Falling Hard (Billionaires in Disguise: Lizzy, #1)

by Blair Babylon

  “I thought you were going to—”

  He ran one long finger under her jaw, lifting her chin to meet his cold blue eyes. “No. You can’t have me, but I will have you.”

  ~~~~~

  In the parking lot of the night club, Lizzy glanced at her phone.

  The message icon blinked but not the text one.

  Damn it, Georgie hadn’t even texted her back, the oblivious idiot. She probably hadn’t felt her phone vibrate in that stupid little purse of hers, which was identical to the one that Lizzy carried.

  Lizzy didn’t want to dive back into the club because Theo might be lurking in there, waiting to stalk her when she drove home, but she wasn’t going to abandon her wingwoman to the rough mercies of alcohol and frat boys, either.

  Lizzy sighed and picked her way through the gravel parking lot back to the club.

  Mannix Stalks, Again

  Mannix waited, sitting in his low, black car parked in the back of the nightclub’s parking lot and watching little Lizzy Pajari help the other girl, drunk again, into her little red Boxster.

  Such a sweet, helpful girl.

  He had to have her.

  Mannix raised his cell phone again and snapped a photo, just as Lizzy pushed the other girl into the passenger seat. In the glare from the overhead parking lot lamp, against the red liner on the car door, the other girl’s black high-heeled shoe dangled from her toe-tip, nearly falling off.

  The dismay on Lizzy’s face was priceless as the other girl’s legs kicked and, finally, receded into the car.

  Lizzy said something, which Mannix assumed was something like, “Don’t hurl in my Porsche.”

  She walked around to the driver’s side and looked around the lot, doubtlessly making sure she wasn’t followed out of the club.

  No, not out of the club.

  Mannix had been waiting for her the whole night.

  He loved watching the way her lithe, little legs pranced in those stilt high heels. He enjoyed watching her pixie form dodge between people.

  The Boxster pulled away, and Mannix let the Gallardo roar to life.

  He followed her back to the dorm, just to make sure that she got home all right.

  Lizzy in Love, Again

  The next morning, Lizzy breezed into her dorm room after a three-hour gym workout that had started at four-thirty in the hot asphalt-black morning and had left her joints aching and her skin with four new bruises, a good session.

  Pain was weakness leaving the body.

  It had fucking better be. God, she was sore.

  She needed to step it up a notch to get stronger. Maybe more weight training.

  In the bedroom, Georgie already back from her early-morning piano practice session. Dark brown scent filled the air like roasting chocolate.

  Excellent. A couple cups of coffee would put that manic spring in her step that Lizzy needed to face the day.

  Saturday mornings were always a bitch. Ditching Theo last night made everything worse.

  And Theo said that he was going to call her?

  Fuck him.

  And not in the fun way.

  To fucking Hell with him.

  Lizzy inhaled the rich scent of coffee through her nose, trying to catch a caffeine buzz from the scent alone. “Is the coffee ready?”

  Thin blood vessels criss-crossed Georgie’s hungover eyes. With her light brown hair, big brown eyes, and runner’s physique, she looked like a roadkill greyhound. “Yeah. How did I get hammered in less than an hour?”

  “You seriously don’t remember the mescal shots with the frat boys before I dragged your drunk ass home?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Georgie’s vague tone suggested a drunken blackout. Staging an intervention right before finals was tough on everyone, often worst on the drunk, so Lizzy would just keep an eye on her for now.

  The coffee pot growled, spraying its last bit of coffee into the carafe.

  Georgie asked, “Did your adult ever show up?”

  That, Georgie remembered, damn it. “Nope.”

  “Too bad. You get any?”

  “Nope.”

  “I think you should call your adult today.”

  Georgie tended to get all obsessed with Lizzy’s love life like a ferret with OCD because Georgie didn’t engage in relationships. “Not going to happen. Hey, Rae’s been avoiding us like we’ve got monkey herpes. Wanna go drag her butt out of bed and grill her?”

  “Yeah!”

  Sometimes, you just have to know when to metaphorically shake your keys and chant, Oooo! Look! Shiny object!

