Master Class: A Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  Celia turns to me. “You having a good time?”

  She slurs a little, and it’s easy to tell that she’s quite tipsy already. Her cheeks are glowing the treacherous red of the drunk. She has been looking forward to today for weeks, and we are celebrating a huge success, so it wouldn’t be fair to judge her for having fun.

  “Yes, I am,” I reply, winking at her. “Maybe not as much as you.”

  Celia shakes her head, still smiling from ear to ear. “Oh, I’m sure you will.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Celia is just about to reply, when she is interrupted by Jackson, who clears his throat noisily.

  “Excuse me for a moment, ladies,” he says, softly touching my arm as he turns around and walks away. There might be other people he needs to talk to.

  “Always business,” Celia comments as if she’s reading my thoughts. “Always busy. Can he ever relax?”

  I smile to myself, knowing very well how Jackson likes to relax the most. It usually involves me on my knees or tied to our bed, pleading and begging in cathartic agony for him to fuck me and grant me release. It is the best form of relaxation, and I can still feel the aftermath of our last play this morning. A quick session followed by a joint shower to take the edge off.

  “Oh, he does,” I hear myself whisper, and Celia giggles, sensing that she shouldn’t ask any further questions.

  “You lucky girl,” she says instead, casting me another wink.

  I guess I am a lucky girl.

  “Excuse me,” I hear Jackson’s voice from behind my back. “Could I have your attention for a moment!”

  I turn around and see him standing at the other end of the hall on a little stage area we used earlier during our speeches. However, the place is now decorated with white roses all over, and I gasp in surprise as I see the flower petals encircling the stage that Jackson is standing on. They frame him perfectly, pinned against the wall behind him, leading all the way down to the floor, where they transition into two lines of white blossoms that form a path leading from where I am standing all the way to him.

  When did these flowers appear?

  My eyes cast back and forth between Jackson, the flowers, and Celia, who grins knowingly.

  “Go,” she says, beckoning me to follow the flowery path toward Jackson, as she takes the glass out of my hand.

  “There’s one last item on today’s schedule,” he says, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “And I need the woman of the evening up here in order to proceed.”

  All eyes are on me as I approach him on wobbly legs, wondering what this could be about. I already have so much, what else could he possibly have in store to make this day even greater than it already is?

  He takes my hand as I step onto the stage next to him.

  “Jackson, what is this-” I whisper, but he hushes me by putting his finger on his lips, before he takes both my hands, turning toward me and looking at me as if there was no one else in the room.

  “When I first met you more than a year ago, I told you right away that I liked you,” he says. “I told you that I liked you because you posed a challenge, and I like challenges.”

  An amused murmur travels through the room, my heart speeding as my mind slowly begins to realize what is going on here.

  “I thought I had to prove you wrong about something,” Jackson continues, his eyes still locked on mine. “But you not only challenged me, you surprised me. Again and again. Your strength, your ambition, your beauty, it all caught me by surprise. I didn’t stand a chance against you.”

  He pauses. The room is stock-still and bursting with tension.

  “I love you, Lana,” Jackson continues, squeezing my hands.

  And then he drops down on one knee, producing a small jewelry box from the inside pocket of his jacket.

  He opens it, presenting a platinum ring with a subtle diamond setting. I feel as if my heart is about to jump out of my chest, impending tears of joy threatening to choke me.

  I never thought I would ever be one of those girls, standing in front of a kneeling man with their hand pressed against their mouth as they are about to burst out in tears of joy.

  But here I am.

  “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  His question is posed in a deep yet calm voice, trembling beneath the confidence on the surface.

  I don’t think anybody but Jackson hears my answer, as I breathe a desperate ‘Yes’ while succumbing to my urge to cry, falling down on my knees beside him – and right into his arms.

  Thank you for reading!

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  Also by Linnea May

  TAMED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (sneak peak after this book)

  BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Dark Romance

  Silent Daughter: A Dark Billionaire Romance

  VIOLENT DELIGHTS: A Dark Billionaire Romance

  VIOLENT CRAVINGS: A Dark Billionaire Romance

  VIOLENT HEARTS: A Dark Billionaire Romance

  VIOLENT DESIRES: A Dark Billionaire Romance

  … Curious to read more?

  If you enjoyed this book, you may also enjoy my other Billionaire Romance TAMED – keep reading for a little sneak peek on the next page!

  TAMED

  A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  BLURB

  “She’ll be mine. Even if that means putting everything I’ve worked for on the line.”

  Love isn’t something I’m capable of, but if a marriage is what it takes to become my father’s successor and save my family’s fortune from ruin, then it’ll have to be arranged.

  However, I have a reputation and for good reason.

  I can’t be tamed.

  My despicable bride-to-be couldn’t care less about it. This is all for show. It’s a marriage of convenience for her.

  I just need to play it safe until the wedding is over.

  But then she shows up. The cute pianist, hired to play at my engagement party. Sweet Elodie. Shy, innocent and virtuoso - off limits and impossible for me to claim.

