Bad Billionaires Box Set

by Elise Faber

  “Wait.” He hesitated before touching her arm again. “Let me see you safely to your hotel.” When she started to shake her head, he gave her puppy dog eyes. And the infuriating man gave damned good puppy dog eyes. “Please, CeCe. I know I don’t deserve your consideration, but will you at least let me know that you’re safe and sound?”

  She sighed. Was she seriously considering spending more time in a confined space with the man who’d broken her heart twice?

  Ugh. She totally was.

  “Fine,” she said, giving in because she was too tired to fight, too tired to resist stealing just a little bit more of Colin.

  He smiled, and the brilliance of it sucked the air from her lungs. God, he had the best freaking smile, wide and slightly crooked on one end, his teeth straight and white, but not perfectly aligned. That little bit of imperfection mixed into all of the flawlessness that was Colin McGregor just added a whole other layer.

  It was too much, and it wasn’t enough.

  She wanted him. She was scared.

  She was hurt but remembered the great times they’d had together. The brilliant moments when they were alone, when she was with someone who saw her as her.

  When she’d belonged.

  Sadness swept through her, and she dropped her eyes to the floor, hurting, absolutely aching for the loss of that time in her life, no matter how brief it had been.

  “Cecilia?”

  She forced her gaze up, made her lips tip into a smile. “Should we go?”

  “Sweetheart?” A brush of his thumb across her cheek. “What is it?”

  Her heart turned over in her chest, that long old scar throbbing. But she couldn’t tell Colin that. Not now, not here, not after all this time. “I’m tired,” she said. “Can we go?”

  Blue eyes searched hers for a long moment before he nodded. “Of course.”

  He grabbed her bag, slinging it over his arm, and pointed in the direction of the automatic doors.

  Cecilia frowned. “Where’s your bag?”

  “The driver has it.” He nodded at the man, wearing a black suit and tie with a pristine white button down, standing next to a black sedan. “Thanks for waiting, Danny.”

  Danny nodded, opening the door without a word, but the look he gave her was assessing.

  And immediately made her spine go up.

  She’d seen that look before. Too many times over. From his family. From his friends. She was the calculating America trying to take advantage.

  “You know—” She hesitated, ready to say 'fuck it all' and take a cab like her original plan, but Colin had anticipated her. He snagged her wrist and tugged her into the car in a move so quick the rest of her sentence was swallowed up in a gasp and the sound of the door closing.

  “Hotel.” He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Then I’ll leave you to your life.”

  Her breath caught. In relief? In disappointment?

  Who knew?

  Except . . . she knew.

  And what she knew but didn’t want to admit, even to herself, was that those words left her with a trace of displeasure—no, more than a trace. What she felt was a torrent of regret that was nearly impossible to ignore. She should have fought, should have done something.

  But she’d been young and vulnerable and . . . so damned hurt.

  So, she ignored the blip of sorrow at the thought of never seeing Colin again.

  She tucked that hurt down, shoved it all away, and did what she did best.

  Pretended to be completely fine despite the fact that she was totally shattered inside.

  London was beautiful. The buildings were like nothing she’d seen before. Tall, huge walls of gorgeous architecture full to the brim with arches and curls and wooden doors. Brick houses transformed into gothic churches before pivoting again into another style and then another as traffic weaved and bobbed and turned through narrow and twisted streets.

  Every building was multistoried and towered over the car. Which should have made her feel closed in.

  But instead she felt safe and cozy, like she was tucked snugly under a soft comforter.

  London was nothing like her little town north of San Francisco.

  There were multistory buildings at home, of course, but not like this. Not packed in, crowded together, taking up every millimeter of available space.

  Good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic.

  “Different from Scotland, isn’t it?”

  Cecilia stiffened, somehow having forgotten that she was trapped in a car with Colin. She removed her hand from where it was pressed against the window, purposefully wiped what was almost certainly a sappy smile from her face, and turned to face him.

  They were nearing the clogged streets close to Buckingham Palace, and she knew her hotel wouldn’t be far off.

  Though . . . traffic.

  They could be trapped for days.

  Le. Sigh.

  It was easier to be closed off from Colin when he was more of a painful memory rather than a living, breathing human.

  Who was nice and waited for her and gave her rides and—

  Broke your heart, girlfriend, she imagined Seraphina saying. Her beautiful blonde bombshell of a friend would tell her to woman up and harden her heart. Forget him. Move on and hook up with a hot Finnish guy. They make man buns look sexy.

  She just wished it were that easy.

  Because amongst the painful memories were good ones. More than the bad, more than the ones that shattered her teenage fantasies.

  She sighed. This trip was supposed to be about relaxing, enjoying herself after spending so long wrapped up in Hunter’s appointments and treatments and medications. This was supposed to be about her having an adventure where she wasn’t trying to think of ways to get Carter—Abby and Jordan’s baby—to eat peas when the little toddler hated all foods that were green.

  This—

  She sighed again, wanting to slap herself. She shouldn’t be missing them. It hadn’t even been a day.

  Fingers on her cheek startled her.

