I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series)

by Cole, S. Ann

  But he did touch me. Back in his office, he’d caressed me. And nothing explosive happened. Except, I’d almost had a mini-orgasm.

  Why did he want to know more about me, anyway? What could we possibly have in common, except I worked in the design department of his company? What would a filthy-rich, dangerously handsome, world-in-his-hands man like Trevillo Nelson want to do with a vacant, hueless, don’t-give-a-shit girl like me?

  He was full to the brim, overflowing, and I was empty. Maybe he’d be the one to make me whole? I would never give him the chance. So I guess I’d never know.

  Chapter 6

  K. Kingston

  You Bit Me

  “Okay, okay, JK!” I squealed through fits of laughter. “I surrender. Take the damn remote!”

  Ceasing his torturous tickles, Jahleel extracted the TV remote from the tight grasp of my fingers and shifted his heavy weight off me. He then switched the channel from Keeping Up With the Kardashians to some loud and obnoxious guns-blazing action movie on Showtime.

  As he started snuggling back next to me, I shoved him away to get up. “I’ll just go up to my own floor and watch television. I can’t watch these marrow-blowing movies with you.”

  Jahleel tackled me back to the couch and twisted his body around mine so I couldn’t move. “No,” he said, his eyes still glued to the television. “Stay. We can find somethin’ we both want. Just not that reality TV junk. Don’t know what the fuck you get out of watchin’ vain, talentless idiots.”

  Twirling a silky lock of his hair around my index finger, I replied, “Maybe because I, too, am a vain idiot?”

  Jahleel stilled, then shifted on the couch so that he was lying on his back and I was draped half-way over him. Taking hold of my chin, he forced me to look at him. “Don’t. You can’t keep living with your heart closed off from the world. There’s a you inside there you’ve caged up and refuse to set free. Been tryin’ to break that cage open ever since Mom and Dad brought you home. But you’ve locked yourself up so fuckin’ tight, there’s no getting through. You need to set you free, bad girl.”

  “That’s a lie, JK, and you know it.” I jerked my chin from his hold and pressed my cheek flat to his T-shirt covered chest. “The only person who gets me, all of me, is you. There’s nothing hidden where you’re concerned. So what you’re saying is straight-up bullshit.”

  We lay silent for a while, until Jahleel heaved a sigh and whispered, “No, Krissy. That’s a lie. I don’t have all of you … not the way I want.”

  Realizing what he meant by that, I raised my head and found his eyes closed. As I made to change the subject, the doorbell rang.

  “Bet that’s one of your fucktards,” I mumbled as I rolled off him and went to answer the door.

  Only Jahleel’s stalkers came and rang our doorbell, so I wasn’t worried about being in just a Hello Kitty pajama shorts set. My short hair was most likely sticking out every which way, on account of all that childish gamboling Jahleel and I had engaged in earlier.

  I swung open the door and that speechless, paralyzed thing happened to me again. The heart-stopping thing that only happens when I was in this man’s presence.

  What. Was. He. Doing. Here?

  “Hello, Miss Kingston,” he husked.

  All six feet three inches of Trevillo Nelson was standing right there on my doorstep, dressed in a black thermal tee, faded jeans and black boots with the laces undone, he oozed that all-masculine scent of his with a crooked smile on his face.

  Fuck me.

  Trevillo in a suit did strange things to my insides, yes. But Trevillo with a rocker vibe sent juices flowing on instant, begging for release. The man in a suit resembled danger. But the man in heavy black boots, jeans and close-fitted tee represented something worse than danger. Far worse. Without shame, I let my eyes drift down his body, then back up again, ogling. Why was he so … much?

  “Miss Kingston?” I heard him say, amusement coloring his voice.

  Snapping out of my haze, I found his eyes. “I thought you said you’d call me Krissy?”

  Yet another stupid statement like the one back in his office. ‘You’re so tall’. Ugh. Get yourself together, Krissan!

  Before Trevillo could answer, Jahleel’s voice called from the living area. “Who is it, Krissy?”

  I watched as Trevillo’s expression changed from amused to disappointment. “You … live with someone?”

