Alpha Billionaire

by Deborah Garland

  “Never mind,” Laney sat up, grabbing the sheet and got out of bed.

  Tristan sprang to a sitting position. “Where are you going? Is something wrong?” His ominous tone startled her.

  “Nothing,” she said, shrugging and attempting to get that pathetic excuse for a dress back on. When she’d tried it on in the fancy dress shop and when Tristan spotted her in it, she felt like a million dollars. Now she felt like a cheap whore. “Wait. Yes, I’m mad.”

  “What could you possibly be mad at?” Tristan frowned. “What did I do?”

  Nothing, that was the problem. Did nothing. Said nothing.

  Where is this going, she wanted to scream at him, except she’d never ask him that because the answer was obvious. The last few minutes of his silence spoke volumes. A whole new flush of embarrassment swamped her.

  All their time together this past week had felt so real, like he loved her. Tristan Hart throwing his affections at her blew her away. The afternoon when they’d worked together, he adored her ideas for his hotel.

  But not her.

  He loved her fabrics.

  But not her.

  Yet, she loved him, didn’t she? How could she not? You broke my heart, you bastard. I didn’t deserve to be played this way, she wanted to say, but of course, never would.

  “Nothing, you’re right. I’m not mad. But we’re done here, aren’t we?” She stepped into the dress and covered up. Enough to get ten feet down the passageway back to her cabin. “You can go screw someone else.”

  “Oh, like I’m sure Jonathan is?” he snapped in a harsh tone and looked away to curse under his breath.

  That stopped bothering her days ago, but he said it to hurt her. Why? She didn’t care to find out with him staring blankly at her. Not angry. Not upset. Nothing. He looked...numb. Like he felt nothing and just shut down. Good lord, is that the look women on this cruise got when he was...done with them?

  Done. Used. Dirty.

  Heartbroken.

  She’d turn down any man at this point. Never wanting to open up again. How could she ever top Tristan Hart?

  With the cabin door handle in her grasp, she yanked it open. Facing the taupe wall covering in the passageway was less jarring than being blinded by color. “Goodbye, Tristan.”

  Laney fled the cabin without looking back knowing in less than a week, she’d have to march away from the job she loved. The ache she was in for would be nothing like the crush of sadness against her chest leaving Tristan Hart.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tristan

  Tristan hadn’t fallen asleep until dawn. If he placed a wager whether the rough storm waters between St. Maarten and St. Thomas kept him awake, or that painful moment of truth with Laney, he’d bet his billions on the girl.

  Waking up with the sharp mid-morning sun burning his face, he felt like his head weighed two hundred pounds. Hopping a flight home looked better and better. This cruise was a complete disaster. Leaving his world for a week to find a meaningless fling had to run its course eventually. Now his sendoff came with a huge bang, he’d found the hope of love.

  Was he in love? With Laney?

  He scoffed, knowing he’d be an idiot if he didn’t love her. His heart would be safe with her. The last person he loved was Beth, so he knew the signs. Like a soda machine, it took a lot for Tristan to fall, but when he did, he fell hard.

  He stood up and began shoving clothes in his luggage. He wanted Laney and when they got back to their real lives, he planned to find her and make his case. Beg her for a real chance.

  Just one damn chance.

  She wanted to hear how he felt about her yesterday, he was sure of it. He couldn’t goddamn answer because he was dumbfounded, wondering how someone like her would want something real with him. Knowing who he turned into once a year. He’d felt like a whore and couldn’t touch her again with his dirty hands. He wanted to confess how he felt, scream it even. He’d searched for the words, but they couldn’t come to him. Not on this ship.

  Not swimming in the shame of who he was there. Tris. The alpha. The dog. As much as he wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, he had no leg to stand on with his past lays scattered like carcasses. That wasn’t the backdrop he wanted when he told her he loved her.

  With his packed bags and his wild eyes searching the room for the rest of his crap, he noticed the pillow Lacey used and the dent from her beautiful head. He grabbed the pillow and ached how it still smelled like her. Wanting to wrap himself up in her scent he crawled back into his Prada pants and silk shirt from last night.

