Alpha Billionaire

by Deborah Garland

  “Okay, when you’ve signed the waiver, bring it up, and you can all go.” The man at the podium said, wiping a brow. “If we have to get together again for a meeting, I’ll post it to the Facebook information page for our group. Otherwise, our party locations are on the main group page. Have fun everyone. And be safe, please. Remember guys, look for the fire pins!”

  A stampede of men approached the door—the one Laney stood next to. She panicked, sending the banner crashing down, exposing her to the rush of hungry-looking dudes.

  A dozen eyes glanced at her briefly, licking lips, winking, but after quick inspections of her neck, they all sailed out the door. Then a set of familiar green eyes fell on her.

  “Laney?” Jonathan gawked at her, his face pale compared to his usual Mediterranean olive skin.

  “I thought this was, um...” Laney scrubbed a shaking hand through her hair. “I... I didn’t hear anything.”

  Jonathan crossed his arms. “Really?”

  Oh, dear God, a mulligan. “Yeah. I thought this was some kind of cruise orientation.” She sailed out the door and with the crowd lingering, she ambled to the railing to get out of everyone’s way.

  “Laney.” Jonathan’s deep voice stilled her.

  Slowly she turned back around. “That’s me.”

  He gave her a once-over with a confused expression. Touching his chin, he said, “Would, you, uh...”

  Oh, dear God. The moment she’d been waiting three years for had arrived. Jonathan saw the woman who wanted him. She sensed the words building in his throat, heard him finally asking her out for a drink or something.

  A waft of heavy perfume belonging to a redhead in a short skirt and see-through top floated past her. Jonathan’s lips curled back in a snarl, like a vampire who found the last human on the planet to feed on. He changed physically and it stunned Laney to see him so affected.

  He cleared his throat and mumbled, “It’s late, I have to go.”

  Before she could say anything else, he whirled past her. His large body took so much air, she felt dizzy and had to hold the railing. An unexpected gust of cool December air smacked her in the face reminding her the world would be waiting for her and Jonathan when they got back to New York City.

  Whatever this group was, Jonathan was part of it. Her heart jolted. Did that mean her boss was up for some meaningless fun? Perhaps he became someone else on this cruise. Maybe he wouldn’t care if they worked together and would be into some role-playing. She gasped at Nikki’s earlier comment: BDSM.

  Laney checked to make sure another wave of devils wasn’t stampeding toward the elevator. With the coast clear, she headed that way, too.

  She had a crapload to think about. And some planning to do.

  Tristan

  TRISTAN HAD LEANED against the far wall of the meeting room. Bored, but respectfully listened to the updated ‘rules of conduct.’ He showed up at these things alone. He had no friends on this cruise. The alpha didn’t need a wingman, though some had tried. And failed.

  “The program director will deny what we’re doing on this cruise.” A smarmy man in a suit had reminded everyone before the meeting ended. “So, do not say anything to anyone outside this room.”

  What had been known officially as the Seduction at Sea cruise stopped running as a sanctioned theme years ago. It’d always been about consent. Even if people’s behavior had gotten a little nuts. Boatloads of men and women openly consented everywhere for a week of flings. Sometimes right out on the lounge chairs. So, it made little sense when some guys started to get rough with women and sent someone to the hospital. It’d blown their doors wide open. The cruise company had freaked, grew fearful of a lawsuit, and closed the theme down.

  Then someone had started a private Facebook group called, The Horny Devils, which kept eager vacation flingers updated on which cruises they’d slated for what had now become known in hushed whispers as the Devil Cruise.

  Stupid-ass name, Tristan had thought, but he couldn’t care less what they called it. So long as it existed. The original sailing experience and even this pathetic bastardized version was a sexual staple in his life every year.

  He pushed off the wall pissed off from listening to the men boast about their first-night conquests. Tristan had never gone Night One without a woman in his bed.

  Laney had messed him up. His pretty sweet brunette who had crushed up against him made his body scream in a way he never expected.

  The shine of glossy brown hair by the door drew his eyes that way. What the fuck?

