I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series)

by Cole, S. Ann

  Eyes narrowed at the doorway, all of a sudden serious, he mysteriously said, “A hate that’s love.”

  Chapter 10

  K. Kingston

  Outside Inside

  “Sure you don’t wanna come?” Jahleel asked me as he shrugged on a matte black biker jacket, to complete his ensemble of ripped-up acid-wash jeans, black Timberland boots, plain white tee and a dangling platinum dog tag chain. “The G2k Girls are really good. They’re gonna blow the lid with this concert tonight. After all,” he smirked, popping his collar. “I’m who choreographed them.”

  Rolling my eyes at his cockiness, I stuffed a throw-pillow under my head where I was sprawled out on his couch. “Nope. Fashion Police is about to start. Can’t give up Joan Rivers for The G2k brats — of which I can bet a mil you’ve already screwed all four of them with none being the wiser.”

  Scooping up his keys from the side table, he intoned, “That’s not true … ” He crossed his eyes to look down at his own nose, something he often did whenever he told an obvious lie, to check if his nose was growing inches.

  As always, I giggled.

  “See? My nose hasn’t grown an inch.”

  He leaned over the back of the couch to kiss my nose. Then he was out the door.

  Snuggling up under my leopard print blanket, I upped the volume on the television, ready to watch Joan Rivers dish it out on the fashion hoes. On a typical Friday night, I’d normally be watching this program while I got dressed to go clubbing either with Jahleel or Marsha. But tonight I just wasn’t feeling it.

  I was still in guilt mode for ditching Trevillo. Inside my head, thoughts of him were hot, white-hot, which meant I needed more and more and more of him to get rid of him. More of the man with the skillful tongue and the body of a god. He was far from being ‘out of my system’.

  But what could I do at this point? With a man like him, I knew I’d blown my chances with that asinine act of mine. He might have deemed it disrespectful — because it was. He might even hate me — because I deserved it. Was probably red angry — because he should be. Or he, for all I knew, was glad he didn’t have to do the ditching himself.

  It was a sweet encounter, an unforgettable one, but it was now over and done with. Time to move on and quit woolgathering.

  Around fifteen minutes into Fashion Police, I heard the muffled sound of my cellphone ringing. Buried somewhere amongst me, the couch, the blanket and scads of throw pillows, I had to do a lot of digging and tossing to locate it. But by the time I found it, the ringing ceased. The screen showed a missed call from an ‘unknown number’.

  Just as I started snuggling back under my blanket, the phone started ringing again. This time, a known number flashed on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m outside” was all that voice said, then hung up.

  It took me a moment to realize I’d gone inert — as was becoming the usual thing whenever I was in his presence. However, I wasn’t in his presence. All I heard were two curt words uttered by his voice. And there I was, out of breath, heart palpitating, goosebumps rising on the skin …

  He came after me.

  Trevillo Nelson came after me.

  Suppressing a grin, I rang back the number, and when he answered, I mirrored his curtness and said, “I’m inside.” Then hung up.

  The phone immediately began ringing again, and I pressed the answer button but didn’t speak, biting my lip in hot anticipation. I could hear his breathing: heavy, but relaxed. In a carnal vein, he told me, slowly, “You’re inside. I’m outside. I want to be inside you. But that can’t happen unless you come outside.” He paused, then, “Do you want me inside you?” A beat of silence. “You know what to do.” Then the line went dead.

  Flaming fires of hell, burn me now.

  I was wet … soaking wet.

  Like a coil, I sprung up from the couch, scrambled for my house slippers and next, I was out the front door, heading down the driveway to where Trevillo was leaning back against his black Audi, arms folded across his chest, face staid.

  He wore dark jeans and a navy polo T-shirt, the short sleeves cupping around muscles that were too wide, too mature, just too much for that simple T-shirt. At that moment, he was the definition of the phrase ‘too sexy for ma’ clothes’.

