Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance Boxed Set (10 Book Bundle)

by Selena Kitt

  “No, I swear, one of them was half full when we went to dance.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t drink them.” I lifted my water. “I can’t. I’m the designated driver.”

  “Someone must’ve stolen my beer, then.” Looking surly, she glanced around. “Assholes.”

  “I think it’s time we head out, anyway.” I stood, grabbed my purse, and jerked my head toward the door.

  “No, I want my beer first. It’s bad enough you ruined my chances with Andy. Now you want to make me go home early too.”

  Gah. Sasha was getting pissy. I wasn’t in the mood for a pissy Sasha. “It isn’t early.”

  “It is.”

  I yanked out my phone and hit the button, illuminating the screen. “See? It’s almost time for last call.”

  She must’ve been having a hard time reading the numbers. She stared and squinted but didn’t speak.

  “How about we grab some coffee on the way home?” I suggested.

  Pouting, she grumbled, “I’d rather have tacos.”

  “Fine. Tacos. Let’s go.”

  I walked toward the door. Sasha staggered, swaying into people as we moved through the thick throng. Occasionally she’d cuss at someone, spitting out a nasty remark like, “What are you staring at, bitch?” or, “Hand off the boob, asshole.” I was glad to get out of there in one piece.

  Once I had both of us safely buckled in the car, I took a deep breath. Wow. I’d seen Sasha drunk a few times, but she’d never been this intoxicated. Nor this hostile. Never. It was no wonder Andy decided he wasn’t interested.

  The drinking seemed to be getting a little out of control. As her best friend I felt I should tell her I was concerned. I didn’t want to sit by in silence and watch her problem get worse. Like it had with her mother.

  She was too proud to admit the truth, but I knew her mom wasn’t on a vacation.

  She was in rehab. Again.

  * * * *

  Before I’d made it to the taco place, Sasha was snoring. No reason to stop. I didn’t want tacos. I drove Sasha home, helped her into her apartment and onto the nearest soft horizontal surface--her couch. I left a trash can, bottle of water, and some aspirin within reach and headed for the door, figuring she wouldn’t care if I stayed the night or not. But I hesitated there, wondering if I should stick around in case she needed my help.

  I glanced at her. She was a train wreck. I couldn’t leave her like that.

  I went back to her bedroom, flopped onto the bed and shut my eyes.

  We were both in for a long night.

  * * * *

  By noon the next day, I was feeling almost as shitty as Sasha. I hadn’t slept for more than an hour at a stretch. Sasha’s moaning and retching woke me up. The first few times, she didn’t let me get near her when she threw up. But after that she must have been to worn out from the vomiting and crying and apologizing. She let me help her. I held her hair and told her she’d feel better by morning. I helped her drink water. I handed her aspirins and made sure she had a blanket covering her.

  It seemed by noon that the worst was over.

  Weary, foggy headed, and bleary-eyed, I decided to put off our talk about her alcohol consumption, gathered my purse, straightened my clothes, and headed home for some much needed sleep.

  As I drove, I thought about the date I had tonight. Feeling as crappy as I did now, I wouldn’t be very good company. I wasn’t sure a nap would make a difference.

  I waited until I was home before I pulled out Tevin’s card and dialed the first number printed under his name.

  It rang three times before he answered, “Hello?”

  “Hi,” I said as I kicked off my shoes at my front door. “This is Daryl Laroche. We met last night.”

  “Yes, Daryl Laroche. I remember. You aren’t calling me to cancel, are you?”

  He had a nice voice over the phone. Sexy. I needed to sit down after hearing it.

  “Um, well, I think I am,” I said as I sank onto my couch. Ah, so soft and comfy and warm.

  “No,” he said.

  “No?” I turned sideways to recline against one arm of the couch and kick my feet up.

  “No, you can’t cancel.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a tad controlling?”

  He chuckled. I really, really liked the way the sound vibrated through my body. “Once or twice.”

  “Then maybe you’ll do something about it if I tell you too?”

