The Dangerous Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  “That’s got nothing to do with it,” he growled. “Fucking nothing.”

  But the look on her face didn’t change, stubborn and fierce. “Yes it has. And if you think it hasn’t, you’re fooling yourself.”

  He stared at her, furious at her point-blank refusal, the one possibility he hadn’t expected in this whole scenario. “What the fuck do you want from me then?” he demanded. “What the fuck do you expect me to do?”

  And in that moment he saw it, the way her mouth became soft and vulnerable, making his chest hurt for reasons he couldn’t name.

  “What do I want from you?” she echoed. “What any girl expects when a man asks her to marry him.” There was a slight tremble in her voice. “I want you to tell me you love me.”

  Relief pulsed through him. Fuck, was that all?

  “I do love you.” He kept her fingers tight in his. “I always have. Surely you know that?”

  Yet that vulnerable cast to her mouth didn’t change. “No you don’t. Not the way I’m talking about. Because if you did, you would have married me, de Santis footage or not.”

  The simple way she said it infuriated him. Hit him somewhere painful, a part of himself he’d thought he’d kept very well defended.

  He had no idea what kind of love she meant, because if it was the kind of acid-drip love that Noah had given him, the kind that ate away at you, left you hollow and empty, left you doubting yourself, that made you wonder if you’d done enough, tried hard enough, then she was shit out of luck. He didn’t do that kind of love. Not anymore.

  “You don’t need love,” he growled. “All you need is this.”

  And he pulled her hands to him, leaned forward, and covered her mouth with his.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Chloe’s heartbeat went through the roof the moment Van’s lips touched hers, the seductive heat and wicked taste of him blanking her brain completely. Making her forget the great, yawning gulf that had opened up inside her the moment he’d asked her to marry him. And the anger that had knotted tight when he’d refused to understand.

  It had only been in that moment that she knew what she wanted. What she’d always wanted, even back when she’d been sixteen.

  Him. She wanted him.

  But not like this. Not forced into it because of some stupid video he had to protect himself from or because she was a responsibility that had been given to him, a mission he had to complete.

  She wanted him to marry her because he loved her. Because she was important to him, more important than anything else. And most of all, because she loved him in return. She knew it. Felt it curling deep in her bones.

  She’d told herself that she’d gotten rid of those old, obsessive sixteen-year-old feelings. But the truth was that they’d always been there, left over from the summer he’d taught her how to ride, standing strong like the foundations of an old, abandoned house almost lost beneath a tangled wild garden. His encouraging smile. His hands on her waist, his grip firm, reassuring. And being in New York with him, having him right here, touching her, gradually dropping his guard with her and giving her little pieces of himself …

  Yeah, that house wasn’t abandoned anymore and it wasn’t only foundations now either. She’d put in some walls, some windows; put in doors. A roof even. She’d rebuilt it completely. And now all it needed was someone to live in it with her.

  Van.

  Except it looked like he only wanted to patrol the perimeter of her house, not come inside, let alone make it his. Which was pretty much exactly what Noah had done.

  She couldn’t live like that again, not now that she knew what it was like to be with someone without fear of holding back. Someone who took her passion and celebrated it, stoked it higher, met it with his own. Someone who held her while she wept and someone who let her hold him in return.

  She didn’t want to go back to that place she’d been in when she’d gotten here, forcing everything she felt way down deep inside her because she was too afraid to let it out in case she pushed people away.

  No, she couldn’t do it.

  This time she wanted his love and she wasn’t settling for anything less.

  She tried to tear her mouth away, but he moved, coming up out of his crouch in a fluid movement, dropping her hands to tangle his fingers in her hair. Then he reached for her chin with his other hand, gripping it, his thumb pushing her bottom lip down, opening up her mouth so he could deepen the kiss.

  Chloe shuddered as the flavor of him flooded her senses, his tongue sliding in, exploring. It was so good to taste him, so good to have his lips on hers. She wanted to reach for him, touch him, let her passion free and give him whatever he wanted …

  But no. She couldn’t give in.

