“No other women.”
“You didn’t let me finish. It’d just be--”
“No,” I repeat. “I feel something for this girl. Something… different. She’s different. I’m not fucking around with this one.”
Hunter nods slowly. “Damn, man. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day. Jackson Pierce is going soft on me.”
“Fuck you,” I say. “Maybe it’s time you grew up yourself. There’s more to life than jumping from woman to woman. When I look back on how I was… Fuck,” I say with a sigh, running my hands through my hair. The memory of Karen’s face when I broke things off is still fresh. She looked so broken. Destroyed. I never really cared about her. The guilt I feel doesn’t stem from my lack of feelings for her, though. I feel the guilt because I let her believe I did. That was part of the fucking game. And I played it without a shred of remorse.
Until it killed her.
Hunter seems to see a hint of my mood in my features. “It’s good, man. I’m serious. I’m happy you found someone important to you.” He takes a few steps toward the door, hesitating with his hand on the knob. “Look, this is shitty to bring up, and I’m sorry, but it needs to be said. If you really care about this girl, you might want to take steps to keep her from getting caught in the crossfire. These guys clearly want you hurting. They wouldn’t think twice about hurting the people you care about to get to you. You hear?”
“Loud and clear,” I say, clenching my fists. Loud and fucking clear.
I gradually work the stiffness from my legs as I walk across Brianne’s campus. I had to call around until I found someone with enough connections to give me her class schedule after I saw she wasn’t in her dorm. I probably could have waited there for her, but I’ve waited long enough.
I already had to waste a few minutes losing the paparazzi that were waiting outside the hospital for me. The fucking vultures had cars waiting outside to follow me too, but I eventually shook them off. Now I’m wearing a plain black t-shirt, a baseball cap, sunglasses, and jeans. I didn’t take the time to run by my place, but I had one of my assistants bring a few changes of clothes by the hospital before I left.
I’m dressed to keep a low profile, but every young college girl I walk by nearly breaks their neck watching me as I pass. It probably won’t be long before someone tips off the paparazzi and has them following me here.
The building where her class is held is two stories. I jog to the top floor on an outdoor staircase and pass inside through a lounge area with couches, chairs, and a few desks where students are studying quietly. Before long, I’ve found the door to her classroom. There’s no window on the door so I yank it open. About ten students and a professor are sitting in office style chairs around a large table. They have stacks of paper in front of them and the guy who was speaking trails off when they all turn to look toward me.
Brianne’s eyebrows pull down in confusion when she sees me.
“Brianne. I need to talk to you.”
“We’re in the middle of--” starts Professor Barlow. “Jackson? Uh,” he says, smiling but clearly confused. “This is Jackson Pierce, class, he--”
“Now,” I say firmly, interrupting Barlow. It has always been more of a one-sided friendship between us. I dated his sister in college and he latched on to me ever since. I haven’t quite felt right cutting him off, so I agree to look at his student’s submissions once per semester just to keep him off my back.
Brianne blushes, standing and rushing out of the room. I close the door, and then push her against it, kissing her hard. I kiss her hungrily, desperately, even. She’s stiff for a few seconds, but her body melts into me and her hands tentatively press into my back as her tongue swirls with mine.
I pull back, running my thumb down the line of her jaw. “You need to get to class,” I say.
She opens her mouth to speak, but I take her by the arm, open the door, and gently push her back into the room. “Sorry for the interruption,” I say. They are all still staring at me, as if demanding an explanation, so I give it to them. “I just needed a taste.”
The girls in the room visibly react, looking at Brianne with envy. Brianne takes her seat with her head down, but I can see her failing to hold back a smile.
I wait outside the room, stretching out on a couch and using a few books from the nearby bookshelf as a pillow. My body is letting me know that getting out of the hospital bed this soon might have been a poor choice. The minor aches and pains from before are more pronounced and have me wanting a nice, long nap.
I lose myself in thoughts of Brianne. She tastes so good. I rub my lip with my thumb as I stare at the ceiling, letting my mind wander over all the ways I want to use her. The ways I want to dominate her.
About twenty minutes later, the classroom door swings open and students start to stream out. A young girl from her class with dark hair walks up to the couch I’m lounging on, clutching her books to her chest. She looks like she’s about to say something when Brianne clears her throat. The girl jumps a little and hurries off.
“I think you frightened her,” I say.
“Good,” says Brianne, looking after the girl. “I mean. I just can’t stand her. She always goes out of her way to pick on my writing. It wasn’t like I was trying to keep you from talking to her or anything like that.”
“Of course,” I say, smirking.
“So, can I count on you coming to my class and pulling me out for quick make-out sessions from now on? Or was this a one time thing?”
I chuckle. “If you sign the contract, you can count on a hell of a lot more.”
“I got the email, I just haven’t had a chance to really look at it yet,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
Something inside my stomach twists. She’s not going to let things go this far and back out, is she? Fuck. I can’t let that happen. I need her too badly. I need this. She may not want to admit it, but she needs it too.
“I want you to look at it. Tonight,” I say.
She nods her head. “I will. I just have some homework to do first.”
