In Bed With the Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  Dmitri blinked. “What the hell?”

  He ignored the question. “We need to get his operations on lockdown. Take out any asshole who’s gunning for more power. Do we have any more intel on who else might want to take potshots at Hunt’s little empire?”

  Dmitri’s scowl deepened. “Not yet.”

  “Get someone on it. I need to know, and I need to know now.”

  “What’s going on, boss?”

  Jericho came slowly back over to his desk, glancing down at the computer screen and the little blue dot. Violet. “We can’t have the U.S. networks look like they’re going down, not given the situation with the Russians. They need to look strong, and taking out Hunt would weaken them.”

  There was silence from his bodyguard and just as well. He wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  Stopping Hunt from taking down any more of the network was vital. How exactly he was going to convince him of that without actually revealing the truth was … uncertain.

  Why not tell him? He might be more amenable if he knew what you were actually doing. Especially since you both have a common goal.

  Well, they did. But he couldn’t tell Hunt what was really going on, he really couldn’t. Not when Violet could be put at risk. Not when the more people who knew, the less safe a secret was. No hint of what he planned could get out, not the merest breath.

  Because if the various crime syndicates caught even a whiff of it, he was a dead man. Not that that bothered him overly. What bothered him was that they’d pull out of the agreements, start protecting themselves. And once they started doing that, all the information he’d spent years collecting would be worthless.

  He had to catch them unaware. It was the only way his plan would work.

  “Hunt will never work with you,” Dmitri said at last. “You know that.”

  Jericho looked over at the other man. “I’ll convince him.”

  “How?”

  “Incentive.”

  The bodyguard’s expression became even grimmer. “His woman?”

  It was the only way. The truth simply wasn’t an option, which left him with only one choice. If he couldn’t kill Hunt, he’d have to get him on board somehow. And the only way to do that was to make him think Violet’s safety was at risk. The man didn’t need to know that, of course, Violet would never be harmed. He only needed to believe she might be.

  Which meant Violet had to believe it too.

  She already believes the worst of you. It won’t be too difficult.

  He looked away, back down to the screen with the blue dot. His chest had started to ache, the pain reaching deep inside of him.

  It didn’t matter what she thought of him. It didn’t matter if she hated him. His feelings weren’t important.

  All that mattered was that Hunt lived. That Violet was safe. And he took control of his father’s empire.

  The rest was just dust in the wind.

  “Yes,” he said flatly. “I want her in our custody by nine.”

  The big man nodded, his expression clearing at being given something to do.

  “Oh and Dmitri?”

  “Yes, boss?”

  “If she is harmed in any way and I do mean in any way, I’ll feed your balls to the dogs. Am I clear?”

  * * *

  Temple stepped back quickly as footsteps started heading toward the doorway of the room Jericho and Dmitri had gone into. There was no time to return to Jericho’s bedroom but luckily there was a door to another room behind her, so she pulled it open and slipped through it, shutting it after her as quietly as she could. Then she pressed her ear to the wood, listening as the heavy footsteps passed by the room she was hiding in.

  She waited there a minute until the footsteps faded, then she let out a breath and turned around, leaning against the door.

  The room looked to be some kind of bedroom, not that she really cared, not after hearing what had gone on with Jericho and Dmitri. They’d been speaking in Russian so she didn’t understand what they’d said, but she’d heard Hunt’s name. And Violet’s. And Jericho’s voice when he’d issued that last order had been hard, cold.

  She didn’t know what the hell was going on, but she had a horrible feeling Violet was going to get caught in the middle.

  Fear began to form in her gut, an icy lump of it, and that didn’t make any sense, because she didn’t even know Violet. It shouldn’t matter to her what happened to the woman. Yet it did.

  Because of him.

  Temple closed her eyes and swallowed, her mouth dry, her throat aching.

  Yeah, she couldn’t deny it. She was worried for him. Afraid that whatever he was doing, whatever goal he was aiming for, it was more important to him than the safety of his own sister. That he would sacrifice her if it came down to it. And she couldn’t let that happen. She just … couldn’t.

  It would kill him, she knew it in her bones. Maybe not physically, but it would kill something in him. He was a man who’d lost a good part of his soul already, and she knew, she just fucking well knew, that if anything happened to Violet, it would destroy whatever was left.

  Why should you care? You want him dead yourself.

  Yeah and that’s why it didn’t make any sense.

  But yesterday had … changed things. She hadn’t been able to get the look on his face when he’d told her he’d surrendered out of her head. She wanted to know what it was he’d surrendered to. Was it the pull of money? Was his greed greater than his capacity to care? He felt very strongly about things, that was for sure, so maybe that was it. And yet …

  That thought felt wrong. He’d told her it was complicated, and in her experience greed wasn’t complicated. People always wanted more than what they had, and so they took it, and they didn’t give a shit about the consequences.

  Okay, so he’d been greedy with her. After he’d fucked her up against that window the day before, he’d picked her up and carried her up to his bedroom, and kept her there all night. Making her scream. Making her burn. Taking her control from her and giving her pleasure in its place.

