The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5)

by Bec Linder

I tightened my hand on her hip. She was soft and yielding, all lush curves, all woman. “Beth,” I said, hearing my own voice strung out with longing, and then I leaned in and kissed her.

  She melted against me with a breathy sigh. She lifted her hands to my chest and rested them there, not pushing me away, her palms flat against my shirt, two scorching brands. I started with slow, shallow kisses, teasing her lips with mine, rousing her to sensation. When I deepened the kiss, using the hand cupping her head to tilt her chin toward me, her soft mouth opened willingly beneath mine. She tasted like the wine we had drunk, rich and sweet.

  Lust surged through me. I wanted to press her back against the sofa and unzip her dress, kiss her shoulders and collarbones, take her nipples into my mouth. I could take her right here, our bodies tangling together in the lamplight, with the full moon shining down on us from outside. I wouldn’t actually do it, of course, but the desire was there. I wanted to feel every part of her, every inch of her bare skin pressed against mine. It had been too long.

  “Christ, Beth,” I groaned, pulling her even closer. My cock was taking an interest in the proceedings. I didn’t want to behave myself. I wanted to have her.

  She turned her head aside, panting, and I took the opportunity to kiss her neck, deliberately scraping my stubble against her skin. I felt her shiver, and then she said, “Max, no.”

  That word. I sighed, and with a last kiss to her jaw, I released her.

  She tidied her hair, avoiding eye contact. “I should go.”

  “You should stay,” I said, “but I know you won’t. I’ll call you a cab.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She stood up and brushed a wrinkle out of her dress. “This isn’t going to happen again.”

  I leaned back against the sofa, stretching my arms along the back, letting my thighs splay. Beth’s gaze darted down to my crotch for a moment before she looked away. Through some heroic effort, I managed not to smirk. I knew Beth, and—more generally—I knew women, and whenever a woman used that tone of voice and then looked at your dick, it meant she was trying to talk herself out of it.

  Poor Beth. My job was to talk her into it, and I’d been told I was pretty persuasive.

  She didn’t stand a chance.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beth

  I could not believe I had let him kiss me.

  What a stupid thing to do. But it had felt so nice. Nobody had kissed me in years, or even touched me beyond a polite handshake. I didn’t date anymore. The one boyfriend I’d had after Max ended up cheating on me, and after that it just seemed like too much of a bother. I had forgotten how nice it was to have someone’s hands on me.

  That was no excuse. Max was bad news, and I wasn’t going down that road again. No more dinners. No more kissing on his couch. And absolutely no going on a wild goose chase with him to search for Renzo. It was sweet that he wanted to try, but I knew Renzo didn’t want to be found. He’d made that clear when he stopped returning my calls. I was finished with Max’s adventures.

  I was a fool, and Max was a terrible idea, but that didn’t stop me from bringing myself to orgasm in bed that night, both of my hands tucked between my thighs, lying there in the dark thinking about Max’s hand on my hip.

  The next day, I tried to write and couldn’t. I ended up staring out the window and thinking about Max and Renzo and the past and what I wanted from the future. Happiness. A family. I wanted kids at some point. Maybe a farm upstate and some chickens. And it was far too easy to insert Max into those daydreams. Max beside me in the car, our dog in the back seat with its head lolling out the window. Max helping me with breakfast in our light-filled kitchen.

  Oh, help me. I couldn’t have those things, and didn’t even necessarily want them. It was nothing more than a silly fantasy.

  I went to work. One of the waitresses had called in sick, and I debated calling someone to cover for her, but Amy convinced me that because it was Monday we didn’t really need the extra help. More tips for the rest of us. I usually ended up regretting listening to Amy, and I told her as much.

  She just grinned at me and said, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

  “What does that even mean?” I asked. “What’s wrong with you? Go make yourself useful and fold some napkins.”

  “Beth’s in a bad mood,” she hollered as she headed for the back. The gathered dancers gave me speculative looks. Mike raised his eyebrows, then started whistling as he sliced lemons.

