Ruthless Daddy_A Romance Collection

by Emily Bishop

  She grabs my arm. “Look at him, Gray.”

  I turn. He’s smelling a candle his woman holds out to him. His hand rests on her lower back. She’s looking at him like he’s God of the Universe. He has a gentle look on his face, his eyes full of love.

  Isabella sighs again. “That’s a real man. Look how happy he looks. Look how happy she looks. It’s like they’re in their own little bubble.”

  He does look a bit happy, actually. Weirdly. He must be getting great sex. I look the woman up and down. She looks like a regular, not-gorgeous-but-still-attractive, woman. Nothing special about her, really. But he’s gazing at her like she’s Beyoncé. She must be a freak in bed. I look at her face and wonder what she looks like when she’s in pleasure. Maybe he’s addicted to that. Or maybe he cheats. But when he passed Isabella, he didn’t give her much more than a glance. Other guys’ eyes get glued to her. They turn their heads over their wives’ shoulders to take a longer look.

  “Anyway,” Isabella says, a businesslike look on her face. “That’s nice for them. It won’t be something I ever have.”

  “Me neither. Thank god.” The idea of being tied to one woman for life? Terrifying. But as we turn out of the aisle, I give them one last glance. Maybe he enjoys having her all to himself. Like her sexuality is hidden from the world, and he’s the only man who has the privilege of watching her come and scream and maybe even squirt. That’s kind of hot. Maybe marriage has that advantage. But I couldn’t stick to one woman. Maybe I’ll have a few wives. That would be kind of cool.

  “Thank god?” Isabella questions. “You know how amazing it would be to fall in love?”

  Yeah, it feels good at first. But then it’s like a thousand knives stabbing away at all your insides. I never blamed Lillia, though. I was just furious with myself for not sticking to my code—fun and enjoyment and nothing serious. That’s not just for relationships. That’s my life code. “I’ll pass.”

  “When I fall in love for the first time, I want it to be forever. That’s why I haven’t allowed myself to yet. I want it to be for the right man.” She tosses a thumb back, indicating the next aisle where the couple are. “A man like that.”

  “You’ve never been in love?” I’m surprised.

  “I just explained that. I haven’t wanted to. I haven’t found the perfect person yet. I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want an unhappy marriage. I don’t want any of that. I want it all to be perfect.”

  “And they all lived happily ever after in a castle.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Castles are shit. My mum’s side of the family have one in Wales. Her brother lives in it. It’s cold and it stinks of dust and rats breed in the attic.”

  She laughs and looks relaxed for the first time today. “Trust you to put such a romantic spin on things, Gray.”

  My phone rings. “It’s Finky. Oh, shit, take this. I forgot.” I get the ring out of my pocket. It’s just 9k gold plate with zirconia, but it looks like the real deal. It’s for Finky’s benefit, and he’s a solicitor, not a jeweler. He’ll never know.

  Isabella slides it on her finger quickly and puts her arm around my shoulder.

  “Finky!” I say when I see his gray, tight self come up on the phone screen.

  “Gray,” he says. “How are things?”

  “Great! Isabella and I are just here in A Happy Home, picking up things for the house. I was thinking I might move out of the mansion and stay in one of the gardeners’ cottages instead, with Isabella. So we’re getting things to make it like home.”

  “Hi, there, Mr. Fink,” Isabella says. She smiles at him, a lovely, genuine smile, and puts her hand on my neck. It feels warm, gentle. I like it a little.

  “Hello, Isabella.” His voice is suspicious.

  “I’m so looking forward to meeting you,” she says. “Gray has told me so much about you, his old family friend. I can tell you some funny stories about him back in school. You know, I always had a crush on him, but I never plucked up the nerve to do anything about him. It was like fate, us meeting again here. I really believe it was meant to be, Mr. Fink.”

  He looks a little more relaxed. She aced it. “I’m looking forward to meeting you, too,” he says. “Anything else, Gray? I have another client coming, and I need to prepare.”

  I grin. “No, that’s all, Mr. Fink. Just so excited about my new love and our new house.”

