasn’t his lowest point, but close. Where others begged and pleaded for their lives, he faced his possible demise with stoic courage. Eyes wide open, she’d stared into his soul while his blood leaked between her fingers and pooled on the sidewalk.

  And even through a rough recovery… He was still an asshole, but he wasn’t a whiny asshole—much. And he actually listened to her—most of the time.

  She liked him and she didn’t like many people. That didn’t diminish the fact that she’d crossed a line, a line she’d chiseled in stone, a stone her foundation was built on. What was she thinking allowing Julius to strip her, bathe her, make her come apart on his fingers? How irresponsible, and she had no one to blame except herself.