  Looking out his bedroom balcony door, he squinted against the sun. He’d heard the announcements earlier saying the gangplank was open for excursions to St. Thomas. He was getting the fuck out of there, flying home.

  Shaking his head, he called Luke.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” the sarcastic bastard answered.

  “I need the jet. Send it to St. Thomas. Now,” he grumbled.

  Luke stayed silent for a beat. “What happened?” the concern in his brother’s voice alarmed him. “Do I need to go dust off my law license?”

  Not yet. “No. I just need to get home.”

  Luke let go of a long sigh. His brother knew he wasn’t getting a drawn-out juicy story. “I’ll have Dexter register a flight plan. I’ll call you back with an ETA.”

  “Thank you,” he said, keeping his shit together and ended the call.

  Out in the corridor, he took a long hike to the stairs. If he bumped into Laney, he had no idea what to say to her. Nothing would repair the damage he’d done. And I think I love you a day late would surely piss her off even more.

  His stomach rumbled for food and he wouldn’t face a probable twelve-hour airport ordeal adding starvation to the mix. Running up the stairs instead of taking the elevator got his blood moving and his thoughts sharpened as well.

  The closest restaurant offered everything from cold left-over eggs to a beastly amount of buffet lunch food. Yuck.

  His best bet was a coffee cart for caffeine-driven energy and maybe a muffin. The next step stopped his heart. Sitting at the pool in a lounge chair...Laney.

  His legs moved without much thought or debate from one of his lesser behaved angels. His jaw fell taking in her daring black string bikini.

  Cover up.

  He must have broken into a jog at one point, because she looked up at him, startled. Stopping took more of an effort than he realized. “Sorry. I saw you and...” I think I love you...

  “And?” With her elbows resting on her thighs, her breasts pinched upward, the swells teasing him. Twenty-four hours ago, he had access to her. All of her. And almost the dirty way he wanted her. Only her. Now? He had nothing at all.

  “Where’s Nikki?” he asked to break the ice.

  “On the island,” Laney answered with a long breath.

  Ogling her like a fiend wouldn’t score points. He refocused his gaze on the papers all around her. “What’s all that?”

  Exhaling, she said, “Work.”

  Since she hadn’t told him to fuck off, he lowered himself on the end of the chaise next to her. “This is a vacation.”

  “You’re not the only one important enough to get work sent to you,” she bit out, not looking at him. Only he detected a whisper of pain in her voice.

  “Laney, of course, you’re important,” he said, trying not to choke on his words. When she didn’t respond or look up, he peeked in her lap. Patterns. Designs.

  Going all in, he dropped to his knees and ran his finger on the paper in her hand. “Are these yours, too? Did you design these?”

  “They’re strike-offs showing the design pattern with that new thread I told you about.”

  Tristan cleared his throat and moved his fingers across the illustrations. “These are amazing, Laney.” He eased in closer, sensing no hateful forcefield. Tristan needed his hands on her body again. Fast.

  All of last night got lost in the blur of stabbing heartache and suffocation. Only n
ow he sensed a small spark of relief.

  “Thank you,” she muttered in a heady rush.

  Tristan didn’t sit back on his heels or even move. He was...stuck.

  He didn’t want to be stuck anymore.

  Laney had to be some kind of angel sent to straighten him out. A blessing. A gift.

  Here, you stupid son of a bitch. Here’s a nice girl who will also rock your world.

  “Um, what’s the project?” he asked.

  “You don’t have to do this. I’m fine.”

  “Yes, you are. And yes, I do. Because you need to know I love...”

  Her eyes flew open. “Yeah?”

  “How I love this side of you. What you can do. What you can create.” He swallowed past a bitter lump, not wanting to fall back on I love you to patch things up. Those were just words. Words he’d save for the right time and place. What she meant to him was more important.

