The Billionaire's Virgin

by Jackie Ashenden

  “Mia,” he said sharply. “Where are you going?”

  She didn’t turn, walking faster, breaking into a run.

  Until strong fingers curled around her arm, pulling her up short.

  She made a helpless frightened sound, her heart throwing itself against her ribs, a familiar blind panic welling up inside her. She tried to get free, tried throwing off his hand.

  But he wouldn’t let her. Instead he tugged her around to face him and grabbed her other arm, holding her tightly as if he was afraid she might somehow get away from him again.

  Her heartbeat thundered in her head, and suddenly everything became confusing. He was so close, towering over her, his body warm and powerful and strong. And she knew she should be scared, should be terrified, because men used their strength against women all the time.

  Yes, she was scared, but it wasn’t the fear she’d experienced when those men had attacked her. Again, it was different. There was an excitement to it that fluttered in her throat, and a kind of need that pulsed right down low inside her.

  His grip wasn’t causing her pain, yet his hands were firm and she knew she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. Even if she struggled with all her might.

  You don’t want to escape. You want to stay right here.

  The thought freaked her out. She took in a ragged breath, staring up into his eyes, conscious in a way she’d never been before that his height and strength were actually quite reassuring. As if he were a wall she could hide behind and be safe. A warm wall she could snuggle up against when she got cold.

  He smelled good too, spices and heat, and all she could see was the midnight blue of his eyes, like the sky between the buildings she looked up into at night.

  “You’re not leaving,” he said with absolute calm, making something echo inside her. “You’re staying with me.”

  He’d spoken to her like this last night, when she’d panicked in the bath. Not shouting, not loud, yet with an authority she found weirdly reassuring.

  But she could feel the panic moving in her blood, telling her to run, to get away, to leave before she had everything taken from her.

  “I can’t.” Her voice sounded thin and fragile. “If I don’t go now, I won’t want to go back. And then it will be even harder when I do.”

  Understanding rippled over his face, which seemed impossible when she’d already decided he wouldn’t understand. “Then don’t go back,” he said simply.

  Chapter 6

  Xavier didn’t pause to think about what he’d said. He only knew that if she didn’t want to go back to the streets, she didn’t have to. In fact, he was going to insist she stay for as long as she wanted anyway.

  Of course, what exactly he was going to do with her if she didn’t go back to the streets he didn’t know, but that was another thing he preferred not to deal with right now. All that mattered was that she stay here safe with him.

  She felt so fragile in his hands, her arms like little reeds he could snap if he squeezed too hard. He wasn’t used to being gentle, and yet with her he had no choice. He didn’t want to break her.

  Her face was sharp and delicate, her dark eyes wide and looking up into his. There were no shadows under them now, her pale skin made even paler by the contrast of the thick, glossy black mass of curls that fell to her shoulders.

  It kicked at him again, that jolt of feeling, the desire he’d felt last night as he’d looked at her in her bath. He didn’t know why he felt that way about her, but over the past couple of weeks of seeing her at the shelter, of having her here in his apartment, of watching over her the night before, he’d come to think of her as his.

  He wanted to make her comfortable. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to make sure she was well and happy. He wanted to protect her.

  And he was beginning to think he wanted to touch her as well.

  Gently, experimentally, he pulled her closer, so that she wasn’t quite up against him, but near enough.

  Her eyes widened even more, her body tensing in his grip. She was very warm, the lingering perfume of the bath oil and her own delicate, musky scent making him want to get her even closer.

  He’d never watched a woman’s face like this before. Never been so completely fascinated by the expressions crossing it or curious about what they meant and why she felt that way. Sure, he liked to know how a weapon worked and when it was broken, how to fix it. And he was curious about which chemicals did what and how they interacted with one another—especially when it came to blowing things up.

  But women? His only interest was in getting them off so they could then get him off. It was a simple yet effective equation. He didn’t spend a lot of time getting to know them or spend lots of effort on the ones that didn’t want him. It was all about getting his needs met, and he didn’t need anything more from them but sex. End of story.

  Mia, though. She was something different. Maybe it was because she was the one who needed, and what she needed was everything. And not only that, she’d let him be the one to meet those needs. She wasn’t a woman who trusted lightly, that was obvious. And yet, she’d trusted him.

  Sure, he’d made it kind of difficult for her to do anything else but trust him. Yet . . . he hadn’t missed the way she’d started toward him when Lorenzo had looked like he was actually going to take up Xavier’s dare and punch him in the face. And he didn’t think it was because she wanted to see what was going to happen. In fact, he’d bet every one of the millions that had bought this penthouse—his father’s millions—that she’d been coming to protect him.

  It made his chest feel hollow and tight as a drum. Made him want to pull her even closer, feel her slight, slender body up against his. Watch those bright black eyes go wide with surprise, then dawn into pleasure.

  Something told him that she hadn’t slept with many guys before—not that he gave a shit how many she might’ve slept with because he sure as hell wasn’t one to throw stones. But if that was the case, if she was very inexperienced, then he needed to take this slow, needed to be gentle. Christ, he needed to be gentle anyway, because it was obvious she didn’t like people getting close.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice wasn’t quite so fragile now. It had a husky edge to it, her gaze dipping to his mouth then back again.