  Isabella plants a kiss on my cheek. Why does that feel so damn good?

  Chapter 8

  Isabella

  DAY 5

  God, why was I so scared of Gray? He’s not a monster, really. Just a guy. Sure, a bit arrogant, a bit full of himself, but just a guy. I feel kind of dumb for reading all the Kindle stuff and getting so caught up in it. I felt in control at the time, but I was scared, I think.

  With the shopping bags on my arm, filled with a few candles and a couple things for my apartment, I feel good. He walks next to me with his long stride and confident manner. When he smiles at me, it’s real. I can tell. Not control. Not a game. Just him. The real him.

  “Let’s get dinner later. When you’re done with your work.”

  “Sure,” I say. Maybe we could actually enjoy chatting properly now, instead of all those power-play games. After all, we’ll have to spend quite a bit of time together while in England, cooped up in his mansion in the middle of nowhere. We may as well learn to get along before then.

  “There’s this amazing Italian place—” he begins.

  “Gray!”

  We both look in the direction of the excited female voice. Oh god. Some girl runs toward us, her arms outstretched. Her cleavage leaves nothing to the imagination. “Gray! Gray!” she shouts, like he’s a movie star.

  “Hello,” Gray says. He doesn’t want her around.

  “You don’t remember me, Gray?” She’s all batting eyelashes and soft touches on his arm. “Of course, you do. Remember that night? At the hotel?” She leans in and says in a not-so-subtle whisper, “Where you gave me the best sex I ever had?”

  Oh, lord, help us. I make a beeline for Gray’s rental.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says, so vaguely I know he can’t remember who she is.

  “Let’s do it again. You have my number, right?”

  “Isabella,” he calls after me. “You don’t have the keys.”

  I have to turn to face them. It’s excruciating.

  “Gray,” the girl says, looking a bit offended. “You said I was your favorite girl.”

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” I say. I’m giving myself the same advice in my head. “You’re probably one in a long line of favorite girls. Ask him your name. He won’t remember.”

  “I’m leaving now,” Gray says to her. “Best to forget about me, if you can.” He walks to the car.

  She follows. “Gray! Why are you being like this? You were so nice before.”

  A fury toward him rises in me. “That’s the act he plays before he gets in your pants. Afterward, you’re of no use. You’re history. He’s on to his next conquest.”

  “Get in the car,” Gray grunts.

  “Happily,” I say. “I want to go home. Now.” I plonk myself down in the passenger seat, but then his dithering with the keys gets under my skin. “In fact, I’ll take the bus.”

  “But you said you really liked me, Gray,” the girl whines.

  “Isabella!” Gray calls out after me as I climb back out of the car

  I walk past her, swinging my bag. “He says a lot of things. Cut your losses and move on. Quickly.” I march through the parking lot as if I haven’t a care in the world. But it’s anger making me strut. Anger that I ever let myself believe in Gray.

  Gray swings the BMW up next to me. “Get in the car, Isabella.”

  I turn and put my hand to my chest and look around like I’m confused. “Oh, sorry, were you talking to me? I wasn’t sure if it was me or Miss Favorite Girl you were speaking to.”

  “Come on,” he says. “Let me at least take
you home. You can’t get the bus.”

  “Funny, because I’ve been doing so for a while now.” I had to sell my car in an effort to clear the debt. But it was like throwing a pebble into an abyss for all the difference it made. I had to move out of my lovely apartment, too, and take one in a sketchy part of town. But I’ll do anything for my father’s legacy. Anything.

  Then he says something that breaks me. “Woman, why won’t you let anyone take care of you?” His voice is sharp. It cuts me as much as that sharp gaze does, as seeing the stubble along his chin. I get in the car. He’s opened a wound in my chest I didn’t even know was there.

  “Thank you,” he says softly, then drives us out of the parking lot.

  I finger the handles of the A Happy Home bag and feel strange. The sky is this soft chalky blue, and cotton ball clouds drift across with the gentle breeze. There’s hardly any traffic on the street. Everything’s calm. But I feel disconnected. Locked out of the peace.

  Gray keeps taking glances at me. I look away.

