Girl Meets Billionaire

by Brenna Aubrey et al.

  We spent a few hours at the reception. Adam introduced me to many people I would never see again so I didn’t bother trying to remember their names.

  Then he left me, to talk business with several of the other owners. Other men tried to approach me but I was good at rebuffing them. If the years of social self-exile on a hip college campus had taught me nothing else, they’d taught me the cool art of the brush-off.

  When we returned to the suite, candles were lit, the mosquito netting around the bed had been let down and the covers had been turned back. We gave each other an awkward look. The unresolved sexual tension hung heavy about us and stuck to our skin like the balmy tropical air. Fortunately, we were both exhausted. But what about the days to come? I doubted either one of us had considered the consequences of sharing a bed when it couldn’t lead to anything more.

  For bed, I changed into a T-shirt and my underwear and he peeled off everything but his boxer briefs. There were fans in our suite, going night and day, and a slight breeze coming up from the bay, but it was a warm night and we would be sleeping without covers.

  Uneasily, we settled on the bed—strangely—on the same sides we had taken that one night we had spent together in his bed. We stayed apart for a long time, but despite our exhaustion, it took awhile to fall asleep.

  Hours later, I woke up in his arms and he was kissing my neck. I rolled over and in the dim light saw his eyes widen. “Hi.”

  “Hi. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just couldn’t resist a little taste.”

  I smiled. “A little taste sounds nice,” I said as I lowered my head and kissed his bare chest. He kissed my hair and I turned my head, looking out over the bay. The light was a steel gray—maybe an hour or two before dawn and everything was still and quiet.

  “I’m sorry. I was wide awake,” he whispered.

  “Are you bored?”

  He sighed. “I don’t get it. It’s only two a.m. at home. I can’t sleep.”

  “What are you thinking about? Work?”

  His dark eyes were enigmatic. “No. I was wondering what happens when we get home.”

  I hesitated. Did he know that I’d planned to end it after this? Or had he come to the same decision I had? My heart sped up a beat. “You mean with us?”

  “Yes.”

  I cleared my throat. I didn’t want him to know that I had returned the money until we got home. I didn’t want him to know I’d decided this wasn’t good for either of us. That it would be easier for us to go back to our former lives. That I’d find another way to go to med school.

  “Let’s not think about it now. There’s plenty of time later.”

  “I can’t not think about it.”

  “Think about something else—like… how good it feels when I kiss you all over your yummy chest.” And I did just that, mouth gliding over his hard muscles, tasting him everywhere.

  He let out a long breath, clearly enjoying it, and I paid great attention to every nuanced detail, every solid hill and creased valley. He cleared his throat. “That is something very nice to think about.”

  He tried to sit up, attempting to gain control of the situation, but I pushed him back down again and he grinned. “About to ravish me, are you?”

  I kissed my way down his abdomen, over his perfect six-pack. “Can you ravish the willing?”

  “Good point,” he said with a dry laugh.

  His briefs were tenting with his arousal and I rubbed the taut ridge before reaching into his underwear.

  “We seem to have a big problem here.”

  His lips were on my breast when he started laughing.

  I rubbed again. “Yes. A very, very big problem.”

  “What does the doctor prescribe?”

  “Friction. Lots of friction will reduce this swelling.”

  His eyes darkened. “I can get behind that treatment.”

  I laughed. “I’m sure you can.” I tugged on his briefs and he took a moment to shuck them.

  “Yours come off, too,” he said.

  I sat up, pulling off my T-shirt and panties. His hands grasped my hips, then traveled up my waist, heading right for his favorite place.

  I pulled his hands away. “I believe I was in the middle of prescribing treatment.”

  He smiled and lay back. “As the doctor commands.”

  I leaned forward again and kissed him over his chest—quickly this time and then down, over his flat, muscular stomach. And, then, gathering my courage, I traveled even lower.

  My hand encircled the base of his shaft and quickly, furtively, I touched my mouth to the soft skin.

