Alpha Billionaire

by Deborah Garland

  With her wristlet wedged under her arm, she marched toward the railing to watch the water. A tingling vibration buzzed from her phone buried inside the slim purse.

  She looked at the screen and her heart pounded as she swiped to answer the call. “Hello? Jonathan?”

  He laughed and laughed with other muffled sounds in the background.

  “Great, he’s at a party and butt-dialed me,” she murmured to herself. Dropping the phone back into her wristlet, she said, “That says it all.”

  She strolled along until a walnut carved door caught her eye. This masculine and elegant bar was the type of place Jonathan would stop by for a nightcap after his party. If meeting up with him looked like a coincidence, he might consider sleeping with her on his own. Wouldn’t that make her feel better about this whole thing?

  Begging him was her last resort.

  She would have preferred a high-top next to the window to watch the gorgeous midnight blue waves topped with white foam ripple along the surface of the water, but a table in the back gave her a good lay of the place. People watching was damn fun.

  “What can I get you?” A woman in a button-down red blouse that wasn’t buttoned at all laid a cocktail napkin on the satiny table surface.

  “Cosmopolitan.” Laney ordered her favorite drink with the usual angst.

  The tricky cocktail was damn hard to get right. Wine was so much easier with its perfect pour straight out of the bottle. Cosmos had too many ingredients. Too many opportunities for failure. The second she looked at the drink, she could tell if it would taste good. Light pink meant it was swimming in vodka, making it undrinkable, and it would rush to her head after one sip. Dark pink meant the drink was too sweet and weak, and three of them wouldn’t even yield a buzz. Oh, the horror!

  Fighting an eye roll that would make her look crazy given her solitude, she took the lesser risk of mumbling to herself, “I need to get a life.”

  A whisper of incense perfumed the air, and a faint melody of jazz hummed from a speaker in the corner. Much different from the rum-scented sticky counters on the party decks, where margarita and daiquiri machines swirled and churned.

  The rich wood paneling in the bar added warmth, and elegant amber lighting left just the right amount of darkness. Laney longed to sip her cocktail and just...be. Her Cosmos calmed her, relaxed her, and gave her that sexy feeling. With enough vodka, freedom annihilated her inhibitions.

  The clinking of ice in a cocktail shaker ramped up her heart rate and tingled her tongue. She closed her eyes briefly and drifted away waiting for her favorite drink.

  “Are you the Balvenie?”

  Laney blinked her eyes open. A male server held a silver tray looking confused. She prepared to say no, but her eyes drifted to the table a short distance away.

  There, Adonis perched on a stool watching her, a smile adding a glimmer to his eyes. She remembered how it felt when he pressed her against his chest, how heat radiated beneath his dress shirt. The memory hammered her hot and fast.

  In front of him sat a Cosmopolitan.

  Olympus’s missing god wore the most wicked grin she’d ever seen. She suppressed a giggle at the obvious drink mix-up.

  She glanced back at the server. “What’s a Balvenie?”

  “Scotch.”

  The golden liquid that matched Adonis’s eyes looked inviting. “That’s me, yes.” It was time for Laney to change things up.

  As the server placed the napkin and then the cut-crystal glass, Adonis rose from his leather bar stool, filling Laney’s entire body with adrenaline. She held her breath, taking in his height. Based on her five-ten stature, she figured he had to be well over six-feet-tall.

  What was his name again? She was sure he’d told her.

  His thick, caramel hair was brushed back. Dark lashes framed his amber eyes. This was no twenty-something goof. This was a mature man with broad shoulders and thick thighs. He stepped toward her, smooth and easy, sexy as hell.

  Holy crap.

  Where did he come from? It took a moment to realize he was carrying the Cosmopolitan. He placed it on her table. Pink, with a foamy head. Sweet sin in a glass. Perfect.

  “I think this is yours.” His voice, so rich, so confident and oh so male, poured over her like warm honey.