  Rae was grumpy at being rousted out of bed but shook it off when Lizzy shoved some hot black coffee in her hands. She plopped herself between their twin beds, sucked on the coffee like it was sweet heroin, and tried to dodge their questions, the scamp.

  Georgie peered down at Rae from where she sat on her bed. “So you’re official? Lock, stock, and W-Two forms?”

  Rae said, “Dropped off the medical release yesterday. Signed all the paperwork. I’m officially a Domme.”

  “That’s awesome,” Lizzy countered. “Domming is so much better than being a blowjob artist. Sometimes, I can’t get the taste of latex out of my throat for hours.” Even though she sometimes went weeks between actual BJs, everyone complained about it because it was gross and therefore hysterically funny.

  “Vodka,” Georgie told Lizzy.

  “Vodka gives me a headache,” Lizzy said. She just felt contrary.

  Rae asked, “Iced tea?”

  Lizzy laughed at her. God, iced tea. Where did Rae-Rae come up with that stuff?

  Georgie said, “Long Island Iced Tea might do the trick.”

  “Yep,” Lizzy said, “Long Island Iced Tea will knock the taste of just about anything out of your mouth.”

  “Or your brain. Did it work?” Georgie asked.

  Lizzy stared at the rough carpet near Rae’s feet. Theo was a jackass for shoveling that shit. She didn’t want to discuss that, not at all, so she went with the whole still-lovesick-for-The-Dom thing. It was the truth, too. “Not really.”

  Georgie turned to Rae. “Lizzy’s still mooning after The Dom. We went out last night to get her laid, but it didn’t take.”

  “I know I’m being stupid,” Lizzy said, sipping her coffee from a Golden Devil mug. When she thought about The Dom, something tugged at her chest, like she wanted, desperately, to go sit in his office or watch the corridors of The Devilhouse for a glimpse of him. “His Dom-Dates are always one night stands. It was never meant to be more than that. I’m just being stupid.”

  “You’re still wearing those after-date earrings he gave you,” Georgie said.

  “Yeah,” Lizzy sighed. She had worn them last night because the diamond studs were spectacular and compensated in cachet for not drinking the glowing, top shelf drinks. Besides, if The Dom crooked his little finger at her, Lizzy would probably flip a back handspring into his arms.

  If only.

  Okay, she was kind of mooning after him, damn it.

  She didn’t just have man problems. Lizzy had men problems.

  “But those aren’t real diamonds or anything,” Rae said.

  “Oh yeah, they are. Certificates and everything.” Lizzy craned her neck so Rae could see the glittering stones.

  Georgie said, “Some less-scrupulous girls might go on a first date just for the jewelry, but everyone goes on the second date for the date.”

  Yeah, they would. Lizzy’s heart clenched, and she drank a deep draught of her coffee to cover the hurt on her face.

  Georgie regarded Lizzy with sorrow in her brown eyes. “We can go out again tonight.”

  “We’re supposed to go to The Devilhouse tonight.” She tried to make it come out all casual, but damn if her throat hadn’t snapped closed.

  This sucked. Lizzy’s battered heart ached when it beat. Theo had sort of distracted her from pining for The Dom for a while, but now that she was pissed at him—and she so was—all that emptiness came roaring back.

&
nbsp; Even since she had broken up with Gio a couple months ago, everything sucked.

  Rae said, “Maybe you should tell The Dom how you feel.”

  “Oh no, she shouldn’t,” Georgie said quickly.

  “No way,” Lizzy said. “No fucking way.”

  Rae asked, “Why not?” as if anything could be overcome with enough gumption.

  But it couldn’t. Not this. Lizzy knew better.

  She sighed. “Because he’ll think I’m an idiot, even if he would never say anything so uncultured. He might not ask me out for another date, and I don’t even want to think about that.”

  Georgie told Rae, “Look, I like the guy. There are lots of benefits to hanging out with The Dom, and he’s generous with them. His dates are nights to remember. He helps all us girls get into top-tier graduate programs or get amazing jobs after graduation, international jobs, if you want them. Lizzy, you don’t know what he’ll do if you spill the beans because you don’t really know a damn thing about him. Not where he grew up. Not where he lives now. Not who his friends are. Not his even his name. He hides so much that it has to be calculated. We don’t even know what he did with that poor cat that was hanging around The Devilhouse.”