  If I’d screwed him already, the answer to that question would’ve been an automatic ‘yes’ to get rid of him. That wasn’t the case, however, because I was yet to get a sample of him. So for the first time ever, I told an inquiring man the truth. “That’s just my brother.”

  “I’m not your fuckin’ brother,” I heard Jahleel grit out behind me.

  Shit.

  Turning around, I found him glaring down at me. His eyes shifted to Trevillo, then back to me. Trevillo looked between us, eyebrows raised. Clearly confused.

  Narrowing my eyes at Jahleel, I tried to convey to him I haven’t slept with this man yet; therefore, no scaring-the-guy-off scene was needed! “JK, this is my boss, Trevillo Nelson. Trev, this is my … Jahleel.”

  Jahleel gave a perfunctory nod in Trevillo’s direction, then turned his attention back to me. “On your doorstep?”

  Why was he being like this? What the hell was wrong with him?

  Hands fixed on my hips, I hissed, “Well, that’s none of your goddamn business now, is it?”

  Bending so his gold eyes were leveled with mine, he bit out, “Everything about you is my fuckin’ business.”

  “Stop it, JK!” I yelled, getting seriously pissed off.

  “Krissy,” I heard Trevillo’s stern, in-office voice say. “Would you like for me to — ”

  “No,” I said a bit too desperately.

  Jahleel’s head jerked back in shock at this.

  I shoved past him and stepped outside the door, slamming it behind me.

  “I’m confused,” Trevillo declared with a twinge of annoyance. “Is he your man? Your brother? Fuck buddy? What?”

  “He’s my brother,” I quickly explained. “By ink, not by blood. I’m adopted.”

  Trevillo nodded as his gaze suddenly lowered and lingered at the deep V-cut of my Hello Kitty night shirt. Jahleel issue forgotten, he spoke to my cleavage, “I figured I’d give you a surprise visit. Wanna grab a drink?”

  Seeing that my V-cut and exposed cleavage distracted him, I decided to turn on the flirt a bit, in hopes that this night would end up being an orgasmic one.

  Curving a thumb in the waistband at the front of my shorts, I tugged at it gently so it slid down my hipbone, pretending it was being done unconsciously. Then I brought my other hand to my now exposed hipbone and lower stomach, and pretended to be scratching an itch. “I’d love to. But a public outing means I’ll have to find a killer outfit, do my hair, make-up, etcetera. That’ll take hours … ”

  Whenever I, Krissan Kingston, left the house, I had to be dressed to the ninth. That was the shallow me.

  With a flirtatious tilt of my head to the side, and hip jutted out, I suggested, “But if the drink is in the privacy of your place, I could be ready in, say, less than twenty?”

  Trevillo tried to smother a smile. “Ever so forward.”

  I shrugged in impatience and a wisp of desperation, waiting for his answer. A girl knows what she wants. It was that simple.

  “‘Kay,” he agreed, after staring me down for a millennium. “I’ll wait for you.” Then before I could invite him in, he added, “Outside.”

  Freakin’ Jahleel!

  I turned and reentered the house then practically sprinted up the stairs, where I found Jahleel sitting pensively on the edge of my bed with his head lowered. Deciding to ignore him, I went straight into the closet and began searching for something easy to wear.

  I selected a simple black baby-doll dress from the racks and chose a flat pair of red strappy sandals to go with it. Turning, I crashed straight into Jahleel. He cau
ght me around the waist just as I almost toppled over, looking down at me with that expression I liked to ignore. “Krissy … ” was all he said.

  Pushing at his chest, I wrung free from his hold and stepped around him. “You’re acting weird, JK.”

  And I hadn’t the time to deal with his shit. I needed to get laid tonight.

  As I sat down at the vanity and began styling my hair, he came to stand behind the chair, resting his hands across the top and finding my eyes in the mirror. “On our doorstep. Called you ‘Krissy’. You never give them any real information about you. And now you’re leaving with him. Again?”

  On an exasperated sigh, I glowered at him. “Did you hear who I said he was? My boss. He has all my information. Apparently he used it to his advantage, and I honestly could care less. And no, he’s no ‘Again’, because I haven’t slept with him yet. That’s why I’m freakin’ mad at you right now! You almost messed it up.”