  “Maybe…not.”

  “Hmmm.” I stacked a couple of pillows on top of the couch arm and shifted slightly, sliding lower so my head rested on them. That was better.

  “Why are you cancelling? I told you I’m good at keeping secrets. Nobody will know a thing about our little arrangement.”

  “I believe you. Honestly, it has nothing to do with that. My friend, the one who was at the bar with me last night, was a little sick last night.”

  “Ah.”

  “All night.”

  “Ah.”

  “So, now you see? I’ve had no sleep.”

  “None?”

  “Well, maybe an hour or two. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company tonight.”

  Silence. Then, a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll take a rain check.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I didn’t get to the bad news yet.”

  “Bad news?” I asked. Now that I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, I was feeling awfully drowsy. I let my eyelids drop down.

  “Sure. There’s always a price to pay to get what you want. Am I right?”

  What kind of game was he playing now? “I don’t know. What price are you paying in all of this?”

  “Oh, take my word for it. I’m paying a price.”

  I didn’t scoff. It was tempting. Surely, he wasn’t risking his livelihood to go out on a date with me. Surely, he wasn’t risking anything to go out with a girl he wasn’t even genuinely interested in.

  Price.

  Give me a break.

  What was this terrible price? Were his friends all laughing at him for going out with me? It served him right if they were.

  “So, what’s the bad news?” I asked, too tired to give him grief over the supposed dear price he was paying, unnecessarily.

  “Hmmm. I think I’ll let it go for now. You sound tired. I should let you sleep.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be by to pick you up tomorrow. At noon.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” I pointed out as I reached up to pull the quilt draped across my sofa’s back over myself. Who went on a date on a Sunday afternoon?

  “I know it’s Sunday. Do you have other plans, church perhaps…?”

  “No, I don’t. I mean, tomorrow at twelve will be fine.”

  “Good. Then I’ll let you get your rest. You’ll want to be fresh and ready for tomorrow. Wear something comfortable.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sweet dreams, Daryl.”

  I smiled at the low husky sound of his voice. Keep talking like that and I’m sure I’ll have sweet dreams. Reluctantly, I added, “Goodbye,” and hung up.

  Wow. Wowwowwow. That man…even his voice, on the phone, did things to my insides.

  Would I start getting stupid and fall for him after going on just one date? God, I hoped I wasn’t that weak.

  Must be the exhaustion.

  I dropped my phone on the coffee table and closed my eyes. Imagines of a certain man’s face flashed through my head.

  Sweet dreams, indeed.

  * * * *

  I slept through Saturday and Saturday night. Like a coma victim. An earthquake probably wouldn’t have roused me.

  For one thing, not only was I sleeping deeply, but I was having dreams. Great dreams. Lots of dreams. And they were all starring a certain man with a low, rumbly laugh. Nothing was going to wake me because I wouldn’t let it.

  To my shock, I woke up Sunday morning quivering and pulsing from head to toe, from an actu
al orgasm. That was a first for me. I had orgasmed. While I was asleep. Dreaming about Tevin Page.

  Tevin Page. Premier’s newest client.

  I was in so much trouble.

  Still somewhat bleary-eyed, I stumbled into the bathroom and woke myself up with a steamy hot shower. While I was in there I started feeling tingly all over again. So, deciding I needed to take the edge off before our date, I grabbed the soap, sat down in the tub and closed my eyes.

  My fingers slid between my nether lips, one fingertip grazing my clit. Oh, yes. That felt good. Working toward a swift climax, I drew small circles over the sensitive little pearl, and with each touch, I soared closer and closer to orgasm. Within minutes I was burning all over, muscles tense, stomach tight, breathing ragged. In my mind, I imagined Tevin watching me. Those dark eyes meandering over my body, sparks of male hunger burning within their depths.

  “Touch yourself,” I could hear him say. He was commanding me. Taking control. Oh, how I loved that.

  I did as he asked, reaching down with my other hand and pushing two fingers into my tight canal.