  He’d said he loved her, but he didn’t. Not the way she wanted him to. Because if he had, that security footage wouldn’t have mattered to him. He wouldn’t have come back with bullshit about “the reality” and how “we have to deal with the situation how it is, not how we want it to be.”

  No, if he’d loved her, he would have said yes, of course he would have married her anyway. And he hadn’t.

  Which meant she couldn’t agree to this marriage, and if he was using sex to try and convince her, he was shit out of luck.

  Chloe didn’t move, didn’t try to pull away or shove him. He was leaning over her, holding her still as he explored her mouth, deep and hot and so blindingly erotic it was all she could do to not respond.

  She clenched her hands in her lap, driving her nails into her palms, forcing herself to remain there passively until he’d finished. Until he’d gotten the message.

  Sure enough, he pulled away, staring at her. His breathing had accelerated, the molten gold of his eyes brilliant. “Chloe…” Her name in that soft sensual rumble made her shiver, his fingers on her chin a firm pressure. “Don’t say no. It would be so good, pretty thing. You could live here with me, share my room. Share my bed.” He leaned forward, letting go of her hair, bracing himself with a hand on the back of the couch, his big, hard body looming over her. Releasing her chin, he trailed his fingers down her throat in a light caress that sent ripples of electricity cascading all over her skin. “And anytime you needed to feel good, all you’d have to do is ask. Any time you want me, I’d be there for you. I’d never leave you lonely.” He went lower, brushing over the front of her robe to the tie at her waist. “I’d never leave you wanting.”

  Oh God. She had to get him to stop. She couldn’t give in, she couldn’t.

  “No.” She put her hand over where his fingers were toying with the knot at her waist. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  He went very still, staring down at her, his hand beneath hers motionless. But there was something in his eyes, in the strong lines of his beautiful face. Something hot, possessive … desperate.

  He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. “I want you,” he whispered, then turned his head, his mouth grazing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, sending another electric shiver through her. “I want you so much.” His breath ghosted over her, the heat of his body leaning over her sending cracks all through the walls of her defenses. “And I think you want me too.”

  She tried to be like granite, like steel. Ignoring the soft touch of his mouth as it trailed down the side of her neck. “You’re right. I do.” The words were hoarse and thick. “But I don’t need you.”

  “Bullshit.” He shifted, pulling aside the neckline of her robe. “You need me as badly as I need you.” His lips found the hollows of her collarbones, beginning to explore, tasting her skin.

  Chloe swallowed, her heartbeat almost deafening. The light touch of his mouth made goose bumps rise everywhere, and it was next to impossible to think. There was a pulse inside her, an ache, her nipples hardening, pressing against the soft fabric of her robe.

  Yes, you do. You do need him.

  “No.” The words were a breath. “I don’t.”

  But he must have heard the uncertainty in her voice, undermining ever
ything she’d said like rust eating into metal. Because he didn’t stop, pushing the neckline of her robe further so it was nearly off her shoulder, baring more of her skin to his mouth.

  His hand moved at her waist, pulling at the ties of her robe. “Tell me your nipples aren’t hard,” he whispered as the fabric loosened around her. “Tell me you’re not wet for me, aching for me.”

  She needed to get away from him, yet somehow she wasn’t moving. Somehow she was letting him tug aside the edges of her robe, letting him spread it open entirely, baring her naked body to his gaze.

  Her breath was coming faster now, her mouth dry. He was looking at her, but she couldn’t look back because if she did, if she met his gaze, everything would be lost.

  “Yes.” Approval warmed his deep voice. “I was right.” His fingers trailed down over the swell of one breast and she shuddered helplessly as they brushed over her sensitized nipple, making it harden even further. “You’re such a passionate little thing. You do need me badly, don’t you?”