  I hadn’t seen Trevillo since our last encounter at Skylark a week ago, and I’d thought for sure he was no longer interested, so I’d called it a loss. Now Jahleel was acting like the major asshole he was because he thought Trevillo was an Again.

  We had this thing where we referred to anyone we slept with more than once as an ‘Again’. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t recall ever having an Again, because I’d never given anyone seconds. Jahleel, on the other hand, had a lot of Agains, stalkers, wealthy cougars and even celebrities who were willing to give him the world if he wanted it. He had a fuckload of Agains. Yet he was giving me shit.

  Jahleel’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he whispered, “Oh.”

  I frowned at him. Even if Trevillo was an Again, what the hell would it matter?

  “Sorry,” he apologized, and his usual hot-guy demeanor slid back on as he flashed me his signature crooked grin. “Didn’t know.”

  Finally. The Jahleel I could identify with was back. I hate it when he goes all raging wacko on me. “Now get the hell outta my room.”

  Chuckling, he slid two fingers under my chin and tilted my head back so he could smack a kiss on my nose. Ruffling the bangs I’d just curled with the styling iron, he dashed out of the room before I could yell at him.

  Freakin’ Jahleel!

  “Well, that was quick,” Trevillo noted, pushing away from the sleek, black Audi he’d been leaning casually against. “I thought you said less than twenty. This is less than ten. In a rush for something?”

  Fighting the urge to climb up his body and deplete all the air from his lungs, I retorted, “Less than ten is still less than twenty.”

  With a small smile, he opened the car door for me to get in, rounded to the driver’s side, got in, and drove off.

  His scent, the scent belonging solely to Trevillo Nelson, was trapped inside the confinements of the car, and I inhaled deeply in appreciation of it.

  “You smell nice,” he commented after a short moment of silence, seeming to have been appreciating my scent as I was appreciating his. “What kind of fragrance is that?”

  I reflexively brought my wrist to my nose and sniffed, trying to remember what cologne I’d used. Being a cologne connoisseur, I had quite a lot on my dresser. “Oh, this one’s Rihanna’s Nude. Got it yesterday from JK.”

  He glanced over at me for a brief second at the mention of Jahleel, and I was hoping he wouldn’t start asking about the complicatedness that was our relationship. No one ever understood us and we didn’t care for them to. Since day one, Jahleel and I have been like bench and ass. We were inseparable, over-affectionate, and real to each other. Even though I considered him as my brother — because he kind of was — he preferred I didn’t refer to him as such, and that’s about it. People tried to understand us, but there was nothing to understand. Our relationship was just ours and no one else’s.

  Thankfully, Trevillo didn’t ask about Jahleel again. Instead, he broached another subject I didn’t care to talk about. “So, you’re adopted. Tell me about your family.”

  “Why?” I sighed. “That’s boring.”

  Alternating between watching the road and watching me, he asked, “Why do you continually try to evade conversations about yourself?”

  Oh dear God. “Because there’s nothing interesting about me. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “Shallow people don’t know they’re shallow, Krissy. They think they’re the shit, and they’re ever-ready to share their ‘story’ with anyone who’ll listen, because they think their life is better than everyone else’s.” He sounded as irritated as I felt. “The fact that you’re trying to sell yourself as shallow proves there’s a meaningful part to you. A part you’re loath to share.”

  I wish I knew what that part of me was. I wish I knew what everyone else thought they knew.

  Instead of addressing his inaccurate observation, I told him about the people who saved me. “My adoptive parents are highly religious people. They run the Kingston Faith Ministries and programs that air weekly on television. They adopted me when I was six. The slutbag who carried me for nine months — instead of saving herself the trouble and aborting me when I was an unformed fetus — left me on the seashore to die six months after she pushed me out. So I spent the first six years of my life in a paint-peeling, mold-eating, roach, rats, and termite-infested apartment in Jersey with over a dozen other kids. Bam, the Kingstons charged in and saved the day. Giving me food to eat that wasn’t three days old, and clothes to wear I knew wasn’t worn a hundred times over because they had tags signifying their newness. That came with a bedroom twice the size of the rotting apartment, a bed that could hold the dozen kids I’d left behind, and a reason to smile. The. Fucking. End.”