  Elodie is a sweet risk and a challenge like no other. Her weak attempts at fending me off only fuel my greedy hunger.

  The more that stands between us, the more I want her.

  Prologue

  Kingston

  She tries to evade my touch, but I’m faster than her – and more resolute.

  There’s no denying it. She can act and pretend all she wants, but I know that she wants me to touch her. Every fiber of her being is calling out to me, begging me to take her.

  I have her cornered and am pushing her back against the wall with just the intensity of my sheer presence, placing my hand right next to her pretty face and thus blocking her escape. We’re alone, she’s at my mercy, and for a few blessed moments, I can do whatever I want to her, whatever both of us want to happen.

  Her green eyes wander up timidly to meet mine. I can see they’re filled with fear – and lust. She’s afraid of her own desires, because she knows it’s wrong. This isn’t supposed to happen.

  And yet it will.

  “Please let me go,” she pleads, her voice so soft that it’s barely audible.

  Her eye fixate on mine, contradicting her words.

  “I will,” I promise. “After I’ve tasted those pretty lips of yours.”

  Her eyes widen and a somber sigh escapes her lips when I touch them with my thumb.

  “Please,” she whispers. “We can’t…”

  That’s just the thing I want to hear.

  We can’t.

  We shouldn’t.

  This isn’t right.

  I like a good challenge, and th
at’s why I like girls like her. The more there is to overcome, the more I want them. Her weak attempts at fending me off, combined with those pleading eyes, it’s making it impossible for me to resist.

  She is the most forbidden fruit ever to tease me. I want her, and I always get what I want.

  Her breasts are heaving under her heavy, gaspy breathing. She’s clasping her music sheets against her chest as if they can protect her from me.

  I lean down, moving my face closer to hers, so close until I can feel her breath on my lips.

  “Please,” she pleads.

  “Please, what?” I ask, knowing that she won’t be able to reply.

  My fingers wander along her feminine jaw line, barely touching her skin as I travel down to her neck. I want to close my hand around that slim neck and choke her.

  What would she do? Would she enjoy it? Would she faint from the climax that could come with it?

  My cock twitches against my zipper at the thought of it. It will be a while until I get to test her, but the wait will be worth it.

  But for now, I need to be patient. She’s not going to be an easy one to claim.

  And she still hasn’t given me a verbal reply. However, her big green eyes tell me everything I need to know, as my finger tips trail seductively along her collar bone.

  I don’t ask for permission – I never do – but she’s giving it to me anyway.

  There’s no protest. She doesn’t try to fight or stop me when I lean in even closer. A suffocated moan is all I hear when our lips finally meet and my tongue invades her mouth.

  She reciprocates, breathing faster as our tongues intertwine in a wild and hungry dance. Her moaning adds to the symphony of our first kiss, and when she starts squirming towards me, I almost lose it.

  My hand finds its way behind her back and as I pull her body closer to mine, she lets go of the sheets of music. They float down to the floor, spreading around our feet, as her hands fly up to embrace me. She’s too short, but I realize her intentions. She tries to reach the back of my head and grab my hair.

  That’s not going to happen. I’m in control, and the sooner she learns this, the better.

  I want to grab her wrists and push them down, but for now, I prefer to feel her dainty body pressed needily against mine.

  Chapter I

  Elodie

  This is the opportunity of a lifetime.

  For once, Lady Luck has picked me. I still can’t believe it, but as I walk out the doors of the main building of Juilliard to cross over the bridge to my dorm, the realization slowly settles in.

  I got it! I got chosen for one of the best gigs that have been posted since I started applying for paid performances. Of course, I’ve played at various occasions before, and been paid before, too, but never this much. The salary for this job is not only ridiculously high to begin with, but it also comes with a promise for more opportunities like it.

  I have been asked to play at an engagement party being hosted by two old money families on the Upper East Side. If everything goes well and they like my playing, this gig will lead to more – the rehearsal dinner, the wedding and who knows what other associated events might need a piano accompaniment.

  It’s perfect. When two spoiled kids get hitched on a scale like this, their families will makes sure everybody and their brother attends. I will play in front of hundreds of wealthy guests who hold occasions like this on a regular basis. Dinner parties, more weddings, birthdays, reunions. If they like the pianist who performed at the Abrams-Waldorf wedding, it’s the equivalent of a glowing recommendation and they’re likely going to ask the families for the pianist‘s contact information.

  And that pianist would be me.

  Never in my wildest dreams have I dreamt of performing at such a large-scale event with so much potential. After all, I’m still a student, and it’s unusual for students to be hired for an event like this. But the Abrams family specifically requested a student, for whatever reason. There are not that many second-year graduate students in the piano program at Juilliard, but I was still dumbfounded when our instructor, Mrs. Bellamy, approached me with the proposal.

  “They asked specifically for a classical repertoire with some contemporary interpretations,” she said. “And I believe you’re the best choice.”

