The Billionaire's Heart: Billionaire Brothers (Tycoon Billionaires Book 0)

by Farrell, Julie

  They all laughed. Tariq was manly – he was six-foot tall and strongly built with a shaved head – but as a child he’d been bullied because he was different – his parents were from Iran and he’d never been that good at hiding his sexuality. But Ivan was always happy to help his friends. He’d been born fighting. His father had been in the US army, so he’d spent his first few years living on a military base where he’d learnt to stick up for himself. That fighting spirit never had left him and he’d often found himself brawling in the rough neighbourhoods they’d been hawked around before their dad had made his fortune. As soon as their dad had started to make good money, life had changed fast, and Ivan and his siblings had been educated well. The younger brothers had changed too, adopting more amiable dispositions, but Ivan had never lost that fight. His dad had taught him the value of practical skills – how to fix a car, how to wire a house…. how to punch someone’s lights out. No one messed with him or his own. And now that included Samira. If he ever saw those assholes from the beach again, he’d gladly go for round two with them.

  And as for Samira…. Well, he wanted to give her so much pleasure that she’d remember him and their erotic liaison for the rest of her life; never knowing quite as much sexual satisfaction with any other lover to come…

  The sight of Samira sticking her finger into Tariq’s pan of sauce and sucking it pulled Ivan out of his thoughts. “What are you cooking up for us, huh?” she asked.

  “Persian chicken curry. I thought Ivan should be treated to a traditional Iranian dish for his first night in your home.”

  “Smells great,” Ivan said, gazing at Samira and remembering her sweet floral scent.

  “You wait until you taste it,” Tariq said.

  Ivan didn’t take his eyes off her. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

  Samira threw him a grin, then she blushed and looked away.

  Ivan stifled his smile. Yes! It’s been easy to crack into that feisty outer-shell with a blush. Now… what could he do next to make her his?

  “Ivan’s a great cook,” Tariq said, turning back to the counter. “Ivan, perhaps you could cook for us one time over the next couple of weeks?”

  “Sure, I’d love to.”

  “I bet Ivan’s very good with his hands,” Samira said.

  “He is,” Tariq said. “But tonight, he’s a guest in our house, so we get to cook for him… Right, I’ll just let this bake in the oven awhile, so until then let’s all sit down and catch up.”

  Ivan sat at the wooden table, and Samira brought over a jug of water and three glasses. She poured some out for Ivan, standing slightly closer to him than he would’ve expected. He glanced up and they held smouldering eye contact, making his cock firm with desperate lust. Ivan wished he could carry her off upstairs now and fuck her over and over again – exploring every inch of that glorious body until she could no longer think straight.

  Samira pulled back a chair and sat opposite him. “So, you guys are going to work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” Tariq said, sitting at the table, too. “I’ve hired out an office for us. Just a temporary space – it’ll get us out of your hair.”

  “I don’t mind you being around,” Samira said, glancing at Ivan. “So what is this mystery project you two are working on?”

  Ivan winced. “Sorry, it’s top secret.”

  Samira sipped her water, which emphasised her gorgeous lips. Ivan suppressed a desire to see them wrapped around his cock, sucking him hard with a no-hands blow job... As she moved the glass away from her mouth she licked a drop of water from the rim and gazed into his eyes. “I wonder if I can find a way to get you to give up your secrets, Ivan.”

  He sat up tall and held eye contact with her. She was definitely flirting with him. He glanced at Tariq who shook his head and looked away.

  Samira suddenly shot to her feet. “Hey, Tariq, we should give Ivan the proper Persian welcome to my home – what do you say?”

  Tariq chuckled. “Whatever you wish, sweet cousin.”

  Ivan watched as Samira grabbed a bottle of liquor and three shot glasses from the kitchen counter. “Can you hold your own, Ivan?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “I try my best.”

  “This is our traditional Iranian drink – before the Ayatollahs banned alcohol, of course. It’s called Arak. It’s made of aniseed.” She plunked the shot glasses down on the table and filled them to the brim. “It’s pretty disgusting, but it reminds me of home.”