  His lips curled into a sexy semi-smile. “Yes, like that. Fuck yourself. Show me how good it will feel when I take you.”

  Take you.

  A shiver quaked through my whole body.

  “Now stroke harder. Fuck that little pussy,” he commanded.

  I was in no condition to refuse him, even if he was totally in my imagination. I rammed my fingers in and out, stroking myself into oblivion. I was hot, breathless, on the verge of losing control. Right there. So close.

  “Now, come,” he demanded.

  I spread my legs wide, clenched my inner muscles, and a blast of pleasure shot through me. My pussy rhythmically convulsed around my fingers and I kept stroking, stroking, stroking until I was shivering and weak and too worn out to move.

  Now, that should keep me from getting too worked up today.

  I hoped.

  After taking care of all the essentials, which, for some crazy reason, included a full shave down below, I got out of the shower and started the long process of getting ready for my date. I smoothed on some scented lotion and plucked, lotion-ed, creamed, and makeup-ed myself into the vision of a modern day curvy goddess, or as close as I could come. He’d told me to wear something comfortable, so I opted for a cute skirt that fit my curves perfectly, a flirty top that showed just enough cleavage to fall shy of being slutty, and a pair of cute shoes.

  Fifteen minutes before our official date time, I was ready to go…

  And nervous. Really nervous.

  After checking the mirror for the bazillionth time, I started pacing back and forth in front of my door and checking my phone. No call. No message. He had ten more minutes. Five minutes. Three minutes.

  My phone rang and I jumped, jerking my arm. I almost lost grip of the stupid thing.

  I checked it.

  Sasha.

  I hit the screen. “Hello?”

  “Ohmygod. How bad was I?” she said, still sounding a little rough.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I felt like death all day yesterday. Did I make a complete ass of myself? Did I puke on anyone?”

  “No. And no. You were fine.” I meandered into the bathroom for another mirror check. Hair, good. Teeth, good. Lipstick, good.

  “I’ve never been so fucked up.”

  Actually, she had been. But in the interest of keeping the peace, I said, “True. Speaking of that, I’m a little worried--”

  “I promise, I’m cutting down. That was the last time I drink that much. Never again. I swear. Did I yell at you about ruining my chances with that guy, WhatsHisName?”

  “Yes, kind of.” I hurried out of the bathroom, my sights set on my apartment door. Where was he? Had he changed his mind?

  My heart dropped a little as I pulled open the door and peered out into the hall.

  “I’m sorry. I was mad. I remember that. And you promised me tacos.”

  “Tacos always work.” I shut the door and headed for the window to check the parking lot for any unfamiliar cars.

  She giggled. “Good thing you didn’t actually buy food. You know, since I…got sick.”

  “Yeah, good thing.”

  “What are you doing today?” she asked.

  “Um, I have plans.” Maybe.

  “Plans? With who?”

  I shouldered the wall, next to the window. “The guy from the bar.”

  “Mr. Wal-Mart Pants’ friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? Like a date?” she practically shrieked.

  “Yes, really.” I pushed away from the wall and wandered into the kitchen.

  “Ohmygod! I’m so happy for you!” she said, her voice edging up another octave with every word. “From what I remember, he was hot! Wait. I thought you were going to sign him with Premier.”

  “I am.” Tipping my head to pinch my phone between my ear and shoulder, I dug into my ice bin, grabbed a cube and popped it into my mouth.

  “Um…?”

  “I know. It’s complicated,” I explained as I crunched. “I had to agree to go on a date with him to get him to sign the contract.”

  “Okay.” She still sounded happy, but her voice was back in its normal range. “Interesting.”

  A knock sounded on the door, and once again I jumped. “I gotta go.”

  “Is he there?”

  “I think so,” I said as I hurried toward the door.

  “Cool. Call me when you get home.”

  “I will.”

  “Have fun.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, and if you can get WhatsHisName’s phone number for me, I might forgive you for messing up my night.”

  I laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. Bye.”