  He knew what that meant.

  “Conducting an experiment.” He eased her even closer, so the softness of the robe wrapped around her was pressed between them.

  She shivered. “L-Let me go.”

  He didn’t. “Do you really want me to?”

  “I. . . .” She stopped, her dark eyes dropping to his mouth once more. “I said I wasn’t going to give you sex.”

  He guessed it was obvious what he was doing, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it, not when the warmth of her was beginning to seep through that robe. Making him imagine things like sliding his hands beneath it to touch her pale skin, running run his fingers all over her slight curves, making her gasp and sigh and shift underneath his hands.

  Had anyone given her that? Had anyone ever made her feel good? He wanted to do that. He wanted to be the one to show her what it was all about.

  “You don’t have to give me anything.” He shifted his grip so his hands were on her hips. “What about if I gave you something instead?”

  “But I don’t want sex.” Her hands came down over his and rested there. Color had crept into her cheeks, easing the sharpness of her features and making her eyes glow.

  Christ, she was beautiful. The moment he’d seen her in the shelter, he’d known she was something special. Now, it was obvious. Oh sure, her face was too pointed too be conventionally beautiful, but she was stunning all the same.

  “Are you sure about that?” He held her still as he brought her right in close, pressing her against the ridge of his rapidly hardening cock. The sensation nearly made him shudder. Jesus Christ, what the hell was he letting this woman do to him?

  For the first time, a thin thread of unease w
ound through him. But since he was very good at not paying attention to uncomfortable emotions, he ignored it. An easy enough thing to do when he had an all-but-naked woman in his arms, her soft heat against his dick.

  Her eyes had darkened into pure black, her lush, red mouth opening, and he had a very strong urge to cover it with his.

  “I can’t . . .” she said thickly.

  She’d said that before, when she’d told him she didn’t want to stay. That she couldn’t, because if she stayed, she wouldn’t want to go back. He’d noticed that same expression on her face when he’d given her his knife, too. A kind of yearning. As if she really wanted it, but couldn’t let herself have it.

  “What about a kiss?” he murmured, watching her face. “I can give you that.”

  She started shaking her head, but he reached up and took her chin between his finger and thumb, holding her still. “No, listen to me. No one can take a kiss from you, sweet thing. Once I’ve given it you, you get to keep it. It’s yours forever.”

  She stared up at him, all dark eyes and long, thick black lashes.

  He would have given his soul to know what she was thinking in that moment.

  “I’ve . . .” She stopped then abruptly turned her head, trying to look away.

  He firmed his grip so she couldn’t. “You’ve what?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her color deepened even further. “I shouldn’t accept anything from you.”

  He let his thumb stroke over the petal-soft skin of her jaw. “But what if I made you accept it? Like I made you get in my car and come up into my apartment. Like I’m keeping you here right now.”

  Her lashes fluttered. Her stiffness had ebbed, one arm by her side, the other with her hand over his where he gripped her by the hip. She wasn’t trying to pull him away, her fingers only resting there lightly. Her gaze had dropped to his mouth again and this time, it stayed there.

  He stroked her, feeling a fine tremble go through her. “In fact,” he went on, keeping his voice low and soft, and his gaze on her face, “what if you had no choice but to accept it? What if I held you so tight that you weren’t strong enough to push me away?” He lowered his head, watching her pupils dilate in response. But not with fear, he was certain. “If you couldn’t fight me. If I was too strong for you.” He went lower still, so his mouth was barely inches from hers. “If I was going to make you accept a kiss whether you wanted to or not.”

  She was trembling now, up and down the length of her whole body. Her breath was coming faster too. He could hear it in the silence of the hallway.

  Her gaze flicked up to his and he could see fear in it, but not only fear. There was confusion too, and something else, something it was clear she didn’t even recognize herself.

  Xavier let go of her chin and slid his fingers into her hair, curling them around the back of her skull, cradling the back of her head in his palm. The black locks were just as soft as he’d imagined, just as silky and warm.

  Her mouth opened, lush and red, but she didn’t say anything, wide black eyes on his, full of shock and so many other emotions he couldn’t untangle them all.

  Are you really sure this is a good idea?

  No, he wasn’t sure, not at all. But he didn’t care. He forgot about the ranch his father had just signed over to him. Forgot about his prick of a brother demanding Xavier give up the one thing he’d ever wanted. Forgot about the fact that even his own life wasn’t his.

  Suddenly there was nothing in the whole world more important than kissing Mia.

  “I’m going to take that kiss, sweet thing,” he warned. “And you can’t stop me.”

  She didn’t stop him. Her body trembled and her breathing rushed in and out, but she didn’t try to push him away or pull out of his arms.

  So he bent and closed that last inch, covering her mouth with his.

  Restraint was foreign to him. He threw himself into everything he did most of the time and if he didn’t, it was because he didn’t enjoy it. And he tended not to do things he didn’t enjoy, not if he could help it.

