Blame It on the Billionaire

by Naima Simone

  “I like that you’re using me for your pleasure, baby,” he praised in a silk-and-gravel voice that both slid over and abraded her skin...her nerve endings. “But don’t hide from me.” He pressed his thumb to her lip and gently tugged it free from her teeth. “I want to hear every sound, every word of your need for me. Don’t keep anything from me.”

  Oh God. He was temptation, a sinful lure enticing her to fall in the most spectacular of ways.

  With deft hands that spoke of skill and practice, he removed her jacket and shirt. Seconds later, she sat on his lap, his rigid dick between her thighs and his beautiful, bright gaze on her half-naked body. She resisted the urge to lift one arm over her plain bra and cross the other over her stomach.

  No, she might not be ashamed of her body, but that didn’t prevent insecurities from creeping in with their sly reminders that she wasn’t like the women he’d been pictured with. Though Nadia worked out and ran—not just for health reasons but because it was also a great stress reliever—she would never have a cut six-pack unless she drew it on her abs with a Sharpie. Her flatish, soft belly carried faint stretch marks, and her breasts... Well, they were firm, but their weight would always make them sag a little rather than sit high on her chest like perky B cups.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Grayson snapped, his eyes sparking with blue-and-green fire. Stroking his hands up her arms, he squeezed her shoulders, before continuing his journey south until he cupped her breasts in his big hands. “Maybe I should’ve been more specific when I told you not to hide from me. Not sounds, not words and definitely not this gorgeous body.”

  “You’re certainly bossy, you know that?” she said, arching an eyebrow but leaving her hands on his shoulders. “Does that usually work for you?”

  “Yes,” he rumbled, whisking his thumbs over her stiff, aching nipples. “And it does for you, too.” He pinched the tips, wringing a low cry from her. “Doesn’t it, baby?”

  She didn’t answer but lowered her head and took his mouth, swallowing his wicked chuckle. He didn’t let up playing with her body, tweaking and tugging her nipples until she ripped her lips from his and threw her head back. More than anything, she wanted him flesh to flesh, no barriers. Reaching behind her, she unclipped her bra and yanked it off. An almost feral growl tore from him, and he hefted her breasts, lifting one to his mouth and sucking deep while continuing to toy with the other.

  Every flick and circle and suckle agitated the insatiable creature she’d become. She tunneled her fingers through his hair, gripping, caught between clutching him close so he couldn’t turn her loose and pushing him from her, unable to bear the brutal sting of pleasure.

  Switching to the other mound, he rubbed the wet tip, but slid his free hand down her torso, over her stomach and beneath the band of her jeans. Her audible catch of breath echoed in the hallway, and she stilled as his fingers slipped underneath denim and cotton, resting on top of her sex.

  Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “Yes or no?” he asked.

  Desire burned in his mismatched eyes, but so did resolve. His stare assured her that he wanted her, but if she said no, he would back away.

  “Yes,” she said, the answer firm and sure.

  She wanted his touch. Him. Releasing her hand from his hair, she dipped it under her pants as well, covering his fingers with hers. “Yes,” she repeated.

  She tilted her hips, and their combined touch glided over her flesh. Twin thick groans saturated the air, and she couldn’t contain the cry that slipped from her lips. Together they stroked her, slid through her folds and down to the small, tight entrance to her body. On the tail end of a curse, Grayson abandoned her breast to wrench the button on her jeans free and tug down the zipper, granting them more room.

  Fingers tangled, side by side, they caressed her opening. But it was him that pushed inside, stretching her with a familiar but almost-forgotten burn. And now, with his fingers buried deep, she wondered how she would go on without it.

  In a duet that was as dirty as it was beautiful, they coaxed a tune from her body.

  “Touch yourself,” he commanded, and she obeyed, untangling her fingers from his and slipping beneath his palm to slick a caress over the swollen button of nerves. She jolted, whimpered.

  He gave a soft chuckle. “Do it again, Nadia. We’re going to take you there together.”

  Shivering, she circled the nub, again and again, his rough praise and encouragement pushing her to rub harder, more, harder, more...

  “Oh God,” she croaked, then splintered.

  She cried out, quaking from the inside out. Grayson replaced her fingers with his, making sure she received every measure of the orgasm rippling through her. She went limp, falling into his body and wanting nothing more than to curl against him, lethargy weighing down her limbs.

  Like she was a rag doll, he lifted her from his lap, damn near ripping the tuxedo from his powerful frame. Then he stripped her of her remaining clothes and arranged her on the makeshift pallet he made of his suit. He loomed above her, the dim light from his cell phone still managing to highlight the corded strength in his arms, chest, abs and thighs. His cock. Her lungs locked down all available air in her lungs at the sight of the heavy column of flesh rising from a dark nest of hair. The desire that had settled to a hum low in her belly sparked and crackled, the flames leaping to hot life. He was sexy, perfect...beautiful.

  Thank God this wouldn’t go beyond tonight. Because she had the unnerving sense he could also very well be heartbreak.

  Grayson tore open the small foil packet he’d retrieved from his wallet and rolled on the protection. The virile, erotic sight caused all her unsettling thoughts to scatter. All thoughts except him finally being inside her.

