Billionaire Romance Box Set: Weeks Complete Collection: Weeks Romance Series - The Complete Collection

by Sarah J. Brooks

  We cleaned up our lunch, and Oliver called Raymond back to pick up the things we didn’t want to carry around. We then began to walk around the city, hand in hand, stopping to listen to musicians who were standing, in some cases, just a few feet apart, barely a respectable distance, but as far apart as they could be given the crowds.

  “There’s a concert tonight,” Oliver said. “An INXS cover band. Do you want to go? They must be really great; the amphitheater they’re playing at is huge.”

  “That sounds like a lot of fun. When does it start?”

  “We can start walking now,” he said, checking his watch. “The concert starts at five. It’s four now, so we should get there just before it starts.”

  As we walked, we picked up a few more bites to eat. I was starting to get a little worried about my waistline, but I reminded myself that I was on vacation, and, also, that I was surely burning off far more calories at night than I normally did at home while I slept.

  We walked toward the concert and, from a distance, we could hear the band warming up.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “They’re really good! They sound exactly like INXS.”

  Oliver agreed. “INXS was one of my absolute favorite bands. I saw them in concert a number of times growing up and each was better than the last. This group sounds pretty authentic.”

  We came upon the concert. A huge mob of people stood watching the band on the stage of the outdoor amphitheater, cheering and singing along.

  “Let’s get closer!” Oliver shouted, and he grabbed my hand, leading me into the crowd.

  I followed him and, when the group started to get tightly packed together, I took the lead and lead him through. By the time we couldn’t go any further, we were just three rows from the stage, and we could see the band up close.

  “This is awesome!” Oliver shouted over the music and the cheers of the crowd. I agreed—I felt the rush of music moving over me, the energy of the crowd, and I felt an excitement bubbling up within me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I was truly happy. I danced and sang, jumped up and down and chanted with the crowd. I kept an eye out—we were in the mosh pit area, and I knew that could be a dangerous place to be, at least in America.

  Parisians seemed mildly more civilized, though, and the worst thing I saw was a few bottles of wine being passed overhead where Americans would normally be passing humans. At one point, Oliver grabbed one of the bottles of wine and took a sip, then handed it to me. I burst out laughing at our craziness and took a long swig. A cheer went up around me, and I blushed, then passed the bottle along.

  Nearly an hour later, I was buzzing happily from wine and the music. During the slower songs, I would lean into Oliver and we would dance. During the fast songs, we would jump up and down, cheer and sing loudly. It was during the band’s rendition of ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ that I turned to lean into Oliver and, instead, found myself leaning into a complete stranger, an ugly Frenchman that leered at me. He slid his hand between my legs and pressed upward, sliding his hand against my crotch. I yelled, kicked him in the balls, and moved away in the nearest available direction.

  “Oliver!” I yelled. I looked for him, but we’d gotten separated. I couldn’t see him. I waved to get the attention of Security, hoping they would be able to figure out a way to reconnect me with Oliver. Instead, when I got the attention of one of the guards, he misunderstood me. He pulled me out of the crowd and brought me to the first aid station. I tried to explain, in my complete non-French, that I was fine, that I just needed to find my boyfriend.

  I reached to my pocket to take my phone out to call Oliver; my phone was gone.

  “Fuck!” I exclaimed. “Excuse me!” I called the attention of one of the first aid workers. “My phone was stolen.”

  The woman nodded sympathetically, but she said nothing. I left the tent after signing some sort of paper I assumed was a release, and searched for Oliver. I knew he would be looking for me, too. I started out very hopeful, retracing my steps back to the Eiffel Tower. But, it was dark, and it was getting harder to see. I had my backpack, but I didn’t have any francs; all I had was American dollars. I looked for a payphone. I looked for open restaurants. Everything had closed early for the festival.

  Panic began to rise within me. I didn’t know the way back to the cottage. I didn’t even know the address of it in order to tell anyone. I hadn’t been paying much attention as Raymond drove us back and forth. I was scared and angry with myself. When had I turned from an independent woman into someone who was now lost in a strange city because I didn’t think to have good resources around me? Before Oliver, I would have had money, a French dictionary, and full knowledge of the address of my accommodations.

  I hopped on the Metro and traveled quickly back to the Eiffel Tower. I went to where we had picnicked. Close to tears, I realized I was lost and alone in Paris, France. I sat down on a concrete step and took stock of what I had at my disposal.

  That didn’t take long; I had nothing at my disposal. My backpack contained my purse, which had a credit card, but there were no stores open where I could use it. I had searched for cabs, but they were all occupied with festival goers. I had no idea where to find a police station. In short, I was lost, and I was fucked. I thought of Oliver, trying to call my cell phone and not getting an answer. I knew he was beside himself with worry and fear; I could feel it. My only hope was that he would know that this was where I would try to make my way back to.

  I waited for what felt like hours. Finally, when I was just about to give up and begin to walk around again, though I had no idea where, I heard Oliver’s voice.

  “Becka! Becka!” He ran toward me and I scrambled to my feet, not truly believing my eyes that it was really him.

