Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels

by Priscilla West

  I love him.

  The small flowing tears turn to big, heart wrenching, throat clogging sobs. I loved him, and the whole time I was loving him, I was loving a lie.

  When I’m able to breathe, I pick up my phone and call Mark’s cell.

  “Hi, this is Mark,” he says cordially. Does he answer the phone like that when it’s Valerie? I know I’m distracted. Everything I think comes right back to her.

  “I need to see you, right away. Right now.”

  “It’s not a good time, and I’m at my office now,” he says with an edge in his voice meant to tell me I’m putting his big plan at risk.

  “Well, this is the only time there is.” It comes out a lot more mystical sounding than I wanted. I flatten my voice into a stone, like my heart. “Go home for lunch. I will meet you at noon.”

  “This really isn’t a good—”

  “It’s not an offer, Mark. It’s a demand and you’ll meet it.”

  “What on earth has gotten into you?”

  “The truth, Mark. The truth has finally worked its way into my deluded head.”

  “What? What truth?”

  “Meet me at your apartment at noon. And, Mark. I’m not sneaking in the back door this time, or ever again. I’m coming through the front door so you better be in the lobby when I get there.”

  I hang up the phone before he responds or I lose my nerve. I don’t bother turning on my radio because the song in my head is already playing too loudly to allow anything else to be heard. That song is titled, “What a Fool I’ve Been.”

  I remember when he was talking about how dangerous it was for me to be seen at his place. Mark told me Valerie lived near him. He told me that he needed me to sneak in and use another name in order to protect me, and I bought it not even realizing that it’s a perfect way to sneak your mistress past the doorman, who probably knows Valerie by name. Names matter. Like how Mark never calls her Miss James, and frequently calls her Val. He called me Miss Sharp all the time until the day he screwed me over his desk.

  Then, another shot to the heart: Mark asked me the day we met with Janice to give “Val” whatever she was looking for in my office. Thank God I decided to hold on to the Wall Street story. It’s the only card I’ve got left, and he would have had me just hand it to her–his girlfriend–on a silver platter along with my business.

  It’s all so clear.

  Now that everything makes sense, I’m more angry than sad. So angry, in fact, I drive right past his building and have to make a U-turn and come at it from the other direction to pull into the underground parking garage. The fact that so many meaningful moments in my life happened in this building and I don’t even know how to enter it correctly is not lost on me. I arrive about ten minutes early and sit in the car looking at the envelope full of the pictures in the front seat and trying to think of what my approach to this is going to be. I can’t just run around his apartment throwing things and sobbing. I’m leaving him, but I’m taking my dignity out the door with me.

  I see him standing in the lobby with the perturbed scowl of a man who has just been terribly inconvenienced. I don’t bother smiling, although the sight of him makes my heart flutter and ache at the same time. He smiles at the lobby clerk, and guides me to the elevator that requires his key.

  “Nice to be going in the front for a change,” I say, my bitterness overwhelming the small elevator car and crowding him into silence. He opens the door for me like a gentleman, and the first thing I do is scan his place for any sign of her–a leftover scarf, some lipstick, a pearl handled knife he can jab in my back. Nothing. You would never know she was in his life, unless you had photographic evidence burning a hole through your hand.

  “This better be good, Julia, because I had to take a lot of risks to get here. I had to lie to Blake about a meeting, and I’m not really used to being the lying brother in the family. You could have jeopardized our last chance!”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Mark. Seems like you lie pretty well to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “For example, how you told me you wanted to give Valerie James whatever she wanted from my office because you thought it would be good for me. That was a total lie. Or when you told me Valerie James was going to get my company because she was Blake’s mistress. That was a good one too. Or when you told me you were falling in love with me. That was the biggest whopper of them all. You lie just fine.”

  “She is Blake’s mistress!” he blurted out.

  “And when you say “Blake” you mean you, right?”

  “What the hell?” Mark put his hands on his hips and bit his lower lip. I had done a good job of staying in control, but even the best dam breaks at some point.

  “Hell? You want to know about hell? I’ll tell you about hell. Hell is when you open yourself up to someone completely, giving him your body and soul, just to wake up in the morning and discover you’re nothing but a fool.”

  I can’t contain it any more. I throw the envelope at him and make my way to the couch. Just looking at it makes me want to vomit. I can’t sit on it knowing she was there, on this sofa, loving him and laughing at my naivety. I pace around the couch looking for somewhere to sit because I’m about to pass out, when I finally land on a bar stool in the kitchen.

  I watch Mark as he picks up the envelope that bounced off his chest and landed on the floor. He looks at me quizzically, and then carefully opens the flap. Reaching in, he pulls the stack of pictures out and turns them over so he can see the top one. I stare at him unashamedly. I want to see his face when he gets caught in his act.

  It’s not the expression I anticipated. He’s not angry, or guilty, or sad. He doesn’t throw them back in protest or laugh and pretend it’s a joke. He squints and analyzes each one, going through the stack again and again. I can tell by his eyes, and the slight head tilt he’s making, the only feeling he has is confusion.