  Lizzy had seen him put it in his car. A chill crept down her back.

  Rae asked, “Lizzy? If you didn’t go back to his place on your date, where did you guys end up?”

  “Oh, back at The Devilhouse, on the main stage, though the ballroom was empty. It was actually kind of creepy at first. It echoed.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Rae sounded weird.

  Georgie said, “Getting involved with The Dom wouldn’t be healthy. Even thinking about it isn’t healthy. You don’t know any of that stuff about him.”

  People should be able to keep stuff about themselves private without other people prying and fucking up everything. Damn it, Theo. Why did he have to stick that particular knife in and twist?

  “I don’t care,” Lizzy said. “I don’t want to know all that if he doesn’t want me to know. I’m content to just call him The Dom or Sir,” she sighed, “or Master.”

  She would let him hide away that part of himself if it would hurt him to rip it open because she knew how that felt.

  Theo had pried and then thrown everything in her face, lording all his stalkery knowledge over her.

  The Dom knew everything, but he hadn’t hurt her with it for no reason.

  He had hurt her with it for an excellent reason.

  “Lizzy, this isn’t healthy,” Georgie said.

  Georgie had to shut up. Lizzy didn’t want to answer the inevitable, invasive questions, so Lizzy insisted, “I like it when he ties me up and makes me beg.”

  “You’re thinking with your pussy, Lizzy.”

  She pushed the BDSM talk farther, hoping Georgie would shut the fuck up. “I want to sit at his feet wearing nothing but his collar. I just want him to fuck me again.” Even though he technically hadn’t. “I want to feel helpless like that.”

  No, Lizzy wanted to feel strong like that, like she could take the pain and not shatter. Everything else in her life made her feel weak, and she hated weakness.

  Pain was weakness leaving the body.

  Lizzy touched her chest. Her heart sprinted under her ribs.

  Pain was weakness leaving the body.

  Damn it. Every time she thought she had a handle on her goddamn feelings, something stupid like this happened.

  Rae said, “You should listen to your heart.”

  Lizzy’s heart wanted to jump into the golden furnace that was The Dom until all the weakness was burned out of her.

  Georgie snapped, “You shouldn’t listen to your heart or your pussy, Lizzy. Think with your head. Falling for him is a bad idea.”

  “I just want to do what he tells me to.” Lizzy wanted him to whisper pain in her ear until she was strong again.

  Georgie shook her head. “Lizzy, he’s not the type to take a sub or a slave. He likes women, in the plural, craves women, in the plural. He’d never commit.”

  Lizzy didn’t care.

  “Lizzy, you should tell him,” Rae said.

  Lizzy looked up, shocked. Rae, sweet little Rae, unassuming non-confrontational not-from-Jersey Rae was telling her to go for it?

  Lizzy didn’t think anyone would ever have to lecture her that she should be strong, but she hadn’t had any real, white-hot pain to force the weakness out of her body for years.

  “Tonight,” Rae said. “You should go to The Devilhouse early, so there’s no time pressure, and you should tell him how you feel.”

  “I couldn’t,” Lizzy said. Go ahead. Argue with me. Tell me why.

  “And she shouldn’t,” Georgie said.

  “Why not?” Rae retorted.

  Lizzy said, “I told you. He’ll think I’m an idiot. I won’t ever have even another date with him.” Tell me why I should.

  “Risk it. Tell him. Make the leap of faith,” Rae insisted.

  A leap of faith.

  Lizzy’s head clanged like a gong.

  Theo had pried instead of making that leap of faith. He had dug into her background with a fucking steam shovel instead of letting her be who she was now.

  Maybe The Dom had a damned good reason for being so fucking mysterious and she shouldn’t dredge up a bunch of shit about him that he didn’t want people to know about himself. Maybe he had reinvented himself and liked himself a hell of a lot better than the old guy.

  Maybe something terrible had happened that he was trying to forget.