  “That girl is crazy,” he says eventually. “I have no feelings for her. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Why would I worry?” My voice comes out with a sharper edge than I meant it to.

  “Well, you’re not happy. Doesn’t take Oprah to work that out.”

  “I’m fine.” That’s such a lie.

  That girl was so pretty. So vivacious. Gray has girls like that swarming all over him. How could I ever compete? But then again, why would I want to compete? Ugh, this is too confusing.

  “No you’re not,” he says.

  I don’t reply. Last night flashes into my mind. Not his cock sliding into my pussy. Not even the shivering, shaking, screaming orgasm that blew my mind. But how I felt all about it. “Let me ask you a question.” I’m surprised by the venom in my own voice. “Do you get off on giving women really good sex, then—”

  A grin crosses his face.

  “There’s no need to look so proud of yourself,” I say. “It’s just sex. Being good at it doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not going to win you a Nobel Prize, dude.”

  “Don’t want one.” He smirks. “So you were saying, giving women really good sex, then?”

  “Then instead of taking her feelings into account, you just absorb all her pleasure into your already massive ego. Giving yourself another medal. A trophy. It’s like you collect them all on an inner shelf or something. Then forget all about them like they’re nothing. Just keeping your memory as a trophy for your ego.”

  He shrugs, but the smile is gone. “I don’t know. Something like that.”

  “I can’t believe I had sex with you.” I’d thought I was in control last night, but I was wrong.

  He did all the wrapping around fingers. God. That’s fucking frustrating.

  I expect him to grin and look at me and say, “Ha ha, but you did. I got you. I conquered you.” But he stares forward and jerks his shades onto his face. “I’m sorry you had to go through the ordeal,” he says acidly. “I’m sorry you hated it so much.”

  “I didn’t hate it,” I say, with confidence I don’t feel. “It was…” Such a relief. Relief from what, I don’t exactly know. I felt free. “It was a dream. Just a fake dream.”

  “It was real.”

  Anger rushes into my voice. “Yes, I know it was real,” I snap. “Your dick was in my pussy, whatever. But the whole special thing. All right, I admit it. It felt special. But that was all fake.”

  He shakes his head. “It was special.”

  “Yeah, OK. I was special. And she was special. And the one before that was special. And the thousand ones before that were special, too. Special for one night only.” I manage a wry smile.

  “You are special, Isabella.” He’s sincere. I’ve never heard his voice with that kind of weight in it.

  “Yeah, right.”

  He shifts and stares at me. “You don’t even need to try. You just are special. You always have been. Even back in school.” He means it. I can tell. “You always stood by what you believed in. Whatever the outcome. That takes a lot of strength.”

  “So, why did you make fun of me every chance you got?”

  He’s silent for a while. He clears his throat. “I was a jerk back then. I didn’t know what was important.”

  “And you do now?”

  He shrugs. Stares ahead at the street.

  “You know what sucks? No matter how special I am, no matter how hard I try, I can never get things perfect. I can never be as perfect as I want to be.”

  He actually laughs. Not at me. But a carefree, easy laugh. “Who wants to be perfect?”

  “I do!” There’s nothing funny about this.

  He takes a quick glance at me then pulls the car over at the side of the tree-lined street. “Hey,” he says, his voice gentle. He pushes some stray curly wisps of hair over my head and looks in my eyes. “Seriously, perfection is overrated. Life’s about fun. Not being perfect. Try to relax a bit. You know, unclench.”

  His eyes do something to me. I laugh at myself, at last. “Maybe relaxing would be a good idea. If I knew how.”

  He pats me on the knee, businesslike, then drives on again. “Watch some mindless TV. Have a shot of something in the cupboard. Maybe masturbate. Don’t even look at a piece of paper this afternoon.”

  That sounds good. I have to admit it. I could go home and soak in a long relaxing bath. Rub my clit in the bath. Turn my phone off. Shove the paperwork in a drawer. Get into some sweats and curl up in front of a comedy movie with a tub of chocolate ice cream and a glass of wine. Sounds like indulgent bliss. “But isn’t that like, wasting time? Just being lazy?”