  Trevillo pulled over to the curb outside a hotel I knew to be his, Viscas II, threw the gear in ‘park’, and dragged up the handbrake. “You sound angry.”

  Gritting my teeth, I ground out, “Because I don’t want to talk about myself. Is that so friggin’ hard to understand?”

  Turning to face me, he just stared. Studying me. Eyes searching mine, digging into my soul. Trying to find God knows what.

  On a stolid note, he spoke, “Okay, Krissan, you don’t have to talk about yourself … now. You were adopted, yes, but not completely, wholly, correctly. They’ve tried but seemed to have failed with you somehow. You need to be adopted correctly. You need to be given a reason to want to talk about your life. I’m arrogant enough to know I’ll succeed at that — adopting you, that is.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. The hell’s that supposed to mean?

  But before I could find a breath to speak, he was out of the car, rounding to my side, and opening the door. Planted in the car seat, I could only stare up at him as he held out his hand, waiting for me to get out.

  That’s when I started to question whether I knew what I was getting myself into with this man. He wasn’t like the other guys I screwed around with — mainly because he wasn’t a guy, but a man. He asked a shitload of questions all the time and looked at me with penetrative, analyzing stares, searching for the best angle to rip me open.

  Then there was the fact he was, well, him. All the talk about adopting me — whatever that meant — was proof he wasn’t on the same page I was. I was in it for a wham-bam-thank-you-madam fling. But it was now becoming obvious he was in for something more. He had an aim, and I was sensible enough to know men like him usually got whatever they went after. So the best thing to do was to stop this before it started.

  I blinked at his hand and then back up at him. “Um, I’m thinking this might not be — ”

  “No thinking,” he cut me off. “C’mon.”

  When I continued to hesitate, he stooped down to level his eyes with mine. “Over all our encounters, you’ve been exuding the ‘I know what I want’ attitude. You do know what you want, you’re not coy about it, and that turns me the fuck on. But in order for me to give you what you want, Krissan, you have to take what I’m offering.”

  This time, when he reached out to touch me, he did
n’t pull back. As his thumb passed over my lower lip, he tugged it down and slid said thumb inside my mouth. And, hell no, I couldn’t resist biting it.

  Eyes flashing with something fierce, he husked, “I’m offering you me, Krissan. And with me comes everything.”

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I bit down harder on his thumb, and I heard his breath catch.

  “Every-fucking-thing.”

  I wanted to set it straight that all I wanted was sex. That I didn’t want ‘everything’. But my hormones and high arousal were in control of me at that moment, so instead of resisting, I found myself nodding and stepping out of the car.

  As soon as I was righted, Trevillo pushed me up against the side of the car, and slid his thumb back in my mouth. “Again.” When I bit him again, he groaned, “Harder.” Complying, I bit him harder to the point where I knew it had to be painful, but he just closed his eyes and breathed, “Yes, Krissan. Like that.”

  Then his eyes snapped open and he stepped back, as if suddenly remembering we were in front of his hotel, in public. He took hold of my hand and led me off.

  A valet met us half-way, practically stumbling over his own two feet. “Pleasant good evening, Mr. Nelson. Ma’am.”

  Trevillo nodded and tossed him his car keys, pressed his palm on my lower back, and guided me through the front doors. I struggled to keep up with his long, purposeful strides as he escorted me through the cool, extravagant lobby, heading straight for the elevators. Almost everyone who spotted him tripped over themselves to wish him a good evening, while he barely nodded in acknowledgment, never once speaking.

  Ushering me into the elevator, he retrieved a gold tone card from his wallet and swiped it alongside the number pad. The doors began to close, and as soon as they were sealed, I was attacked.

  One long, strong arm snaked around my waist. Lifting me up off the ground with easy grace, he slammed me up against the wall. Reflexively, my legs wrapped around his waist, and before he could first me on another move, I dug my fingers in his hair, dragged his face down to mine, and claimed his mouth. Hard and fierce.