Billionaires, Boarders, and Bastards: A Limited-Time Collection of Reverse Harem Romance Novellas

by C. M. Stunich

  I can feel him shutting down.

  I won't let him retreat back into the cold confines of his frozen heart. I want to help him let go of the mask. If I accomplish nothing else before I leave but to trade out the cold, detached specter of the man before me with someone with passion and capacity for love, the world will be a better place.

  “How about we talk about something cheerful and completely unrelated for a while? Like what was your favorite Christmas gift you got as a child?” I let my love for everything holiday bleed into my words. After all, nothing can make a person smile like a little Christmas cheer. The sexy slash of lips curves ever so slightly. The smile is laced with sadness, but it's there. This is enough to encourage me to continue.

  The conversation starts out lighthearted and shallow, but it doesn't stay that way for long. The cozy near-dark and soft tones of our voices give a sense of comfort and familiarity to a friendship only hours old. I tell him things, personal things, some I haven't ever told another living soul. Every now and again, he interrupts me with a question or a comment, but mostly he watches me with unwavering focus. Sometime later, he begins to speak, and it is my turn to listen. The mellifluous cadence of his hypnotic voice is chastely seductive.

  “I killed a man once. It was an accident, of course. But that doesn't change the fact that I took a man's life in a fit of rage. No amount of regret will be enough to bring him back. Nothing will ever make it okay.”

  He tells me about the woman he was once engaged to, how one day he came home early and found her fucking a complete stranger. The man and him got into an argument, and the guy pulled out a knife and sliced up Colden's face. The scar … it's from that day. Poor Colden, having to live with the constant reminder of a single mistake, an accident made only once through passionate rage.

  “I only punched the guy one time, but it was enough. He fell back and hit his head against the doorknob; the impact killed him instantaneously.” Colden stops talking, but I recognize the need for silence so I let him have his moment of just being. Silently, I encourage him to continue.

  “I'm dangerous, a fucking monster. If only you could've seen the look in her eyes. That look will haunt me for the rest of my life. And every time I look in the mirror and see the scars, I wonder how different my life would have been had I just walked away.” He stands up and shakes out his muscles, like the emotions became too heavy to carry. Pacing in small circles, he stops and meets my eyes. “Maybe then I would be a man worth … being loved by someone like you.”

  “You already are,” I say with a deep sigh. I don't know why I say it, but it's the truth. It sort of just pops out of my mouth. I need to keep my distance. Already I can feel myself falling for Colden and it's only been one day. How will I feel when this dream is over and reality comes rushing back?

  “I can't be trusted. If I let the feelings in for too long, bad things happen.” His voice cracks, and he sits back in the chair, emotions overwhelming his handsome face. He closes his eyes and begins breathing in and out slowly, dropping his head back against the supple leather of the chair. I stand up, making my way over to him. I crouch down, carefully avoiding actual touch. His smell is pure seduction, an intoxicating mix of cedar, sweat, and a primal earthy, undeniably male scent.

  “It doesn't have to be bad. Your kiss … it was masterful,” I say. My voice comes out laden with sexual desire. Colden freezes; the ample muscles of his back and shoulders go taught. The gentle rise and fall of his bare chest goes completely still. Turning his head to look at me, he cracks his eyes. The angelic blue color might be at odds with his tough exterior, but they mirror the kind soul beneath. He's radiating energy, electrifying the air around us.

  “I shouldn't have done that. I put people in jeopardy. My brothers. You. I've already said too much; I just wanted someone to understand me.” The need to be understood resonates with me on such a deep level.

  “I understand your regret. I understand your hesitation. But I'm not scared of you,” I tell him. I want him to know I understand. I reach up, placing the palm of my hand over my heart.

  “You should be. The strength of our connection is violent and hot and explosive. I have never felt this for anyone—not even the woman whose lover I killed.” He growls fiercely, running a hand through his golden hair. The red-hot connection between us; he feels it, too.

  “What do we do?” I say in a soft voice. My aching body wants his with a savage craving.