  “You okay?” Colin asked.

  She leaned into his touch, inhaling the spicy scent that was solely Colin—leather and sandalwood and pine.

  “I—”

  Then she realized who she was leaning closer toward, whose hand was cradling her face, and who apparently had as big a hold on her body and mind as ever.

  P.A.T.H.E.T.I.C.

  That was her.

  “London is different than Scotland,” she said, finally getting a grip and circling back to safer topics than her idiotic brain and heart. “I mean, all I’d seen of it before was Heathrow, and that wasn’t exciting. And I know it doesn’t make sense for my travel plans, with me leaving for Finland tomorrow night, but I couldn’t miss a chance to be here without at least seeing Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park—”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

  The car slowed, pulling to a stop at the curb. And seriously, she was tipping this driver big time.

  CeCe took one glance at Colin’s stormy expression—the one that used to make her crazy. Crazy to kiss him and smooth it out. Crazy to piss him off further so he’d yank her close and kiss her with all that pent-up frustration. Crazy to—

  Run.

  “Oh look, we’re here,” she said, popping the door handle and climbing out onto the sidewalk, thankful that they were on the “wrong” side of the road so she didn’t have to clamber over Colin’s legs.

  Because it wouldn’t be clambering over so much as clambering onto, and that would be very dangerous indeed.

  She grabbed her tote bag, tucking it over her shoulder while slamming the door shut, and thrust a fifty-pound note at the surprised driver who was just sliding out of the car.

  She needed to get to her room, slam the deadbolt, and hide.

  The smiling attendant waved her forward, and CeCe handed over her passport all while trying not to glance behind her like she was a fugitive on the run.

  This just in . . . s
he felt like one.

  “Here you go,” the woman said. “You’ve got a lovely room on the fifth floor. You’ll find the elevator right down that hall.”

  Cecilia thanked her, hurrying away from the desk and ignoring the fact that the space between her shoulder blades was prickling.

  Risking a quick glance back gained her nothing. Colin was nowhere in sight. He’d left after she’d not so ceremoniously slammed the car door in his face.

  Obviously.

  So what if she felt the tiniest bit disappointed and, well, guilty for slamming said door in said handsome, dark, and brooding face.

  She pressed the button for the elevator, stood back when the doors dinged open, and then started to select the fifth floor.

  The hairs on her nape rose before he even spoke. As though she had a built-in Colin-detector.

  And frankly, she needed to face facts. She did have a built-in Colin-detector.

  It was called her vagina.

  As in it got wet every time he was nearby.

  “You actually need to press six,” he murmured from too close behind her, reaching over her shoulder to push the button with that number. “Floors are counted differently in England than the United States. Here, they have a ground floor and then the numbers start counting up from one.”

  CeCe glanced down at the envelope housing her room key and sure enough, she was in room six-twenty-two.

  Fifth floor. Lies.

  Shaking her head as the doors slid closed, she stuck her room key in her pocket and then sighed, dropping her chin to her chest, warring with herself—

  “Fuck it,” she muttered, sliding her tote bag from her shoulder and letting it fall with a thump to the floor. She whipped around, launched herself at Colin.

  He jumped and fumbled, and she thought for sure they were both going down, but then he regrouped, regaining his balance and holding her tight against his chest.

  And—God—it felt fantastic, being in his arms, being this close.

  “Cecilia?” he asked, blue eyes wide but filling rapidly with heat.

  He felt it, too. He understood the attraction, the never-ending pull that seemed to yank them together time and time again.

  That attraction was the only reason—the only reason, take that her damned smug conscience—that she kissed him.

  And promptly lost her head.

  Chapter Nine

  Colin

  Colin spent approximately six seconds in heaven before it was torn from his arms.

  Or rather, before CeCe ripped herself from his hold.

  He’d had just a tease of soft curves and floral scents, felt the press of her lips, her breasts, her tongue against him.

  Then the bloody elevator had dinged, its doors had slid open, and she’d run.

  Again.

  This pattern was getting frustrating.

  He slammed his fist against the metal panel as it tried to slide closed and bent to pick up the paper envelope that had fallen from Cecilia’s pocket when she’d thrown herself into his arms. She’d grabbed her tote bag, so there was that, but she wouldn’t be getting far without a room key.

  Sighing, he tucked his messenger bag over one shoulder and left the elevator, bracing himself for her presence, for the punch to the gut that stole his breath every time he saw her.

  She was beautiful, inside and out, there was no doubt about that. But she was also . . . scared. Hurting.

  And he wanted the full story, for fuck’s sake.

  Not a piece of information here and there. Not a slice of the past and vague words. He wanted to know what had happened six years ago.

  Because by all rights, he should be the wounded one.

  But Colin had the feeling that he wasn’t.

  He glanced at the key holder in his palm, searched out the sign on the wall, and headed in the direction of Cecilia’s room.

  She wasn’t far, around one corner, head in her hands, bag still over one arm but resting on the floor, as she squatted against a door.