  Unbelievable.

  Scarlet approached me, still in her street clothes. She had come into the room just as Amy left, and based on the way she was looking at me, she had heard Amy’s warning.

  “Don’t show any fear,” Mike told her. “She can smell it on you.”

  “For God’s sake, Mike,” I snapped. “I’m not a tyrant.”

  “You think I’m afraid of her?” Scarlet asked. “Get real. Beth, Germaine says she wants to see you.”

  “Okay,” I said. I rubbed my face. What now? “Thanks.”

  The club wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes, so I went directly to Germaine’s office. The door was closed for once. Odd. I knocked. There was no response—also odd—but a few moments later, the door swung open to reveal Germaine’s pale and unsmiling face.

  Something was wrong. The hair at the back of my neck prickled. “Germaine,” I said, an unspoken question in my voice.

  “Beth. Come in,” she said, and stood aside just far enough for me to slip through the door.

  Max was there in her office.

  “Really?” I said, before I could stop myself.

  Germaine closed the door behind me and leaned back against the solid wood, her arms folded against her chest. She didn’t look amused. “Beth, your gentleman caller seems to think that my club is a social venue.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t told him to come here, you know. He just keeps showing up. Max, you are really causing problems for me.”

  He looked completely unconcerned, hands loosely tucked in his pockets, fair cheeks flushed. He was wearing a canvas jacket and a knit cap. He must have just been outside. “I’ll stop coming here if you stop blowing me off,” he said. “I have no other way to get in touch with you, you realize.”

  “That’s the idea,” I snapped. “I told you I’m not going with you, and that’s final.”

  “Sir, if you’re harassing my employees, I won’t hesitate to get the authorities involved,” Germaine said.

  Good old Germaine. She was so cool and formal that it was easy to forget how fierce she could be when trouble threatened. “Thanks, Germaine,” I said. “It’s not that kind of problem, though. Max is harmless. Just annoying.”

  His mouth quirked. He didn’t like being referred to as harmless. That was his problem, not mine. I was so angry with him for coming to the club again and trying to get me embroiled in his latest Great Adventure. What a presumptuous jerk. His own interests took precedence over everyone else’s. His desire to find Renzo trumped my need to keep my job and live my quiet, safe, and uneventful life.

  “Please deal with this, Beth,” Germaine said. “I understand that you don’t want him here, but this needs to stop.”

  My face went hot with shame. Germaine was right. I hadn’t been firm enough with Max. I needed to put my foot down once and for all. “Okay,” I said. “Sorry, Germaine. I’ll talk to him right now.” I crossed the room to where Max was standing and seized the elbow of his jacket. I gave a sharp tug and said, “You need to come with me.”

  “For the record,” he said, “I’m not obeying you, but I am terrified of that woman, so I’ll go quietly.”

  “I would hope so,” Germaine said, cold as ice.

  With a final apologetic smile to Germaine, I towed Max out of the room.

  Then I stopped, trying to think of where to take him. Not the locker room—too many listening ears. Not outside, where anyone could see us. It was still early—I could take him to one of the private rooms, where the dancers entertai
ned their clients. It would be a little weird to yell at Max in a room with a huge bed and a soaking tub, and I was sure he would make some inappropriate comments about the nature of our interaction, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make to get him to leave me alone for good.

  Decision made, I dragged him down the hallway toward the smallest and least frequented room, where we wouldn’t be disturbed. I tapped on the door to be sure nobody was inside, and when there was no answer, I flung the door open and hauled Max inside.

  He had been very agreeable thus far, willingly following behind me even though I wasn’t strong enough to move him by force, but now he shook me off and took a few steps into the room, looking around at the bed and overstuffed chaise longue and the shockingly explicit paintings on the walls. “Wow,” he said.

  “I told you it wasn’t just a strip club,” I said, a little embarrassed. I didn’t come in these rooms much, and I had forgotten how obvious their purpose was. Nobody could mistake this room for anything other than what it was: a place for sex to be exchanged like coins passed from hand to hand. The red satin sheets, the abundant throw pillows, even the soft, thick-piled carpet—it all spoke of sensuality and decadence.