  “Nothing. Because if I let myself have you even once, I won't be able to let you go. You'll be mine, forever and always. And I can't share—not even with my brothers.” I swoon. My breath hitches and I get butterflies. His words are exhilarating. Romantic. And heartbreaking.

  “I … understand,” I manage to stutter out. I want to respect his wishes, but I want him with every cell in my body, every iota of thought.

  “Just knowing they've felt the sweet warmth of your cunt makes me livid with jealousy. And that scares me. I will slit my own throat before I put my family in danger.” His words are so quiet, they're almost drowned out by wild whistle of winter wind.

  “I trust you,” I say softly.

  If he thinks the burning desire between us is too powerful to act on, then friends we shall be. But I will be waiting with bated breath in the hope that I will someday feel the physical manifestation of the torrid attraction between us.

  Colden is gone when I wake up. He slept the night in the chair, stubbornly refusing to sleep next to me.

  I get dressed, picking out a red cable-knit sweater dress and a black knee-high boot with a chunky heel and a plaid cashmere Burberry scarf. Going casual, I just throw on some mascara and a dusting of blush. Satisfied with my look, I head downstairs to try and wrangle up some breakfast before I head out to get the most important of Christmas symbols: the tree.

  Or in this case … trees.

  Anita is in the kitchen, cooking up a storm.

  “Good morning, Natalie. Sit down and let me make you a plate.” She rushes around the kitchen, dishing me up a generous plate of blueberry pancakes, eggs, and bacon. “Will Mr. Northington be joining you?” The question takes me by surprise.

  “Do you know where he is?” I ask, taking my first bite of blueberry pancake. Oh holy night, that's fantastic.

  “He's probably locked in his office working when he should be down here giving his beautiful young fiancée some attention,” she says, raising her eyebrows and giving my ring a look. This is her way of confirming her suspicion that we're engaged. This woman is clever; she notices everything. To convince their father, we have to convince her.

  “Why don't you make him up a plate, and I'll go get him?” I say, standing up.

  “Are you sure? Mr. Northington usually doesn't eat breakfast,” She says, crinkling her brow.

  “I'm sure. I'm no food critic, but your pancakes are the best I've ever had. I don't want him to miss out,” I say, giving her a wink.

  When I find Colden, he's sitting in a big room at a conference table, brow furrowed in concentration. Today, he's dressed just a little less formal in a forest green sweater, layered over a white button up and gold silk tie. This is paired with black slacks and a pair of cap toe Oxfords. His muscular frame seems even more impressive draped in cashmere than it did in the crisp lines of a tailored suit. The soft wave of his golden hair falls in a luxurious curtain, framing the hard lines of his face and making him look even more dangerously handsome.

  He glances up from his work. When he sees me, he smiles and it is so heartbreakingly beautiful, my breath hitches.

  “Hey. I was wondering if you could take the day off work?” I say, making my way across the room and stopping only a few feet from him. Colden stands up with agility not expected of a man as well-built as he is.

  “Why?” He narrows his crystal blue eyes at me, closing the distance with an easy grace. His voice doesn't have the same heat as it did last night, but it doesn't have the cold emptiness either. The strength of his commanding gaze takes my
breath away, makes my pulse race and sends a shiver down my spine. We stand so close, the heat of our bodies mix and I can't smell anything except his woody, earthy scent.

  My body quivers with need.

  The muscles in Colden's jaw clench and his pupils dilate. But neither of us make any attempt to touch, each of us fighting to control the carnal urges that threaten to take over. I take a deep breath, stepping away.

  “I'd love if you went with me to pick up the Christmas trees, decorations, and to meet the caterer,” I say in a slightly shaky voice. His eyes stay narrowed like he isn't quite sure. “We click. So, if we can't be lovers, let's be friends.” I smile at him. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

  “Your presence is intoxicating. What happens if I can't control myself? ” he growls. My breath hitches and I meet his eyes.

  “Then … then I'll open for you. Because I know no matter what happened in the past … you wont hurt your family.”