  He sucked in an entire chestful of air and sat up immediately. I didn’t pull away.

  “Don’t do this.”

  Defiantly, I lowered my mouth, taking the entire tip of his erection between my lips.

  “Emilia—” he said shakily. “You don’t have to do this.”

  I pulled my head away. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Just…whatever you do please don’t put your hands in my hair.”

  He didn’t move for a moment and I still held him in a tight grip at his base. Slowly he relaxed and lay back. I said, “Just enjoy.”

  “Oh, you really don’t have to tell me to do that,” he breathed.

  And tentatively, I lowered my mouth again, trying to ignore the quick rush of my heartbeat. This fear was a barrier, a hurdle that I needed to overcome. I needed to lose myself in the moment and dispel the past, realize that I was giving pleasure to someone I cared about and I need not be afraid.

  But the cold dread was there when bits from that past scene flashed into my memory—memories of gagging and sobbing. I closed my eyes, blacked them out, concentrated, breathed through the panic that threatened to rise up at the very back of my conscious. My therapist had taught me some techniques and I rarely had to use them anymore, except for in triggering situations. And this could be one.

  Fear was a hurdle—an obstacle whose greatest power was in keeping me locked in to one place, one moment in time. I focused on the positives of this particular situation, of the throaty gasps of my partner, who was obviously enjoying himself. Of the rush of power, knowing I was making him feel this way. That I was on top and I was controlling the situation. I could pull myself away whenever I wanted.

  Soon my mouth sank lower, taking more of him in, my tongue running along his length. His hands grasped at the bedsheets, his legs tensed. My hand tightened around him. I hesitated, wondering what the culmination would be—would he give me warning? Would I be able to pull away in time—or would I want to? I hadn’t even decided yet.

  Instead of worrying about answering those questions, I concentrated on the now, losing myself in this moment so that I had no awareness of the passage of time, of how long it had taken to bring him to this point. All I knew was that his deep breaths and hoarse murmurings of my name tore currents of desire through me, each one of them a pebble dropped into deep waters, my soul rippling from their centers.

  I moved my mouth up and down until suddenly he tensed, sitting up. He moved my head away and grasped himself. He came on my breasts and stomach instead of in my mouth. His protectiveness warmed my heart. And I thought back over his behavior since the beginning, from that strange moment on the terrace of the penthouse in Amsterdam. He’d been like this from the start—even when he didn’t know me very well.

  A few minutes later, in the shower, I told him. “You are a very special man, Adam Drake.”

  He looked at me for a moment, hesitating as he washed his hair. “What did I do wrong now?”

  I laughed. “No. I mean—just—thank you for being you. I know that sounds corny, but that’s exactly what I wanted to say.” I moved up to him and kissed him soundly and then backed away. He resumed washing his hair, watching me, a smile on his sexy lips.

  We kissed each other good-bye—I in my beach cover-up and bathing suit, ready for my day tour, and he in his business suit, sans the jacket. Before he walked out the door, I blotted some perspirati
on off his forehead.

  “Thanks, dear,” he muttered in parody and kissed me as he left.

  And I enjoyed my day, taking in the snow-white beaches and even doing a little snorkeling. My guide took me to the beautiful Diamond Falls, a gorgeous cataract that fell down multicolored rocks and shimmered in the early afternoon sun. I savored the stunning scenery of this pristine Caribbean island, even though the heat was considerable.

  I made it back to the suite by about four o’clock. Knowing that Adam would be returning to dress for dinner, I wanted to be ready. I put on the cute little sundress from London and the matching shoes, brushed out my hair and pulled it back and applied a little makeup to go with my brand new tan from the afternoon.

  I was in the bathroom finishing up when he entered. I hurried with the finishing touch of my lip gloss and skipped down the stairs to greet him.

  The first thing that clued me in that something was wrong was the stiffness in his shoulders, his jerky movements as he set down his laptop case on the nearby desk, unbuttoned his vest and undid his tie. I hesitated behind him, certain he’d heard me. But he made no acknowledgment.