  I was sure he’d been aiming for simple and casual when he was dressing, but he could pull off anything but ‘simple and casual’ with all that raw masculinity emanating from him with each breath. There was nothing simple about this man. He’d never be able to nail simplicity no matter how hard he tried. No tattoos, no piercings, or artificial swagger was needed to make him seem tough or interesting. Au naturel, he had that awe-inspiring formidableness down pat.

  As I stopped in front of him, I studied his unreadable eyes and impassive expression, noting they weren’t congruent with how he’d sounded on that last call. Or the words spoken that catapulted me out of the house at bullet speed.

  I suddenly became self-conscious under his penetrative gaze, unsure of what to do with my hands, what to say, or how to act. His stare was too much like a glare as it raked me over.

  Wearing only a pale-blue cotton tee, sans bra, and fuchsia shorts, I felt naked under his glare, stare, or whatever that look was.

  After an eon of stare down, he asked in quiet tone, “If you want me this bad, why did you leave?”

  Dropping my gaze, I stared down at my red-painted toenails, rubbing the back of my neck as I tried to come up with a plausible answer. “Um, well … ”

  “Because I brought you to a hotel?” he asked, still impassive. “Did I make you feel less of a woman in any way?”

  There wasn’t a chance to answer the question, because he swept me up off the ground and threw me on the hood of his car, my thighs spread apart, accompanied by him between them. Hands on either side of me, he leaned down and closed his eyes with a deep inhalation. “You always smell amazing … ” Eyes slowly opening, he brought up a hand to rake his fingers through my bangs. “And you always look amazing … I love what you’ve done to your hair.”

  By then, I was breathing fast, both from desire and from the rush of knowing how hot we must look to peeping neighbors.

  Head lowered, he pressed a kiss in the dip at the base of my neck, then trailed kisses up said neck and around to my ear, whispering, “Let me explain … ” He licked at the sensitive spot behind my ear, and my eyes fluttered down on a moan. “I’m nomadic. I don’t necessarily have a place I call home apart from my father’s residence — my childhood home.”

  His tongue dipped inside the shell of my ear this time, leaving me panting, mouth lax, eyes clenched shut, head tossed back. “I have apartments here and there, likewise hotels. So whichever I’m closest to when I decide to call it a day, that’s where I go. Majority of the time, it ends up being one of my hotels. So even though it’s a hotel to you, it’s home to me.”

  Wow, not only did he come after me, he came with an explanation, as if he was the one who’d done wrong. When in reality, I could’ve cared less if he’d brought me to a hotel, a motel, or a cave. If other women gave a shit, I sure as hell didn’t. There was nothing he could’ve done to make me feel ‘cheap’ because I wasn’t seeking a husband or boyfriend. The sex was all I was about.

  Nonetheless, letting him feel as if he was the one who did me wrong was damn well fine by me, because that saved me from finding some lame ass excuse pertaining to why I ditched him. So, accepting his explanation, I cupped his face and kissed him. His tongue was enthusiastic as mine was zealous, rubbing together, dancing around each other, catching and biting. I couldn’t get over how excellent of a kisser he was.

  Half-heartedly trying to break the kiss, I mumbled against his lips, “I’m pretty sure we’re giving our neighbors quite a show.” Even as I said this, I pulled him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist. “The ones directly across the street are nosy Christians. They might — no, will disapprove and call the cops.” I kissed around his lips. “And we might
get locked up for indecent behavior … ”

  Trevillo made a deep-base chuckle, and the vibration escaped down my throat and sent shivers through me. God, I was aching for him.

  Moving up off me, he lifted me from the car bonnet and set me back on my feet. “Get in the car. I’m taking you with me.”

  Touching my swollen lips, I glanced down at my attire. “Gimme a sec, let me go get dressed and pack a — ”

  “No. Come now. As you are.”

  “But — ”

  I got cut off when he lifted me up, brought me around to the passenger side and stuffed me in. When he rounded to the driver’s side, I asked in sarcasm, “Well, don’t you just like it that I’m at a disadvantage in height and weight?”

  Turning his face to me, he grinned, and it was beautiful. Flat-out beautiful. “No, babe,” he answered as he leaned over to give me a quick peck, “I fucking love it.”