  He ignored the jump of his pulse and stretched an arm over her head, swiping the key against the lock. It disengaged with a click. When he shoved it open, bright green eyes flew up to his, and her mouth opened, no doubt to put him off again.

  A shake of his head, a swift movement to scoop her up off the floor.

  “Col—”

  “Hush.” He growled when that damned annoying tote bag whacked him in the head and slid it free from her arm, setting it carefully on the luggage stand before carrying CeCe further into the room, flipping switches all the way.

  “Colin.”

  He didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he ripped the comforter free of the mattress with one hand.

  “Hey! You can’t—oof!”

  He took a breath, shaking off the tempting sight of the woman he’d obsessed over for years, hair mussed, looking up from a bed at him in invitation.

  No. Confusion. With a little irritation mixed in.

  Colin bent and removed her shoes, lining them up next to the nightstand, before turning back and staring at CeCe.

  Yes, it was probably creepy.

  No, he couldn’t stop himself.

  Especially when her lips parted and there was a hint of invitation in her expression. He leaned down, felt the hot whoosh of her breath on his mouth, and kissed her . . . on the cheek.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling up the blanket and tucking it around her. Gritting his teeth, he set the keycard on the nightstand and rose to his feet.

  And then he did the opposite of what every cell in his body was demanding—namely stripping CeCe naked, leaving her limp with orgasms, holding her close afterward, whispering all the words he’d felt, still felt, into her ear, and watching her fall asleep.

  Did she still snore in soft little puffs of air?

  Would she still whisper his name and snuggle closer?

  Could they possibly forget the past and find a way to build something new?

  He wanted to find out the answers to all of those questions. He wanted her body, her heart, her soul.

  He wanted her.

  That was why he had to leave.

  Colin tried to ignore the fact that she didn’t stop him as he went.

  It didn’t work.

  Hotel bars were the worst. The scourge on the earth, the cesspool of all humanity, the bottom of the proverbial barrel.

  Either that or he was being dramatic.

  Okay, he was being dramatic.

  And that wasn’t like him.

  But he’d sent away his driver, intending to walk the city until his nerves settled. The trouble was he had only made it as far as the hotel bar.

  He had always felt like this . . . not about the bar and not acting like a gross creep stalking a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. Rather, he meant that it had always felt as though there were a piece of string attaching him to Cecilia. It had been stretched taut, threatening to snap for many years, and now that he’d found her, he didn’t have the strength to risk that tenuous position once more.

  What if he couldn’t find her again?

  Dramatic meet maudlin meet terrible Shakespeare-esque drama.

  He should have just talked to her when he’d been in her room.

  Better that than brooding over a bottle of whiskey like a pathetic idiot.

  “Another?” the bartender asked when Colin drained the last drops from his glass.

  “No, thanks.” He shook his head and tossed enough bills on the bar top to cover his tab plus a healthy tip. The man had been quick, efficient, and didn’t ask nosy questions.

  But Colin was bleary-eyed, exhausted after the flight, and the days packed with meetings before then, and he really needed to sleep.

  He was also slightly drunk.

  Which was probably why he headed to the elevators rather than pulling out his cell and calling his driver. He pressed the button for the fifth floor and waited calmly—albeit with a slightly faltering stance . . . the floor’s fault for not
being level, thank him very much—as the elevator rose.

  Then he pulled out the spare key to CeCe’s room, the one he’d put in his pocket earlier for safekeeping, and unlocked the door.

  It was mostly dark, with only the bedside lamp on, and she’d fallen asleep with a book on her chest.

  One of those bloody historical romances.

  For fuck’s sake.

  He carefully picked it up, lest it stab her in the eye or something as she slept, and started to close it. Only a word caught his eye. Then a sentence.

  Then a scene.

  And hot damn, what a scene.

  He sank to the floor next to the bed and turned the page.

  And another. And another. And . . . he read the whole damned thing. The sex, the horses, the kilts, the conflict that drove the hero and heroine apart—conflict driven by the hero’s intervening family that left a nasty aftertaste in his mouth. He even read the happy ending and the epilogue where their castle was full of children and the couple lived in a state of unending bliss.

  The book made him sigh like a sappy sod, and it made him ache. To long for the fictional happily ever after.

  It also made him sleepy, and Colin found himself listing to the side, curling up next to the bed, and closing his eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  Cecilia

  Cecilia woke with her mouth feeling as though she’d swallowed an entire desert’s worth of sand. Her breath certainly could have made any desert-dwelling creature drop dead on the spot.

  She never went to bed without brushing her teeth, without religiously using mouthwash and flossing, and now she’d done so twice in the last day.

  Gross.

  But she’d been so exhausted—emotionally and physically—after everything that had happened with Colin, that she hadn’t moved from the bed, except to grab a book, toss her leggings to the floor, and slip off her bra.

  She’d waited for him to come back, to knock at the door and demand answers.

  He hadn’t.

  And she wasn’t disappointed.

  Because she was a strong independent woman and was fine on her own. Cue her wagging finger and her podium-worthy rant. She didn’t need a man, dammit. She was traveling through Europe. She had plans. She—