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

by L. Steele

  If I told any of the Seven about this... Well, outside of Sinner—bet that fucker would empathize with what it is to be faced with an angry wife. Jesus, that's the second time in a row I've referred to her as my wife. She's your fake wife, you wanker. As you've reminded her over and over again. And broken her heart. You hurt her, you bloody reprobate.

  I drag my fingers through my hair.

  But hell, if her words hadn't hit home. She'd struck a nerve—more than a nerve. She'd pushed herself into my deepest darkest space, the place I'd vowed never to let anyone into. She'd insisting on unearthing my secrets, bared my insecurities and held up a mirror to my flaws. Of which I have many. I've never hidden them. And I’m not starting now. I've never denied that I am callous. What was it she called me? A brute. Yep, that's what I am. Someone who doesn't give a fuck about others. Who goes after what he wants and takes it, damn the consequences. So, what am I doing, skulking around in the dark, on my arse in my hotel suite? This space is mine. I push up to my feet. And she is mine—for the duration of this sham marriage. At least. And no one keeps me away from what I own, least of all my sassy, devious, spit-fire of a wife.

  I stalk to the door of the bedroom—how dare she shut it on me?—and shove it open. I step into the semi-darkness. The curtains are pulled back and the brightness of the streetlights pours in through the window, illuminating the figure on the bed. I prowl over to her, rake my gaze over the figure tucked in, looking quite comfortable. Her fingers are tucked under her cheek, her lips slightly parted. Her chest rises and falls; her cheeks are flushed. No doubt she'd fallen asleep as soon as I had left, while I had tossed and turned in my make-shift bed.

  I grab the sheets and pull them off.

  "What the—?" She sits up with a little scream, breasts heaving, naked body glimmering in the moonlight. My throat closes. The blood rushes to my dick. Fuck. I don't have any clothes on either. Good. This should make it convenient.

  "Move over," I snarl.

  She blinks up at me. "Saint?"

  "Who the fuck else?" I growl. Of course, it’s me. Who had she expected? Her late-husband? That fucker, Antonio? I bunch my fists at my side.

  She glances down, takes in my stance, then brings up her hands to cover her breasts. Anger thrums at my temples. I am her bloody husband. She doesn't get to hide her gorgeous body from me. And why the hell is she staring at me with fear in her eyes? I wouldn't hurt her. Well, not physically at least— Okay, well...only when it is required. Then, I'll do what’s needed to her body, to give her the most pleasure I can. What is wrong with that? It is for her own good, isn't it?

  And the way you hurt her with your words... Is that for her own good too?

  I bunch my shoulders, glare at her features.

  "Wh...what's wrong?" she stutters.

  Nothing. Everything. "You're on my side of the bed."

  "Oh," she glances around, then scoots over.

  "Not so fast." I swoop down. Another scream leaves her lips. I scoop her up, then plonk down on the bed, with her spread across my lap.

  She wriggles. I lean my weight on the small of her back.

  "Let me go."

  "No."

  "What are you doing?" she huffs.

  "You were in the wrong."

  "Why? Because I slept on your side?" Her tone is incredulous.

  "Yes."

  "That's preposterous," she tosses her head.

  "No, that's cause for punishment."

  Her entire body stills, then a shudder crawls up her spine.

  "You like that, don't ya?" I palm her butt.

  She bucks again and I lean more of my weight on her. I am using my superior strength to overpower her, exactly what she'd accused me of doing earlier. Well, good. I am confirming her already-low opinion of me, right? I snicker.

  She turns to glare at me, "You're looking for an excuse to spank me."

  "Oh?"

  She nods, "Couldn’t bear the idea that a woman had gotten the better of you."

  I squeeze her butt cheek and she shudders.

  "Go on," I bare my teeth, "why did you stop?"

  "If you wanted to touch me, you only had to—"

  I raise my hand and she winces.

  "You were saying?" I ask.

  "That...that...if you wanted to make love to me, you only had to ask—ow!"