  But it was clear that kissing Mia was something he was going to enjoy very much indeed, and it took every ounce of will power he possessed not to do what he desperately wanted to do. Which was to slide his tongue into her mouth, explore her, taste her. Kiss her deeper, harder, take all her sweetness for himself. The same as he did with any other woman.

  Except Mia wasn’t like any other woman. She’d gone rigid in his arms and even though she wasn’t shoving him away, he knew that pushing this right now probably wasn’t a good idea. So he just let his lips rest on hers, not moving, holding her lightly but firmly. Enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. Again though, she didn’t.

  But she didn’t relax either.

  His fingers tightened in her curls, fighting the urge to pull aside the robe she wore, explore her body as he explored her mouth, make her pant and scream his name.

  Christ, he didn’t know if he could do this hold-back thing.

  Then let her go, asshole.

  He meant to, he really did. But he found himself touching his tongue to her bottom lip instead, tracing the soft curve of it. She took a short, sharp breath, her mouth opening, and because he was a bastard who took all and every opportunity that came his way, he slid his tongue inside.

  She made another soft sound, and he couldn’t stop himself, sliding his hand from her hip, over and down the curve of her ass, pressing her closer against the aching length of his dick. Her mouth was so sweet and he could taste hints of the strawberry jelly she’d been eating. There was heat too, so much of it, and something else—that bright, hard kick like the expensive bourbon he sometimes drowned himself in.

  Fuck, he needed more of this.

  He tugged her head back, winding his fingers deeper into her curls and gripping on tight, sliding his tongue deeper inside her mouth. Kissing her harder, more insistently.

  She gave a violent, convulsive shiver, and then abruptly all the tension left her body, and she went soft in his arms.

  Ah, Christ, yes. Satisfaction and a deep pleasure unwound inside him, and he angled her head back further, touching his tongue to hers, coaxing her, encouraging her to respond. And she did, tentatively, hesitantly. As if she didn’t know what she was doing . . .

  She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Which means you shouldn’t be doing this to her.

  The thought registered dimly in his brain, but it took a second for it to actually penetrate. Then it did, and he felt it like someone had emptied an ice bucket over his head.

  Because no, if she was that innocent, then he definitely shouldn’t be kissing her like this. He shouldn’t be doing anything to her like this.

  “You’re so careless, Xavier. Why don’t you think? Why can’t you stop just for one moment to consider how you hurt people?”

  His mother’s voice, sharp and shrill echoed in his head and he found himself pulling away, breaking off the kiss, something cold twisting in his gut.

  Twin spots of color burned on Mia’s pale cheeks, the look in her eyes shocked. She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth, blinking at him as if he were a complete and utter stranger.

  His cock ached, his heartbeat raging in his chest. Why the hell was he thinking about his poor, fragile depressed mother? Christ, hadn’t he gotten over that years ago?

  It didn’t feel right to walk away, but maybe that was the best thing right now. Maybe he needed a bit of distance, sort out this little problem with restraint that he seemed to be having.

  “Stay,” he forced out. “You can stay as long as you want.”

  Then he turned on his heel and left her standing in the hallway.

  * * *

  A day later, Mia sat on Xavier’s pristine, white leather couch, watching as an immaculately put-together woman from a high-end department store reached for yet another hanger from the metal clothes rail that had been wheeled into the living room.

  On the hanger was a black dress. It looked to be very fitting
and there was a slit in the side that went from the hem right up to about hip level.

  “What about this one?” the woman said, holding up the dress. “It’s Lanvin. Very chic.”

  Mia didn’t know what Lanvin or chic was, but she guessed that meant horribly expensive. It probably also meant horribly impractical. Certainly she couldn’t see herself shuffling around her alleyway in that dress. For a start, the slit would let the weather in, plus it didn’t have sleeves, which was going to make it very cold.

  The material looked nice though, she had to admit. In fact, all the clothes the woman had showed her looked like they were made out of nice material. She’d ended up shoving her hands underneath her thighs to stop herself from reaching out to touch them.

  Xavier had meant well when he’d offered to get her some new clothes, she knew that, but she hadn’t realized it would entail having a personal shopper coming especially to the penthouse to show her a whole lot of designer gear. And not just plain old designer gear. Jeans and T-shirts and maybe a coat or a sweater, she could probably have handled. But dresses and skirts and gowns? Not so much.

  Not that she was going to accept anything he bought for her anyway, but if the past day or so had taught her anything about handling Xavier, it was easier to let him do what he wanted than to argue about it. Particularly when no matter how much she tried to tell him she didn’t want him to do these things for her, he ignored her and went ahead and did them anyway.

  First there had been the array of food he’d had delivered that morning, spreads and pastries and cheeses and all kinds of things she’d never even heard of, let alone eaten. She’d found them all too different, too overwhelming, and had ended up going back to jelly sandwiches instead. Then there had been the toiletries that had appeared along with the food. Oils and soaps and creams in lots of different, pretty pots. And a hairbrush, a manicure set, a hairdryer, a flat iron. After that, a new backpack had appeared.