The Billionaire’s Forbidden Little Sister

by Monroe, Max

  Goddamn. Just the sight of her is a fucking aphrodisiac.

  Coffee in hand, I turn my back to the scrolling white railing at the edge of the terrace and face what I really want to look at.

  I run my eyes up the length of her legs and across the smooth surface of her stomach, up between the center of her breasts, along her collarbone where the colorful peacock feather tattoo rests, and finally land on the effortless, relaxed smile that hints its existence at the corners of her lips.

  And I stare.

  I wait, locked on the rosy, pink hues of her flesh until the weight of my focus lands on her squarely enough to call her attention.

  When she meets my eyes behind her sunglasses, I don’t miss the surprise that forms a little O on her full lips.

  That’s right, honey. I’m watching you.

  What started as shock quickly morphs into something else, and a slow, seductive smirk crests her mouth. She lifts her hand to give me a little wave, and my feet take on a life of their own.

  I shove off from the railing, weave through the shaded tables in my path, stride purposefully to the end of the row of sunbathers, and don’t stop until I’m mere inches from her chair.

  My shadow covers the olive skin of her abdomen and chest, and my fingers itch to reach out and caress those soft, gorgeous curves of hers.

  I smile down at her. “Enjoying the sun?”

  “Even more now,” she responds easily, making an unexpected jolt take off in my chest.

  “Um, hell-o,” a tanned man with a thin mustache and a glass of orange juice in his hand calls toward us.

  I glance at him briefly—with the way he’s staring at me, it’s hard not to—but I don’t wait long before bringing my gaze right back to Lena’s soft lips.

  “Lena, honey,” the man says, determined to get her attention. “Are you going to introduce us to your handsome friend or what?”

  It’s only with another glance that I realize Lena’s friend Pippa is with him, grinning at me and her good friend like a lunatic.

  But Lena ignores both of them completely, lifts herself to her feet at the side of her lounger, slips on her shoes, puts a hand to my bicep, and leads me away from her friends’ curious eyes and ears.

  “You didn’t want to introduce me to your friends?” I ask cautiously, and she laughs.

  “Trust me, it was for your benefit.”

  She tips her sunglasses down the length of her nose and runs her eyes up and down the length of my body—and likely, my suit. “You heading somewhere important?”

  “I have a business meeting,” I explain.

  With an outward curl of her lip and a tug on the fabric at my chest, she pouts. “That’s disappointing.”

  My pulse thrums. “Is it?”

  “Did you have fun last night, Theo?” she asks instead of answering directly. I smile—I can’t help but smile when I’m thinking of my mouth on her.

  My answer is evident in the lines of my face, so I counter by throwing the question back at her. “Did you?”

  “Definitely.” The sexy way the word rolls off her tongue has my gaze fixating on the way her soft, full lips move, and before I know it, before I can even process the possible consequences, I’m doing something completely out of character.

  “Come with me, then,” I say.

  She freezes, and her teeth come out to worry the flesh of her bottom lip. “To a business meeting?”

  I find myself laughing at her shock. If she only knew how much I’ve shocked myself.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Her blue eyes light up in surprise. “Yeah?”

  I laugh at the uncertainty in her voice and give her hands a squeeze. “Meet me in the lobby in about twenty minutes. Bring everything you’d need to spend a day on the water.”

  “A day on the water?” She scrunches up her nose. “Like, on a boat?”

  I smirk. “I guess you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  I walk away without looking back, the sounds of her friends shrieking like a bunch of cats in the background.

  My skin hums from the short contact, and my cock throbs in my pants. I’ve known her for a day and a half, and at the thought of spending the day without her, I invited her along on one of the most important business meetings of my life.

  Good God, what is this woman doing to me?

  Theo

  Clad in her bright-pink bikini, a little pair of cutoff jean shorts, and sandals, Lena sits beside me as we head toward the port. Destination: my yacht.

  The coastal road is notoriously winding as we make our way toward the marina in Amalfi, and unfortunately, it makes it nearly impossible to do what I really want to—stare at the woman beside me—without getting unromantically, disgustingly sick.

  “Are you eventually going to tell me where we’re going?” Lena asks, her voice muffled by the fact that she, too, is staring out her window.

  “No,” I say, and she laughs through a snort. I smile at my reflection in the glass. “But in about five minutes, you’re going to find out.”

  “If we hadn’t already ruled out you being a murderer, I would probably be a little concerned for my safety.”

  “Did we rule that out?” I ask, and she reaches behind herself to slap my arm playfully.

  “You helped me with my drunken friend twice, and last night, in the pool, you were very…generous.”

  I smile and chance a look at her. I can’t help it.

  Her blond hair is cascading down the center of her back, and her grin reflects clearly in her window.

  “I don’t think murderers are that generous.”

  “Don’t paint me as such a hero,” I say with a laugh. “I assure you, what happened in the pool was just as enjoyable for me as it was for you.”

  She smiles. “Me too. Or…well…it would have been,” she stutters. “If I would’ve had the chance to reciprocate. I mean, I enjoy giving too.”

