The Billionaire's Secret: Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance (Big Bad Billionaires Book 2)

by L. Steele

  "Gigi suits you better."

  "Why is that?"

  "Short for Good Girl." He presses his knuckles below my chin, "Also you look like a Gigi.” He turns my face up, "Definitely, Gigi."

  I stare up at him. I've always hated my name. How the hell did he perceive that? My pulse begins to race.

  "Also, the answer is 'my name,'” he drawls.

  "What?" I frown. "What do you mean?"

  "The answer to my earlier riddle, of course. And you're welcome."

  "For what?"

  "I've decided to spare you the blow job."

  "What?"

  He nods.

  "Don't tell me you didn't think about it?"

  "Of course, not." I lie.

  "How about this? The more you cram into it, the wetter it grows. What is it?"

  "Another riddle?" I bite the inside of my cheek.

  "You started the game," he reminds me. "Think you can keep up with me?"

  His lips curl in that smirk—that I am coming to hate.

  "This your idea of fun?" I set my jaw.

  "No, but this is."

  He lowers his zipper and his cock springs free. Hard, massive, it points up at me, inviting me, mocking me. A vein pulses up the underside. The head is swollen, nearly purple— How is he this aroused? Why is it that every time I see him, he seems to be erect? Why do I care? So what if my mouth waters and a pulse flares to life between my legs? The man's seriously packing, and hell, if I don't want to wrap my fingers around that beautiful length. No, no, no, did you call his dick beautiful? Look away, look away. I raise my gaze to his face.

  "No boxers?"

  Did I say that? Why is it that there is no filter to my thoughts? I am not normally this way. I am reserved, aloof... That's what I’ve been told, anyway. Is it the role I’m playing that's allowing me to lower my barriers? To speak what's on my mind and damn the consequences? I mean, how much worse could it get, right?

  "You prefer I wear boxers?" he asks.

  "I don't prefer you at all."

  "More lies." He clicks his tongue. "We'll have to work on that."

  "I am not working on anything with you," I mutter.

  "Oh, but you will." He grips his thick cock, swipes himself from root to head. A bead of precum appears at the top.

  Saliva pools in my mouth. Why is the sight of him getting himself hot so hot? I've seen my share of porn online, researched more in preparation of this role—yeah, the nerd in me couldn't stop until I'd done a bloody thorough job of it—but this...? Saint's thick fingers wrapped around himself is...a study in eroticism.

  "A hole." His voice is harsh.

  I blink up at him, "Is that the answer to your last riddle?" I whisper.

  "Did it turn you on when I said that?" he asks.

  Heat flares low in my belly. My core pulses in agreement. My throat closes. My mouth is so dry I am sure I can't force out a word.

  He jerks his chin as if he's already heard my answer, then releases me, only to scoop up the moisture from his dick. He holds out his thumb. "Open." His voice is low, hushed. The dark edge to his tone brooks no refusal. Obey him. Do it.

  My mouth waters. Heat curls low in my belly. I lower my mouth, close it around his finger.

  3

  Saint

  * * *

  I glance down at the back of her head. Her pink tongue swirls around my finger, then she takes me in, sucks on my digit. My cock jerks. Bloody hell. She isn't supposed to affect me on such an elemental level. This yearning need that boils up inside of me, that had compelled me to glance at her across the freshly-dug grave of her husband and think: mine. What the fuck is that about?

  I don't do emotions.

  Nor relationships.

  Definitely never allow a woman to take control. Ever. I scowl as she takes my finger deeper into her mouth. She presses the length of her tongue to my digit, and heat radiates from the contact; blood rushes to my groin.

  "Fucking fuck."

  She sucks in her lips, mocking the motion of what she could do to my cock. A pulse flares to life behind my eyelids, at my wrist, even in my fucking balls. She leans back, releasing my finger with a wet plop.

  "Is that enough?" she snaps.

  "We haven't even begun."