  I can tell by the look on Anita's face that she's surprised when she sees Colden laughing at my jokes. I even convince him to try one bite of my blueberry pancakes—which he loves—and by the time I've finished eating, Colden has gone back for seconds and thirds.

  As if we've be sparked a bit of good luck with our cheerful breakfast, the meeting with the caterer goes even better than I expected. The food is wonderful and we plan an elevated restaurant style menu based on a traditional old-fashioned Christmas dinner: both goose and turkey, crispy roasted rosemary sweet potatoes, balsamic oven roasted green beans, creamy mashed potatoes with goat cheese and fresh sage, as well as an assortment of fantastical desserts and appetizers. That's the theme: old-world Christmas with a twist of elegance, the comforting feel of A Christmas Carol blended with tasteful modernity.

  Getting a Christmas tree over twenty feet tall at this point is almost impossible. I end up paying thousands of dollars to have one flown in special from Oregon. It seems silly to me considering Vail is literally surrounded by evergreen forests. The only positive part of the whole situation is that I do manage to get Colden to visit a Christmas tree lot with me to pick out the small trees.

  The rest of the week flies by in much the same way … and it's pure bliss, our fledgling friendship that started that night by firelight is wonderful. There is just an easiness to it. Colden slowly opens up, the warmth of his spirit beginning to shine through more and more. His stone-faced looks of boredom and disinterest get replaced with laughter and smiles. Anita even takes me aside and gives me a hug and thanks me, saying she has only seen Colden smile a handful of times in the last few years. On the fourth night, I convince him to sleep next to me instead of that chair. We end up lying there for hours talking and when I wake up in the morning, he's spooning me. My heart pitter-patters in my chest. Tucked in the safety of Colden's arms, surrounded by his comforting scent, with his hot breath teasing my hair, is the closest thing to heaven I have ever experienced.

  The day that Hudson, Jack, Gabe, and Whit are supposed to arrive, I have nervous butterflies the entire day, but I don't let that stop me from getting my work done. Everything looks great so far. The whole house is decked out in almost a thousand feet of live garland I had shipped in from Washington state. A massive custom wreath is hanging above the main ballroom fireplace, the centerpieces for the tables arrive tomorrow, and the outside is lined in red and white lights.

  All the trees are up and in their places, strung with their own lights and just waiting to be decorated. It should be smooth sailing from here on out. Everything has come together at an incredible rate. If you'd told me last week I would get an event like this ready on such short notice, I would've said you were nuts. Tonight, after all the staff go home, I have a special evening planned. I'm making a big fancy dinner for just the six of us then I'm going to decorate the big Christmas tree with the antique ornaments I asked Jack to bring with him; I'm hoping I can get them all to do it with me.

  Days ago, I let Anita know I needed the kitchen all to myself. I'm making my own homemade Christmas dinner; I do it every year. With the Christmas party and all, I know I won't get a chance, so tonight will be my own personal celebration.

  I wake up early, slip into a sexy gold Herve Lager bandage dress, red patent pumps, simple understated ruby studs, and a matching necklace. I pull my hair into a ponytail, fastening a piece of holly for a little extra holiday flair.

  I get started right away, slipping on a silly gingerbread themed apron and taking my heels off—I'm not cooking for hours in heels—and putting on some pop Christmas tunes.

  I'm singing and doing a stupid little dance to All I Want for Christmas by Mariah Carey while I'm stirring my homemade cranberry sauce when I hear a sultry whisper in my ear.

  “You look fucking delicious.” Hot breath hits my skin and a violent shiver runs down my body. “Almost as good as you looked when my fingers were stroking your wet pussy.” The heated sound sends a shudder through me and butterflies to my stomach. The sinful intentions behind the words set my body on fire and flood my brain with sex. Hudson's voice is a sumptuous feast for the ears. His hands slide down my waist to rest on my hips. Carnal desire takes over. I arch my back, pushing my ass toward him. I feel like a woman possessed.

  “I never expected such an enthusiastic response. What has Colden done to you?” he growls, grinding himself against me. He's already hard; I can feel it. “Or is it what he hasn't done?” he snarls, massaging the sensitive flesh of my hips.