  My palm connects with her backside and she huffs.

  I raise my hand, slap her other butt cheek.

  She cries out, "It hurts, you oaf."

  "Good." I spank her first butt cheek again and the other, and the first, then the other.

  "Ow, ow," she screams again, aaaand my cock engorges. She wriggles her body, tries to pull away, and the friction against my shaft is so fucking sweet. A groan rips out of me. I increase the intensity of my spanking, alternating between her arse cheeks.

  She grabs hold of my leg, grinds her clit into my thigh. The blood drains to my groin and all of my senses hone in on her.

  "Fuck, Gigi, I want you."

  I stop, and her entire body quivers. The redness of my palm prints stands out against the curve of her butt. I bend, kiss the wounded skin. She moans, and my heart stutters.

  I stand up with her in my arms, then turn and lower her to her arms and knees onto the bed.

  "Hold on."

  36

  Victoria

  * * *

  That's all the warning he gives me, before he lines up his dick against the entrance to my soaking wet channel.

  "Saint."

  He pistons his hips and slams his cock all the way inside of me.

  His balls slaps against my tender flesh; pin pricks of pain dance up my spine. My thighs tremble; his grip on me tightens. Vibrations radiate from the point of contact. A melting sensation coils deep inside of me.

  "Saint," I groan.

  "I know." The words are strained. He stays there, with me impaled on his shaft. A second. Another. His cock throbs, stretching me, as my pussy adjusts to the intrusion.

  "You ready, Gigi?"

  Even before I can nod, he pulls out, then thrusts forward. My entire body jerks.

  A tingling sensation sweeps up my legs. I curve my back, thrust back, trying to take more of him inside. More. I need more.

  "P-please," I stutter.

  "What?"

  "Please take me, Saint."

  A growl rips from him. He begins to fuck me in earnest, and I meet his every thrust, pushing back with my hips, digging my knees into the bed for purchase.

  "You're so damn tight. Even after all these weeks, I can't get enough of you. You're a witch, Gigi. You've completely undone me."

  His words send vibrations of heat swirling in my belly. Everything in me is focused on him, on how he's buried inside of me. On the pulsing, seething, aching hollow that he leaves inside of me each time he pulls back. "It's not enough," I gasp. "I want..."

  "Tell me." he growls. "Tell me what you need."

  "I need—" I widen my knees, then reach back between my legs and squeeze his balls.

  His dick jumps inside me, lengthening even further. He groans, then pulls out completely.

  I whine, "What are you doing—?"

  He flips me over, plants himself between my thighs. The bed dips, as he plants one knee, then the other, on the bed.

  I open my mouth to demand what he's doing, and squeak when he guides his cock to my trembling opening.

  I glance down at the sight of his shaft poised to enter me... Holy shit! It's the hottest thing I have ever seen. I gasp, draw in a breath, then scream as he buries himself inside of me—full, complete. The trembling screeches up my spine. the blood drums in my temples, and my vision wavers. "Saint," I whisper, "I am going to come."

  "Don't you dare, Gigi."

  His voice is fierce.

  He drags his hands up the backs of my thighs, loops my ankles over his shoulders.

  He pulls back, then slams inside me again, and the sensation of his gorgeous thickness filling me, stretching me... My G
od! I'll never be the same after this. Fucking, love-making... Whatever name I may give it... It’s a primal meeting of our flesh, our souls. Something knotted inside of me dissolves. The climax bubbles up, waves of tension ebbing, then flowing forward. "Saint," I choke, "I can't..."

  "You can," he growls.

  The fullness inside me pushes up, needing wanting, demanding that I give in to it.

  "Saint," I whisper.

  "Eyes on me," he snaps. I jerk my gaze up to his, and the force of those blue eyes pins me in place. My chest hurts and a pressure builds at the backs of my eyes.

  His lips kick up, a fierce smile lighting up his face.

  "You're beautiful," the words spill out of me.