  Her eyes close self-consciously in the window, but before I can explore that conversation further or all the sexy promises I hope to cash in on, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans. I pull it out to find a message from my assistant.

  Carey: Your captain is in communication with Hugo’s captain, and they’ve agreed on a good location to meet. It’s a fairly tight schedule, though, so you need to be underway soon. I’m assuming your arrival to the marina is imminent?

  I glance to Lena as I’m typing my message and then out the window to confirm our location.

  Me: En route now. We should be there in five minutes.

  Unfortunately, I’m just lust-drunk enough on the beautiful blonde beside me not to watch my words, and Carey, astute as always, notices.

  Carey: We? Who’s we? I didn’t inform Hugo’s assistant of anyone else’s attendance.

  “Shit,” I mutter softly when I realize my mistake.

  Lena looks at me out of her periphery.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.” She frowns skeptically, and I laugh. “Really. I just typed without thinking first, and that’s not something I do. Ever,” I admit.

  She grins. “You don’t ever do first and think later?”

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. “Really.”

  “So, you really are Mr. Serious, huh?”

  “I guess so,” I say with a shrug.

  She studies me closely. “You’ve sure been smiling a lot at me, though.”

  I laugh, completely entranced by just how true a statement that is. “I know.” I shake my head. “Trust me, I know.”

  “You okay with that?” she asks with surprising thoughtfulness. Even more shockingly, it takes me almost no time at all to consider my answer.

  “Yes. Truth be told, it feels good.”

  She smiles again. “Good.”

  As she turns to look back out the window at the approaching marina, I type out another message to Carey.

  Me: You don’t need to tell Hugo an
ything. She’s going to stay on my boat during the meeting.

  Carey: Okay…SHE?

  Me: It cannot be a surprise to you that I’m not gay, Carey. Yes, she.

  Carey: I feel like you’ve possibly been abducted by an alien and I should contact authorities.

  I chuckle and type out a response.

  Me: I’m fine, Carey. Good, actually. Now, why don’t you take tomorrow off and find something fun to do instead of sitting inside the office?

  Carey: OH MY GOD. I’M CALLING 911.

  Me: LOL. Relax. It’s all good. No Italian cops needed. After the meeting, we’ll probably spend a little extra time on the yacht, so don’t panic if you don’t hear from me for a while.

  Carey: OH, FOR THE LOVE PRADA. I think you’re having a nervous breakdown.

  Me: Good night, Carey.

  I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket. I’m probably the cause of a medical emergency back in New York, but as Carey himself said, it’s a fairly tight schedule.

  I don’t have time to explain the life and times of Theo Cruz and his mysterious woman in the name of gossip.

  As my driver comes to a stop in the private parking area of the marina, I grab Lena’s hand and squeeze it.

  “You ready?”

  Her gaze jumps to mine with a flick of her hair. “We’re here?”

  “We’re here,” I say, opening the door to slide out. I hold out my hand and help Lena out of the back seat into the parking lot of Amalfi Harbor.

  The backdrop is a mesmerizing mix of sunshine, ocean views, colorful buildings, and an impressive mountain made of rich stone and lush green trees.

  “God, it’s beautiful,” she whispers, turning around in a circle and tangling our arms in a knot.

  I chuckle as I spin her free and lead the way, her hand still tucked into mine, onto the wooden slatted dock. “So, we’re really at a boat dock,” she says observantly, and I can’t help but grin.

  “Yep.”

  Down the stairs and out to the very end of the row, I lead her to a collection of yachts, specifically a large white one with the words Business of Pleasure written along the back.

  She spots the moniker instantly. “Business of Pleasure?”

  I wink. “Yep.”

  It’s my yacht. One I bought five years ago but rarely have the time to enjoy. I’m pretty sure my brother has been on it more than I have, and I’ve never once given him permission.

  As we get closer, I see the five-man crew that Carey called last minute to handle the boat is already there and getting things ready.

  “Theo!” Mario, today’s captain and a close friend of mine in Positano, grins at us from the edge of the boat as he finishes prepping her for the water. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” His thick Italian accent makes me grin. It’s been at least a year and a half since I’ve seen him.

  “How have you been?”

  “Good,” he says. “And even better since I can take this beauty on the water today. Signora was going to go into some form of depression if she didn’t get any action soon.”

  “It’s good to see you.” I chuckle. “Lena, this is Mario. Mario, this is Lena.”

  He makes a show of kissing her hand and helping her onto the yacht, and she smiles.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Bellissima.” He comments, and I roll my eyes. “I can say with certainty the pleasure is all mine.”

  Charming Italian bastard.

  Mario eventually turns back to me. “We’ll be underway shortly, signore. Once we arrive, the tender will transfer you to Signore Spavelle.”

  I nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Lena’s eyebrows draw together minutely.

  Mario quietly heads toward the stairs, and a few of the other crew members follow his lead. With expert finesse, Mario maneuvers us out of the tight marina, and it doesn’t take long before we’re moving into open water.

  I lead Lena toward a cozy sitting spot on the top deck to watch the action.