  I clicked off, set my phone to silent mode, and shoved it in my purse. Then, after one final mirror check, I sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door.

  It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Tevin.

  I must have looked confused, because the man at my door grinned. “Miss Daryl Laroche?”

  “That’s my name, yes.”

  “I’ve come to pick you up.”

  He’s come to pick me up? What the hell?

  “And take me where?” I asked.

  Had I misunderstood our agreement? Had I actually agreed to go on a date with one of Tevin’s friends? I gave the man an up and down look. He was okay. A little old for me. The silver hair at his temples suggested he was maybe in his forties. He was dressed in a suit and tie. I was dressed casually. Comfortably.

  “I’m to take you to meet Mr. Page.”

  “Mr. Page?” I echoed. This was a guy who had told me he mowed lawns and dabbled in real estate. I hadn’t had a chance yet to call Marguerite and ask her what the real story was. Obviously, there was more to Mr. Page than what he’d told me. “Why couldn’t he come himself?” I asked as I remained inside my apartment.

  “He was delayed and thought it would be wiser to send me to pick you up than to be further delayed.”

  “I see.” Unsure about what was really going on, I fiddled with my purse and peered out the front window.

  There was a limo sitting out there. A limo.

  And I was wearing a jean skirt.

  Tevin had said to wear something comfortable. That was exactly what I’d done. I glanced down at my denim-covered legs. Did I have time to change?

  “We should be going,” the driver said, looking a little less amused now. He checked his watch.

  “All right.” With some reluctance, I followed him outside. I got in the back and he took his place behind the wheel. I’d never realized how big a limo could feel if one was sitting in it alone. I hit the button, opening up the window that closed off the driver’s cockpit from the passenger area. “Where are we going?”

  “The airport,” the driver stated as if that was no big deal.

  Chapter 3

  “Airport?” I squeaked. Was this for real?


  “Yes, Miss.” The limo driver’s gaze met mine in the rearview mirror.

  “I…I had no idea.”

  “I think it was meant to be a surprise,” the driver said as he smoothly turned the vehicle onto the road. “I shouldn’t tell you more.”

  Was it a surprise?

  Or was it Tevin’s way of making me pay for cancelling yesterday’s date?

  “When ‘Mr. Page’ said I should wear something comfortable, I figured we would be going to a cozy little restaurant for some lunch or something,” I rambled to no one in particular. “The airport? Where could he possibly be taking me? I’ve never flown on a plane before.”

  “No need to worry. Mr. Page is an excellent pilot,” the driver said.

  “Pilot? Pilot!” I inhaled. Exhaled. “He told me he mows grass for a living.”

  “I think you’ll find Mr. Page is a man of many talents.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re right.” I moved closer so I wouldn’t have to shout at the driver across the entire empty length of the car. Really, the huge limo was completely unnecessary. A simple sedan would have been just fine. “How long have you known Mr. Page?”

  “A few years.”

  “I see.” Tevin Page didn’t look like the kind of guy who rode around in a limo on a regular basis, and yet this driver seemed to know him rather well. And was claiming to have worked for him for at least a couple of years.

  What the hell was going on?

  Now was my chance. To find out the real story about Tevin Page. Outside of the lame story he’d given me when we met, everything about him suggested he had money. Lots of money. And that he’d had that money for a long time.

  The way he’d danced.

  Those shoes he’d been wearing.

  The limo.

  The pilot’s license.

  Exactly who was Tevin Page? Was that even his real name?

  I dialed Sasha’s number. She answered on the second ring. “What’s up, hon?”

  “I’m in a limo,” I told her as I poked the button, closing the window between me and the driver.

  “Cool.”

  “A limo,” I repeated. “Tevin told me he’s a landscaper. He also said Marguerite has been after him to join Premier. Did his friend Andy tell you anything about him?”

  “Um…I’m a little hazy about that night. I think he said Tevin owns a landscaping company? That’s not the same as a guy who mows a few lawns. If you ask me. Maybe it’s a big landscaping company.”