  “I—” I try to look back towards him, but his hands slide down my hips and push the tight gold fabric of my dress up, and all I can do is moan. I hear the sound of him undoing his belt buckle. Anyone could walk in here and see us. A thrill of excitement races through me. His hot palms slide back down my waist, under the tiny band of my panties, pushing them down my thighs. He positions himself at my opening. And I want him like I've never wanted anything in my life. “Please. Fuck me,” I whimper.

  “Only if you make me a deal,” he says with a groan. And the noise is so sexy I moan in response, tilting my ass in a silent plea to continue.

  “Anything.”

  “If you come first, you'll drop to your knees in that sexy little apron and suck my dick,” he grinds out like he couldn't think of anything sexier. My body agrees.

  “Yes. Dear god, hurry,” I pant. My sex is dripping with proof of my violent need, and Hudson fills me with a groan of masculine approval.

  “So, eager,” he says, but I cant respond.

  Trapped between his lean muscular body and the counter, I succumb. I go pliant, melting into the pleasure of his skilled thrusts. He doesn't stop working my pulsing body, pounding me until I come with a violent scream. I collapse with a small sigh of contentment.

  Hudson pulls out and steps back. I turn to look at him. He is gorgeous. The full length of his glorious penis proudly displayed. The soft wave of chocolate hair falls on his forehead and caramel eyes heavy with desire look me up and down with a wicked smirk.

  “A deals a deal. Now get on your knees and suck my dick,” he commands. His sinful smile dripping with confidence. I turn towards him, stepping out of my panties. His smile gets a little wider. Why can't control myself? A face brimming with lust watches me as I drop to my knees in front of him. I keep my blue eyes locked onto his. Standing there, staring down at me, he looks majestic. Powerful. Sensational. Like some ancient virile god of seduction.

  He stares into my eyes as I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, slipping the hard shaft between my lips. His hands drop to my head and his fingers thread their way through my hair. He massages my scalp in a gentle motion.

  “Yes, sweet thing, just like that,” he says. The words are an aphrodisiac, reigniting my insatiable desire. I take him deeper into my mouth then pull back, swirling my tongue around the head. Teasing. Coaxing him towards the same sweet release I just experienced. He drops his head back in pleasure. My body flushes with new arousal as I continue to lick and pump and suck him closer to orgasm.
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br />   “Fuck,” he groans, and shudders as he comes, spilling himself into my mouth. I sit back, my face flushed with need. How can I still be so turned-on?

  “Oh hey, Colden. Natalie and I are done if you want to hang out,” Hudson says, looking over his shoulder. My heart starts pounding. Did he just see us? I don't want to do anything to ruin the close friendship that we've developed over the last few days.

  I stand up, wiping my mouth. The look on Colden's face is pure rage. I meet his eyes, pleading for him to calm down.

  He grits his teeth, turns around without a word, stomping out the back door and slamming it behind him. But I can't let him go, not with all that pain and darkness swirling inside his heart. I've seen the cracks in his stone facade; I won't let them scab over. I need him to keep that openness, that vulnerability that he's shown me … The world is a better place for having Colden in it.

  I chase him into the snowy night. I'm only wearing the tiny dress and an apron; I even forgot to put on shoes, so I'm freezing. But it doesn't matter. The cold burn isn't as painful as the hurt look in his eyes.

  “Colden,” I say. He stops walking, but doesn't look at me. I run in front of him and put my palm against his chest. “Please. Don't leave,” I plead.

  I can't feel my feet and my whole body is shivering with cold. but my heart is quivering with fear. I can't let Colden lose himself to his own frozen heart. He doesn't move for several seconds. The golden wave of hair is hanging in his face, obscuring my view of his expression. I've made such a terrible mistake. I feel like crying.

  Then he reaches up, pulls his jacket off his shoulders, and drapes it over my trembling ones. My heart soars and I fall in love with him just a little in that moment. Even in a violent rage of jealousy, he is kind and caring. How can he be so wrong about himself?