  “Then this must be you.” She pointed to the Balvenie. “What kind of scotch is this? It smells amazing.”

  He rested an elbow against her table. “The expensive kind.”

  Which meant it probably tasted fantastic. She took the glass in her hand and brought it to her mouth.

  A slight hiss escaped the man’s lips as he watched her. “How expensive?” she asked.

  “Four hundred dollars a glass. I had to give them my black card.”

  If she’d been in a clothing store holding a silk blouse and found out it cost four hundred dollars, she’d have dropped it like it was on fire. But she held the glass firmly, excitement rushing through her. “I might have to taste it.”

  Adonis’s gaze slinked across her forehead, down to her lips, and it felt like he touched every inch he saw. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  When she licked her lips, his body twitched. “Now, I have to.”

  She had four hundred dollars available somewhere on a credit card. His hypnotic stare and the smell of his intoxicating cologne was worth every cent.

  When the first drop of scotch touched her tongue, a spark spread through her body. Or was it the way Adonis was watching her? She tipped the glass further letting a small amount slide down her throat.

  “Well?” He leaned in. Jesus, up close he was even more stunning. “How was it?”

  “Amazing.” She put the glass down and reached for her purse. “I don’t have four hundred dollars cash on me, but—”

  “It’s on me.” His warm hand covered hers.

  Her eyes drifted to his long sleeve dress shirt, obviously expensive. The air outside was still cool, given the boat’s location. The shirt’s navy pinstripes elongated his torso, and the gold threads matched his eyes. Hiding in his shirt pocket, embroidered with a little TH, she spotted the outline of what looked like a condom. Prepared, huh?

  The frank nature of his intentions intrigued the heck out of her. TH. TH. Tristan. Tristan Hart. Whew.

  “I can’t let you pay for the drink since I’ve slobbered all over the glass.” She slipped her hand away to collect her sanity. “I pay my own way.”

  Tristan’s knock-out smile in front of straight pearly white teeth made her lose her breath. “I’m sure you do.” A man with expensive tastes should appreciate the elegance of her silk shift dress. “What is this, by the way?” He tapped the rim of the martini glass.

  “A Cosmopolitan.” She slid her finger up and down the stem. “I dare you to try it.”

  He pursed his lips and raised the glass. It should have made her giggle, a man that handsome drinking a Cosmo, but heat pooled between her legs. He drank it because she told him to. Power did feel like a drug.

  “That’s good, too. Can I join you?” He nodded toward the scotch. “If I’m paying for that drink, I get to watch you swallow it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tristan

  Tristan waited for the look. The flicker of interest from women on the cruise who were there for the same reason as him. Not everyone wore the stupid flame pins, the brainchild of the trip organizer meant to keep the group from approaching outsiders. His damn hook-up cruise got too complicated with rules.

  Laney didn’t cast that sidelong knowing glance at him, though. She just blinked owl-like at his brash comment.

  “So, may I?” He pointed to the empty seat.

  “Of course.” She moved a white and gold Michael Kors leather wristlet from the center of the table.

  Finding out who Laney really was and why she was on his cruise suddenly excited Tristan more than banging the best lay on the ship.

  Her mouth curling against his glass of scotch drove him crazy. Her shiny pink lips never changed color despite h
er licking them again and again. Must be the natural color under that luscious gloss.

  Natural. His brain had been digging for a word to describe her. Most of the blood in his body had gone south. Even with her deep charcoal eye shadow, darkened lashes, and peachy tint swept across her cheeks with a hint of iridescent shine, Tristan saw underneath, she was utterly beautiful.

  With every sip she took from his glass, the harder he got. Boldly, he reached across the table and palmed the tumbler. “May I?”

  “Of course. It’s yours,” she answered playfully.

  Can you be mine? The crazy idea made him choke and robbed him of a damn pleasurable sip.

  “Careful,” her smooth voice rang out and next, her warm hand pressed against his chest. He looked down to find her dabbing him with a napkin.

