In Bed With the Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  For years, everything had been black and white. Everything had been simple. Find Thalia. Kill the man who’d taken her. Yet the closer she’d gotten to the truth about what had happened to her sister, the less clear everything else had become.

  She’d thought it was the man who’d bought Thalia that she was going to kill. And then she had, with a stolen handgun and only the rudiments of firearms skills. But it hadn’t been enough because Thalia had been shipped on, sold to someone else, and on down a chain of people that had led to Fitzgerald. And then from Fitzgerald to the man standing in front of her now.

  And nothing was clear anymore, nothing was simple. Fitzgerald was dead, and this man, his son, wasn’t the smug prick she’d been expecting. He was beautiful, and there was something in him she recognized because the same thing burned in her.

  A cause and a deep loyalty to it. A determination to carry on no matter the consequences.

  For her that cause was Thalia. For him it was … Violet? No, it was more than that, she was sure of it.

  “How complicated?” she demanded.

  His mouth twisted, his fingers curling around hers. “Why the fuck would I explain myself to you?”

  “Because I asked. Because you owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything, kitten. Not a single fucking thing.”

  A wise woman would have stopped pushing. But she’d stopped being wise a long time ago. “Yes, you do.” She turned her hands against his palms, lacing her fingers through his and holding on. “You took Thalia, which means you fucking owe me everything.”

  The sun coming through the window backlit him, drawing deep golden tones from his hair and from his skin, casting his face into shadow. He pulled his hands back, tugging her toward him and she went because she couldn’t seem to stop herself, couldn’t seem to drag herself away. Getting closer until she was standing right up against him, her whole body pressed along the hard, muscular length of his.

  She shivered. Two days since he’d touched her, and she couldn’t tell herself she didn’t feel the deep pulse between her thighs. Or the way her skin felt tight and sensitive. And she couldn’t tell herself she wasn’t still buzzing from the fight they’d just had or the death that had hovered so close.

  Maybe she was sick getting off on it. How he’d fought her and matched her. How he’d pushed her down onto the ground, pinning her there so she was unable to move.

  God, she hated giving up control. Why had she liked him taking it from her?

  “All I owe you is your sister,” he said softly. “So that’s all I’m going to give you. Understand?”

  That’s not all you want.

  Stupid. It was all she wanted. The rest was just … curiosity.

  “What about your sister?” she asked, her voice slightly roughened because the feel of him against her was making her breathless. “What about your identity?”

  “You’ll tell no one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t want to hurt Violet any more than I do.”

  He was right. She didn’t. Her own sister meant too much to her to willingly put anyone else’s at risk. Even Theo’s. And apart from anything else, poor Violet sounded like a victim of the usual kind of male threats. Which unfortunately left her without her newfound leverage.

  Fuck him.

  “I’m still going to kill you,” she said. “I’m still going to make sure you pay for what you’ve done.”

  A ghost of a smile turned his mouth, and this time it almost reached his eyes, making her wonder what it was that he found so damn funny about his own death. “Sure. I’ll even load the gun for you when the time comes. But not yet, kitten.” He tugged her even closer, putting his hands behind his back, drawing hers with them so her arms came around his waist. Then he unlaced his fingers from hers and curled them around her hands instead, keeping them there at the small of his back. “I have things to do.”

  He was so hot. So strong. And there was a darkening bruise on his jaw from where she’d hit him, blending in with the other ones already there from their fight two days ago.

  “What things?” she demanded, trying to pay attention to the conversation and not to the press of his hardening cock against the zipper of her jeans.

  But he didn’t answer. He bent his head instead and his mouth covered hers.

  * * *

  Kissing her was the most logical way to shut her up, make her stop asking questions, stop pushing him for answers he couldn’t give her. But really, he kissed her because he wanted to. Because now she was against him, her soft warmth along the entire length of his body, and he just couldn’t stop himself.

  Because if you don’t do something to occupy your mouth, you’ll tell her everything.

  But he couldn’t think of that, couldn’t focus on the sudden intense need to tell someone about his plans, to share the burden. It had been so long keeping everything to himself, making sure no one ever found out. Only Dmitri knew, but he couldn’t tell Dmitri everything. Couldn’t tell him the doubts that came in the darkest part of the night, the fear that all the terrible things he’d done, all the filth he’d covered himself with, would all be for nothing.

  No, he couldn’t think about telling anyone, least of all the woman who’d tried to kill him twice now.

  So he kept his mouth on hers and it wasn’t demanding this time because he wanted to take his time. Slowly exploring her, parting her lips with his tongue and sweeping inside for a deeper taste. She let him, angling her head to kiss him back, just as slow and just as sweet.

  It was strange to kiss someone like this, to take it gently and slowly. The last time had been with the woman he’d one day thought he’d marry, Lily. The lovely daughter of one of his father’s friends. He’d thought he was in love with her, thought his future was set. And then his father had brought him the trafficked girl that night in the Lucky Seven. The girl who’d wept and begged him not to hurt her, begged him to rescue her.

  Who you ran away from and left there.