  He pulls into my street. “No.” He sounds scandalized. “You need a damn rest, that’s what you need. I’m not giving you the choice. I command you to relax. All afternoon. All evening. You can work tomorrow before our flight the day after.”

  I snort a laugh. “OK.”

  He looks at me and smiles as he pulls the BMW up by the curb. “All right, then.”

  I’m relaxed again. I look into his eyes and really feel grateful. “Thanks, Gray.” Then I get out of the car, already planning on lighting my candles next to the tub.

  “You’re welcome.” Then he leans over and looks up at me. “And if you touch yourself, you can call me if you want. That was really hot when you called me last time. Only this time, call me in the middle of the action.”

  Heat shoots up through my pussy. But I’m not going there again. Not now. “I’m turning my phone off.” But I smile. “See you, Gray.”

  He smiles back. A lovely, genuine smile. “See you, Isabella.”

  Chapter 9

  Grayson

  DAY 6

  I’m taking the advice I gave to Isabella for myself today. I wake up to the beeping of my phone. A message. For a quick flash of a moment, I hope it’s her. Don’t be ridiculous, Gray. No, I hope it’s Mr. Fink, confirming our meeting for as soon as we get there. I play the message. It’s not him.

  It’s Elodie. We fucked almost as soon as I landed in Seattle. I picked her up at the airport bar while I was waiting for Eddie to get through customs and worked the charm on her until she came back, giggling and flirting, to my hotel room. The first thing this bed got was a hot fuck. Even I, womanizer alpha extraordinaire, took that as an achievement. Want to hook up again? I’m free tonight. Last time was amazing. Let’s have round two. Her message is so empty. I fling the phone on the bed and feel exhausted. I don’t even want to look at a woman right now.

  Where’s the remote? I find it buried in the covers and put the TV on. I scroll through. Any mindless movie station, please. People blowing up cars or shooting other people would be good, thanks. I’ll stay in here all day and order room service. A burger. Fries. A big salad. A pizza. A bottle of champagne. Cake. I’ll eat it all and charge it to Eddie’s room.

  As soon as I reach over to the hotel phone on the nightstand, my own phone spits its ringtone out. It’s far too loud. I pick it up pl
anning to reject Elodie’s call and turn it off. But it’s not Elodie. It’s Isabella.

  I’m not sure I want to speak to her. But I can’t have her thinking she’s rattled me. I put on my best arrogant, carefree voice. I try to feel like my normal self. “Hello?”

  “That advice of yours doesn’t work.”

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “I spent all day doing nothing yesterday, like you advised. Then when I got up this morning, I had double the amount of work to do and double the stress.”

  I don’t doubt that. Her stress pulses out of the phone and through my nerves. “Frankly, whatever, Isabella. Do what you want. No one put a gun to your head and forced you.”

  She’s like a steamroller. “I want to talk business, exact figures. You said fifty million. I want to talk to the dollars and cents. I want a written agreement, signed by you. Before you flit off with my money and say I take life too seriously.”

  “Not now. We’ll do it on the plane.”

  “I’m not stepping on that airplane until this is done. I’m coming over now.”

  I sit up. “No, you’re not.”

  “I am. Or the whole deal’s off.”

  I snort. She thinks she’s the one in control? “Fine then, let your business collapse around your feet. See if I care.” I hang up and switch the phone off. I’m getting my damn room service burger, fries, and a pizza, thank you very much. I call my order in and then find exactly what I want on TV—some movie with guys and guns and explosions. I pull the sheet up over me and feel victorious.

  Before I know it, there’s a knock at the door. Yes. Pepperoni pizza and a thick slab of prime Angus burger with cheese, coming right up. I rush out of bed and to the door. But when I open it, it’s not just the room-service man with his food trolley. Isabella’s standing right next to him, wearing her business suit and a scowl.

  Why do I feel so weak? This isn’t like me at all. But I put on my regular self. Imagine that, my regular self has become like a piece of clothing I can take on and put off. How in the hell did that happen? “Come in, Isabella,” I say. It’s a command. “Bring the food in.”