  Yeah, he’d been greedy all right. But men who wanted power or money or even just sex didn’t get that bleak look in their eyes. They didn’t look as if the gates of hell had already closed behind them.

  No, it wasn’t greed that motivated Jericho. It was something else. And that something had changed things. She didn’t want to examine exactly what it had changed yet—if fucking ever. But one thing she did know. She couldn’t let him hurt his sister. She couldn’t let him destroy himself.

  Because after all, it was she who had that honor. He’d promised.

  Temple opened her eyes and turned around, pulled open the door and slipped out.

  The hallway was empty.

  She walked silently over to the door she’d seen Jericho and Dmitri vanish through, and put her hand on the door handle. Then she took a breath and pushed it open.

  The room beyond was an office, a heavy oak desk near the windows, bookshelves full of books lining the walls. The walls and floors were white, the same as in other rooms, and it was elegantly and expensively furnished. Yet still, it had the sterile, unlived-in look of a hotel room. Just like all the other rooms in this house. Just like all the other rooms in the house in Paris too.

  Clearly nowhere was home for Jericho.

  He was sitting behind the desk, his gaze on the computer in front of him, a faint crease between his dark golden brows, and something inside her clenched tight. A weird feeling that was hunger, need, and aching sadness all tangled together.

  He looked up as the door swung open and she saw the glitter of gold in his eyes as his gaze met hers.

  A stillness fell over the room, the space between them almost oppressively thick with tension.

  “I thought you were asleep,” he said after a moment, leaning back slowly in his chair.

  Since her clothes had been left downstairs, she’d had to go through his drawers to find something to cover herself with, eventually finding a plain
black T-shirt. She was naked underneath it, and clearly he knew that too because his gaze swept over her, avid and hungry.

  Her nipples hardened, and she had to fold her arms to cover them. “I was.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  Might as well go straight to the point. “I heard you and Dmitri talking.”

  A faint smile turned the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I should have been quieter.”

  “You were talking about Elijah Hunt and Violet.”

  His smile faded. “You listened?”

  Temple moved into the room, crossing over to the desk and standing in front of it. “Yeah, I listened.”

  The distance separating them wasn’t far now, but the tension hadn’t dissipated. If anything it grew thicker, heavy with menace. He didn’t like her eavesdropping, that was for sure.

  He linked his fingers, put his hands behind his head, biceps flexing with the movement, making her mouth go dry again as desire turned over inside her. “You won’t have gotten much,” he said, his voice mild. “Unless you know Russian.”

  He looked lazy and relaxed, but she knew he wasn’t, not with that gleam of sharp emerald in his eyes.

  “I don’t know Russian, but I heard you mention Violet and Elijah.”

  “They don’t concern you.”

  She ignored him. “What order did you give Dmitri? It had something to do with Violet, didn’t it?”

  His expression became even colder. “You should go back to bed. This has got nothing to do with you.”

  She ignored that too. Instead, she placed her hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, holding his gaze. “Are you going to hurt her, Jericho?”

  A bright spark of anger flared briefly in his eyes, before the dark gold of his lashes covered it. “Go back to bed, Temple,” he ordered, the heavy authority in his voice landing on her like a lead weight.

  “No.” She stayed exactly where she was, staring at him. “If you hurt her, I’ll use any means necessary to stop you.”

  “Try it. You couldn’t the last time as I recall.”

  There was nothing of the man she’d seen the night before in his face now. No hint of that darkness, that despair. This was the crime lord. This wasn’t Theo.

  Theo died a long time ago.

  No, he was wrong. Theo was still alive, she’d bet anything on it.

  “Don’t hurt her, Theo,” she said softly, deliberately. “It’ll kill you if you do.”

  He remained ostensibly relaxed. But she could see the tension in his jaw, in his shoulders, in the green of his eyes. “Why the fuck should you care?”

  She hadn’t thought she’d ever tell anyone, but for some reason it came out anyway. “Because I know what it’s like to be the reason someone else got hurt. It steals something from you.” She paused. “And I get the feeling you don’t have a lot left.”

  He got up suddenly, pushing himself out of his chair and coming around the desk. And she braced herself, waiting for the hard touch of his hands, wanting it, craving it. But he stopped as he drew level with her, making no move toward her. He was dressed in a tank and shorts, as if he was about to hit the gym, and all she could do was stare at him, hungry and wanting despite everything.

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” he said quietly. “But that’s all you’ll get.”

  She moved quickly, coming to stand in front of him, blocking his way, prepared to push, prepared to fight because that’s all she knew how to do. “You promised me last night,” she said fiercely, because this felt vital all of a sudden. “You promised that if I surrendered to you, you’d tell me what was going on.”

  He looked down at her, his expression shuttered. “I can’t.”

  But she wasn’t finished. “I gave you everything last night. I gave you my surrender. What more do you want? The truth about me? Okay, I’ll tell you then. Dad sold Thalia for his fucking drug habit, but that’s not the only reason.” She said it flatly because that was the only way to say it. Deliver the facts like orders, like a shopping list that didn’t mean anything. “He sold her because she wouldn’t give him what he wanted anymore, because she was too old. And because she was protecting me.”