  Lifting her arms to him, she murmured, “Grayson.”

  An invitation. A plea.

  “Gray,” he rasped, crawling over her and settling between her thighs.

  “What?” She moaned as his weight pressed into her.

  “Gray,” he repeated. “Those close to me call me Gray.”

  But we’re not close, hovered on her tongue and from the sharpening in his blue-and-green gaze, maybe he expected and anticipated her protest. Sex didn’t make them close, didn’t grant her privileges.

  But this was a night for pretend. For fantasy.

  Both caused her to whisper, “Gray.”

  Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes, and he settled more firmly over and against her, every rock-hard, unforgiving plane of his body pressed to her softer, rounded curves.

  “What did you say you were willing to give me, Nadia?” he growled, his erection at the entrance to her body.

  “All of me,” she rasped, then gasped as he surged inside in one long, smooth, powerful thrust. “Take all of me.”

  And he did.

  Not holding back. Not allowing her to hold back.

  He slid his hands under her ass, angled her up and, withdrawing in a slow drag that lit up nerve endings like fireworks, he then plunged back inside her. Stealing her breath. Words. Sanity.

  Circling her arms and legs around his neck and hips, she clung to him, let him hurl her into the storm he created with each flex, each parry and thrust, each branding kiss.

  The man was a sexual act of God.

  He powered into her, taking her body, giving her pleasure...breaking every notion of what sex really was. Because she’d had sex before, but as he buried himself in her again and again, riding her until her thighs trembled and her breath stuttered, she could admit to herself that this...this exceeded all of it.

  This, she’d never experienced.

  And already, even though she’d promised herself there couldn’t be a repeat, she craved it again.

  “Gray,” she cried out, fearing and welcoming the end that swelled dangerously near.

  “Let go, baby,” he ordered, his voice harsh with t
he same need that clawed at her. “Let go and give it to me.”

  As if all she needed was his permission, she did as he commanded. She let go. And ecstasy whipped through her like lightning. Illuminating her, searing her, sending her flying.

  Above her, his hoarse shout dimly filled her ears, but she was already falling into the darkness, embracing it.

  Knowing in the morning, she would have only memories to hold on to instead of Grayson Chandler.

  Five

  “Thanks, Pete,” Grayson said to his longtime driver as he alighted from the gleaming black Lincoln Town Car. Shivering a little against the cool October Monday morning, he shut the door before the other man could. “I should be finished by six tonight, but if I’m staying later, I’ll call a cab.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pete drawled, touching the brim of the black cap that Grayson insisted he didn’t need to wear. “But just give me a call when you’re ready. Look what happened the last time I wasn’t around to drive you. Blackouts. Trapped in locked-down mansions. You’re obviously not safe without me.”

  “Cut it, old man,” Grayson rumbled, but grinned at the chauffer.

  Pete was more than a driver. When Grayson was a child, the older man had been his best friend, pseudo-uncle and confidante. Hell, it’d been Pete who’d sat Grayson down and explained the more intimate details of sex. Which had been a vast improvement over his father’s uninspired “For God’s sake, cover your dick, Grayson, and don’t get any gold-digging whores pregnant” speech.

  “Have a good day and try to keep Gideon from turning anyone into a statue with that black-eyed stare,” Pete teased, rounding the hood of the car. With another mocking touch to his cap, he ducked inside the car and pulled off.

  Grayson shook his head, chuckling, but also wishing his friend hadn’t mentioned the blackout or being trapped in that damn North Shore mansion. He’d spent all of yesterday and last night attempting to exorcise that evening from his mind. More specifically, trying to remove memories of Nadia and the hottest sex of his life from his mind.

  So far, he’d failed. Epically.

  Maybe if he hadn’t woken up alone, cold and half-hard on a marble floor, with her scent still saturating his clothes, his skin... Maybe if he didn’t bear the scratches of her desire on his shoulders and back... Maybe if his dick didn’t rise to attention every time a passing thought of those espresso eyes flickered in his head...

  Maybe then he could pass off that evening as an unexpected and pleasurable incident.

  But today wasn’t that day.

  As the day before hadn’t been. And tomorrow wasn’t looking too good, either.

  Clenching his jaw, he ignored the low-grade throb in his body. As a boy and then a young man who’d lived most of his life by someone else’s rules, he guarded his control like a dragon jealously protecting treasure. Now more than ever, with his parents trying to snatch his life away again and force him back into the world he’d been so desperate to escape.

  Waking alone and with no way to contact Nadia, no way to see her again—it had threatened that need to determine his own fate. Because although he’d agreed to one night, he’d lied. After tasting her delectable mouth, caressing that gorgeous body, he wanted more.

  Those hours in that hallway had been the most honest, unfiltered interaction he’d had in years. He craved the sincere honesty as much as the hot-as-hell sex. And while the hunger to reinitiate contact with a veritable stranger for conversation should have been an ear-splitting blare of caution, he couldn’t deny—at least not to himself—how much he wanted it.

  “Good morning, Mr. Chandler,” the lobby security guard greeted him from behind the large black desk.