  Then he hit the pedal.

  Chapter 11

  S. James

  On Sarah’s Watch

  Behind the lens of her binoculars, Sarah watched as Trevillo’s Audi sped off down the street with the little blond bitch inside. She didn’t want to believe he was fucking the little twit. After all, she knew he didn’t screw around with young, naïve bitches. But after his cold treatment towards her in his office on Monday, she’d suspected. Just suspected.

  Trevillo never turned down her advances, because she knew how to get through to him. She knew being forward turned him on, big time. She knew he liked being fucked more than he liked to fuck. She could fuck him like a porn star, beat him like a Domme, and suck him like she had a vacuum for a mouth. And he loved it. He kept her around, didn’t he?

  He screwed her straight into love. She fell in love with him hard and fast, and she was positive that love was mutual. Nonetheless, she got the feeling he was refraining from showing any emotion towards her because he was either jealous of Johnson, or wasn’t ready to admit to his love.

  Each time he mentioned Johnson, she could smell jealousy on his breath. She, therefore, concluded those were his reasons for being so abrasive all of a sudden. Out of anger. To get her attention.

  He’d dropped her from the Skylark project and now he was fucking Krissan Kingston, her replacement. If those drastic actions didn’t scream spitefulness, she didn’t know what would.

  Dropping the binoculars, Sarah reached over to the passenger seat of her car and delved inside her handbag to find her shit. Her fingers came in contact with the plastic, and she took it out. Opening the small bag, she dipped her index finger inside and scooped some powder up in her long fingernail. Bringing it up to her nose, she sniffed it all in and leaned back, letting her head fall on the headrest.

  She tried to oust the image of Trevillo kissing that dumb blond in such feverish haste as if he was a horny teenager getting between a girl’s legs for the first time. He’d never kissed Sarah like that before. In fact, he seldom kissed her. He was more of a raw lover. Rough and hard with no intimacy. No delicate touches and soft lingers.

  But he was different with her.

  Sarah convinced herself that Trevillo was just treating her according to her age. Young, inexperienced girls like Krissan Kingston needed that kind of soft and intimate shit, and she was merely being used as a jealousy bullet to get to Sarah. There was nothing Trevillo and that girl had in common. She was short, fragile, needy — the kind of girl who wanted to be cuddled after sex and showered with profusions of ‘I love you’s’.

  He was tall and too much of a man. A whole lot of fucking male — quiet, commanding, demanding. Cared not an ounce for words and a lot for the physical.

  A gush of arousal soaked between Sarah’s thighs just by thinking about how irresistible he was. And she loved him. Man, did she love him.

  Tossing the small plastic bag of Snow White aside, she inched up her skirt and slid her hand inside her underwear, dipping her fingers in her slick heat. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she imagined Trevillo’s skillful tongue on her. That man’s tongue could send a woman to the moon and back.

  Sarah’s loud moan flooded the car as she slid her fingers deep inside herself, imagining Trevillo’s hands roaming over her, tweaking her nipples in that delicious way he knew would send her reeling.

  Before Sarah lost herself in self-induced pleasure, she decided she would let Trevillo have his fun with the little tight bitch tonight. After all, she went home to a husband every night. It was only fair he found his release elsewhere whenever she wasn’t available.

  But they were on her watch.

  If he ever tried to leave her for Krissan Kingston, she’d do well on her threat and fuck both of them up. Sarah James’ threats were never empty.

  Never.

  Her threats came lock and loaded.

  Full fucking clip.

  Chapter 12

  K. Kingston

  Mark Me

  Trevillo careened the car into the underground parking lot of Cloud High — another high-rise complex of his — and I was immediately reminded of his title as the king of real estate. It was as though one in every five buildings from San Francisco to Los Angeles to NYC had his signature stamped on it. Not to mention the various locations around the world, he had an impressively extensive portfolio.