  A deep, intense anger turned over in his gut. An anger at himself, at Theodore Fitzgerald, pathetic little shit, who’d fucking run like the coward he was, leaving that girl there to his father’s mercy. Who’d done so much more than that too.

  Who doesn’t deserve deep, slow kisses from women like this one?

  Ah, yes, but he wasn’t Theodore Fitzgerald anymore, was he? He’d put that asshole in the ground. Now he was harder, stronger, more powerful than anything Theodore Fitzgerald could have imagined. He was fucking Jericho. And he could have whatever he fucking well wanted.

  You care. You care too much …

  He gave her lower lip a sudden, hard nip, feeling her body tense, hearing the sharp rush of her indrawn breath. A punishment for what she’d seen.

  Christ, she was too perceptive, and he had no idea how she’d managed to see through him like that. People couldn’t know. None of this could be seen to matter to him, because it was a weakness he couldn’t afford.

  But she wasn’t wrong. He did care. He cared about his mission and that’s all.

  Unexpectedly, Temple pulled away from him, tugging her hands from around his waist and taking a few steps back. Her breathing was fast, her color high, amber eyes glowing in her flushed face.

  He wanted to reach for her and drag her to him again, yet he remained where he was, meeting her gaze. His own heartbeat was loud in his head, desire for her pumping hard and fast in his veins.

  “What things?” she repeated. “What things do you have to do?”

  Fuck, he should never have said anything, never have tried to explain himself. He couldn’t even figure out why he had in the first place. Because what did it matter what she thought of him? He was everything she’d accused him of being anyway, so it wasn’t like he could deny it. Nevertheless, something deep inside him wanted her to know the truth.

  “Oh you know, people to traffic,” he said, leaning back against the sill and putting the heels of his hands on the edge of it, grippi
ng the edge with his fingers. “Assholes to kill.” A flippant response that would probably earn him another punch to the jaw, but what the hell. It was no less than he deserved, so she could fucking bring it.

  But this time there was no flash of anger across her features. Instead her brow furrowed, and those lovely golden eyes narrowed as they searched his face.

  “No,” she said, slowly. “I know you’re lying. There’s something more, isn’t there? There’s something big.”

  “You think I would tell you? After you’ve just told me you’re going to kill me?”

  Again she just looked at him and it felt like she was turning him inside out.

  He pushed away from the windowsill sharply, coming toward her, suddenly sick of feeling as if all his defenses were being slowly and systematically stripped away. No one did that to him, especially not one deadly little redhead he’d only met a couple of days previously.

  “I think you want to tell someone.” Temple’s voice was quiet. “I think you have to.”

  He stopped dead, cold creeping over his skin. She saw too much, this woman. She saw far, far too much. “Don’t be silly, little girl. You know nothing about me whatsoever.”

  Her chin lifted. “I know you like a challenge. That you like a fight. That you were once Theodore Fitzgerald and that something happened to you to make you into … this. I know you like rough sex, and I know you love your sister. I know you care deeply about the fact that what you do destroys people.” She stopped. “How am I doing so far?”

  More anger twisted inside him, thick and hot. Defensive.

  You want her to know you.

  He shook his head to get rid of that particular thought, because no, no, he fucking didn’t. And she was the very last person in the world he’d want to know him anyway.

  Instead of answering, he closed the distance between them, reaching for her and jerking her back into his arms, crushing her mouth beneath his. Trying to bury the mad urge to do exactly what some fucking idiot part of him—probably his goddamn dick—was telling him to do and reveal all his secrets to her.

  And maybe she knew exactly what he was doing, because her hands came up, her fingers pushing into his hair, gripping him and trying to pull him away.

  “No,” he said against her mouth, unable to stop himself, half desperate and knowing she would know that too. “Don’t. Let me have this, kitten. Please.”

  He could feel shock go through her, tension making her body stiffen against him, as if that was the last thing she was expecting him to say. Fuck, it was the last thing he’d expected to come out of his mouth too. He didn’t plead, and he didn’t beg, not ever.

  And then she softened in his arms, her grip on his hair loosening. “Let you have what?” The words were soft, her breath warm against his lips.

  “You.”

  “You mean sex.”

  Of course he meant sex. Of course. He kissed her again, covering her mouth so he didn’t have to say it, because he was very much afraid that what would come out wouldn’t be that but something different. Something far more revealing.

  Her. You want her.

  No. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t afford to want anything, because what he wanted didn’t matter, and it never had. That would negate everything he’d done. Every. Single. Thing.

  So he kissed her harder, burying the words he wanted to say in the sweetness of her mouth, in her taste, in the feel of her body against his. Running his hands over the curve of her ass and bringing her more firmly against him.

  Her fingers curled in his hair, her nails scraping over his scalp, sending prickles of delicious pain through him. And her lips parted under his, the taste of her hunger rich in his mouth. There was something different in the kiss now, a demand she hadn’t given him before. Almost as if she’d granted herself permission to not only have it, but to take it for herself too.

  He felt his own desire rise to meet hers, wanting to give her the same challenge she’d given him, wanting her demanding, wanting her desperate. Just like he was. So he raised a hand to the back of her head and gripped her, holding her in place, deepening the kiss, turning it hot and open-mouthed and carnal.