  “Ms. Patterson, are you trying to seduce me?” Max asked.

  “Stop,” I said, raising my palms to my overheated cheeks. Bringing him here was obviously a mistake, but it was too late to back down now. If I took him somewhere else, he would know how flustered and uncertain I felt, and that would give him the upper hand. “It’s quiet here. We can—I can yell at you in peace.”

  “And then after you’ve gotten it out of your system, you’ll agree to go to San Francisco with me,” Max said.

  His unshakable confidence infuriated me. He was so convinced that I would give in and do exactly what he wanted. Well, I wouldn’t. I was my own person. I had a life, a good, careful life, that didn’t involve him at all. He had no right to resurrect himself after eight years and expect me to drop everything and cater to his whims. “I’m not going to San Francisco,” I said. I kept my voice very calm and measured. Yelling indicated strong emotion. Passion and fury. I wanted Max to know that nothing he did affected me. I knew how he thought this would play out: I would yell and bluster, and he would wait me out, then tempt me with nostalgia when I had expended my anger. He wanted me all wrung out in the aftermath of emotion: weary, overwrought, vulnerable to the tenderness he would use as a weapon.

  But he wasn’t writing the script. I wasn’t a character in his mental play. I would take control of the scene. I would craft a new ending.

  “Renzo might be in trouble,” Max said. How transparent: an appeal to my worst fears. “He needs us. I’ve been looking for him for a long time, Beth. I’ll go with or without you. But I want you to be there.”

  “I don’t think you should go at all,” I said, “but I won’t try to stop you. I’m not going with you, though.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  I exhaled, already losing my cool. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? Why did he expect me to explain myself? I didn’t owe him anything. “Because I have a job,” I said. “Unlike you, I can’t just drop everything and fly across the country whenever I feel like it.”

  “I’m sure you can take time off,” Max said. “When was the last time you took a vacation? I’m going to guess it was before you started working here. Your boss seems like a reasonable woman. I’m sure she would be happy to let you take a few days.”

  “Okay, then it’s because I don’t want to,” I said. “I think it’s a stupid idea. Renzo doesn’t want to see us. You’re going to be disappointed and hurt, and I’m a sucker and I would feel like it was my responsibility to cheer you up. It isn’t my responsibility. I don’t want anything to do with this scheme of yours. I know I let you kiss me last night, but that was a mistake. We aren’t reconciling. I’m not letting you back into my life. You’re a part of my past, and you’re going to stay there.”

  He rocked back on his heels, smiling. Still smiling, damn him, like I was joking, or like he didn’t take me seriously at all. “Ferocious words, Beth,” he said. “Do you mean them? You think you do, but do you really? I’m not convinced. I think you want me to win you over, but you’re afraid to admit it to yourself.”

  My anger and frustration boiled over. “How dare you,” I said. “How dare you explain to me what I feel! You have no idea! You don’t know what it was like for me after you disappeared. We thought you were dead! We mourned for you!” My voice grew louder with each word until I was yelling, and it felt so good to finally let loose and say what I had really been thinking. “And now you’re back like everything is fine and I’m just the same old Beth, happy to see you, like I’m going to roll over and wag my tail like a stupid dog! I’m not! I hate you, Max, I hate you, I hate that you left me, and I hate that I still love you, and I hate that—I hate—”

  I broke off, sobbing. I hadn’t meant to say any of that. I was mad at myself for losing control, and mad at Max for witnessing it. I turned away from him, covering my face with my hands, gulping in huge breaths of air and trying desperately to calm down.

  I heard Max moving behind me, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and then his hands settled on my shoulders, not asking for anything, not pressuring me, just offering quiet comfort.

  I turned again, into his arms, and rested my face against his broad chest. His jacket was surprisingly soft beneath my cheek, worn with age and use. He lifted one hand and slowly, carefully stroked my hair.

  “Oh, Beth,” he sighed.