  Ivan laughed. This was like being a freshman again. “I guess it’s good to sample new cultural experiences.”

  He grabbed one of the glasses and raised it, then his ears caught the sound of an uplifting tune on the radio, which catapulted him straight to back his teens, growing up with Tariq and his brothers – Adam and Dylan.

  “Hey, Tariq, you remember the first time we got drunk together?”

  Tariq burst into laughter. “Oh god, Adam was so sick. I felt terrible.”

  “He was fifteen. Too young to be joining in with the big boys.”

  “Oh yeah, seventeen was so big. We thought we were the coolest, huh?”

  Samira grinned. “I wish I’d known you then. Instead I was stuck in Iran trying to avoid arrest for not wearing my headscarf.”

  “You were just a child then, Samira.” Tariq raised his glass. “But now you’re here, all grown up and in good old America! Come on, let’s celebrate. A toast to friends and family.”

  Ivan smiled at Tariq. “To friends and family.”

  He knocked back the liquor and stifled the burning effect it had in his lungs. He cleared his throat. “You sure that’s not paint stripper?”

  Samira laughed, making her beautiful face light up. “It’s pretty potent!” She poured them all another. “So are you guys hitting the town tonight?”

  Tariq smiled sheepishly. “I am. I’ve got plans to meet someone.”

  Ivan grinned. “No worries, buddy, you go enjoy yourself. I’m pretty shattered anyway – I’ll stay in, unpack, and have an early night.”

  “What about you, Samira?” Tariq asked. “Are you out tonight?”

  “Oh no,” she said. “I need to stay in and finish my assignment. But you go out and have fun. I’m sure me and Ivan will be just fine.”

  Chapter Three

  Samira loved her bedroom. It was bright and modern with high walls and ceramic floor-tiles. When she’d first moved in, she’d made her mark on it by hanging up her favourite colourful art and buying funky furniture, such as the gold-framed double bed and the red velvet couch in the corner. The view of the ocean through the huge balcony doors was the feature she loved the most. Sometimes she would sit in bed for hours, snuggled up with a cup of tea, staring at the blue sky ahead and the sea-view, mesmerised as the tide rolled in and out. Other times, she would stand on the wooden balcony and listen to the sounds of nature – the birds singing and the waves crashing in the distance – remembering how lucky she was to be free. To be here.

  Tonight, she felt warm and horny after all that alcohol, spiced food, and wonderful company over dinner. She closed the drapes, stripped off her summer dress, then padded naked into her attached bathroom, looking forward to standing under the warm water – where she planned to pleasure herself and think about the man who was hopefully lying on his bed thinking about her right now. She couldn’t get Ivan’s gorgeous body and handsome face out of her mind. He was so charming. There was something captivating about him – he was so different to the other men she’d met since she’d arrived here – men who just seemed to want to get her into bed or to talk to her like she was some dumb foreigner.

  But Ivan seemed sincere and friendly. Maybe it was because he was such a close friend of Tariq’s – he was like a big brother to her already. But the difference was, of course, she was sexually attracted to Ivan in ways that she certainly wasn’t to her male relations. She could barely contain her excitement about the pleasure she was about to have in the shower – she was planning to fantasise about I
van fucking her from behind and rubbing soapsuds into her breasts. She grabbed her waterproof vibrator, positioned it on the edge of the bathtub, then leaned over to turn the shower dial, and –

  Nothing happened. Shit. The dial was stuck fast. Frustration spiralled through her – she’d so been looking forward to enjoying that supreme pleasure. But this had happened once before and she’d managed to hit the stuck dial with a wrench for ten minutes until it had finally dislodged back into place. She sighed... Okay, it wasn’t going to repair itself – this was what it was like when you were an independent woman living alone. Samira’s toolbox was in the kitchen, so she grabbed her short satin nightdress and pulled it on, then she jogged down the stairs – with her plans of pleasure abandoned for now.