  “Oliver! Oh my God, Oliver, I was so scared!” I collapsed into him and he held me. We sank to the ground together as he kissed me, my mouth, cheeks, forehead, every square inch of my face.

  “I lost you,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I lost you. I tried to call you a hundred times, what happened to you?”

  “Someone stole my phone,” I said. I left out the man who had touched me, knowing that it would only make Oliver feel worse. “I couldn’t call you, I didn’t know where the cottage was, all I knew was to come back here, hoping you would come here too.” There were tears streaming down my face, and I realized my adrenaline had been pushing through me full force. Now that I was in Oliver’s arms once again, the surge of energy was nauseating.

  “I’m so sorry,” Oliver said. “One moment you were there, and the next you were gone. I searched, I called your name…” His voice cracked and I knew that he was about to cry. The fear had been real and strong for him too.

  “I know, honey,” I said, trying to console him. “I know you were looking for me, and I knew it the whole time. I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”

  He hugged me and I looked over his shoulder. Raymond stood, his eyes trained to the ground, right next to the car.

  “Let’s go home,” I said. “You are my knight in shining armor.” I kept my arms around his neck as we stood up. I had no intention of ever letting him go again.

  We walked slowly to the car, and Raymond opened my door. I looked up at him and, for a moment, I thought I saw his eyes shining with tears. I shook my head, my own eyes filling once again. I couldn’t imagine the time Oliver and Raymond had spent looking for me.

  We drove silently back to the cottage. Once there, Raymond opened my door and escorted me out. I didn’t imagine him squeezing my hand hard as he helped me out. It was a grip of emotion and gratitude. He carried our things inside, then he left.

  Oliver and I stood in the living room, holding one another. I knew that I loved him already; I wouldn’t have put up with the press, the suspension from school, all of the difficulties surrounding Neurotova, Ethan, the lies, if I didn’t love him. But, now, I knew that my love was even deeper than I’d imagined. The thought of losing him, of being without him, was more than I could bear.


  That night, I showed him exactly how much I loved him.

  He brought me to the bed and gently laid me down. My muscles were sore and I was exhausted, yet I stripped off all of my clothes and held my arms out to him. He quickly undressed and climbed into bed with me. He got on top of me immediately, his cock hard and ready. He dropped his fingers between my legs and I spread myself apart for him, to show him that I was wet and ready for him. He entered me immediately, insistently, and began to thrust gently. His weight on me was reassuring and arousing, and I wrapped my legs around his hips to draw him in even closer.

  We made no sound, just our breath speeding up and slowing down as we moved to our rhythms. His pubic bone rubbed against my clit, increasing my pleasure and my arousal.

  “I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered.

  “I won’t let you,” I replied, and pulled him in tightly to me.

  Our climaxing was slow and intentional, my orgasm deeper than any I had ever felt. When I first felt it moving in, my instinct to cry out was silenced by my desire to center all of my energy on the sensation of coming. My orgasm infiltrated every cell in my body and I cried out, the explosive energy almost too much for me to bear.

  Afterward, he held me close and we fell asleep together. I listened to his breath, felt the rise and fall of his chest, and knew that everything would be okay.

  ***

  A few days after we returned home from Paris, I got the flu. It was a strange illness; I was sick, nauseous, but not all the time. I didn’t share it with Oliver, assuming that it was just a bug from the plane or from something we’d eaten. Perhaps, even, from all of our champagne.

  I called Lisa.

  “Um, have you taken a pregnancy test?” she asked.

  I laughed. “No,” I said, “but we’re very careful. I’m on the pill.”

  “Does he wear a rubber?”

  “Sometimes,” I said. “But not always. That’s why I’m on the pill.”

  “You know the pill isn’t a hundred percent, right?” she asked. I sighed. This wasn’t the conversation I’d imagined having. I’d wanted to tell her all about Paris, not concentrate on the illness I’d mentioned in passing.

  “Listen,” I said. “I’m not pregnant. Can you even imagine the trouble that would cause?”

  Lisa stayed silent.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll take a test. To prove you wrong.”

  “I love when you prove me wrong,” she said. “It’s one of my favorite things on the Earth. When, exactly, are you going to prove me wrong?”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow,” I snapped. “Ugh, sorry. I don’t mean to be bitchy to you. None of this is your fault.”

  The truth was, when Lisa had asked about the pregnancy test, my eyes had moved to the bathroom, where I’d hidden a box of three tests at the bottom of my travel make up bag. I had purchased them the day before, when I’d realized I was late. And sick. I couldn’t be pregnant; it would only add complication to a situation that was already unspeakably complicated.

  “You know I’m here for you,” Lisa said. “I only want what’s best for you.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll take the test in the morning and I’ll call you either way.”

  We talked for a few minutes more about things I’d missed while I’d been in Paris with Oliver, then agreed to talk the next day.

  I’d told Lisa that I would take the test tomorrow, but I went to the bathroom and got the box out. I read through the instructions even though the test was self-explanatory. I closed my eyes. Please don’t be pregnant, I thought to myself.

  I took the test, then I hid it back in my makeup bag and went to Oliver’s office. I knocked on the door.

  “Hey,” I said, “are you busy?”