  His gaze had sharpened, the edges like a scalpel cutting her skin, the blade so keen that at first there was no pain. And then there was. And it hurt, it hurt like fuck. But the words had taken on a momentum all their own, and now they couldn’t be stopped.

  “He’d been abusing her for years as it turned out,” she went on, her tone becoming husky even though she tried to keep it clear. “He tried to turn his attention on me, but she stopped him. She let him have her so he wouldn’t touch me. But then he lost his taste for her, and wanted her out of the way. So he sold her. And then that night he told me all about it.” She held her jaw tight against the pain, held everything tight against it, and her voice shook, but she went on all the same. “So that’s why I have to find Thalia. For years she protected me, and now it’s my turn. Now it’s my turn to protect her.”

  * * *

  Jericho stared at the half-fierce, half-desperate expression on her face and for a moment there was nothing but silence.

  He should say something, but rage was starting to get in the way. For what she’d told him. For what had happened to her. For what had been done to her.

  You can’t let it matter. You have a goal remember?

  One hand had unconsciously closed into a fist and he had to make himself relax it. “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded, forcing the anger down.

  She didn’t look away, and he could see the pain in the depths of her golden eyes. Along with a certainty, that determination that was always there. “Not being able to do anything for Thalia, not even knowing what was going on, and then finding out I was the reason she had to put up with that fucking asshole … It hurt.”

  It more than hurt, he could see that. It was goddamn ripping her apart.

  “Temple—”

  “I can’t let you be the reason she’s hurt. I won’t.” She stared at him, all stubborn will and ferocity. “You have to draw the line somewhere, Jericho.”

  Draw the line.

  The words were like a sword, sliding slowly and painfully through him.

  When he’d started all of this, getting himself deeper and deeper into the criminal underworld, he’d had many lines and yet, over the years, one by one, they’d disappeared. There were a few left but they were getting fainter and fainter. Like they’d been drawn in wet sand and the tide was coming in.

  And now, close to the end point, those lines were so indistinct they almost weren’t there at all. But hell, that was a good thing, wasn’t it? He couldn’t afford scruples or reservations or regrets. He had to keep pushing all the way through. Didn’t he?

  “And where is your line?” he asked, because right in that moment, he didn’t have an answer for her. “Does an assassin even have one?”

  She blinked, an odd look passing over her face. Then her copper lashes swept down, veiling her gaze. “I don’t … know.” There was a husky note in her voice. “I mean … when I started out trying to find Thalia, training and perfecting my skills, I thought I didn’t. I never left a contract unfulfilled. Never missed my shot, never hesitated. I couldn’t second-guess myself…” She trailed off.

  “Because if you second-guessed yourself, you’d never go through with it,” he finished.

  Her lashes came up at that, her amber gaze finding his. “Yes. That’s exactly it. I couldn’t think because if I did, I’d remember why doing this was wrong. And it couldn’t be wrong. Without it I wouldn’t find Thalia. I wouldn’t be able to get revenge for her. I … couldn’t afford to have a line. Not if I wanted to do what I needed to do.” She looked away, down at the ground. “So what does that make me?” The question was soft, almost inaudible, and he knew she wasn’t asking him. “What kind of person doesn’t have a line?”

  There was something lost in her voice, something bewildered, and it somehow got inside him, twisted his insides
all around. She stood there dressed only in his T-shirt, her long red hair falling over her shoulders, her legs bare. The vulnerable young girl, not the hardened assassin.

  And he moved, acting entirely on instinct, reaching for her and drawing her into his arms. Her hands came against his chest, holding herself away from him. But he didn’t let her go. “You have a line, Temple,” he said quietly. “You’re not a monster, you’re not a psychopath, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re just angry, and you love your sister.”

  Her gaze was aimed at his chest, her hands a gentle warm pressure on the cotton of his tank. “She told me I was a good person. That I was brave and loyal. That I could be anything I wanted to be.” There was no need to ask who she was talking about. He knew. “But I’m not any of those things. I kill people for money. And when it comes to finding her…” Slowly, she tipped her head back and looked up at him. “I have no line.”

  She believed it, he could see that. Just like he could see her pain and her vulnerability. And her fear. Because yeah, she was scared too and he knew why. She was afraid of what she’d become.

  Just like you are.

  Ah, no there was a small difference. He knew what he’d become. There was still hope for her.

  He cupped her face between his hands, allowing the warmth of her skin to seep into him, letting himself fall into her golden eyes.

  And he realized with a jolt that this was her true surrender to him. Not what they’d done last night. Oh, physically she’d given him everything, but here, right now, she was giving him everything emotionally. He didn’t really understand why because she had no reason to trust him, no reason at all. Yet she’d told him about herself all the same, revealed things he suspected she hadn’t told anyone. And to the man she was doing to kill.

  Her sister was right, she was brave.

  Beneath his fingertips he could feel the fast beat of her pulse on the underside of her jaw, could almost feel her fear vibrating through her body. But she didn’t pull away or take her gaze from his.

  The logical thing to do would be to kiss her, take her back to bed and ignore what she’d told him. Let none of it touch him. Because her past and her pain had nothing to do with him, and they certainly had nothing to do with his plans.