  “Where did you get these?” he asks looking at me like he’s just seen an airplane materialize out of thin air. “Who took them?”

  I’m taken aback by his quiet confusion and don’t know how to feel about it. If this is an act, he should get an Academy Award.

  “How the hell should I know who took them?” I retort. “Who else do you have in the room when you’re having sex with my worst enemy? Maybe that would be the person.”

  “We didn’t have anyone with us and these were taken in my house. I don’t understand how this is possible. Where did you get these?”

  “Okay, Mark. Let’s put the brakes on,” I say testily. The fact he is more concerned about the evidence than what it shows puts me off. “Before we get into who owns a camera, why don’t you stop and tell me exactly why you are screwing Valerie James in these pictures?”

  “Don’t be dumb, Julia. We were screwing because she was my lover and that’s what you do with lovers–you make love. Now, where did you get these?”

  “Oh, that explains it. You’re lovers. How nice. How fucking nice. You make love. Well, if you two are ‘lovers’ then what the hell have you and I been? Fuckers?” I stand up and open my arms wide. I know I promised myself I wouldn’t be histrionic but once again Mark has my head messed up as the situation spins wildly out of my expectation.

  Mark looks at me again and I can see he finally gets the fact I’m on the edge here.

  “Wait,” he says. “You don’t think this is now, do you?”

  “Now who’s dumb, Mark? Yes I think this is now. The past is the past, the future is the future and this is fucking now! Stop with the philosophy and tell me why.” I sit back down, the strength bleeding out of me as I swing from anger to the other side of this equation–the hurt. “I just want to know why. What did I ever do to any of you?”

  Mark sits down on the couch, clearly having trouble looking away from the pictures. I know that feeling. He sets them aside, and gives me the gentlest loving gaze. I could slap him for it.

  “Julia, come sit with me and I can explain some of this
. Then I need you to explain some things to me because I think we’re in deep waters here,” he says softly as if he is trying to talk down a grizzly bear.

  “I’m not sitting on that fucking couch. Now or ever, you jackass. The only thing I want to do on that couch is set it on fire. How’s that for an explanation?”

  “You need to stop,” Mark says with his no-nonsense parental tone. The lessons of my submissive month kick in and I immediately stare at the floor. I want to fight the hypnotic suggestion his voice holds on me, but I fall into his spell every time.

  “I want this to stop,” I cry quietly. “I want all this pain to stop.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, you are going to stop the cursing. It’s unhelpful at best, and grotesque on you. Second, I am going to sit beside you and explain my side of this and you are not going to interrupt me. Then, and only then, will I listen to you. Third, at that time you will tell me exactly where you got these.”

  I grab a Kleenex from the bar and nod like a pacified child. He walks over slowly and takes the stool beside me at the kitchen bar, placing the pictures on the counter face down. I reach over and turn them back up. He can face his guilt while he faces me.

  “Yes,” he says with crisp and accentuated articulation, “Val and I were lovers. But it was at least five years ago and we haven’t been together since.”

  “Val, Val, Val… I give you credit for not claiming this was Photoshopped, but really– five years later you’re still calling her ‘Val’ but you opened me in my most private space just last night and you still call me ‘Julia’ so don’t tell me it’s over with her.”

  “I said no interruption, if you recall.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I will probably start calling you “Jul” in time, but Julia fits you better, it’s prettier–like you. Anyway, we met when the board of Ladies World was running out of cash options and looking for an infusion of capital. She was part of the process. I liked her immediately. She was so headstrong and smart. Val is driven and able, she is like the salmon that swim upstream–always pushing, always forging ahead.”

  She’s also got long legs, an hourglass figure, and red hair that draws men to her like a beacon, I think to myself, but refrain from interrupting him. He reads my mind.

  “Val is very attractive, and that certainly doesn’t hurt. In fact, she uses it quite well when the need arises. She’s, well, she’s a lot like you—amazing and strong, attractive and inviting. But she also has some of the same pitfalls as you. She’s so driven she can’t stop. She’s up on power and out of balance about people. Eventually, we all exist to serve Ladies World in some way or another because it’s her real love. As much as I wanted her, I eventually discovered I’d never be anything more than a name in the contributor’s column of her life.”

  My mind flashes back to Greg and the way I used him to dump my problems, dragged him to places because I was doing a story and generally set him on the back-burner through most of our love. I did love Greg, but not more than Lynx. I nod.

  “She’s wanted to change Ladies World for a long time, to keep it relevant. So, when we were dating, she decided to do a series of edgy stories about the city and subcultures in it so she chose the BDSM culture and fetish clubs as a topic. We both thought it would be fun to get in some leather and hit the scene. We went to clubs, got invited to some munches, and tried out some of the stuff–spanking, collars, leather and lace, dominance and submission. Instead of bringing us together, it tore us apart.”

  “Yeah, a bullwhip and a blowjob have a way of doing that,” I say sarcastically, even though my heart’s not really into this fight anymore. I’m just reacting. He scowls but continues gracefully.