  She turned her face away, as if by doing that she could shut him out, shut out the things he was saying to her, the truth she didn’t want to acknowledge. But his hand curved, cupping her breast in his palm, his thumb lazily circling her nipple, sending yet another helpless shudder of reaction through her.

  God, the bastard was using sex to get her to change her mind, and the hell of it was that it just might work. Because who else could do this to her? Who else could make her feel this way? No one and she knew it.

  “It’s not just about sex.” She had to force herself to speak. “Hell, I could get this from anyone. I don’t actually need it from you.”

  It was such a lie and yet the hand on her breast stilled, a different kind of tension gathering between them. A dangerous tension.

  Oh God. Why had she said that?

  She kept her face averted, her breathing getting even faster, her heartbeat thumping so loud he must have felt it as he cupped her soft flesh. There was a kind of electricity in her blood, a fierce anticipation. As if she was sixteen again, staring at him as she rode past, issuing that unspoken challenge, that race back to the ranch. And the thrill she’d felt as he’d spurred his horse after her …

  You know why you said it.

  Of course she did. It was a challenge, pure and simple. She wanted him to prove it to her. Wanted him to make it clear to her that she couldn’t get this from any other man. That only he would make her feel this way, as if she were a lit torch and only he could douse the flames.

  Wanted him to prove that maybe this was enough. That his touch and his promises to protect her were all she needed after all …

  You know it won’t be.

  She shut her eyes and ignored the thought, the sound of her harsh breaths loud in the space between them.

  He said nothing, but his hand flexed, his fingers spreading out on her breast, his thumb beginning to rub lightly back and forth over her nipple.

  The sensation was exquisite, making the breath catch audibly in her throat, making her desperate to pull away and yet desperate to stay exactly where she was.

  His fingers moved again, lightly pinching her hardened nipple, tearing a gasp from her, the electricity firing in a direct hot line straight down between her thighs.

  “You really think so?” The words sounded casual and yet there was a deep rasp to them that had her nearly trembling. “You really think you could get this with another man?” Another pinch, gentle and somehow all the more painful for it. “Perhaps I should call one? Call up one of my buddies and get him to join us?” Warm breath against her bare skin, the rough prickle of his stubble on her sensitized flesh. “Would you like that, pretty? Would you like someone else’s hands on you?” A hot mouth covered her nipple all of a sudden, sucking hard, and she groaned, arching against the back of the couch, helpless to stop the burst of wild pleasure that went through her. Then just as suddenly it was gone.

  “Would you like someone else’s mouth doing that to you?” His breath again, ghosting over her damp skin. “Sucking on your nipples? Making you moan?”

  She was panting now, and his lips were again near the base of her throat, brushing over her, the most delicious chills chasing everywhere. His hand slid from her breast, moving lower, over her stomach, making all her muscles clench tightly in response.

  “Would you like someone else to touch you”—his fingers pushed even lower, tangling in the damp curls between her thighs—“right here?” His thumb pressed down lightly, right on her clit.

  Another spike of hot pleasure hit her and she sagged back against the couch, her resistance ebbing, the need to spread her legs, let him do whatever he wanted to her so acute she almost couldn’t bear it.

  His thumb moved in a slow circle around the achingly sensitive nub of flesh, his mouth moving unhurriedly to her breast again, the rough lick of his tongue on her nipple drawing a needy sound from her.

  “I can do it,” he murmured softly. “I can call them right now. I’m sure you won’t mind. Not when you can get this from anyone, right?”

  She was shaking now, and behind her closed lids there were stars. The pleasure was gathering tighter and tighter, his fingers moving lazily on her slick flesh as if he had all the time in the world.

  “Yes or no, pretty.” One finger lightly stroked the length of her sex then circled around her entrance, almost but not quite sliding inside. “Do you want another man right now?”

  Of course she didn’t. All she wanted was him. And now she couldn’t stop her hips from lifting, searching for a firmer touch, more friction. But he refused to give it to her.