  His smile widens and his gaze intensifies. "And you're mine."

  "Yours." I nod.

  "Come with me." He thrust forward and my orgasm overpowers me. I arch my back, open my mouth, and hear the sound of someone wailing. That's me, I know, but I can't stop myself. Tears blur my vision and I collapse, as he comes inside of me. I hear his harsh groan from somewhere above me. He slips down to cover my shaking body with his, his face nestled against my breast.

  We stay in that position for a few seconds...maybe minutes. He anchors me as my body quakes and tears stream down my cheeks. Finally, my breathing steadies, mirrors his. I sense his heart thudding against my chest. His weight on me grows heavy, my limbs protest, but I don't say anything. This...whatever this is...it’s different.

  Does he realize how things have subtly shifted between us?

  He stirs, then moves onto his back, pulling me on top—and wow, he's still inside of me. I mean, that's not easy to achieve, I'm sure, but he pulls it off without missing a beat.

  He drags his palm across my hair and his fingers snag on a knot.

  I wince.

  "Sorry." He plays with my hair, undoing the knot with the same intense precision that he seems to bring to so much in his life.

  "I began self-harming not long after my mother died, " his voice rumbles against my ear. "So much was not in control, then. I had no idea how to cope with the anger inside of me, which was already building after the incident. And when she died, my world fell apart. She was the only one who understood the level of PTSD I had from the incident, the only one who indulged my compulsion to speak in riddles."

  He pauses, his throat moving as he swallows.

  "But the strain of it all became too much for my parents. They broke up. She left home. Right after she left, my father told me I was the reason for the change in their relationship. I was a mistake, you see? There was no space in their marriage for me. He blamed me for what had gone wrong."

  "Oh my god." I stare at him horrified. Why the hell would his father say that? And his mother? How could she have left Saint, when he needed her the most?

  His features tense. "A month later, she died in an accident. I'm afraid I didn't take it well."

  "I'm so sorry," I whisper.

  "You have a knack for getting to the truth, don't you?"

  I glance up at him, "Only with you, Saint." I rub my cheek against his chest. "Only you."

  He pulls me close, tucks my head under his chin. "Sleep." His voice is soft, but my body seems to obey his command on instinct. Darkness closes over me.

  * * *

  "What? When did it happen?"

  Saint’s voice filters into my sleep-addled brain.

  I come awake slowly, tuning into his words.

  "I can’t come right now, I’m…" He stops speaking. Guess he’s on the phone? Who is he talking to? The same person who’d called him the last few times when he’d left me?

  I hear his footsteps thud as he walks away.

  I crack my eyelids open, glance down to find I’m sprawled on my front…on Saint’s side of the bed. I’d gone too sleep on him… Had he woken up to find me coiled into him? Had he thought me weak? Because I’d submitted to him? I’d trusted him. Had I been wrong to do so? I glance over my shoulder to the open doorway of the bedroom and spot Saint. He’s naked… Of course, he is. The man doesn’t have an unconfident bone in his body.

  He holds his phone to his ear, bends his other arm and runs his fingers through his hair. His biceps bulge, the planes of his back undulating. My mouth dries. I swallow.

  He glances back toward me. I clamp my eyelids shut.

  His voice filters through to me, "Are you sure the information is accurate?"

  He listens. "The pickup is going to take place in an hour?"

  Footsteps approach the doorway.

  "Right."

  I crack my eyelids open, enough to watch him lean against the doorjamb.

  "I’ll make it."

  What the fuck—? He's leaving me after what took place between us?

  His gaze roves over my shoulders, across my body wreathed in his sheets. Can he tell that I'm awake?

  He glances away. I relax into the sheets. His scent is all around me; the heat of his body warms the bedclothes, tempting me to roll over and wallow in the remnants of his essence. Shit. I am getting addicted to him. Why does he have to be so…so…irresistible. So damn tempting. A 100% masculine hunk who has no idea how lethal his charm can be… And he isn’t even trying.

