by Zara Cox
“I thought you were into her. Miranda.”
Caleb’s fingers brushed my throat and I realized I was clinging to his wrists. “I’m into one particular pint-size blonde, with a heart of gold, the courage of a lion and a body designed to stop traffic.”
“She’s into you, too, but she was terrified all you’d ever want was to be a fixer. That she wouldn’t be able to compete with your calling. You chose to do what you do to help people but also to stay connected to your mother. I... I didn’t know if I could compete with that.”
“The moment you walked into my life, the competition was over. I would’ve come after you whether you were a client or not. My heart and my soul craved you even before I knew what was happening. That second time in Lake Tahoe was my piss-poor way of telling you I couldn’t live without you.”
“Oh, Caleb.”
“I’ve been wretched without you. The thought of waking up every morning for the rest of my life without you...” He stopped and shook his head, urgent hands cupping my cheeks to tilt my gaze to his. “If there’s any part of you that feels a fraction of that, please give me a chance to make us both happy.”
Bright, shining hope billowed through me. “Do you mean that?”
“With every bone in my body,” he breathed.
“Oh, my God.”
Fevered eyes pierced me. “Is that... Are you considering it, Lily?”
“I don’t need to. I was thinking of what it would be like to wake up each day with you.”
His fingers trembled against my cheek. “And?”
“I would love that, Caleb. So very much.”
A blinding smile erupted. “God, Lily... I love you.”
Hope turned to joy, filling my battered spaces with new, vibrant life, and my eyes with tears. “I love you, too,” I wailed.
Caleb stared at me for a stupefied moment; then my big, magnificent man snatched me in his arms, but not before I caught a suspicious sheen in his eyes.
He fused his lips to mine, and my heart sighed with happiness. Still bound in his arms, I felt him moving. Felt him sink into a seat before he placed me before him.
His hands worshipped my face, my neck, my fingers. Adoring eyes pinned me as he slid his hands under my dress.
“I saw you on TV.” His fingers drifted up my thighs.
“Yes, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” I whispered.
He nodded. “You looked...incredible.”
“Yes, you said that already,” I teased.
He hummed as he skimmed the edge of my panties. “I had this fantasy as I watched you give that TechCrunch interview.”
“Yeah?” I was beginning to pant and I didn’t even care.
He hooked two fingers into the lace and dragged it down my legs. “Hmm. You were rattling off all these big tech words and numbers. And I promised myself if I ever got you back, I would have you recite the Fibonnaci Sequence while I fucked you long and slow.”
My gasp echoed around the large room. “Oh, my God.”
He tapped my legs. I stepped out of my panties, and he stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “That’s not all. You would be wearing nothing but a choker, those boxy glasses and black heels you wore for the Wired cover shoot when you announced you were starting your own company. I’m incredibly proud of you for that, by the way.”
My heart threatened to burst with happiness. “Did you watch all my interviews?”
“Every single one. Twice. I bought all the magazines, too. I’ve had a very busy afternoon.” He plucked a condom from his wallet, handed it to me, then reached beneath his cummerbund and lowered his zipper.
“Wow. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were obsessed with me, Mr. Steele.”
His eyes clung to mine. “It’s more than an obsession. You’re my reason for breathing.”
My fingers shook as I tore open the condom. Then the shaking suffused my whole body as he took out his big, beautiful cock.
I leaned over him, kissed his gorgeous lips before bending lower to kiss the crown of his penis. His strangled curse was music to my ears.
The moment I glided the condom on, he pulled me close, tugged my legs on either side of his lap, and he stared up at me with eyes shining with unfettered love. I braced my hands on his shoulders and sank down, slowly, excruciatingly impaling myself on him. His groan mingled with mine.
When he was fully seated inside me, he held me still.
“There are over a billion stars above our heads right now. But I bet we could touch every one of them if we tried really, really hard.”
I cupped his jaw in my hands. “I’d love nothing better than to reach for the stars with you. Oh, Caleb. I love you.”
“I love you, too. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you incredibly, sublimely happy,” he vowed.
I sealed my lips to his and silently promised that, for as long as the sun rose each morning, I would love and worship him, too.
* * * * *
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Beddable Billionaire
by Alexx Andria
CHAPTER ONE
Lauren
“AND I WANT YOU, Lauren, to cover the story.”