  Her fingers were elegant and slender. They’d fit nicely in his big thick hands. A bump on her middle finger caught his attention.

  Since he’d picked her up off the floor twice and she was touching his chest, he saw no reason not to grip her finger. “What happened here?”

  “Occupational hazard,” she said with a tiny gasp, reacting to his touch.

  “Do you give people the finger for a living?”

  With her burst of laugher, Laney’s whole body shook. God, the way that mouth moved. So freaking hot. With every word or even utterance that dripped from Laney Hathaway’s lips, a firestorm of need rippled through him. He wasn’t usually so charged up and ready to launch, but on this cruise, he was a bit of a maniac.

  “No silly.” She slapped him again. “But does a job like that exist? Do you think it pays well?”

  “Depending on who you’re flipping off.” He smiled. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

  “It’s from excessive sketching.” She rubbed her finger and he imagined her touching his cock.

  Okay, stop now. She’s not here for...that.

  Calming down, he asked, “You’re an artist?”

  Her elegant dress sat snugly on her body and looked well-tailored with no loose threads. She also didn’t give him the impression she begged for change on the street or did caricatures for money in Times Square.

  “Textile designer.” She drank more of his scotch, seeming to have lost interest in her own cocktail. “Pretty boring, right?”

  “Nope.” While Tristan loved his Balvenie, he enjoyed the girly drink he’d been politely sipping to play along with this damn intriguing woman. “Textiles for clothes?”

  “Furniture. I grew up sitting on such an ugly couch.” Her face scrunched into an adorable pout. “That’s the centerpiece of a living room. And accent chairs, of course. Poofs, I love poofs.” She sipped his scotch again, her tongue sweeping across her bottom lip. “I just put out my first line of wall coverings. I’m determined to bring it back in style.” She winked at him.

  He never thought about the furniture fabric under his ass. Yet this was her life. He found himself unusually interested to know more about the subject. He wasn’t entirely sure why she was on the cruise and she blossomed into an enigma he wanted to unwrap. The chase was on.

  He shifted in his seat, fighting his growing hard-on. It wasn’t just her gorgeous face and body. It was...everything. Her expensive-looking clothes and put together appearance suggested she was accomplished. She spoke with a smart eloquent tongue he was dying to taste. The creative part, her being a designer, fascinated him since he’d always been a boring businessman.

  “God, enough of me, what do you do?” she asked.

  “Marketing,” fell out of his mouth because that was his love, his passion. Not running his deadbeat dad’s hotel.

  “A salesman, huh?”

  “Glorified, yes.” For seven days every December, Tristan was the glory man every woman wanted. He liked it. Loved it, really. Mostly because it wasn’t real. “Life’s thrown me on a little detour lately.”

  On that cruise, he got to be the fantasy version of his older brother. Luke partied with gorgeous women, got spectacularly and publicly drunk on expensive scotch, and had endless sex in the penthouse apartment next to his. Daily debauchery defined Luke’s life and Tristan copied that to a near ‘T’ on this cruise.

  Then every year when the boat chugged back into New York Harbor, he left this hedonistic world behind and went home. Flings were fun for one week and not something he made a habit of during the year.

  When all eyes in a room fell on him in Manhattan, whether at his hotel, on the street, or in a restaurant, he got damn uncomfortable. He liked his boring life. Living in his brother’s shadow and not getting all that ridiculous attention was his safe space. Laney’s easy smile, free of alpha god expectations buzzed him with that same sense of peace.

  “Sometimes detours lead you right where you need to be,” she said, not realizing it was an utterly stunning thing to say.

  “Are you seeing anyone, Laney?” he asked before he told himself not to.

  “No.” She reached across the table and sipped her Cosmopolitan. “You?”

  “No.” He cleared his throat and released the burning question like it was his own personal Kraken. “What about that guy I saw you come on the ship with?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot all about that.”

  “You forgot I picked you up off the floor?”

  She slapped his hand. “Right, like a woman would forget that. No.”

