The Billionaire's Virgin

by Jackie Ashenden

  So he held on as her arm tensed and she tried to pull it away, tightening his grip. “Mia.” He kept his voice low, putting all his authority into it, and sure enough, her wild black eyes came to his. “Stay still. You’re freezing.”

  She gave a convulsive shiver, as if by saying it aloud, he’d made it true. “Don’t,” she said faintly. “Don’t touch me.”

  He ignored that too, extracting her little fruit knife and throwing it down on the seat before taking her other hand as well, closing both of his around hers. Her hands were very small, with long delicate bones, so he was careful as he began to chafe them gently to get some warmth back into them.

  Her eyes had gone wide, staring down at where his hands held hers. “What are you doing?”

  “Hopefully warming your hands up. You weren’t wearing gloves. Which isn’t a good move on a night like tonight.”

  “I lost them.” Her voice had gone faint. “Don’t do that.”

  He paid no attention, concentrating on the slightly roughened skin beneath his fingers. “Silly girl,” he murmured, rubbing gently. “You’ll get frostbite if you’re not careful.”

  What the hell are you doing? Sitting there rubbing a homeless woman’s hands? You’re not supposed to be giving a shit. In fact, you’re famous for it.

  But he didn’t much care about the answer to that question, so he ignored it. Because what did it matter what he was doing? What was more important was that she get warm and get some food. Hell, she needed a bath, and a bed too, and he could provide that. In fact, he wanted to.

  “You’re coming home with me, Mia.” He left no room for argument. “I’ll give you dinner and then you can stay the night with me.”

  She was shaking her head already, pulling at her imprisoned hands. “Just take me to the shelter.”

  “No.” Because there was no way, just no fucking way, he was letting her go. Not to the shelter and certainly not out onto the street. “I’m not expecting anything from you, trust me on this, and I’ve got more than enough room. You can pick your bedroom and one of them has a massive tub. You could drown an elephant in it, I’m not even kidding.”

  But she kept shaking her head, her arms tense.

  So he kept on rubbing gently at her hands, because if she could be stubborn, then so could he and he was not moving on this. Not one iota. “You’re seriously turning down a hot bath? In a huge tub?” He slid his thumbs up and over the backs of her hands then down again, over and over. “It has jets, Mia. Jets.”

  Why is this so important to you? Why do you have to keep insisting?

  He really didn’t know, nor did he care. It was simply that over the course of the past couple of weeks at the shelter, he’d become fascinated with this strange, intense woman and he’d started to think of her as his. And he didn’t have much that was his, not when everything was provided for him by his father. A good thing really, since he wasn’t a careful man, not with anything. His stuff tended to get blown up or used for target practice or discarded carelessly, like he’d done with his toys when he’d been a kid.

  She’s not one of your toys, dick.

  Obviously. And he wasn’t going to treat her as one either.

  Her jaw firmed, and suddenly she jerked her hands away from his. “I don’t need a bath,” she said flatly. “I try to have a shower every day at the shelter.”

  Looked like he’d offended her. Prickly little thing. At least her fingers had started to feel warmer though, so he made no move to keep hold of them, leaning his elbows on his knees instead. “Well you might. But your clothes definitely haven’t.”

  That soft sweet mouth of hers went tight, her dark brows drawing down.

  Yeah, she was offended all right. Too bad, though. Her clothes were dirty, they probably needed to go in the trash. “Hate to break it to you,” he went on, because she’d gone silent again, “but although you might be clean, your clothes are not. And not only are they dirty, they’re wet too, which isn’t exactly conducive to keeping you warm.”

  She looked down at her hands. “I can get more.”

  “More what?”

  “Clothes. The shelter gives me whatever I need.”

  “Good for them, but if it hasn’t escaped your notice, the shelter is closed. They can’t exactly give you anything right now.”

  “The one uptown can.”

  Christ. He didn’t have a lot of patience—once he’d made a decision he went with it and didn’t overanalyze or rethink. Then again, he’d never made a decision to take a homeless woman home before.