“Excuse me, I’m sorry, what?” I paused my notes to meet my editor’s stare, stifling the groan that wanted to pop from my mouth. Truthfully, I was only half listening during this morning’s staff meeting, but what little I’d heard wasn’t exactly flipping my interest switch.
“‘Hottest Bachelor in Town.’ I want you to write it,” Patrice answered, tapping her manicured finger against the slick tabletop. “Pay attention, please.”
I didn’t say the actual word, but my expression clearly said blech, and Patrice Winneham, executive editor of Luxe magazine, wasn’t known for her willingness to hear objections. “Problem?” she asked with a layer of frost blanketing her tone.
The last thing I wanted to write was some frivolous article on New York’s most eligible and, more important, rich bachelors, but I needed my job. “No problem,” I lied through my teeth. By now it should’ve become second nature, but it still curdled my guts to pretend to care about stories that held no bearing on actual life.
Like the world needed another spread on complete and utter nonsense. The longer I worked for Luxe, the more I was certain I would be required to turn in my feminist card because of crap assignments like this.
Who knew the going rate for a piece of your soul is the bargain-basement price of rent on a shitty apartment in Brooklyn. From my peripheral I caught our newest and youngest staffer nearly wetting herself to land this gig, and I readily threw her a bone.
“Actually, I really think Daphne would kill a story like that,” I suggested, casting a helpful look down the boardroom table toward the young redhead. Daphne was practically nodding her head off in eager agreement, salivating at the prospect. I smiled. “She’s got that young voice that I think would really sell the piece far better than me.”
Also, because the idea of pandering to an overprivileged prick is about as appealing as jamming a pen in my eye. But I couldn’t exactly say that without risking my job, and as shitty as the job was, it paid the bills—granted, barely—but still, they were paid.
“Yes, and she’s also gullible,” Patrice replied without apology, continuing with a briefly held smile, “and would likely end up falling in love with the man before the interview was finished. That’s a headache I don’t need. No, you’ll do the interview. End of story.” Patrice added with a warning glower, “And wear something nice. You’re representing Luxe.”
I ignored Patrice’s not-so-subtle dig. Fashion wasn’t my God, and I didn’t worship at the altar of haute couture. I’d wear what I pleased. “Fit before fashion” was my mantra, and I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for the women who chose to trudge around the city in high heels who, by the end of the day, were rubbing the agony from their barking dogs.
Nope, I sailed right past them in my sensible flats, happy as a clam and stealing their cab because I could run faster.
I caught Daphne’s crestfallen expression. Poor girl, I could only imagine how her dreams of working at a high-end magazine like Luxe were nothing like the reality.
I remembered being that idealistic newbie.
Now I was the jaded staffer who ran on a steady diet of cynicism and sarcasm, with the occasional sprinkling of “WTF?” thrown in for flavor.
Patrice, satisfied that her word was law, moved on with a smug smile. “We have managed to snag one of the sexiest bachelors yet from a distinguished family, old-world money, if you can imagine such a thing anymore. A real Italian stallion, if you will, and having this hottie on the cover is going to snag eyeballs, but I need someone experienced to handle the copy.”
Irritated and bored but having at least the sense to put on a good face, I forced a smile to ask, “And the name of this sexy and single vagina hound?”
“Wait for it...” Patrice paused for dramatic effect before gushing, “Nico Donato of Donato Inc. His family hails from Italy, starting with a humble yet wildly successful winery in Tuscany. Isn’t that dreamy? Does anything else scream romance more than the Italian countryside?”
I wouldn’t know, I wanted to quip. It’d been a long time since I’d experienced anything resembling romance after my ex ran off when I was five months pregnant—six years ago.
It was safe to say the most romance I’d had in my life consisted of furtive moments spent hiding in the closet with my Magic Wand.
Was it TMI if I admitted I’d already burned through three of those hardy vibrators? I rubbed at the phantom scorch mark left over from my last vibrator when it rudely caught fire in my hand.
So, yeah, romance? Not even sure I would recognize it if it bit me in the ass, but that was okay because men were a complication I didn’t need in my life. I was perfectly happy with the way things were, and I didn’t need wine and roses from some man to feel complete.