  "This is wrong." Her lips tighten. "Whatever the relationship between Adam and me... We just buried him. It's basic human decency, that we don't—"

  "Fuck?" I tilt my head. "But we aren't."

  "A technicality." she insists.

  "Oh, believe me, when we screw, there will be nothing technical about it."

  She trembles. The limo moves forward with a muted lurch. Silence a beat, then another.

  "Don't do it." she murmurs.

  "You mean this?" I reach down, swipe myself from base to head.

  She gulps. The black of her pupils bleeds out, leaving only a circle of green around them.

  This woman... Her response is the single most erotic thing I have ever seen.

  Her gaze latches onto my motions as I pump myself back-forth-back.

  "Why?" she asks. Her features twist. Her gaze, though, doesn't waver. She watches with a single-minded intensity that's as much of a turn on...more so...with the anticipation that builds between us.

  Because there's a strange pleasure in denying myself access to what I could so easily have. One glance and she'd be on her back, opening her legs to me...but that would be too easy. Besides, I need her to come to me; to put herself at my mercy. Until then, this will have to do.

  I increase the pace of my movements.

  Her breathing grows ragged. Her chest rises and falls. I watch her watch me pleasure myself, and fuck, if that isn't the most erotic sensation ever.

  The tension tightens at the base of my spine. Fuck, if I don’t come right now. I squeeze the base of my cock to hold myself in.

  "I absolve you of responsibility, Gigi," I snap.

  She jerks her chin, "What do you mean?"

  "You don't have to pretend. You want to do this, but your conscience doesn't permit you. Well, blame it on me. Use me as your excuse. When we get to the other side, you can resume your role in the real world, but for now, there's only me, you, and this orgasm that's pushing for release. Allow yourself to enjoy this, Gigi."

  She draws in a sharp breath, her lips part, and it's as if it’s a signal.

  My orgasm roars out; my balls draw up. I position my dick and come all over her face, her chest, across her arms.

  Her chest rises and falls; her shoulders snap back.

  "Don't you dare come, Gigi."

  "What?" she gasps.

  "You heard me," I admonish.

  She licks her lips, her shoulders heave.

  I reach across and rub my cum into her face, her neck, into the creamy skin of her arms.

  Then I reach for the tissue holder, snatch up some sheets and clean myself off. I tuck myself in, help her onto the seat, making sure to keep the length of the seat between us.

  "You bastard," she snarls.

  "You're frustrated. I understand." I smirk. This is a new low, even for me. Shit. Why eviscerate her ego completely? Is this the only way I am able to communicate? To hide behind the façade I have so carefully built to hide from the world?

  She makes a noise deep in her throat.

  I shake my head. "Don’t do it."

  "What?"

  "Whatever bodily injury you were planning." I glance at her sideways. "I'm stronger than you."

  "No shit." She tosses her head.

  "You don't get it now, but it's for your own good."

  "What?" She throws up her hands. "You coming all over me—"

  "Which you enjoyed."

  She opens her mouth—

  I slash my palm across the air, "Don't deny it."

  She flattens her lips, "—or that you didn’t let me come?"

  "Ah... Now that," I tap my fingers on my chest, "is easy to fix."

  "I'm sure I don't want to know this."

  "Oh,
but you do. All you have to do is come to me and ask me for help."

  "Help?"

  "From whatever situation it is that you find yourself in." I turn, scan her features. "I have power, Gigi."

  "And money," she says bitterly.

  "More than you can imagine." I nod. "Whatever problem you have, I can resolve it for you."

  "In return for what?"

  I look her up and down, "I'll think of something."

  "No doubt." She turns to glance outside, her profile bleak. Her chin wobbles. That same strange heat stabs at my chest, a reaction I seem to have when I hurt her.

  Fuck. This...is unacceptable.

  "Or not." I straighten.

  The limo pulls up to the curb in front of her hotel.

  She reaches for the door.

  "There's one thing more."

  She pauses.

  "You won't come," I command.

  "What?" She turns around to stare at me. "The hell do you mean?"

  I lean back, place my arm across the back of the seat. "Your every orgasm belongs to me."