Just hearing her talk about homework reminds me how much younger she is. The thought sends a dirty thrill through me, strengthening my need to take her and train her. She’s so young and pure. I don’t want to taint her purity, I want to mold it into something perfect. Brianne is a blank canvas and if she lets me, I could turn her into a fucking masterpiece.
“Then hurry back and get started. I’ll be expecting a decision in the morning.”
“What happened to taking as much time as I need?” she asks.
I stand, looking down at her and searching for the right words. “I need you, Princess. You don’t understand how fucking badly I do. You’re not like other women. You’re different. You really are my fucking Princess, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you call this off,” I pause, shaking my head. “I don’t want to know.” I bend down to kiss her again, tenderly this time so I can savor her sweet taste while I press her small body into mine. I take a step back “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
11
Brianne
I’m woken by a tentative knock at my door. I spring out of bed, heart pounding. I’m only wearing a long t-shirt and panties. I don’t even have a bra on. I glance at the window through bleary eyes and see it’s still dark out. Who the hell would knock this early in the morning? I check the time on my phone. 5:30 A.M.
Lacey is still snoring softly. She could sleep through a tornado, so that’s no surprise.
I stand in front of the door, doing my best to fix my serious case of bedhead. I’m half-expecting to see Jackson when I open the door, instead I see a girl about my age with thick-rimmed black glasses and a model-perfect face and body. She has raven black hair and shocking green eyes. She’s a little taller than me and she flashes a perfect set of white teeth when she sees me.
“Morning! I’m Mia. I just transferred here from New York. I’m also taking over as RA for this dorm, so we’ll be getting to know each other real well over t
he year.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, rubbing my eyes.
“I’ll need to make sure nothing in your room is prohibited. I’m doing an audit of the entire building. Nothing personal.”
“You…” I say, trailing off as she lets herself in, brushing past me while she glances down at a clipboard and inspects the dorm.
Lacey is still snoring from her bed while Mia walks from corner to corner, lifting clothes with the end of her pencil and rummaging through drawers.
“I’m not sure you’re allowed to--”
“You can double check the residency agreement you signed when you enrolled,” interrupts Mia. “I hereby acknowledge the dormitory is university property,” she recites in a bored monotone, “and thus I revoke my right to privacy for so long as I reside in university housing. I agree to be subject to sear--”
“I get it,” I say.
Mia finds Lacey’s stash and lifts a bottle of vodka that’s nearly empty. “Contraband,” she says, writing something down on her clipboard. “So, what’s your major?” she asks lightly, as if she wasn’t in the middle of being the world’s biggest bitch.
“Creative writing,” I say, having to hold back the urge to voice my exact opinions on how I feel about her rummaging through our room.
“Oh,” she says, stopping and looking up at me with raised eyebrows. “You any good? I’ve always dreamed of publishing a book some day. Well, actually I just think the whole being an author thing would be cool. I don’t think my own stuff is very good.”
I shake my head. “I’m nothing special,” I say.
“Hmm. Too bad. Is this where the magic happens?” she asks, running her fingertips over my closed laptop.”
“Yep,” I say awkwardly. “If you want to call it that.”
“Well, there are some definite violations in this room. I’ll write up a report and get it to you by this evening. I’ll expect everything to be in order by the time I come tomorrow.”
“Great,” I say dryly. “Can’t wait.”
“Have a good morning,” says Mia cheerily as she lets herself out, not even bothering to close the door.
I close the door behind her, glaring at Lacey who’s still sleeping.
A few hours later I’m strolling through the nearly deserted grocery store, stocking up on the college student essentials: ramen noodles, microwavable meals, paper plates and plastic silverware, and a box of cookies for special occasions. I’m about to get in line when a guy in his thirties or forties stops me by grabbing my forearm.
“Hey, Jeva,” says the man in a thick Latin accent. His eyes scan the contents of my basket and he smiles. “Damn, girl. You want to come back to my place and I’ll make you some real food? That body of yours deserves some real nourishment. None of this processed stuff.”
“Uh,” I say, taking a step back and trying to pull my arm free. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure my boyfriend would appreciate that. So I’ll have to pass.”
He doesn’t let go of my arm. “Just come with me, I’ll take care of--”
I notice movement from the corner of my eye at the same moment I see a hand squeeze the man’s forearm. He lets go immediately as he’s shoved back. He stumbles backwards, smashing into a display of glass salsa containers. Half of the jars fall around him, smashing and covering him in salsa.
“What the fuck!” he yells.
Jackson is standing between me and the guy. His height and the broadness of his shoulders always surprises me. I start thinking I must imagine how big he is until I see him again, and he’s just as impressive as I remember. The college guy notices too, and gets up carefully, trying not to cut himself on the glass.
“Here’s a tip,” says Jackson. “When a girl makes it clear she doesn’t want to be touched, you fucking let go. Unless you want to get touched.”
“Whatever pana,” says the guy, clutching his wrist where Jackson grabbed him. “Fuck you,” he says.