  I took a deep breath. “Hard day?”

  He didn’t look at me but his hand stopped for a moment before resuming. “It was a pleasant and easy set of meetings. It’s been a very good day, actually.” But the tone of his voice belied him. It did not match his words. “Things were going well, until I checked my e-mail.”

  I puzzled at that. “Bad news from home?”

  He continued to avoid my gaze, rolling his tie so it wouldn’t crease and then laying it aside with care. “It was an e-mail from Heath Bowman, actually.”

  I swallowed in a tight throat, heart thumping with sudden worry. “Is he okay? Was he trying to get hold of me?” Adam unbuttoned his cuffs and the first few buttons on his shirt. When he turned to me, his face was stern—and he looked very much like the asshat I’d first met at that hotel in Costa Mesa over a month ago.

  “He’s just fine. But he had a lot to say to me—ranting about shit that I had no idea was going on. And I’m not a person that takes kindly to being left in the dark.”

  I tried to think of what Heath could have written to piss Adam off so badly. Then, with a sinking feeling, I remembered my last conversation with Heath—where I’d asked him to refuse the money. God-damn it, Heath. His timing sucked.

  I folded my arms defensively across my chest. “What did he say that has you so pissed off?”

  He shrugged stiffly. “You tell me. You seem to know a lot more about what’s going on here between us than I do.”

  A dark feeling of foreboding fell on me like a blanket. I shifted my stance. “Yeah, there’s…probably more than one thing you could be pissed about.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Thanks, Emilia,” he said tightly before walking off and disappearing into the bathroom.

  Shit. I ran to my bag and fished out my phone, frantic to bring up my e-mails before he came back. Maybe Heath had cc’d me on the message he’d sent to Adam or at least deigned to tell me what he’d meant to accomplish by e-mailing Adam. This was the first time since arriving that I’d even looked at the damn phone. But the reception on this side of the hotel was crappy and my little loading symbol spun and spun without ever updating. When I heard him behind me I jumped and dropped the phone onto the nearby chair.

  I turned, tucking a strand of errant hair behind my ear. His vest was off and the glimpse of his strong neck and chest where his shirt opened drew my eyes. I swallowed. I didn’t want this confrontation. Not now. Goddamn it. I didn’t want it ever, actually. I’d just wanted to fade back into the woodwork—let my fairy tale dissipate and go back to my normal life without ever having to deal with this unpleasantness.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay, first, about the money…”

  He looked at me expectantly but he said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

  “After our conversation the night I stayed over at your house, I decided—I mean, I figured we wouldn’t go through with this, right? So—so I thought it was best to have the money sent back to your account. I asked Heath to do it. No—no services rendered, no payment. And this whole fucked-up thing can just fade away and we won’t have to—”

  His jaw clenched. “I don’t want that money back.”

  A fist closed at my side. His eyes darted to it. “Well, tough shit. You’re getting it back.”

  He sighed and looked away, out over the bay. “It’s not prostitution if we don’t sleep together.”

  I shook my head. “Um, no. Wrong. You sent me money. We’ve been fooling around. It is prostitution. I obviously don’t have the same problem with it that you do, so don’t turn this around on me. I’m doing you a favor by calling this off.”

  He blinked. “The auction was for your virginity.”

  “That’s a clear-cut argument, if you’re splitting hairs.” I raised my hand and jutted a finger toward his solid chest. “You keep saying that you’re the one in control of this situation and yet you have been losing control all along and that’s the real reason you’re pissed.”

  His jaw set but he stood absolutely still. A fist of foreboding closed over my chest. He wore that strangely calculating expression—the one that meant he was thinking about ten other things alongside the conversation he was currently having.

  When he spoke, it was with a quiet, even voice despite the anger in his eyes. “If you sent the money back, there is no deal now.”