  It took a moment before she lowered her chin, but he caught it in his fingers. Their eyes meeting, the world fell away until a stool quickly scraped across the shale-tile floor in the bar area. The screeching made him flinch.

  From across the pool, he watched Cass stalking off. He’d have some sympathy for her if she had any real feelings for him, but she didn’t. She just wanted to use him. He was done with being used.

  Laney’s fingers gripped a folder and a glint caught his attention.

  His ring.

  She was wearing the ring. Still wearing it? She’d left with it. Neither of them had been in their right mind to discuss its return after the blow-up.

  His jaw slacked, staring at her. “Why are you wearing the ring?” he asked, hopeful, but a lingering doubt still festered.

  “I couldn’t get it off.” She twisted it around a few times, revealing a red sore knuckle. “My sketching hand swelled up. I did... I was on the computer most of the night. Drawing. Designing. It calms me.”

  “I don’t want it back,” he whispered, understanding that pain in her hands because the same agony burned in his chest.

  “It’s your college ring. Of course, I’m giving it back to you.” She tugged and winced.

  As much as he didn’t want it back, he ached for the physical connection with her. He parted his lips and took her finger completely inside his mouth. Her breath hitched and his hips slid forward. After a few swirls of his tongue with their eyes locked, the ring loosened.

  “Here.” She handed it to him and without his ring, she looked even more naked.

  He wanted her so badly. But giving back the ring meant whatever arrangement they’d had was over with no hope of a repair later on. The air became thick around him and sadness swamped him.

  A body shuffled their way, frenzied footsteps that made him look up. What the fuck? Jonathan swept into the patio area. Harried. Frantic. Tristan stood, his fists clenched.

  Jonathan halted a step noticing him. Then Laney. An expression of shock and awe rang loudly on his face. The alpha had claimed a piece of his world.

  Laney took in Tristan’s glower and followed it to Jonathan. When she saw her boss, her body grew rigid and her arms folded immediately across her chest. She didn’t want him to see her as Tristan had.

  Jonathan approached the two lounge chairs, slowly and measuredly.

  “Jon,” Tristan said, greeting him with the voice of a well-acquainted challenger.

  “Tris,” he responded in kind. “She’s not here for...that,” Jon said as if Laney weren’t six inches from his face with only five percent of her gorgeous body covered.

  The fucktard didn’t notice her. Laney, the desirable woman was invisible to him for some stupid reason. Yeah, he’s a fucktard!

  Tristan’s hovering and leering at Laney forced Jonathan to glance at her. Then back at him with a widening grin. No. No. No. Now Jonathan would sleep with Laney just to say he stole a woman from the alpha.

  Jonathan licked his lips at her enraging Tristan enough to blow his cool and lunge for the asshole.

  Now salivating at her and all suave, Jon said, “Ready, Laney?”

  “Ready for what?” Tristan spat out.

  “What’s it to you?” Jonathan gripped her arm. “Do you know this guy?”

  Laney reached for the wrap dangling on the back of the chair. Quickly covering up, she said, “Yeah. We met. And yes, I’m ready. I looked over the strike-offs.”

  We met?

  Intentionally or not, Tristan couldn’t tell, Laney patted Jon’s chest, touching skin thanks to his half-buttoned shirt. Jonathan’s face contorted suggesting he just then noticed Laney had a hand. But his eyes flickered at Tristan, and he quirked a smile.

  That bastard thought he won this round, only he was too stupid to realize he was the target of a damn game all along.

  Laney collected all the sheets around her and ignoring him, said to Jonathan, “Let’s go.”

  The prick boss she’d described sprang to life. “Can you please approve that thread so we can get this order into production? We have a deadline.”

  Tristan’s ears strained to catch more of the conversation. He desperately wanted to hear how she spoke to Jonathan, the boss.

  “I’m not approving these for production until I see a whole bolt. No more CFAs.” She sounded as confident as he’d imagined.

  How had the fucktard not seen her strength as a turn on?