  She knew Tariq was out and Ivan was in bed, so she swanned into the kitchen – then screamed and almost jumped out of her skin. Ivan was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of him, staring at her nightdress-clad body. He was wearing glasses, which made him look even sexier than ever. And no shirt; just jeans.

  “Shit, Ivan,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I thought you were in bed. I would’ve put more clothes on – I don’t usually wander around with my ass hanging out of a teeny nightie when we’ve got company!”

  “No problem.” He threw her a smirk. “It’s a very nice ass.”

  Samira laughed. “Thank you. I just came to get my wrench. My shower dial’s stuck.”

  He stood up. “You want me to take a look?”

  “No, it’s okay.” She threw him a grin. “It’s nothing a girl can’t handle herself.”

  Still feeling self-consciously under-dressed, she strode to the cupboard under the sink and pulled it open to grab her toolbox. Unfortunately she didn’t get that far, because something heavy dropped out and landed hard on her foot – after bouncing off her knee. She jumped back and squealed, cursing the wrench that she now remembered she’d shoved back in the cupboard, without checking it was properly secure.

  Ivan darted over to help as she grabbed her knee and hopped on one leg, groaning in pain. He put his arms around her. “Come here, Samira. Oh bless you – you’re gonna have a bruise there.”

  He pulled her into his strong arms and she sunk into his bare chest, biting back the tears of pain. But the zigzagging agony in her foot was a small price to pay for this treat of receiving comfort from the sexiest man she’d ever met.

  “Alright?” he asked.

  Samira nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ll live.”

  He eased back and gazed into her eyes. “Come and sit down.”

  He draped his arm around her and she limped over to the chair where he’d been sitting. Her body was trembling, but possibly not from the shock of being attacked by the wrench. This man was incredible. She sat down and her heart squeezed with joy as Ivan sunk to his knees and rubbed her foot in his big strong hands – tenderly soothing away the pain.

  He glanced up and smiled into her eyes. “Better?”

  Samira grinned, realising Ivan was kind and considerate as well as gorgeous. He attentively rubbed the part of her foot where the wrench had landed, then he gently massaged the sole, sending tingles of soothing arousal up her leg and between her thighs.

  She smirked coyly. “The wrench banged my knee, too.”

  Ivan laughed. He knelt up and ran his hands over her knee, brushing his long fingers over her thigh, and making her shudder with lust.

  “Your skin’s so soft,” he whispered, focusing all his attention onto her thigh.

  She glanced at the table, hoping for a distraction – otherwise she feared she’d melt into a pool of desire. She gestured to his laptop. “Don’t you ever stop working? You’re as bad as my cousin.”

  He stopped caressing her leg. “We’ve got some special visitors coming tomorrow. I was just doing some last-minute planning.” He stood and pulled out a chair then sat down with her. “Your knee okay now?”

  She grinned. “Yeah, your magic touch has healed it – thank you.”

  He laughed. “Good.”

  He reached out and held her hand as if they’d known each other years. “Look, don’t take this as weird, okay, but you captivate me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I was sitting here trying to work, but all I could think of was you.”

  She squirmed with desire. “Well… thank you.”

  He inspected her. “You know what I see when I look at you, Samira?”

  She shrugged self-consciously. “A sexy girl?”

  He chuckled. “Well, yeah. You’re a strong woman who’s been through a lot. A fighter – like me. But under all that, I see you for what you are.”

  She scoffed. “Oh really? And what’s that?”

  “Someone who’s been hurt and who’s afraid she’ll get hurt again. Someone who’s determined to keep the world out, in case it gets too painful. So instead you keep your head down, work hard, and avoid connecting with men in any meaningful way. Am I right?”

  She stared at him, aghast. All those things he’d just said… it was as if he could see inside her soul; like he could really see her – the real her; for what she really was. Until now, she’d always felt invisible, but suddenly Ivan Quinlan knew her. And it felt wonderful; liberating.