  No, that could not be his Laney hiding behind a banner, gazing out at the group, his group, his people, looking...appalled. Oh, but there she was. In the luscious flesh, skin he couldn’t stop thinking about. Shit! She must have heard enough about who they were and what went on here.

  His worlds had collided and the ship might as well have hit a rogue wave. Fuck no! Locating a pole in her line of sight, he shifted left, praying it blocked her view. He’d duck if he had to. She seemed to like him. As a person. They’d had a nice afternoon together in yoga.

  Tristan had no idea what to do with her. The fleeting idea to kiss her again had been too self-serving. That sickened look on her face now, though, meant he was better off keeping his distance.

  After a flock of men rushed after the women who’d left, one guy stopped to talk to Laney. Tristan prepared to launch himself over the chairs and cock-block the fiend who would dare lure her into this despicable world.

  On further glance, though, Tristan shuddered, connecting the jerk who’d boarded the ship with Laney. Jerk was the nicest thing he could say about the guy. He didn’t notice the idiot walking up the gangplank in front of her because the slimeball hadn’t been wearing his open satin shirt, his hair wasn’t slicked back, and Tristan wasn’t gagging on his Aramis yet.

  Laney’s precious Jonathan. Jon, as everyone knew him on the cruise, took the prize for being the biggest douchebag Tristan had ever met. Which said a lot, considering how many of these cruises he’d been on.

  Tristan burned with curiosity about the on-land version of the man who had kept Laney enthralled for so long, but never made a move on her. Astonishing, since that tool bag had caused this cruise to go underground. No one had wanted to point fingers, but there had been complaints. Women had said guys had gotten a little rough. That’s what Tristan’s week of fun had become: dickheads on the high seas.

  Tristan went rigid watching Jon, Laney’s Jonathan, steer her out of the room by the elbow. She’d caught her boss in a meeting discussing open and wild sex.

  He closed his eyes imagining the fantastic and awkward conversation as the slimeball tried to explain himself. When Tristan came back down to earth and got his ass in gear, he found himself alone in the meeting room. The deck right outside was empty. No Cass even. He’d never been so off his game.

  Walking along the railing, he breathed in the night air to shake away the uneasiness. That meeting had made him ashamed of his one week of fun in fantasy land. Seeing other versions of himself was a bold eye-opener and he didn’t like what he saw.

  How did I get here?

  None of his trysts on this cruise had been about love. No one could make him feel anything like Beth, his college sweetheart. Not before and not since. He’d gone on these cruises to get over her. That damn kiss with Laney sure woke him the fuck up again.

  He realized all these years he’d been chasing what Laney had done for him with one kiss. He’d found it without looking. But she wasn’t part of the group which made the flashing neon revelation in his head startling obvious: this should be his last cruise. Stop the insanity and get on with his life.

  Without his week of being treated like a god, would he even recognize himself? Was that a risk he was willing to take?

  He spent the next hour, walking on the party deck fantasizing about being home in New York City a week before Christmas. A gentle hum of holiday music made him miss his hotel and how they’d decorated it for Christmas with a huge real tr
ee in the middle of the lobby.

  Touching his phone out of habit, he felt it vibrate. More shit from Luke. An annoying distraction, but he opened the email, anyway. Reading and walking, he collided right into Cass without smelling her heavy perfume first.

  “Tris, there you are.” Cass shook his arm and the contact sent a stinging vibration down to his hands making him pull away. “What’s wrong with you?”

  A hiss formed in the back of his throat. Not her.

  Again?

  “Well?” Cass adjusted the front of her low-cut dress suggesting she’d just come from someone else’s bed. Cass wasn’t the guys’ favorite good-time-girl every year by staying in her cabin alone.

  Every other cruise, her fake, yet perfect tits in those beautifully barely-there dresses had been his idea of heaven. No matter what, they stood straight at attention even without a bra and her hard nipples shown through. Catching her like this, Tristan imagined Laney stumbling away from Jon’s bed and his stomach rolled violently.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me,” he whispered, backing away from Cass who stared at him like he lost his mind.