  "No."

  "Yes," I nod, waggle a finger in the air. "No cheating, darling. You will not come until I give you permission."

  "Fuck you."

  She pushes open the door, flounces off. The limo pulls away, turns the corner, then stops.

  I push open my door, step around, and slide into the driver's seat.

  "You better know what you're doing," Weston growls from the passenger seat.

  I glance over him, laugh, "The uniform suits you."

  "I didn't have to wear the hat." He tosses it down between the seats.

  "Aww, women love men in uniform," I snicker.

  "You're envious of how I look in scrubs," he retorts.

  I shoot him a sideways glance. "Still can't understand why you chose to become a doctor."

  "Same reason you wear those beat up cowboy boots."

  "Sentimental value." I raise my shoulders.

  "Keep telling yourself that," he mutters. "Besides, considering the amount of time I'm spending to help you with your affair, I may not be a doctor for much longer."

  "Not an affair," I mutter, easing the car back in traffic.

  "Yeah." He scratches his jaw, "Seriously, you could have allowed the woman a little time to recover from the funeral."

  "It's all a bloody act." I spot a break in traffic, step on the gas, and the limo pulls forward.

  "The private investigator come through with information?"

  "Some." I frown. "Enough to confirm that she's not as innocent as she'd want me to believe."

  "And her marriage?"

  I draw in a breath, then pull out my pack of cigarettes. I depress the button for the lighter, then toss the pack over to Weston, "Light one for me, will you?"

  "Thought you quit."

  "Don't fucking nag me, man."

  He shoots me a sideways glance, then pulls out a cigarette. He leans forward, grabs the lighter from the dash and lights it up. He blows out smoke, before placing it between my lips. I draw in a puff, then another.

  "So, her marriage is—?" he prompts.

  I blow out a breath. "Couldn't find any evidence of it being legal."

  Weston turns to me, "You mean...?"

  I hold up my hand, "I don't think it's genuine."

  "Maybe it's wishful thinking?" He drums his fingers on his thigh. "You sure that you aren't splitting straws."

  And isn't that the fucking truth? Why the hell can't I simply walk away from her?

  "We'll find out soon enough." I draw in a breath. "For now the scene is set."

  "Scene?" He glowers at me. "Don't push it, man. You're already w-a-a-y too involved with this woman."

  "Involved?" I laugh. "You know how much I love riddles. It's been a long time since I’ve found one that challenged me."

  "Be careful, Saint." He snickers, "Some puzzles are best left unsolved."

  4

  What is more useful when it is broken?

  Answer: An egg

  * * *

  Three weeks later

  * * *

  Victoria

  * * *

  "Am I intruding?" I stare across the office of the executive level of 7A investments. This is it. I couldn't put it off anymore. I have nowhere else to go in this city. After Adam's death, I'd moved out of the hotel and into a studio in Hackney.

  I am playing the role the Mafia has demanded of me, but the resources I have to rely on are meagre—what I have left over from the job I'd started after graduating from UCLA. A month into it, I got the call that Nina had been kidnapped, and my entire life had changed.

  "You’re already here." Saint glares back. "May as well come all the way in." He drags his gaze down to my chest. A flush blooms on my cheeks.

  I haven't seen him since that encounter in the limo, but his every word, the expression on his face as he'd come, the way he'd massaged his cum into my skin, marking me as his... I remember every single detail. I had masturbated every night to the image of his orgasm; and I had not come. Damn him, but I couldn't let myself climax.

  It wasn't for trying, honestly, but every time I came close to the edge, I lost courage, I couldn't see it through. I felt bereft. Rudderless. Needing, wanting, searching for something...someone to lead me. To take control. Damn the man, I don't need his permission to come. I don't.

  His perusal shifts to my belly, my core. Moisture pools in my center. Sweat beads my palm. The invisible connection between us crackles, tightens further. My scalp tingles. The hair on my neck rises. Is the chemistry between us more potent than I remember?

  My head spins.