  “I got to know some of the couples, nice, neat people. And I discovered the power of dominance and submission as a lifestyle. I met female executives who dealt with the pressures of their power by submitting at home over the lap of a lover, much like you did with me. I learned the internal satisfaction of knowing I wasn’t just loving someone but guiding, helping and teaching them. It was a perfect world for me. Val just never got past the sex part. It was just a story and a game to her.”

  “I don’t remember Ladies World running a fetish article. Where would they even put it? Between a recipe for homemade shortbread cookies and a photo spread on floral centerpieces for spring dances?”

  “That’s exactly right. She worked that story hard, but the board refused to run it. They said it would alienate their base and bring them negative attention. Even Blake voted to can the piece. She went on to her next issue and wanted us to move on too. But I couldn’t. I found a home in that world and a way I wanted to experience and express my love. I refused to leave it behind. She left me behind instead.”

  Mark’s eyes grow darker and his gaze seems far away. It is clear he loved her once, yet the tone in his voice, sad but strong, makes it clear he thinks he made the right decision and doesn’t regret it.

  “After the board vote and her disappointment, she started an on and off affair with Blake. It’s perfect for them both. He’s married so he just wants something fun and nasty, and she’s able to get his vote to swing her way when she needs support. They are using each other, but they both seem happy with the arrangement. I don’t judge. Now, who took these pictures and how did you get them?”

  I explain about the knock on the door and the envelope waiting for me. I tell him it isn’t the first incident, and talk about the text message warning me not to trust him, that I assume must have come from Valerie if she knows I’m dating her man. He interrupts me to remind me he is not anyone’s man at the moment. I chide him, but smile. It’s a fair correction.

  He reaches over and picks up the pictures. His mouth curls upward into a nostalgic smile that breaks my heart anew, then points out some things I hadn’t noticed before. The couch has been reupholstered since then and though the color is similar, the pattern is not the same. Valerie’s hair is a lot longer than it was the last time I saw her, and her clothes are definitely out of style for today. That’s the biggest clue. Valerie James is never out of style.

  I take a deep breath and look in Mark’s eyes, so deep, so beautiful. I place my hand on top of his while every cell in my body is remembering their rough touch as he holds my hips, the way he reaches inside me and enlivens my sexual core, the gentle sweet moments when those hands brush my hair from my eyes or trace a pattern down my neck to my breasts. His hands are warm and my fingers stiff and cold.

  “I don’t buy it,” I say.

  “What?”

  “It’s a beautiful story and why wouldn’t it be? Valerie is a lot of things but chief among them, even I have to admit, is that she is a damn good writer.”

  “Oh my god, are you kidding me?” He throws up his hands in exasperation.

  “Think about it Mark. What’s more likely? You and your long lost lover just happened to have a stack of five year old pictures laying around from intimate scenes you did in front of someone with a camera who you conveniently can’t remember or you put her in a red wig, got out your spanking paddle and took some shots, Photoshopping the couch later as a nice touch?”

  “I can show you the receipt from the couch, if it helps. Or I can just tell you that these are pictures from a long time ago and I don’t know who took them. Or I can just call Valerie right now and clear this up.”

  “You’d do that? You’d call her so I could hear?”

  “Yes, I’m going to call her. I want to know who took these pictures, because there sure as hell wasn’t anyone in that room but us. And if it helps you get over this so you and I can move on then that’s a plus in my column.”

  “You talk like an accountant.”

  “You make me crazy,” he responds walking over to the phone by the bar.

  “Speaker, please” I say, following him. I have no idea what he’s going to say but I can’t wait to hear it.

  He flicks the speakerphone on, pulls out his cell, gets her number, and dials it
into the big phone. He puts his finger up when she answers, and I instinctively cover my mouth with my hand to show him I won’t make a sound.

  “Val, it’s Mark Stone. Got a minute? It’s important, and private.”

  “I’m on a deadline so hurry,” she says dryly. It’s Valerie James all right.

  “Listen, Val,” Mark stalls a moment, not sure what to say. “I‒I got some pictures in my office today. Looks a bit like a blackmail situation. Don’t worry, though. I can handle it. It’s just the pictures, well, they are old ones and I’m not sure how they even got taken.”

  “I’m waiting for the part that has to do with me.” She’s probably editing an article while he talks to her.

  “They are pictures of us, Val, in flagrante. Remember the ‘Love’s Lost Leather’ piece you wanted to do? They come from about then. Some pretty private moments, actually.”

  “Oh.” She laughs genuinely with just the hint of a bitter edge. “Those moments.”

  “What I don’t understand is who took these pictures and how they got to my office today.”

  “Well, I can only answer one of those. I took them.”

  “You did? How? I mean, you were pretty occupied at the moment from the looks of things,” he says cordially. They talk as old lovers do, but it’s also clear the feelings have long since passed.

  “Oh Mark.” She sighs. “I wanted some shots for the story and no one we met in the clubs was either willing or, well, photogenic enough. So I used the old ‘purse cam’ trick, and turned the video into a couple of stills. I was going to blur our faces or shop them out. When the piece didn’t happen, I erased the video and filed the pictures in the ‘things that never happened’ folder. Haven’t seen them for years.”