  Tristan wiped his mouth. He couldn’t let anyone, especially her, see him in such a raw state. He turned his gaze to the moon over the ocean. They’d been at sea all day and tomorrow too, nothing but blue water.

  His heart hammered in his chest, realizing he’d made a colossal mistake. Suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere, but on this damn ship. At the first port of call, St. Maarten, he would strongly consider getting off the boat to catch a flight back to New York.

  He had enough of this shit.

  He tore his gaze from Cass and stalked away, his feet shuffling on the wooden planks.

  “Where are you going?” she called out to him.

  With his evil side screaming in protest, he told his feet to keep moving. A familiar gait of heels clicking on metal stairs echoed against the Here Comes Santa Claus playing a few feet away. He gasped watching Laney emerge from a shadow. Alone and not a hair out of place, thankfully.

  Gracefully, she strolled off in the opposite direction, not seeing him. A red and silver scarf fluttered against her back. Tristan’s throat tightened watching her and all he wanted was to speak to her. Hear her voice, knowing it would calm him. He also wanted to apologize for taking off after the yoga class.

  Cass narrowed her eyes at Laney and then him. She’d caught him reacting to her. He’d only ever gone after women from their inner circle. He must have been watching Laney with hungry mutinous intent.

  She wasn’t on this cruise for the crazy no-questions-asked sex like everyone else. So why did he want her so much if she were forbidden? That explained it... Forbidden.

  Why did he find her so intriguing, though? Maybe it was how she’d fallen. How she’d looked so broken and it stirred something inside him.

  “Not tonight, Cass.” Tristan made a path to the opposite stairwell and rushed back to his cabin. Alone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Laney

  The Hunger Games meets The Bachelor turned out to be the best free entertainment playing on nearly every deck of the free-love boat. Now that Laney knew what people like Jonathan were really on that ship for, so much made sense.

  Laney spent the entire next day on a people-watching bonanza while Nikki got sucked back into the casino. With the ship still out to sea, cruisers flooded all the outdoor decks, packed the pools, and hogged every stool at the bars. At each playground, Laney searched for both Tristan and Jonathan, but came up empty.

  She’d officially scared them both off.

  Great.

  At sunset, Laney fished Nikki out of the ding-ding-ding cave and nourished her assistant with fresh air in the most crowded part of the ship to watch out for Jonathan. At an outdoor bar, beautiful hunters looking for their next kill occupied every inch of the place.

  A few seats opened up after three sex-on-a-stick females wearing gold fire pins caught the sight of a shirtless grinning man striding by. Just like that...off they’d gone. All. Of. Them. Laney glanced down at her tight lavender shirt and short black skirt wondering why the man hadn’t even noticed her. Right, no pin.

  Shrugging, she grabbed Nikki and claimed the fresh open seats at the bar. The red wine bottles lined up behind the beefy bartender didn’t look familiar. Since most of them were uncorked and half-full, they were probably all vinegary by now. No expensive scotch out here. Laney removed a twenty from her wristlet and ordered two glasses of white wine.

  “Here.” She handed a red plastic cup to Nikki. “I just said white. I think they’re all blends, anyway.”

  Nikki took a sip and scanned the mob dancing under red and green lights. “Mmmm.”

  “The wine is good?” Laney asked and looked in her cup.

  “No, it’s terrible.” Nikki raised her chin, and in a singsong voice, chimed, “Mr. Gorgeous, nine o’clock.”

  “That would help if I were facing the same way,” she sang back as she turned around, hoping that meant Jonathan.

  Tristan Hart swaggered toward her in a pale blue button-down shirt tucked into pinstripe dress pants, a sports jacket slung over his shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink that won’t go right to your head?”

  Laney cleared her throat to answer, but first did a double-take at her assistant who crossed her eyes. “I have a drink.” She raised her silly cup. “I’m still a little fuzzy from that wonderful scotch. But thanks.”

  “Okay, then I still feel like I need to keep an eye on you.”

  “I feel like dancing under the stars.” Nikki placed her wine on the bar and winked.

  “Be careful,” Laney said, watching her gallop away.