  "Victoria, are you okay?" Summer asks from across the room.

  I open my mouth to answer when a sound reaches me. I glance down to find a puppy sniffing at my ankles. Huh? Why hadn't I noticed the little fella earlier? He whines, plonks himself down on his haunches and looks up at me with melting eyes. My heart squeezes. A pressure builds at my temples. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

  I bend, pet him. He licks my fingers and warmth travels up my arm.

  He turns, runs to his bed, and settles there with his chew toy.

  He's so cute, just a baby. A heaviness grips my chest. If only I had someone to call my own. A pet? A child? The emptiness inside of me stutters, rolls into itself, grows larger, broader, swells inside, taking on a physical shape. The visceral need to procreate is a tangible thing that claws at me, shoves out at me, pushes me to draw in a sharp breath. Oh my god, what's happening to me?

  Why is the sight of a dog affecting me so much? Is it because the meeting with Nina's kidnapper has shown me how quickly everything can shift? He'd told me that the plan had changed to accommodate Adam's death. No longer is it about reporting back on the activities of the Seven. My stomach ties itself in knots; I now have to win the trust of one of them.

  Specifically, I have to retrieve a crucial piece of evidence that is in Saint's grasp, and get it back to them.

  And I have to do this on my own. The hairs on the nape of my neck prickle.

  Can I do that? Can I use the chemistry between us to win his confidence, only to betray him? My guts clench; my core melts. Why does the thought of staying close to him turn me on? Why does the fact that I would have to turn against him feel so wrong?

  There is no other route to saving Nina. I have no choice but to go through with this.

  My throat closes. Specks of black dot my vision.

  "Victoria?" Worry threads Summer's voice. She steps forward, but the other man in the room, who I recognize as her husband, places a hand on her shoulder.

  I glance between them. Guess they've worked out whatever issues they may have had? That's good. I am pleased for Summer. She deserves every happiness she can get after what she's been through. And me? What about me? I draw in a sharp breath. One step at a time. Don't panic. This is no time to have a breakdown. I straighten my spine. "Everything will be fine now." As I hear my words, a strange calm grips me.
>
  I turn to Saint, "I’ve been looking for you."

  He smirks, "About time."

  Funny he should say that. I've spent the time since I last saw him researching him. Not that it had taken much effort to unearth his business success, or his weakness for beautiful women. A little more digging had unearthed his inclination for the darker kind of pleasures. The hair on my forearms rises. He doesn't believe in hiding his tastes; more likely he doesn’t care who knows about it. Good. I can use the knowledge to my advantage.

  I run my clammy palm down my dress; then take a step forward.

  He watches me approach. That strength of his presence beckons. Tension vibrates off of him. The potency of his personality slams into my chest. I gasp and my guts twist. My belly seems to fold in on itself; I sway.

  The ground comes up to meet me, but he's already there.

  "Hey." He grips my shoulders, straightens me, "You okay?"

  "Help me," I gasp.

  His lips move. Is he speaking to me?

  I frown, raise my hand. He catches my wrist. Those dark brows knit. A vein bulges at his temple. Is he angry? Why is he angry?

  The world tilts; heat surrounds me, envelops me. The hard barrier of his chest digs into my cheek. That's when I realize that he's scooped me up in his arms. What the—? Had I almost fainted? Like the heroine of a Victorian novel. Finally conforming to my blasted name. I snicker.

  "What's so funny?" he asks.

  I glance up at the stubble on his chin. It's only noon. Did he not shaved today? Or is he one of those men who prefers that fashionably unshaven look?

  "You sure you want to know?" I mutter.

  "I want to find out everything about you."

  I blink. Did he say that? What does he mean?

  He moves toward the door of the room.

  "I can walk," I protest.

  "Clearly not." His voice is hard. Anger ebbs and flows around him, encompassing me in a thick fog of awareness that grates across my nerves; it swipes over my breasts, down my belly, headed for the obvious end goal that is my quivering center. I squeeze my thighs together.

  His nostrils flare.