  Maybe you should rethink? Because don’t kid yourself you don’t know what this is all about.

  Irritation twisted in his gut, but he ignored it. This was not about his mother. Sure, she’d never acclimated to the move to New York when his father had dragged her to Manhattan from Wyoming, and had probably had undiagnosed depression for years—his father didn’t believe in psychoanalysis or shrinks—but that had nothing to do with him or the monumental screw-up he’d made of her meticulously planned Christmas party.

  No, her suicide was all her own work.

  “Listen,” he said, this time not bothering to hide his impatience. “I don’t give a shit what the shelter uptown can do for you. You’re coming home with me and that’s final.”

  Sparks ignited in her eyes. “I’ll call the police. Don’t think that I won’t.”

  “Oh yeah?” He gave her a pointed once-over. “With what? Your latest iPhone?”

  Her expression flickered and he supposed he should have felt like a prick for reminding her of her position so blatantly. But he didn’t. He only wanted to help, and she was being ridiculous.

  Right. Some rich guy she doesn’t know suddenly pulls her into his limo and offers a bed for the night. You don’t think that might make her a little wary?

  Well, sure. But he didn’t want to sit here forever making her un-wary. They could have this conversation back at his apartment where he could at least get some food into her. If he had food, that was. He hadn’t been home a lot the past couple of weeks, after all. Then again, Mrs. Thomas, his housekeeper, usually made sure there was at least something in the fridge.

  Mia had looked away again, saying nothing, but he could sense her outrage. Her whole body was rigid with it.

  He sighed. Okay, so he didn’t have a lot of patience, but he could at least try to hold onto what little he had. “Let’s forget I said that.” He kept his gaze on her narrow, fine-boned face. “But think about it, Mia. I’m not expecting anything from you and I promise not to touch you again. All I’m offering is a night at my place, no strings. Face it, that’s a much better offer than the shelter, right? You can have your own room, and remember that bath? I’m not kidding about the jets.”

  As a sales pitch it wasn’t half bad, even if he did say so himself. Which he did.

  Her lashes came down, veiling her black eyes, and she said nothing, going quiet on him again.

  Jesus, what did she want from him?

  Frustrated, he thought for a moment, then bent, reaching down for his knife again. He took it out of the sheath and this time he didn’t wait for her take it, but laid it gently in her lap instead.

  Her lashes came back up again sharply, her inky eyes meeting his in surprise.

  “For your protection,” he said. “If I come anywhere near you, you can cut me with it.” Her mouth opened, but he held up a hand. “And I don’t want to hear anything about that stupid excuse for a knife you’re currently carrying around with you. Keep mine for the night at least. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

  Her mouth closed. Then she looked down at the length of smooth, gleaming steel he’d laid in her lap. She lifted a hand, her finger tentatively touching the plain, carved wood of the hilt. It wasn’t anything fancy, the De Santis 5 Compact, but then a good knife wasn’t. It was simply beautifully made, expertly balanced, and with an edge sharp enough to cut silk clean through.

  He watched her face as she gazed at the knife, saw the expr
ession that swept over her features. It caught at him like a fishhook catching on a rock. Because he thought it looked like longing, or yearning, which was a strange emotion to have when looking at a knife.

  Then she let out a breath and looked up at him finally. “Fine. I’ll come. But just for the night, okay?”

  * * *

  When Xavier de Santis’s limo pulled up right outside one of those soaring glass-and-steel skyscrapers, just like the ones she’d gaze up at from the safety of her alleyway, Mia wondered if she hadn’t made yet another massive mistake.

  Because really? This was where he lived?

  She peered out of the window as the limo rolled to a stop, her gaze traveling up all that glass, trying to see the top of it.

  Yeah, this was definitely a mistake. She’d thought she’d be able to handle wherever he was taking her to, not having any real idea of where that would be, but hey, a bed was a bed and a bath was a bath, right? And although she was wary about accepting anything from him, she wasn’t stupid. She couldn’t stay a night on the streets, not in wet clothes and in this cold. Which meant her only alternative was the shelter uptown. But she didn’t feel safe there and the thought of spending the night there filled her with dread.