  "I know…" his tone lowers. "I am well aware that I got married three weeks ago, but this… What we do together is important."

  Well, shit. Of course, whoever is on the other side of the phone takes precedence. My stomach churns and my breathing goes shallow.

  Don’t let him see how pissed off you are. And I have every right. That last time together, it went beyond the realm of fucking. Besides, isn't he the one who'd said he was making love to me on our wedding night? His actions of last night—especially the way he'd lashed out at my asking about the scars, only to return to our bed and confess that he self-harms—it backs up his words.

  So who is he talking to now?

  He widens his stance, giving me a full-frontal view of his cock.

  I swallow.

  "Got it," His voice dips, "I’ll be at Mill Hill East Broadway in half an hour." He disconnects the call then crosses the floor toward the walk-in closet. I hear the sound of clothes rustling.

  He’s doing it then? He's leaving?

  I sit up in bed. "Saint," I call out.

  He steps into the room, dressed in sneakers, jeans and a sweatshirt that stretches across his chest. My breath catches. Saint in casual wear is even more potent than Saint in office clothes.

  I clear my throat, tip up my chin, "Where are you going?

  His shoulders bunch.

  "It's a business meeting." His glance flickers away then back to me.

  My heart begins to race. He's lying; I know he is.

  "In the middle of the night?" I ask. "And dressed like that?"

  He raises his shoulders, then sighs, "It's a work emergency." He heads for the door.

  "Don't leave."

  He turns to look at me and his expressions softens, "I'll be back soon."

  I straighten my shoulders and the sheet falls to my waist. "You're leaving me?" I pout.

  His gaze falls to my breasts; his chest rises and falls. "Not of my own volition." His voice is husky.

  He tears his gaze off of my body, "You keep the bed warm, babe. I'll be back before you know it."

  He crosses the living room to the front door. I hear the sound of the main door to the suite snick shut.

  I jump out of bed, then race to the front door. I press my ear to it, hear the sound of the elevator door closing.

  Where the hell is he going so early in the morning?

  I walk back into the bedroom, take in the messed-up sheets, a pillow thrown to the floor. There's a dent in the pillow on his side of the bed, where we’d both slept. A shiver works its way up my spine.

  I’d thought…that he had feelings for me… Love? Nah, that’s too strong a word. Possession. The marriage is a bullshit fake to end all fakes…but perhaps it had elicited some primal feeling in him? Something that made him want
to exert his ownership over me…because in some way, he’s made me his.

  Am I his?

  Is he mine?

  Sure, he'd shared more of himself with me. That doesn't mean anything; not when he'd lied to me about the call and left. I chew on my fingernail. There must be a good reason for his actions; there has to be. So why couldn't he tell me?

  For that matter, why haven't I revealed the reason I am here?

  Why haven't I told him about the hold the Mafia has on me? I could use his help. The thought has crossed my mind. But... I chew on my lower lip... What if I told him and the Mafia found out about it? They'd hurt him...and Nina. Sure, Saint has resources at his disposal...but the Mafia... They’re everywhere, and they are ruthless. I can't play with both of their lives; I can't take the risk of something happening to them.

  I curl my fists into my sides. I can't endanger the lives of both of the people I've come to care about.

  No, the only way to protect both Saint and Nina is to complete what I came to do. But first, I have to find out why he lied to me.

  I need to catch up with him, and find out why or who he keeps rushing off to see.

  Walking to the closet door, I wrench it open. Ignoring the clothes he bought me, I cross the floor to my bag on the far end. Strange. I can't find any of my underclothes in the bag. Well, I am not going to wear the lingerie that he bought for me, it doesn't seem right to do so, not when he could be cheating on me as we speak... shit, don't do that, don't make assumptions, not until you find out the truth for yourself.

  I forgo the underwear and pull on my jeans and a top; then tug on ballet pumps.

  My heart begins to race. Adrenaline fills my blood. I grab my handbag from where I’d dropped it on the table near the door, then race out.