  “Uh-uh,” he chided, the rasp in his voice getting deeper. “Keep still. You’re not getting anything until you give me an answer.” His finger glided up the wet folds of her sex, finding her clit, brushing over it, making her moan yet again. “You’re not going to come until you admit that it has to be me touching you, me inside you. Me and no one else.”

  His touch couldn’t be denied. It was breaking her down into small, quivering pieces, cementing the knowledge deep in her soul that there was only one person who could put her back together again. Only one person who could ever make her whole.

  “Van,” she whispered, unable to stop herself. “Please.”

  “No.” He nuzzled against her breast, that maddening hand between her legs stroking her gently. “Those aren’t the words I want to hear.”

  She kept her eyes tightly shut, struggling against the pull of inexorable pleasure, trying not to give in to the seduction of his touch, to the heat that pervaded her, stretching all her nerve endings as tight as high tension wires.

  He must’ve been leaning over her, because she could feel him, his body, hot and hard and mere inches away. Too far, too far.… She wanted his skin against hers, his hands on her. His cock pushing deep inside her.

  It’s not enough and you know it.

  But she ignored the little voice, concentrating instead on the unbelievable pleasure as he eased a finger slowly inside her, making her hips jerk and her spine bow.

  “Tell me you need me, Chloe.” His hot breath against her nipple again, his thumb pressing down on her clit. “Give me the words and I’ll let you come.”

  She shivered and shook, the words spilling out of her, helplessly, hopelessly. “I need … you.” Small, harsh scrapes of sound. “I need you, V-Van.”

  He growled deep in his throat, the vibration of it echoing against her skin. “Yes,” he murmured, the satisfaction in the word, the sheer triumph of it making her ache. “Of course you do.” He slid another finger inside her and this time she didn’t hold back, spreading her legs to give him greater access, tilting her hips to allow him to slide deeper. “Me and only me, pretty.” His fingers pulled back then slid back in again, twisting to hit a place inside her that made the stars behind her eyes burst into showers of light. “Because you’re mine.”

  She’d stopped trying to be quiet, stopped trying to resist. Yes, of course she was his. She al
ways had been.

  “What are you, Chloe?” His fingers hit that place again, his thumb on her clit adding another bright shard of pleasure to the mix. “Whose are you?”

  “Yours.” It was the only answer she had left. “I’m yours.”

  “Yes,” he growled, the possessive rasp she’d only heard hints of before, now loud and clear. “Yes, you fucking are.”

  Then he closed his mouth around her nipple, sucking it in deep, and pressed down hard on her clit. Making the stars behind her eyes go nova.

  Making her scream.

  * * *

  Van could feel her pussy clamp down hard around his fingers, her body convulsing as the orgasm swept over her. She sobbed, arching up into him as if searching for more.

  Savage satisfaction clenched like a fist in his chest and he gave her nipple a last lick, raising his head and looking down at her. She’d slumped against the back of the couch, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open. The robe had slipped entirely off one of her shoulders, the edges of it wide open, exposing her delicate curves and pale skin. Though she didn’t look so pale anymore, pleasure giving her a rosy flush all over her body.

  She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and she was his.

  And now they both knew it.

  He eased his fingers out of her and she shivered, her eyes suddenly opening. They were the color of the sky at midnight out on the ranch, where no city light could wash the stars away. Thick, black velvet, dark and deep.

  Holding that midnight gaze, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked them, tasting the delicious salt and musk flavor of her, watching as her pupils dilated even more.

  He should have stopped when she’d told him she wouldn’t marry him, he knew that. When she’d told him she wanted love, he should have gotten up and let her go. But he hadn’t.

  Instead everything in him had tightened in instant denial. She didn’t need the painful sack of lies that was love. She could have this instead, all the pleasure she could handle. Pleasure didn’t hurt—at least not unless you wanted it to—and it didn’t demand anything from you but participation.