  Once out of the car, he led me across the parking lot and straight onto the elevator where he punched in his code. I braced for an attack, but none came, as Trevillo stood like a composed gentleman and waited for the elevator to take us up to the penthouse.

  Sneaking a glance up at him, I caught him staring down at me with a taunting smirk. He must’ve read my body language and knew I was expecting his attack, so now the sonuvabitch was laughing at me. I gave him a look sending a clear message I thought he was an asshole, and he chuckled just as the elevator doors opened. Pressing his hand in the center of my back, he urged me into the apartment.

  The penthouse was typical, mostly black and stainless steel and floor-to-ceiling-windows with a mile-high view. Justifying the aptness of the complex’s name ‘Cloud High’.

  It had Sarah James written all over it. Her designs had a certain signature, but it wasn’t extraordinary. Though Sarah was great, I never understood the hoopla surrounding her. Ninety percent of the designers at The Dean’s Realty design department were better than Sarah. Way better. But sometimes — most times — all the time, hype won out over real talent.

  It didn’t matter how talented one was, if there wasn’t a racket surrounding your name, you’d drown. Even when the people hyping that person up knows their shit is average, talent is ignored, and mediocrity is pimped with glowing acclamations, because, at the end of the day, it’s not about appreciating true talent; it’s about money and recognition.

  One hand washes the other, right?

  Trevillo tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator, scanning the contents within. “I’m starving,” he muttered.

  “Why didn’t you pick something up before you came to get me?”

  Turning to face me with a packet of Sargento string cheese in his hand, he tore the plastic open and stuffed cheese in his mouth. “I couldn’t,” he said around a mouthful of cheese. “The reason I didn’t come after you sooner is because I was out of state.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the counter. “And on the flight back, I didn’t have an appetite because I was eager to get back and come after you. Straight off the jet, straight to your house. No stops.” He stuffed another piece of cheese in his mouth. “Now that you’re where I want you to be, where I can see you, I think I can spare a minute to eat.”

  Learning the range of his need for me had me feeling an amalgam of warmth and fuzziness, teenager giddiness, and sexual excitement. “What about on our way here?”

  With a leisurely rove down my body, his eyes darkened as he answered, “By then, I had an appetite … but, babe, that appetite wasn’t for food … ”

  “I can’t cook,” I blurted.

  Trevillo laughed out at
my abrupt utterance, while my cheeks reddened from embarrassment. Such ineptness was a major sin in Womandom, but I had no culinary skills whatsoever. Even when I tried to prepare a descent sandwich, I failed. Disastrously. Plus, Jahleel spoiled me rotten by cooking for me or bringing home takeout.

  “Guess I’ll have to teach you, then.” He waved me over to the kitchen. “C’mon. Let’s throw down.”

  Lame and helpless, I walked around the kitchen island and watched as he started opening cabinets. “Tell me what you want. Anything. We’ll cook it.”

  “Do you have ingredients here for ‘anything’?” I inquired, growing suspicious. “I thought you said you were nomadic.”

  “Yeah. I hired someone to turn this penthouse into a home for me while I was away. Stocked the kitchen and the closets, everything. Now I have a stable abode, instead of bringing you to a hotel and risk pissing you off again.” Glancing at me over his shoulder, he added, “So, yeah, I have a home now. I chose Cloud High because it’s closest to you.”

  My heartbeat began an erratic tattoo brought on by panic.

  Stable. Home. Closest to you.

  The daunting words muted me, had me staring blankly at his broad shoulders as he scanned the cabinets. His intentions seemed to be a lot more serious than I thought. And ‘serious intentions’ wasn’t what I wanted. All the same, I was loath to revisit the horrible feeling I had over the past week, all on account of needing more of him.

  Hands clasped behind me, I leaned back against the kitchen island. “You speak as though … you plan on seeing me often … ”

  Trevillo paused in his scanning and turned to face me. He tilted his head to the side and studied me for a beat. Then, mirroring me, he leaned back on the kitchen counter behind him so that we were facing each other in the same position: him leaning back on the kitchen counter, and me leaning back on the kitchen island, our hands behind us.