  I shifted my stance, feeling like a dragonfly about to be lured into a spider’s web. “That’s right. The deal is canceled.”

  His eyes met mine, hard as flint. “So what about this bullshit about not seeing each other again when we return home?”

  I exhaled. “That was always part of the agreement—”

  He made a chopping gesture with his hand. “But you just said there is no agreement.”

  I shook my head. “There’s no future for us. I mean, given how we first met and the arrangement and how everything has turned out. Heath said it best and I ignored him for so long. It’s sick. This is sick.”

  The flush crept up from his jaw into his chiseled cheeks. “And what the hell does Heath know about us? I mean about what’s really going on here. He doesn’t. So why are you letting his opinions influence you? Why are you listening to him and not to me?”

  I lowered my face, put my hand to my forehead. I couldn’t say the words that were almost on my lips. Because I can’t trust you. Now it was my turn to remain silent. Because honestly, I had no words and I could feel his agitation mounting no matter how much he fought to appear calm.

  “So everything that’s gone down between us is sick? What happened in that bed this morning was sick?” He spoke in an even voice that was taut, edgy. A vein at his temple throbbed.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then what is this all about? Do you want to end this?”

  “I don’t even know what ‘this’ is! What is there to end?” I finally said. Then I cleared my throat, my arms stiffening with indignation. “This was you…bidding on an auction for some unknown reason—an auction that you fundamentally cannot believe in. And then prolonging the outcome for as long as you can. You’ve manipulated this all along and now you are asking me to trust you? To listen to you? You should have let me go at the beginning so I could go through with this with someone else.”

  He swallowed. “It’s not too late,” he finally said. It sounded like the words had been torn from him.

  My chin came up and I folded my arms across my chest, his words stinging me like a shower of sharp pebbles. “You’re right. It isn’t.”

  But my chest felt heavy. Because I wanted him, now. I wanted the experience to be with him and I couldn’t name why. The thought of going out and finding someone else—maybe Mr. New York or some Arab sheik or something—actually left me with a sick feeling.

  If I couldn’t use him for the money, then maybe I could use him for the experience my body had been
craving since he first touched me.

  He moved up to me then, with hard eyes and stiff posture, a hand working at his side. He looked into my eyes, first one and then the other.

  “Emilia,” he breathed. My eyes fluttered closed. “Look at me.”

  I opened my eyes and tilted my face to him. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted this tension between us to ease. And the fierce ache rising up from the center of my being told me I wanted his hands, his body on mine. No more talking. No more arguing. No more discussion of a “deal.”

  As if he read my thoughts, his mouth sank to mine, his hand steadying me at the back of my neck, curving around my bare flesh there. Goose bumps prickled down my arms and legs.

  His kiss was so overpowering, it sucked me into him—like I was caught inside a raging hurricane, wrapped inside this force of nature called Adam and could not find my way out. When he straightened, we were both panting. “There,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Would you mind telling me what was ‘sick’ about that?”

  I fought for breath and he pulled me to him again, another powerful, consuming kiss. I shivered in his arms and his hands went to my shoulders. With two swift movements, he pushed my sundress off my shoulders and it slid to the floor. His mouth was on my neck, running his tongue and lips along the sensitive skin. The touch struck molten sparks through my body. I wrapped my arms around his neck. One of his arms locked around my waist. The other went around to the back of my bra, unfastening it easily.

  “I need you,” he said.

  My eyes closed and my body heeded his call. “We shouldn’t,” but my voice was weak, faltering, because I could not put the full force of my belief behind it. His mouth, hands and tongue were too convincing otherwise.

  His head came up, taking my ear between his lips, running his tongue over the lobe. Heat shot through my body. “Can you deny this?” he said in a harsh whisper. “Can you just walk away from whatever this is between us?”

  And then he backed toward the bed, tugging me along with him. I stepped out of my shoes. My nerves drew taut like harp strings. His eyes were flame and frost from one moment to the next—anger, passion, pure lust.