  I just stared at her, sitting on my hands and trying to process the magnitude of the winning lottery ticket that had just been handed to me.

  “What do they mean by contemporary interpretations?” I asked her.

  Mrs. Bellamy just shrugged. “You’ll have to ask them yourself when you meet them.”

  That was about a week ago, and I’m scheduled to meet up with the family tonight. Mrs. Bellamy let them know that she had found someone, and they asked to meet me with me as soon as possible. I’ve been nervous ever since, and subsequently made sure to add a few extra hours to my already full practice schedule. My scholarship only covers school tuition, and since I’m not as privileged as most of my fellow students, I had to take on a part-time job at one of the school’s cafés to cover my living expenses. Having to work in addition to going to school and doing homework cuts down tremendously on the amount of time I have available to practice, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

  I hate being poor. Who wouldn’t? Poverty has always been a constant part of my life. One would think that I would have grown accustomed to it, since I don’t know any different. But it’s one thing to be poor when you’re still living in your little microcosm across the river in Brooklyn, and it’s something else entirely when you‘re plopped down in the middle of privileged society. Everybody was poor where I grew up, we were all the same, even though the degree of poverty varied. I grew up in an area that most people from Manhattan would not dare step foot in, let alone take a stroll at night, and I never liked it there. I wanted to get out as soon as possible, and I had a dream of how I was going to do it. I’ve had that dream ever since I was seven years old and found a tutor who was willing to take me under his wing, even though my father couldn’t afford to pay the full amount he charged for piano lessons. Having that dream made me an outlier in school, but I was never treated any differently for it. We were all in the same boat, and I’m sure there were quite a few others who secretly dreamed of moving on to a life in Manhattan.

  Only my dream wasn’t to live in Manhattan, per se. My dream was and is to become a solo pianist. A solo pianist who can make a living with just her art. I know how farfetched that dream is, but I also knew that Juilliard would bring me closer to achieving that dream, a lot closer. Getting accepted at Juilliard was my number one goal all through junior high and high school.

  And I made it.

  But here at Juilliard, I’m an anomaly. I couldn’t even attend this school if I hadn’t been awarded enough scholarships to cover the cost of my tuition, but even with that and the part time jobs I’ve been taking, I can barely keep my head above water. New York is too expensive. I’m one of the very few graduate students who still live in the dorms. Most students choose to live off-campus once they finish their undergraduate studies. Graduate students, especially those in their second year, are a rarity here in campus housing.

  Unfortunately, one of them is my roommate and regrettable three-night-stand Benjamin. Our paths cross as often as one would expect with two people living right next to each other, and even though it’s been weeks since our last interlude, it doesn’t get any less awkward. He’s waiting to take the elevator up to our floor when I enter the building. We make eye contact before I can turn around and hide from him until he’s gone to avoid an unpleasant encounter.

  I come to a halt next to him and cast a smile his way. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” he replies, his tone revealing how little he thinks of me.

  I stare ahead at the elevator door and roll my eyes, oblivious to him. He’s studying at the Juilliard School of Drama and the career path suits him so well.

  There are eight people living in our sim
ple suite on the 27th floor, and Benjamin’s single room is right next to my double room. People warned me that hooking up with one of your roommates is probably one of the worst ideas ever. Of course it is. But it’s easy to forget these things when you’re drunk and just looking for some fun and a distracting hook-up.

  I didn‘t think much of it at the time. I thought Benjamin of all people would understand that dating comes secondary in our current situation, especially when you’re me. I simply don’t have the time to build and maintain a relationship between all of my classes, hours of practice and part-time jobs, but I’m not frigid. It’s only human to seek this kind of intimacy once in a while, even when the sex isn’t really all that great or special.

  I regret my hook-up with Benjamin on more than one level. It’s not only the repercussions that annoy me, it’s also the fact that the sex was so vanilla. Again and again I tell myself that I’d rather have no sex than bad sex. But how was I supposed to know that beforehand? Benjamin appears tough and masculine in public. How could I know that he turns into an awkward little puppy in the bedroom?

  My biggest mistake was to repeat our drunken adventure again and again. For whatever reason, having sex more than twice made him believe that we went from being roommates to becoming a couple. I have no idea why he would think that, we weren’t even that close before we slept together and we never grew any closer after we started hooking up.

  The ice cold silence that surrounds us as we share the elevator upstairs is almost unbearable, so I decide to replace it with idle conversation.

  “How is your play going?” I ask, knowing that he’s currently working on a major part in an upcoming performance

  “Good,” he says, his voice stern. “Heard things are going quite well for you, too?”

  I turn to look at him, but he evades my eyes.

  “You heard about the Abrams-Waldorf engagement?” I ask him, thoroughly surprised.

  He nods, and glances at me from the side. “Yes. Kim told me. Congratulations.”

  I know that his congratulations are not sincere, but I don’t waste much thought on it.