Did I miss an actual warm body to cuddle with on cold nights? Yeah, but then, I could always get a dog or a cat and achieve the same effect, which I’d been seriously considering.
“Wow, I’ve seen pictures of Nico Donato, and he’s definitely a hottie,” Daphne gushed, her eyes alight with envy. “I can’t imagine a woman alive who would turn him down if he asked.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Continuing my Golden Globe‒worthy performance, I nodded like a good staffer and agreed with Patrice because I needed my job. “Sounds fantastic,” I murmured, trying not to gag.
Daphne sighed, and I could practically see the cartoon hearts and rainbows floating around her head. Good grief, Patrice was probably right. Sending someone like Daphne to interview this Italian stallion would be like sending a lamb to slaughter. Daphne was probably still in that stage of her life when her bra and panties matched.
I was sporting underwear with a hole in it, and my bra was three years old.
Any seduction attempt for my benefit would end in laughter. Mine and his.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly and I do probably (maybe) own a matching bra and panty set, but let’s face it, fancy panties are uncomfortable, and these days, comfort was king.
#singlemom.
#allmymoneygoestomykid.
#myvibratordoesntjudge.
Patrice was talking again. “I don’t know how this man has managed to remain single, but after this issue comes out...we might be able to do a follow-up for the engagement because someone is going to snag him up, I can guarantee it.”
“Maybe he’s an asshole?” I suggested, and the table erupted with nervous laughter, except Patrice, who frowned. I shrugged, just pointing out what everyone else was thinking but was too afraid to voice. “I mean, that seems like the obvious answer, right? Good-looking, rich but maybe his personality is rotten. There isn’t enough money in the world to compensate for a shitty attitude.”
“I’m sure he’s a lovely human being,” Patrice said pointedly. “And it’ll be your job to make sure that comes across.”
“And what if, just clarifying, he isn’t a lovely human being?”
Patrice tapped her Montblanc pen on the polished table surface, the chipped ice in her blue eyes growing colder. “I’m sure he is,” she finally answered. “And you’ll do a fine job. I look forward to reading your copy.”
More anxious laughter floated around the conference table. Why was I poking the bear in the designer suit? I don’t know. Maybe I was PMSing. Maybe I was tired of writing stupid, fluff articles that did nothing but perpetuate the stereotype that all women cared about were hot men with big cocks.
Or I was PMSing.
Honestly, it could go either way.
It was now or never if I wanted to throw something serious into the ring. I stilled the sudden bouncing of my knee beneath the table and pushed forward with my own idea for the magazine.
“
I was thinking we could do an article on Associate Justice Elena Kagan, maybe focus on how women still have to fight for positions historically held by men?”
The silence was not only deafening, but the disdain was actually painful.
Patrice sniffed with distaste. “This is Luxe, not The Legal Review. No one wants to read about a dusty old woman in a black robe unless she’s wearing Donna Karan on the bench.”
Daphne tittered and I wanted to shake some sense into the young twit, but Patrice was right. Luxe wasn’t going to be breaking ground in the advancement of women’s rights anytime soon. Luxe was all about designer shoes, perpetuating the harmful stereotypes that fostered unattainable body goals and kept women bitching and fighting among themselves.
God, maybe I was beginning to hate Luxe, or maybe I was just becoming a bitter bitch because I hadn’t gotten laid in forever. Seeing as that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon, I had to suck it up, smile and agree to interview Mr. Big Cock or else I could lose my ability to pay rent.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” I said, privately scribbling, Sacrifice dignity and interview man-slut. “Have you already set up the photographer?”
“All done. Jacques will be shooting the spread. We’re thinking...Hamptons...beach time...crisp whites and blues.”
“It’ll make for good pictures,” I agreed but inside I was rolling my eyes. Like that idea hasn’t been done a million times before. “Everyone loves a hot guy on the beach,” I said, parroting what I knew Patrice wanted to hear.
“That they do.” Patrice nodded in wholehearted agreement as if she were relieved I’d finally agreed to pull my head from my ass. “And it’s easy to sell advertising for beach-themed spreads. Anyway, you all have your assignments. Go on, go forth, amaze me.”
As I left the conference room, Daphne attached herself to my hip, saying, “Have you seen Nico’s picture? He’s gorgeous. Blue eyes to die for, a body made for sin, and he’s so sweet. A real charmer.”