  Her obtuse laid-back nature jabbed him in the ribs. Whatever this was, she wasn’t flirting. Newbies were a no-no for him. A non-participant, however? “You’re not seeing him. Yet, you came on the ship with him.”

  “Jonathan and I work together.” She folded her hands under her breasts, pushing them up and improving his view of the luscious swells. “The owner of our company handed out cruise vouchers instead of a bonus. We had several to choose from. I heard him mention this sailing. Apparently, he comes here every year.”

  The other shoe in his head dropped, tumbling down a set of stairs. The picture he’d been trying to see sharpened one thousand percent. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “And you chose the one he picked?” he asked, and it was like someone had doused him with ice water.

  Her cheeks flamed hot pink. Had he hit a nerve? She swallowed then glanced back at him with glassy doe-eyes. Oh hell no.

  “I’ve been crazy about him for years,” she said in a low throaty voice, dripping with...shame.

  That guy was here for the same reason he was. To get laid. A lot. And this poor sweet woman came here to be with him? “Does he have any idea?” he asked.

  She waved to the empty chair next to her. “What do you think?”

  Her quick slap of confidence hit him hard and he liked it. Okay, so she knew she had it going on and figured if the creep knew she wanted him, he’d be glued to that seat.

  Like Tristan was.

  Laney

  LANEY HADN’T CONSIDERED asking another man for help with Jonathan. She had Nikki, her cheerleader, to urge her on and the Hallmark Channel to encourage her about that thing called a happy-ever-after. A wealth of male insight landed in her lap. Not literally, but she’d love to crawl into Tristan’s arms.

  Holy crap, was he hot. Unbelievably hot, so he might not have valuable or realistic information. She couldn’t imagine he’d had to strategize about a woman. He probably snapped his fingers and they lined up.

  She would.

  If she weren’t there to be with Jonathan.

  Focus!

  “He’s technically my boss. So, there’s that,” she spoke to fill the silence.

  “Ah,” Tristan answered and pawed at his glass.

  Damn, that scotch tasted good. She had to love a drink that came from a thirty-five-hundred-dollar bottle, didn’t she? Liking the finer things in life was a bitch. Tristan was fine. Case in point.

  “But...” Dying for another sip, she stole the glass right from his beautiful hands. When her fingers brushed against his, a spark shot up her arm and into her chest, kick-starting a rapid heartbeat. Or
was that the alcohol?

  He raised his piercing eyes at her, golden amber and glowing. They sparkled so brightly she saw her reflection. Saw what he saw.

  “But?” he asked.

  She considered diving into a lengthy conversation about her dream of starting her own textile firm and writing custom design software, but the night and his interest might slip away. “I’m probably going to leave my company. So why not try to have a hot week-long fling?”

  “You want to be with him the entire week?” Tristan cocked his head to the side.

  “Yes?” she responded, disheartened by his lack of confidence that Jonathan would spend a week in bed with her. “I’ll feed him. Maybe let him visit one of the islands.”

  Tristan folded his arms. The seriousness taking over his features suggested he had something to say to her. If he was going to shit on her plans with bad news, she didn’t want to hear it.

  She snagged her wristlet. “How much do I owe you for the drink?”

  His face fell into a scowl. “Nothing. Why are you leaving?”

  “It’s late.”

  “I mean why are you leaving your job?”

  “I’ve been there since college.” She folded her arms, not liking the way he put her under a microscope. “But I don’t like the direction the company is taking.”

  “And this Jonathan can’t change any of that?” His interest surprised her.

  “He’s just a sales manager. You know the type, suave and persuasive.” She snorted and slapped her mouth. “Sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “I didn’t mean to infer you were all Slick-Rick, too. Jonathan just focuses on sales. He can be helpful when I’m in a slump or struggling. He gushes at all the right things.” She smiled thinking of the Magnolia cupcakes he often bribed her with.

  “Men know how to give a compliment when they want something.” He implied he knew Jonathan better than she did and he never even met the guy!