  We’ve only been sitting for a couple seconds when she notes, “So, you have a little money?”

  I shrug and bite my lip nonchalantly. “I guess you could say that.”

  She snorts. “We’re on a yacht that seems a lot like your yacht. You definitely have money.”

  “And what about you? Tell me about yourself, Lena,” I implore, resting a hand on her thigh. Silence stretches between us, and I don’t miss the way a little wrinkle forms between her brows.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes…well, no.” She shakes her head and then turns to look me directly in the eye. “I’m sorry, Theo, but the only way for this to work for me is if there isn’t any personal stuff involved.”

  “No personal stuff?” I ask skeptically, and she cringes.

  “God, that sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”

  “No, I’m just trying to understand what you want.”

  I haven’t felt the way I feel with Lena…well, probably ever. I don’t want to hold anything back—to shortchange any opportunity. But something is very obviously troubling to her, and if doing this with her means doing it under some kind of less than ideal circumstances, I’m still willing to do it.

  To be honest, I’m starting to think not doing it at all is the only unacceptable option.

  I grab her hand. “So, this thing, whatever we’re doing right now, comes with some rules, then?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Okay,” I agree cautiously. “What are the rules?”

  “You’re really okay with this?”

  I nod. “Lena—” I start to admit that I’d do just about anything to spend more time with her, even if I don’t agree with her restrictions, but I stop myself and gloss over it instead. “I’m okay with it.”

  “Okay, then.” She grins and holds up one finger. “Give me one second.”

  I frown slightly as she hops to her feet and grabs something from her bag on the bench across from us. When she sits back down beside me, she notices and smooths the line between my brows with her finger.

  I grab her hand on its descent and kiss the back of it. It’s then that I see a pen and a small notebook in her other one.

  “You planning on doing a little journaling?” I tease softly, and she rolls her eyes.

  She scrunches her face into a silent, mocking laugh and opens the notebook to a fresh page. “You and I are going to nail down some rules.”

  “All right,” I agree, a low ache in my chest making me breathe a little heavier. In the end, though, I attribute it to the salty sea air and ignore it.

  At the top of the page, she writes The Italian Rendezvous Rules.

  “An Italian Rendezvous?” I question with a smile. “That’s what we’re calling this thing?”

  “Yep,” she says and puts her pen to the paper again. “Rule Number One, no last names. From now on, you are Madonna, and I am Beyoncé. No surname needed.”

  I shake my head. “Madonna? Really?”

  “Well!” she huffs through a laugh. “I couldn’t think of any guys who go by one name!”

  “What about Sting? Bono? Fabio, for God’s sake.”

  She bites her lip and shrugs. “Sorry, I only brought a pen, and I already wrote Madonna down.”

  I tilt my head skeptically. “You have a whole notebook full of blank paper. Start over.”

  “No can do. That’s a rule.”

  “That’s a rule?”

  “An unspoken one.”

  “Lena—”

  “Rule Number Two!” she exclaims, cutting me off. “No personal stuff.”

  “And by no personal stuff, what exactly do you mean?”

  “No talk about where we live, what our jobs are, any details about our family and friends, and no exchanging phone numbers or email addresses. Oh! And no referencing your friend Kristin with the false teeth and the pearls and the third nipple or anything else distinguishing enough to trace.”

  “Damn, you’re a rule tyrant.”

  S
he grins. “That’s high praise coming from you, Mr. Serious.”

  I just laugh and decide to chime in with a rule of my own. “Rule Number Three, lots of sex.”

  She laughs at that but doesn’t hesitate to write it out, adding in parentheses, variety of positions and penetration depths, and exploration a must.

  “Any other rules you want to add?”

  She doesn’t respond. Instead, she writes out two final rules on the paper.

  Rule Number Four: Have fun.

  Rule Number Five: At the end of seven days, we say goodbye.

  “Have fun?” I ask, and she smiles.

  “Girls just wanna, Theo.”

  I shake my head, trying to muster a smile as I swallow around the last rule—the one that makes me feel like there’s a knot in my stomach.

  I search her eyes for answers as I say it out loud. “At the end of seven days, we say goodbye.”

  “Yes,” she confirms. “I’m here for five more days. We finish what we started two nights ago.”

  “And what exactly did we start, Lena?”

  She taps the top of the page with her pen, and each word that leaves her mouth is with a slow and seductive curl of her tongue, “A sexy Italian rendezvous.”

  I nod. If seven days of exploring this gorgeous goddess are all I can have, I’m going to live it to the very best of my abilities.

  I stand, stretch out a hand, and smile.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Giving you the official tour.”

  Lena

  “Giving you the official tour,” he says as I take his hand and let him lead me to the back of the boat, down the stairs, and all the way into the depths of the inner cabin without saying a word. He pulls me into the room and shuts the door, and I laugh as he turns the lock.

  “What about the tour?” I ask.

  “It starts in the bedroom.”

  God. And I thought I was trouble.

  “It starts in your bedroom,” I repeat as confirmation, and he smirks.