  “Good morning, Gerald. And welcome back,” Grayson paused in front of the desk. “How’s your wife and the new baby?”

  The young man beamed, his joy evident in his wide smile. “They’re both doing wonderful. Thank you for asking, sir.”

  “Good. Congratulations to you both.” Grayson nodded, then continued toward the bank of elevators, a disquieting emotion sliding under his rib cage.

  The guard’s obvious delight in his family had Grayson flipping back through his own memories. Had his parents’ gazes ever contained that gleaming sheen of pride, of happiness at the mention of him? Not that he could remember. For his brother, yes. Even a couple of times for his sister, Melanie. But not for him.

  Just yesterday, disappointment and anger had colored his mother’s frosty tone when he’d declined her invitation—order—to attend a family brunch. He’d already been raw from the previous night and sitting down with his mother and father with anything less than full, emotional body armor was foolish. And contrary to what they believed, they hadn’t raised a fool.

  Resentment, weariness and, yes, pain flickered in his chest, but he ruthlessly smothered them. Feeling anything was not only futile, but messy. Refusing people access to your heart, to your soul, prevented them from handling it like fruit in the supermarket bin—squeezing, bruising, then abandoning it.

  He jabbed the call button on the elevator a little harder than necessary, willing it to hurry the hell up. As if by getting on the lift and traveling the twenty-five floors to his office, he could leave these morose thoughts in the lobby.

  “...a little something, Gerald. Congratulations to you and your wife.”

  Grayson froze as the soft voice with a hint of a rasp reached him from across the lobby. The elevator finally arrived, but the doors opened and eventually closed without him moving toward it.

  That honeyed drawl. New and too damn familiar. He’d heard it in his head last night when he’d jerked awake in his bed, hard and hurting.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Since she’d been on his mind only minutes ago, he was probably having an aural hallucination...

  Slowly, he pivoted, his gaze zeroing in on the guard’s desk—and the woman standing in front of it handing a small gift bag to Gerald.

  Even across the lobby, she appeared tall, the nondescript black heels adding only a couple of inches. Rich chestnut hair was tamed into a painfully neat ponytail. A dark brown suit that seemed a size or two too big hung from her frame, nearly obliterating the curves beneath. From the hair to the wardrobe, nothing about this woman was similar to the woman he’d spent an unforgettable, sex-drenched night with.

  Nothing but that melodic accent, which sent all his blood rushing south.

  Forgetting everything—the meeting he had scheduled with Gideon, the conference call with a prospective client—he retraced his steps toward the security desk. Before he reached his destination, she turned, a smile curving her lips. Then she lifted her gaze. Met his. And her smile disappeared.

  Shock vibrated through him, the echo of it growing louder until only white noise filled his ears.

  Nadia. In his building.

  His gaze dipped to the familiar green and white badge clipped to the lapel of her jacket. A KayCee Corp employee.

  Shock morphed into anger edged with the bitter taste of betrayal.

  His employee.

  Saturday, she’d pretended not to recognize him, but she’d known who he was all along. Why hadn’t she said something? Had she planned to use their night together against him? Blackmail him?

  One of his personal codes was never to become involved with employees—ever. Not only was it unprofessional and a legal suit waiting to happen, but with his position of power, no relationship would ever be equal.

  But by remaining silent, she’d unwittingly made him violate his own rule. She’d stolen his choice away. That knowledge burned, fueling the already scalding fury at her duplicity.

  “Nadia,” he greeted, ice coating his voice. Alarm flashed in eyes he’d laughably thought of as honest. Good. She should be worried. He scanned her badge. “Nadia Jordan. What a surprise meeting you here. And with that badge on.”

  “Mr
. Chandler,” she said, striding forward and erasing the space separating them. Her chin hiked up, the defiant gesture belied by the crossing of her arms under her breasts. As if protecting herself. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” he repeated, arching an eyebrow. “So formal. But then again, it appears you’re very good with pretenses,” he drawled. “As far as this one goes—” he deliberately scanned her from the top of her scraped-back hair to the tips of her plain shoes “—it’s a good one. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  She dropped her gaze, but a moment later, her shoulders straightened, and she returned her eyes to his. “I didn’t—”

  “What? Lie? Be very careful how you finish that sentence,” he warned, anger slipping into his voice and replacing the mocking tone. “Especially when it isn’t a party guest you’re talking to now, but your employer.”

  Something that could’ve been guilt flashed across her face.

  Could’ve been. Probably wasn’t.

  “I didn’t lie. We didn’t—don’t—know each other. I’ve worked for KayCee Corp for a year, have spoken to you a handful of times, and you didn’t even know my name.”

  “So we’re going to play semantics?” he growled, leaning closer. Close enough that her fresh, earthy scent filled his nostrils. “Is that your game? Be care—”

  “Grayson.”

  He jerked his head up at the sound of his name spoken in the crisp, cultured voice he’d grown up associating with displeasure and chastisement.

  Hell.

  He inwardly groaned. Grinding his teeth together, he shifted his glance over Nadia’s shoulder.

  “Mom.”

  Cherise Chandler’s ice-blue stare swung from him, to Nadia, then back to him, dismissing the other woman. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”