  “Never for you, beautiful lover. Are you okay?”

  “I need you to tell me what’s going on with Neurotova and with Ethan. You’ve stalled long enough.”

  He sighed and leaned his chair back away from his desk, closing his eyes.

  “Becka, I told you, you need to trust me.”

  “You also told me it would only be a few days. Then a few days more. Now it’s been more than a few days, and I want to know what’s happening. We have a future together, I know it. But, I need to know everything that you know about these things that are impacting not just our future, but my daily life.”

  He stood up and walked to me, circling his arms around me and drawing me to him. I laid my head on his chest and could feel his heart beating.

  “You are entitled to know, my love, and I will tell you. Can I have two more days? Two more days and I will tell you everything from start to finish. No more stalling, no more distractions. Just the truth.”

  “Do you promise?” I asked, looking up at him.

  He gently touched my chin with his fingertips and kissed me lightly on the lips. “I promise.”

  I smiled and nodded, then walked back to the bathroom. I stood for a few minutes looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. I didn’t feel like I looked any different than I had a few weeks ago. Maybe a little pale, but I’d just been traveling.

  I reached for the test in my bag. I closed my eyes as I turned the stick over to look at the two spots on the test. One line, negative. Two lines, positive.

  I opened my eyes. Two lines. I closed my eyes again.

  DRAMATIC Weeks

  13. An Alpha Billionaire Romance

  Sarah Brooks

  Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Brooks

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Facebook: Sarah Brooks

  Amazon: Sarah Brooks

  Becka

  I stared at the positive pregnancy test in my hand. I couldn’t believe it. But, the longer I looked at it, the more I understood that it was true. The more I began to remember exactly how strange, how different, I had been feeling over the last few weeks. I touched my stomach, largely unable to believe that there was now a life there other than my own. The bathroom suddenly seemed small, cramped, and I sat down on the toilet seat, staring at the stick in my hand.

  “Are you okay?” Oliver knocked on the bathroom door. I jumped and dropped the test on the floor. It landed with a clatter on the tile, a noise far louder than I ever thought possible from a small piece of plastic. I quickly snatched it up and gripped it in my palm like a knife.

  “I’m fine,” I called, too loudly. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

  “Can I come in?” Oliver asked.

  “No, honey, don’t come in, I’ll be out in a sec.” I hid the test under my shirt, which would have been useless if he’d actually walked in. I hadn’t locked the door, though, and I held my breath as I waited for him to turn the knob and walk in, regardless of what I’d said. There was a pause that felt like a year, and then he said,

  “I’m going to make a cocktail; what would you like?”

  My brain reeled. I squeezed the test in my hand. What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t drink, but I also couldn’t tell Oliver I was pregnant. Not now. If I said I wanted anything other than a cocktail, though, he would know something was wrong. I felt time passing and my opportunity to answer slipping away. I knew I had to say something.

  “Um,” I started, hearing shaking in my own voice, “um, sure, yeah, I’ll have a martini,” I said. It was a drink we often had in the evenings, and the last thing I needed now was for anything to be out of our normal routine.

  “Sounds good.” I could hear relief in Oliver’s voice, and I realized that I had, inadvertently, just passed a test. Had I answered differently, he would have known something was wrong. Relief washed over me, then dread. How was I going to hide this from him? “I’ll get them started. Maybe we could watch a movie? I know it’s late, but we’ve had so much going on. A quiet date night at home fe
els like the perfect way to spend the night.” I could hear him talking to the crack in the bathroom door, and I shook my head.

  “Honey, can I please just have a minute here?” I asked finally, hiding the desperation I was feeling as much as I could.

  “Shit, yes, I’m so sorry, of course.” I heard him walk away from the door, and I sat down on the closed toilet seat, my head in my hands. I looked at the test again as if I expected the results to be different. Of course, the two lines remained and, if anything, had grown stronger, more vibrant.

  I entertained my options. I could tell Oliver. Telling him would take the tenuous place we were already in and shake it further. We had never discussed pregnancy. Hell, we had never discussed even moving in together! The only reason I was staying with him now was because of everything that happened. I wondered, if the press hadn’t gotten ahold of the Neurotova business, would we even still be dating? I thought so, but who knew? And, we definitely wouldn’t be living in the same house. No, I couldn’t tell him. He had never said anything about wanting children. I felt anxiety, in the form of a tiny seed, building my stomach. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror.

  How could I have ever doubted that I was pregnant? Now that I knew, I could see it all over myself. The circles under my eyes, the softening of my curves, even the shine to my hair. I wrapped the test in toilet paper and put it deep in the trash, then thought the better of it. I took it out and slid it into the box of tampons I kept at Oliver’s house. Not a chance he would look in that box, whereas he might very well go digging through the trash if he began to suspect something. I took a deep breath, and walked out to the living room.

  Oliver sat on the couch with his cocktail, but he stood the moment I walked into the room. He walked over to me and kissed me. I felt his lips on mine and the seed of anxiety grew. I wanted nothing more than to tell him everything, but, before I could open my mouth, he reached over to the bar and handed me the martini he’d prepared for me.