  Yes, The Dom evidently knew all about Lizzy, but he had hadn’t thrown it at her. She didn’t even know how long he had known. He had treated her fine, not like an invalid, not like damaged goods, not like the weakest link in the chain, not an object of ridicule or scorn like anyone else would have.

  And he had known what she needed.

  Lizzy’s breath caught in her chest.

  Georgie insisted, “You don’t know what he’ll do.”

  Rae asked, “Why don’t you guys know anything about The Dom? Why don’t you just do an internet search on him?”

  “How can we?” Georgie asked. “We don’t know his name. One of the girls, Sonya, is a journalism major, and she tried to dig up something on him. The Devilhouse is owned by a private corporation, the shares of which are owned by other offshore corporations, which is run by a trust set up in Switzerland, and it was all this endless spiral of legal walls. I think he’s in the Mafia.”

  “He’s kind of blond to be in the Mafia,” Lizzy said. Or to be a Mexican narcotics smuggler. Evidently, they were all over the place.

  “Northern Italians are blond,” Georgie said.

  Lizzy shook her head while thoughts of pain and weakness and leaps of faith buffeted her brain. “He doesn’t have an Italian accent.” Growing up in New Jersey had given her a fine appreciation for the many varieties of Italian accents.

  “Okay, what kind of accent is that, then?”

  “English,” Lizzy said, stating the obvious and wishing that they would stop talking so she could think.

  “It’s not just British. There’s other stuff in there, too.” Georgie would not let it drop and kept dissecting everything that The Dom had ever said for a shred of evidence about where he was from.

  Lizzy didn’t know where he was from, other than that he spoke fluent, nuanced Russian with almost no accent, but even then, his Russian was upper-class with a hint of the Tsar about it.

  Rae pulled her phone out of her bra strap. Lizzy ignored her.

  “So what if he is Italian or British or whatever?” Lizzy argued with Georgie. “Why can’t he just be who he is now? What does it matter?”

  “It does matter,” Georgie said. “It’s weird that he’s not forthcoming.”

  “You’re going to make a great lawyer someday. You’ll dig and dig until you build a solid case, won’t you?”

  “Isn’t The Dom’s fifteen minutes seriously over yet? You never glom onto guys like this. Come on, be Whizzy
Lizzy and breeze on over to the next guy. How about your adult? When are you going to see him again?”

  Rae’s harsh gasp echoed in the tiny room.

  Lizzy and Georgie whipped around. Rae’s horror-struck eyes were huge like she was watching the towers fall all over again.

  Lizzy asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Rae tapped the home key on the phone screen and pressed her phone to her chest.

  “Bullshit,” Georgie said, always one to call it like she saw it.

  Lizzy nodded.

  “Really. Nothing.” Rae’s attempt at lying was obvious in her teary eyes.

  Georgie said, “I call bullshit. You jumped and gasped like you stuck your finger in a light socket. Give it up.”

  Lizzy grabbed her own phone and checked a news page, but nothing terrible seemed to have happened. No terrorist attacks. No acts of God. She hit refresh, but all the news stories were still the same as last night and boring, thank the stars. When Lizzy was nine, they had been able to see and smell the acrid smoke from nine-eleven and the twin towers drifting over New Jersey.

  On her phone, the message icon strobed next to a hateful six-oh-nine New Jersey phone number.

  Rae said, “Just remembered that I have homework due tomorrow morning in Abby Psych. I’ve got to get on it or I’m toast. Can’t fail two classes.” She sucked air through her teeth.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Lizzy said.

  “I mean, Monday morning. It’s due Monday morning, but I need to do it right now.”

  It must be something private, an email from her family, or a phone message from them. Lizzy’s stomach cramped.

  Lizzy and Georgie glanced at each other, communicating their shared disbelief, and then turned back to Rae.

  Lizzy said, “We’re here for you, if you need to talk.”

  Rae blathered, “I just need to go back to my room and grab some books before I head over to the library. I think I’ll study in the library because I’ll need the bigger table to set out all my books for my homework,” Rae said. “And it’ll probably take a couple hours, so I probably won’t see you guys at dinner. Maybe later. Maybe tonight.”