  I was a mess. My heart pulled me toward him, and my head turned me away. I wanted to forgive him, but the old hurt lingered and told me not to trust. I loved him and hated him at the same time. The conflict was going to tear me in two if I let it continue, but I didn’t know how to reconcile the warring halves of my soul. So I decided to call a temporary truce. I wouldn’t decide anything, or do anything that couldn’t be undone. I would give myself the gift of freedom from decisions, at least for a little while. I could spend time with him, and gather more data, and see how things shook out. And maybe then my path would be more clear.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”

  His hand stopped moving. “Really?”

  “Really,” I said. “You win. I hope you’re paying for my plane ticket, though.”

  He chuckled. “Beth, I’ll pay for the plane.”

  I pressed closer, silently asking him to hold me, and he slid his other arm around my waist, keeping me safe and close. “I still think it’s a terrible idea,” I said.

  “Duly noted,” he said. “Maybe it is. But we won’t know unless we try.”

  That was Max: he would jump off a bridge just to learn if the water was cold. Me, I would stay on the bank and infer from the air temperature and the snow on the ground that I didn’t want to go in that river.

  The hand on my head dropped to my hip, and then slid even lower. “Max,” I said warningly, but he ignored me, skimming his hand across the curve of my ass and then squeezing.

  Unbelievable. “Max, stop,” I said.

  He dropped his hand immediately. “Do you really want me to stop,” he asked, “or do you just think you should? You’re a good girl, Beth, but you don’t have to be good around me.”

  “I’m not a girl,” I said, annoyed. “I’m a woman. I’m twenty-five.”

  “Mm, you certainly are a woman,” he said, drawing me closer. “Now tell me again how much you hate me.”

  I laughed, helpless in the face of his over-the-top, unapologetic lewdness. “Seriously, Max. I have to work. The club is opening soon. If it hasn’t already. I’m not even sure what time it is.”

  “You have an entire herd of dedicated waitresses,” Max said. “I think they can hold down the fort for a few minutes, don’t you? I just won a decisive battle, and I want to celebrate my victory.” His hand moved downward again, creeping toward the junction where my butt met the top of my thigh.

  “You didn�
��t win anything,” I said, and I would have gone on to tell him exactly how wrong and misguided he was, but then he kissed me.

  Oh, it was heaven. Max had been a good kisser even at seventeen, but now he had a confidence that I found completely irresistible. He knew what he was doing, and he knew it. I didn’t want to think about all the women he must have kissed to be so certain of his abilities. They didn’t matter. He was here with me now.

  He manhandled me. There was no other way to put it. He bent me backwards slightly, just enough to put me off-balance and force me to cling to his jacket, his strong arm around my waist holding me in position. I was helpless like that, completely dependent on him to hold me up, and it send an erotic thrill running along my spine. I knew he would stop if I told him to, but the sensation of powerlessness, of being completely at his mercy, was so delicious that I was happy to surrender myself to him.

  His mouth was hot and demanding, his lips pressing firmly against mine, his tongue teasing at the closed seam of my mouth and requesting entry. He kissed me expertly, deeply, thrusting his tongue into my mouth like he was fucking me. I wanted him to. My body was alight with sensation and desire. It had been years since I’d felt like this, years since someone had touched me with just the right combination of roughness and care to turn my blood to molten liquid in my veins.

  His free hand, the one that wasn’t settled firmly in the small of my back, slid down my shoulder to my sternum and dipped inside the low scooped neckline of my dress. His fingers skimmed over the curve of my breast, over the thin lace of my bra, and bumped against the tight nub of my nipple. I gasped, the sound shattering the silence of the room, and I heard Max chuckle. He was entirely too pleased with himself, but I couldn’t gather the mental wherewithal to put him in his place. His hands and his mouth had driven me to distraction.

  Then he released me, just as suddenly as he had drawn me toward him and kissed me.

  I staggered backward, off-balance, raising the back of my hand to wipe at my mouth. I was wet and throbbing between my legs. I didn’t want him to stop.