  Xavier de Santis had then given her a third option and, she had to admit, it was the best one. She had no idea what a bath with jets was like, but the thought of having her own room and being out of the cold was too attractive to pass up.

  Dangerous, though. Don’t forget you can’t keep it, you can’t ever keep it. Not unless it’s yours.

  Oh, she knew that. She knew that all too well. This was only for a night, like the knife in her lap was only for a night. But in a way, that’s why it was acceptable. If it was only for a night, she couldn’t get too attached to it. And anyway, when her choices were freezing to death or being attacked by a bunch of assholes high on meth, staying the night in some rich guy’s house was a pretty good option.

  Hell, if he’d insisted on sex, she might even have given it to him.

  She shot him a surreptitious glance as he pressed a button on the partition behind him, talking to the limo driver through an intercom.

  He’d told her no, he wasn’t going to insist on sex and she’d been relieved, she couldn’t deny it. There had been girls she’d known who sold their bodies in return for money and various other things, but she’d never wanted to do it herself. So far, she’d even managed to avoid sexual assault and the other nastiness that came the way of any woman living on the streets alone.

  She knew that was luck and that eventually her luck would run out. That she’d either end up giving her virginity to some guy for money, or she’d be attacked and have it taken from her by some guy by force. Quite frankly, that made the whole selling-yourself-for-money thing almost reasonable, because at least it would be her choice. And at least she’d get something out of it. But she hadn’t quite brought herself to take that step yet.

  Asking Mr. de Santis if he wanted sex from her had felt weird, especially when intellectually she knew that he probably wouldn’t. A guy like him would have his pick of beautiful women dripping in jewels or whatever, and the last thing he’d want is her. But still, she needed to ask, just to get it out there.

  What if he’d said yes?

  She eyed him.

  He was issuing instructions or something, she wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying, and maybe the driver had said something funny, because he laughed. The sound made her tense, in the same way the warmth of the car and the give of the seat under her had made her tense. It was a . . . rough sound, yet soft too. Deep. Kind of silky, like fur. Like the thick black lashes that framed the intense blue of his eyes and the thick black hair that he was running his fingers through just now, spiking it up.

  The corners of his eyes creased, his long mouth curling in a smile.

  Something shuddered inside her, as if she were a tree and someone had just landed an ax blow to her trunk.

  She tore her gaze away and stared at the glass facade of the building instead, trying not to take any notice of the disturbing feeling. Lights glowed behind the glass, warm and welcoming.

  She’d walked past buildings like this one many times, yet she’d never gone inside any of them. Once, when she’d been younger and it had been cold, she’d tried to go into one of those big department stores to get warm for a couple of minutes, but had been yelled at by the doorman before she’d even managed to step through the doors.

  After that, she’d kept her distance. She didn’t want to be where she wasn’t wanted and she certainly didn’t want to be yelled at.

  As if to punctuate that, the limo door suddenly opened, letting in a burst of frigid air. She almost gasped as it hit her.

  Getting soft already, huh?

  Mia bit down on the sound, steeling herself as the cold went straight through her wet shoes and jeans, the sleeves of her overcoat brushing damply against her fingers. Yes, God, this was why she couldn’t relax into any of this, couldn’t just take the moments of comfort she had. Because when they were gone, it made the reality of her situation so much harder.

  Alternatively, it could give you something to aim for.

  That was true. Because it wasn’t as if she accepted the reality of the streets either. Sure, she lived that reality every day, but that didn’t mean she accepted it as permanent. She wanted more than that and she intended to have it.

  Not that she’d ever have this glass-and-steel building or the soft leather warmth of the limo. But she could have something that was hers. That wasn’t a spot behind a Dumpster in an alleyway.

  “We’re here.” Xavier’s deep voice behind her. Too close.