  She gazed into his sincere eyes and she suddenly understood. He knew these things because he was the same. She laughed. “Have you been reading my diary, Ivan?”

  He laughed too. “Nah. Just mine. I’m right, though, huh? There’s no one special in your life right now?”

  She shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’m young. Sex is an act of rebellion for us Iranians. I’m enjoying myself.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Sex is fun. But isn’t it better when it’s special? When you give yourself over to someone; give them a little piece of you. And they give you a piece of them?”

  Samira wanted to glance away from his eyes, but she couldn’t. “I do find it hard to give myself over. To give my heart and soul. Sex has become… automatic. Emotionless maybe.”

  “I know. I’m the same.” He shook his head. “What are we like?”

  She chuckled. “Both as bad as each other.” She didn’t know what it was about him that made her trust him so much, but she was compelled to tell him the truth about why she’d left her home. “Of course, you know, this would never be allowed in Iran.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “You and me being alone together in a house like this.”

  He frowned. His deep masculine voice echoed through her heart. “Why?”

  “Because it’s too much of a temptation. They don’t like people to enjoy each other sexually in my country.”

  He gave her hand a tender squeeze. “That sure is a shame.”

  “Yeah. It’s the shame of it that brought me to America. I was arrested for being alone with a boy in his home when I was seventeen.”

  “Arrested? Are you serious?”

  She nodded. The light flirty mood had now slipped away. She pulled her hand away from his, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “He was my friend from school. His parents were out for the night, so I went over to study with him. Admittedly, we did kiss, but nothing else. His parents came back early and his mother called the police, saying there was a prostitute in her house.”

  “You were accused of being a prostitute?”

  “Yeah. Just for being in his home. The police came and dragged me away – and I do mean ‘dragged’. I was terrified. My uncle who I’ve lived with since I was a child came to the police station to collect me, and the police were so rude to him, calling me a whore and telling him he should take more care of me. I realised I needed to get out of that country, so I opened up communication with Tariq. My uncle and aunt were happy for me to leave, knowing that if I was to stay in Iran, I’d probably end up going the same way as my dear parents.”

  Ivan’s kind eyes were full of compassion. “What happened to your parents?”

  “They were exe
cuted as enemies of the state when I was a little girl. They were Communists.”

  Samira swallowed down her emotion. She didn’t dare continue to talk about this at the moment. She knew she needed to, and Ivan seemed keen to hear it, but sometimes the pain overwhelmed her so much that she thought she’d be torn apart. She stifled her sadness and chuckled wearily. “And you know what happened to the boy? The one whose mother had me arrested?”

  He shook his head, obviously expecting to hear something terrible.

  “A round of cheers from his friends.”

  “Oh…”

  “Yeah. It’s the double standards I hate more than anything. This is why I love American equality. I’m a human being, just the same as any man. It’s my business what I do with my body, not the government’s.”

  “I agree. I don’t understand this obsession with men not wanting women to enjoy their own bodies. I mean, why the hell would God give you a clit and a G-spot if he didn’t want you to enjoy it?”

  Samira blushed at the thought of Ivan fondling her clit and G-spot. She hoped she’d be lucky enough to experience his expertise at some point over the next couple of weeks.

  He gazed at her like a big brother. “Hey, you want me to take a look at your shower?”

  “Alright, thanks.” She raised a playful eyebrow. “But only because I hurt my knee. Otherwise I’d do it myself.”

  He smirked. “I know. You’re an independent woman and can do things for yourself. But sometimes, isn’t it nice to have a helping hand? Huh?”

  Samira knew exactly what he meant by that – and it wasn’t about fixing her shower – so she stood on shaking legs and sashayed back to her bedroom, feeling him follow up the stairs. She knew he could see her ass under her nightdress, and she was tempted to lift it up and give him a proper look, but instead she showed him through to the bathroom, trying to remain neutral and disinterested in his amazing body. He halted as he caught sight of her vibrator, but they both pretended to ignore it.