  “There’s no time for a whole bolt,” Jonathan rudely replied. “You know where this crap is coming from.”

  Laney stopped and glared at him.

  “He he,” Tristan growled a low chuckle. That idiot just called her work crap. “Hit him,” he whispered. “For the love of God, Laney, hit the prick.” His brother Luke would defend her.

  Instead, she relaxed her shoulders. “Brock needs to understand having my crap made in China...” Her words drifted off and away, out of his earshot.

  What he’d heard, though, bore no hint of anything in her voice suggesting she’d wanted to screw Jonathan’s brains out for three years.

  She’d kept a professional tone and immediately fought back when insulted. She was so dedicated to her work. Her craft. The beauty she created. She deserved a chance to put her name on those designs.

  He was so proud of her.

  His. She was his.

  But the smirk Jonathan had given him meant he would try to make her his, too.

  Cursing, Tristan called his brother back. “Never mind. Don’t send the jet.”

  Laney

  LANEY STORMED AWAY from Tristan, mostly because she couldn’t bear to look at his beautiful face anymore. Jonathan had texted asking to meet him at one of the many swanky restaurants for lunch. Only he’d shown up at the pool an hour early, frazzled, and had gone into a tailspin seeing Tristan with her.

  How could Tristan’s interest in her have been a surprise for Jonathan? She’d been threatened by the head devil woman ready to stab her with one of those pins. She assumed she’d been the talk of devil world and how she’d stolen the alpha from the dog pound.

  Nope. All her time with Tristan had gone unnoticed. Because in six days, Jonathan had not been curious about her. At all.

  So why the charm act now?

  He steered her to the restaurant, his hand awkwardly going from her back to her arm to his hair and back. Again, and again. Like he had no clue how to touch her anymore.

  They ordered drinks and lunch, and as soon he handed the menu back, his phone should have gone up in front of his face. He stared at her, instead. Blankly. Was she with...Jon?

  Could simply sitting with Tristan have triggered Jonathan into seeing her differently? For once? Did his competitive nature kick in?

  She needed food immediately to make her head stop spinning. Protein and nourishment would help her think straight and focus.

  She’d gone on this cruise to have a sexual experience with the man sitting across from her. Blah, even she made it sound unsexy. Yet with Tristan, every moment screamed heat and passion.

  Laney slurped her iced-tea the min
ute it arrived, not bothering to wait for Jonathan’s double vodka martini.

  “Can we work out some kind of compromise?” Jonathan asked, stroking her hand balled into a tight fist.

  “Like what?” She lifted her fingers away to wipe her mouth.

  “What if we have a large sample made and—”

  “No samples.” She shook her head.

  “Let me finish,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “We’ll then get on a video chat. Have the production manager show you the fabric, all the details. Up close.”

  “I need to touch it.” The memory of going around the ship and feeling all the fabrics with Tristan crashed into her mind and hurt her heart.

  “Why? You know what it’s made of. You specified the materials.” He shoved a finger at her.

  “Brock’s also been ordering low-quality nylons and acrylics.” Man, she passed Go and collected her two hundred dollars probably a year ago with Jonathan. She just hadn’t realized it.

  “Then getting the whole bolt delivered won’t matter, will it?” he snapped.

  Awe, seduction over.

  Only, was it over?

  Laney eyed Jonathan again. Would she stoop to blackmail? Give herself to him in exchange for her approval to get his orders placed? Sadly, she wasn’t confident it was a sure bet.

  She was leaving the company, anyway. It wasn’t like her name graced those designs. They were all branded under the Westmore label. All she got to do was give each pattern a name. Even when she’d asked for a line named after her, Brock had scoffed, and said that would open an intellectual property can of worms.

  Intellectual property... Someone had just flung those words at her. That was in a lawyer’s world. Who was a lawyer? Wait?

  Luke.

  Tristan’s brother.

  She shook that thought away. She was done with Tristan. She was getting off this damn ship the next day. With or without sleeping with Jonathan, Laney was putting in her resignation notice on January 1st.