  She made a sound in the back of her throat, her nails digging in hard on his scalp, biting his lower lip the way he’d bitten her. The small pain shot through him, heading straight to his cock, making him so hard he ached.

  And then she let go of his hair, her hands pushing down between their bodies to unfasten the button of his jeans, going for his zipper and tugging it down. She was panting, her movements sharp and hard as if she couldn’t wait.

  Her desperation was infectious, and suddenly he was breathless and panting too, his own hands shaking as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders then jerked up her T-shirt. She cursed, her hands fumbling with his boxers while he tore apart the cups of her bra, baring her breasts.

  “Oh…” A soft gasp escaped her as he slid one hand up the delicate arch of her spine, bringing one breast to his mouth, taking her nipple between his lips and sucking hard.

  Then she groaned. “No, damn you.” And pulled away, breathing hard, her hands finding their way beneath the cotton of his boxers, her fingers circling his cock.

  He shuddered. Ah, fuck, that felt so good. But he didn’t want her having the control, she already got under his skin enough as it was, so he took her wrists in his hands and pulled her fingers away. She fought him, because that’s what she always seemed to do, fight to the bitter end, trying to twist her wrists out of his grip.

  And perhaps a couple of hours ago, that’s exactly what he would have wanted too. But not now. Somehow things had changed. She’d gotten under his skin, seen things in him, made him reveal things he didn’t want to reveal, and he’d had enough.

  He wanted her and he wanted to be in control. That’s all.

  So he held on tight to her slender wrists and pulled her hard against him. Then he turned his head so his mouth was right next to her ear. “No fighting, kitten. Not now.” And because he wanted to give her something in return, he added, “Please.”

  She was panting, the heat of her bare skin soaking through the cotton of his T-shirt. “What … do you want then?”

  He brushed his mouth over the sensitive skin beneath her ear, relishing the shiver that went through her in response. “That’s easy. I want your surrender.” He hadn’t understood fully how important that was to him, not until now.

  “I’ve already given you that.”

  “No, you haven’t.” He nuzzled her again, inhaling her scent, intense desire gathering hot and heavy inside him. He wanted this. He needed it. “I want you to surrender willingly.”

  She made a soft, ragged sound. “Why?”

  He couldn’t have said. It was just a gut deep instinct.

  You know why. You want her trust.

  He shut his eyes, letting the scent and the feel of her seep into him. He could lose himself in her. He could let go of everything. Which made her dangerous since letting go of everything was exactly what he shouldn’t be doing. But … God, why couldn’t he have this? Why couldn’t he have just one person he could turn to? One person to talk to?

  One person to trust. The woman who wants you dead.

  A low, bitter laugh escaped him. “Why? Because if you want me to tell you anything at all, I’m going to need it.”

  * * *

  It was crazy. Shit, maybe she was crazy. But standing there, held against him, her bare breasts pressed to the hard wall of his chest, his breath on the sensitive skin on the side of her neck making her tremble, she couldn’t seem to think of a single reason to refuse him.

  She wanted to know everything. What deep, dark secret lay behind his sharp, green gaze. Where the bleakness and the weariness came from. Why he’d told her he’d give her the gun she could use to kill him and put the bullets in there himself. Why he wanted her to surrender to him …

  So many questions. And she couldn’t understand why she was still curious—no, not curiou
s, but desperate. Yes, she was desperate to know.

  It would be dangerous to give up control to this man, to truly give it up. To put up no fight whatsoever and let him do whatever he wanted. It went against every survival instinct she’d learned over the past seven years. Mainly because it would mean trusting him, and trust never came easy for her, if at all. Because why would it? Especially with him. He’d done those things to Thalia, he hadn’t denied it.

  And yet you could learn everything if you just gave him this.

  He brushed his mouth over her skin once again, and she trembled. Because the truth was, she didn’t want to only surrender so she could gain his trust and get under his guard. Find out all his secrets. She wanted to surrender because she wanted him. Because it would feel so good.

  Because you haven’t let anyone in for such a very long time.

  Unable to help herself, she angled her head away from him, exposing the side of her neck, inviting the brush of his mouth. And he took the invitation instantly, soft, burning kisses trailing off her skin, small nips against the base of her throat. “Well?” His voice was a rough murmur. “Last chance, Temple.”

  She closed her eyes as a cold feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach. A familiar feeling. “I … I’m afraid,” she heard herself say.

  For a second, he went still, his mouth lifting from her skin. “Afraid of what?”

  “I … don’t know. I just … You’re the very last person on earth I should be surrendering to, and I…” She swallowed. “I should be fighting you.”

  “You have fought me.”

  “Yeah, and I lost.”

  “You didn’t lose.” He kissed her again, his tongue tasting her skin, and she couldn’t stop the soft sigh that escaped her. “There are all kinds of different victories.”

  She didn’t quite understand that, not with the way he was sensitizing every one of her nerve-endings with that beautiful mouth of his, making her skin feel tight. Making her nipples hard and her pussy wet and aching. “I c-can’t.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself from shaking. “Not after what you did to Thalia.”