Jackson grips the guy’s shirt in both hands and actually lifts him off the ground like he’s a child. I see Jackson’s face scrunch in obvious pain as he strains his still-battered body too hard, but he doesn’t relent. He pins him against the shelves. One of the grocery store managers is fast walking toward us and speaking quickly into a walkie-talkie as he approaches.
“Jackson,” I say. “Come on. He’s not worth it.”
Jackson doesn’t seem to hear me, or he chooses not to. His face is pulled into a mask of rage as he pulls his right arm back and cracks his fist across the guy’s face. The force of the punch snaps the guy’s head to the side and sends him crumpling to the ground.
“Jackson!” I shout. “Stop it!”
He stands over the guy, chest heaving. “You working for the fucking Dominicans?” he asks.
“What?” asks the guy.
Two security guards come from behind Jackson and grab his arms, trying to pull him back. But the rent-a-cops are no match for him, even two on one. He wrestles free easily, pushing them back.
“The fucking Dominicans!” he shouts down at the guy. “Just tell them to leave the lights on. Because they pissed off the wrong guy.”
I reach to grab Jackson’s arm. It feels like warm granite. “Jackson, it’s okay. You have to stop. Please,” I urge him.
Some of the wildness leaves his eyes and he looks down, sighing.
The guards are standing just outside his reach, clearly out of their league and unsure what to do.
“I’ll escort myself out,” says Jackson. “Come on, Brianne.”
I follow behind him, feeling all the eyes in the store on us as we leave. Jackson fishes out a couple hundred dollar bills and slaps them on the customer service desk on our way out. “For her groceries.”
“What was that?” I ask once we’re outside. “And what are you doing here?”
Jackson shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “I had reason to believe I should keep an eye on you today. Don’t worry about it.”
“Too late,” I say irritably. “I’m worried about it. And I think I have a right to be. I looked over the contract, and if you expect me to sign something like that, I deserve to know what’s going on.”
He sighs. “I’ll be open with you. I promise it. Just not right now. I’ll just say there’s something I’m dealing with and it’s putting some extra stress on me.”
I cross my arms, staring at him while we stand in front of the grocery store. I still have trouble wrapping my head around the fact that I’m involved with a guy like Jackson. I guess from an outside perspective, it’d be easy to say I should just go along with whatever I have to, because guys like him are even more rare than one in a million. Most women probably let him get away with anything. But I’ve waited this long to really be with a guy in a serious relationship, and I’m not about to throw all my good sense out the window just because he’s sexy as sin. If he has issues, I want to know about them before I get any deeper into this.
“I need more than that,” I say.
“There’s nothing more to say. Nothing important. I’m handling it. I will have it handled soon, and it won’t be an issue for long.”
“What’s to stop that temper of yours from turning toward me?”
He shakes his head, bending his neck to meet my eyes as he cups my face with his large, possessive hands. “If you sign those papers, I’ll be your dom. You can bet your ass I’ll put my hands on you, but I promise you won’t want me to stop.”
I look away. “I’m being serious, Jackson.”
“So am I. What did you think about the contract?”
I know he’s diverting me from questioning him further, but I can also sense I’m not going to get more out of him right now. He’s hiding something though, and I’ll get it from him eventually. “I think it looks scary. I also wouldn’t want the money. If I do this. If I do,” I repeat, not wanting to make him think I’ve already decided. “I don’t want to feel like some kind of prostitute. I’m not going to let you buy me.”
He giv
es me a strange look. “The money doesn’t matter to me. Let me help you. I want to help. Even if you decide not to sign.”
“No. Thank you, but no. If something happens between us, I don’t want money to confuse it. I don’t want to let it cloud my judgment. If I’m with you, it will be because you’re the right one, not because you made it easier to pay my bills.”
“Goddamn,” he says softly, kissing me. “How did I get lucky enough to find you?”
“Technically, I found you,” I say, grinning.
He chuckles. “You get any more perfect, and I’ll be the one hesitating. At some point, there’s such a thing as too good to be true. You’re going to make me suspicious.” He narrows his eyes at me, taking me by the shoulders and making a show of examining me. “Are you a serial killer?”
I laugh. “Very funny.”
“How long are you going to string him along?” asks Lacey.
We’re sitting in the common area of the upper floor of our dorms. Students are still wandering out of bed every few minutes and heading to the communal showers to get ready for morning classes.
I breathe out a long sigh. “I’m not stringing him along. I’m just… trying to make sure I do the right thing.”
She eyes the laptop in my lap and raises her eyebrows. “I think the right thing would be whatever it takes to finish that story.”
“See,” I say. “That would be the exact opposite of the right thing. I already told him I don’t want his money because I want to have a clear conscience if I do this. I don’t want to feel like I’m using him or something.”
“Wait a second,” says Lacey. “Wait, wait, wait. You told him what?”
I shrug. “I told him I didn’t want the money.”
She claps her hands to her forehead and leans back in the chair. “Nooo! You were supposed to take me on a shopping trip, remember?”
“Somehow, I think you’ll live.”
“You really don’t know me at all then,” she says, making a face that tells me she’s only half-serious. “Wow. I can’t believe you did that.”
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 38