  She moved, getting out of the car and stepping onto the sidewalk. A tall man in a uniform was holding the car door open for her, which was really strange. No one had ever held a door open for her before. He smiled at her too and she didn’t know what to say so she said nothing, staring instead at the big building in front of her.

  “My place is right at the top,” Xavier said casually as he came to stand beside her. “You’ll like it. Got views forever.”

  She tipped her head back to see what she hadn’t been able to in the car—the top of the building pushing upward into the night sky. And an odd dizzy feeling caught her, like she was falling upward into the blackness above her head. She swayed, for a second overcome, and then felt something warm and strong and steadying settle in the small of her back. Xavier’s hand.

  Her brain tried to tell her muscles to stiffen and flinch away, but nothing was obeying her at this particular moment in time. Instead, horribly, she felt herself lean against that hand as if she needed it for support.

  “It’s okay.” The quiet certainty in his voice wound around her, soothing something inside her. “Take a minute.”

  But she didn’t want to take a minute. She wanted him not to be touching her because she didn’t like all these new feelings crowding for space inside her. Didn’t like how some deep part of her wanted to lean further back into his hand and take the support he was giving her. Which was stupid and dumb. Trust no one, hadn’t she learned that over and over again?

  It took effort to pull away from him and it was far harder than she wanted it to be. And when she did, there was a cold spot where his hand had been, as if her body missed the warmth.

  No, stupid and dumb to think like that. Just like she was stupid and dumb for not eating, because that’s where the dizziness had come from, no question.

  “You said you wouldn’t touch me,” she snapped, putting more space between them.

  “Sorry.” He sounded not sorry at all, amusement glittering in his blue eyes. “I didn’t think you’d want to fall over onto the pavement and crack your head open.”

  She gave him a fierce look. He was laughing at her and she didn’t understand why. What was so funny about not wanting to be touched?

  He sobered after a moment. “I apologize. Seriously. Now come on, let’s go inside and get
you out of those wet clothes.” A pause, and for a second that amusement was back. “Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve ever said that to a woman and literally meant that she needed to get out of her wet clothes.”

  She scowled at him. What the hell was he talking about?

  “You know, because I was worried about her getting pneumonia and not because I wanted to bang her.” He shook his head, pushing his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “Never mind. Let’s just get inside shall we?”

  He led the way and again, she had the strange experience of yet another man pulling a door open for her as the doorman rushed out to greet them.

  “Good evening, Mr. de Santis,” he said, smiling at him while giving her a suspicious glance.

  “Good evening, Joe.” Xavier grinned. “This here is Mia—?” He paused and glanced at her questioningly.

  She stared back, not sure what he was asking her. Because if it was for a surname, she pretty much didn’t have one, or at least not one she remembered.

  An awkward silence followed and then Xavier went on, smoothly covering the moment as if it had never happened. “Like I said, this is Mia. She has free run of the building tonight, understand?”

  Joe didn’t even blink, the suspicion in his face dying out. “Sure. Anything you say, Mr. de Santis.”

  Luckily Xavier didn’t seem to need her to speak, ushering her through a vaulted foyer that seemed to be all white marble and glass and over to a bank of elevators. He pressed a button and the door opened immediately, revealing a mirrored interior.

  The sight of herself was a shock, because apart from a little bathroom time in the shelter, she never had opportunity to look at herself in the mirror. Quite frankly, she never wanted to either, since she had more important things to worry about than her appearance. But now, stepping into this elevator, her own reflection hit her across the face like a slap.

  Small, hollow-cheeked, pale. Dark circles under her eyes. Dirty orange hat. Dirty brown overcoat.

  A terrible feeling of shame overcame her and she had to look away, stare at the floor as the doors closed, because she didn’t want to see that person in the mirror. She’d always prided herself on keeping clean, on washing her hair and her body when she had the chance. But apparently being clean didn’t matter when you were wearing clothes you couldn’t wash and when you couldn’t get enough sleep because of the cold or because you were worried someone might creep up on you and murder you in the night.