  “Be careful?” Tristan asked, moving into the empty spot facing the dance floor. A gentle breeze caught the wispy strands of sun-kissed hair across his forehead. A few lines confirmed her assumption about his age. Thirties. Mature. Experienced. Hmmm. “Are you afraid she’ll fall off the ship?”

  “There’s been a lot of that going around.” When he didn’t appear to get her joke, she admitted, “She’s like a little sister to me.”

  “Do you have an actual sister?”

  “No.” She looked away.

  “Oh hell...” Tristan tapped her arm, his normally golden skin, turning pale. “Did you...lose a sibling or something?”

  “No. No.” She gently stroked his forearm in return, shocked at the heat of his skin. To distract herself, she launched into her sob story. “I’m an only child. My mom got pregnant in her first year at college. My Nana raised me. Mom went back to school, met a guy, got married, and moved to North Carolina to be with him.”

  A wrinkle formed above Tristan’s head. “She just left you with your grandmother and never came back?” His voice punctuated with a sharpened bite.

  Her heart soaring at his protective tone, she answered, “Yes. In a way. But I wasn’t planned.”

  He snapped his head back. “That’s no reason to abandon a child. What about your father?”

  She shrugged. “Never met him.”

  Despite Nana’s love and support, Laney had felt forsaken growing up, but kept the heartache to herself. When Tristan voiced her pain, he validated the emptiness she’d felt for so long.

  “What about you?” she asked to move the focus away from her. She didn’t relish in pity.

  Tristan blew out a breath. “I guess I can relate. Partially. My father left us when we were little.”

  “Your mom and your brothers?”

  “Luke’s the oldest, and Grayson is the baby.”

  “Baby, that’s cute,” she cooed to him.

  “He hates the name Grayson. Thinks our mother read too many historical romances and named him after some fictional duke.”

  “Yeah, that’s the only place I’d seen that name.” Laney snorted a laugh. “And you’re the middle child?”

  “Jan Brady, nice to meet you.” He shook her hand, laughing. “After Gray, my mother couldn’t afford to have any more kids because my father took of
f and left her broke.”

  Her stomach clenched at what that poor woman had to do to get by. And with three sons! “Oh man, Tristan, I’m sorry.”

  He pinned her with a challenging stare that held her in place, leaving her unsure what to do. Did he want to kiss her again? The bar, the stools, and the swinging legs nearby waiting for a hook-up fell away. Even the fa-la-la-la-la dissolved into a hum of white noise. She considered suggesting a walk on the deck to see what would happen, except Tristan looked away and a darkness fell over his features.

  “How’s it going with...your boss?” he asked, low and gruff.

  Her cheeks flared up so fast and hot she brushed them to make sure the skin hadn’t ignited on fire. “I forgot I told you about him.” Since laying eyes on Tristan, she’d been forgetting a lot of things. “Some parts of that night are a little unclear.” Not the kiss, though.

  He stared at her lips and then her throat, but not lower. Tristan Hart wasn’t a man who stared at boobs. “So, you haven’t...?”

  “No!” Rushed from her mouth. “I haven’t even seen him. Much.” She amended her response to account for what she’d seen the night before.

  Tristan’s shoulders dropped from up around his ears. “There’s still time.”

  “I guess.” She reached for his collar to touch what she suspected was an expensive dress shirt. Fabric was her life. For fun, she’d gone to fashion markets, saw the bolts, and kept track of who bought them. “Sorry. I had to touch this silk.”

  “And?” His voice dropped an octave. He leaned closer and she got a better grip on him.

  “The threads are incredible. It’s hard to combine strength and sheen.” Laney’s job included meeting with chemists, artists, and color masters. She inspected cotton fields and traveled to Westmore’s U.S. southern mills regularly. “I have to approve a reselected thread for one of our custom projects. It’s holding up a seven-figure deal.”

  “One thread?” Tristan’s jaw dropped.

  “It’s one of the more prominent winding threads that defines the pattern. Our mill in South Carolina ran short. I’ve sourced a couple of alternatives. I have to make sure it’s the right consistency and color.”