Billionaires Club

by Elsa Kurt

  “Well, I’m relieved to hear that, Jenna. But this—this taking off in the middle of the night? It’s pouring, honey. Just stay here, at least until the morning.”

  “No, Mom. I have to leave now. When I get to where I’m going, I’ll call you. It’ll be an unknown number.”

  “But, where’s your phone?” Lyla Caldwell was confused and worried about her only daughter.

  “Mom, he can use the GPS on my phone to find me, so I—” she’d said too much. Jenna had wanted to protect her mother from the terrifying reality she’d been living. Now she was gone, and Jenna was more alone than ever.

  “Uh, Miss Jenna?” Jenna jumped and looked around. She’d been so deep in her thoughts, she’d forgotten where she was. The furiously blushing groomsman stared down at her.

  ‘Oh, hey, Michael. I, uh, guess I spaced out there for a minute. What can I do for you?” Jenna smiled reassuringly at the man.

  “Right, I need to clean the kennels, so…” He trailed off.

  Jenna filled in the rest, “So you need me to get the hell out of your way, right?”

  Michael did an awkward combination of a shrug and a nod as he glanced at Jenna, then quickly at the floor. She smiled kindly at him, then exited the stall and said her goodbyes to the girls, their pups, and Michael as well. She walked out into the bright sunshine and shaded her eyes. Jenna was at a loss for what to do next. She wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to be doing, period. She could go visit Tilly in the kitchen and pump her for information about the mysterious boss, but that didn’t interest her as much as it perhaps should. Griff. She realized with some surprise that she wanted to see more of him. Well, she always did like older men. Forget it, Jenna. No attachments. Especially with an interim boss who was old enough to be your father.

  Still, Jenna turned back to the kennel, popped her head in the door and called out, “Hey, Michael? Where’d Griff go with the dogs?”

  Michael jumped a mile and dropped his broom handle. After a moment of stammers and stutters said, “H-he t-took them out to the field. Follow the path.” His blush crept up from his neck to his scalp.

  “Thank you, Michael. See you later!”

  Jenna did as he said and followed the long tree-lined path. The first half mile or so was landscaped and manicured, looking like the grounds of a historical park. She half expected to see signs and placards naming the shrubs and flowers and giving the warning to Stay Off the Grass, Please! Then, abruptly, the careful, meticulous grounds-keeping ended and became unkempt and wild. Tall grasses, intermittent trees, and wildflowers stretched out around the beaten path. Jenna paused, biting her lip as she looked back. Had she gone too far? Then she looked at the wild vegetation before her. It seemed so pretty and untamed. She followed the gentle bend of the trail and let it lead her wherever. She let her mind wander too. Back to how it all began…

  Jenna was twenty, Dane Andersen was thirty-seven. He was tall—well over six feet—and had pale blond hair and ice blue eyes, and a slight European accent that Jenna considered sexy. He easily swept her away with his effusive charm and larger than life personality.

  They’d met in the library on a Sunday morning. Jenna had an array of career books scattered on the table around her. A shadow fell over the table and a big hand set a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. Jenna’s eyes followed the length of his navy-colored shirtsleeve, up to his broad chest and linebacker shoulders, to his perfect smile, and last, into his impossibly pale blue eyes.

  Dane introduced himself and sat down. “I apologize for interrupting your work. I saw you walk in earlier, and I just had to speak to you or I’d never forgive myself.”

  He gazed intently into Jenna’s eyes and all her productive intentions went out the window. “You’re actually saving me from a less than fun task, so thank you.” She grinned.

  Dane leaned in close enough for Jenna to smell the mint on his breath and the cologne on his skin. It made her think of evergreens in winter. “Then let us come up with something more fun, shall we?”

  The morning slipped into the afternoon, the library exchanged for the café, the café exchanged for the shore. When asked later what on earth possessed her to go off with a strange man without hesitation, she could only shrug and admit her recklessness. What she hadn’t told anyone was that at the end of their day long, spontaneous date, Jenna let Dane take her back to his house in the valley.

  She didn’t let them know that Dane had wrapped her small hand in his bear paw and walked her willingly to his bedroom, where he whispered against her ear, “I would like for you to take off your dress, Jenna,” and ran his fingers down the length of her arms and back up again.

  Dane sat down at the edge of his bed, leaving Jenna in the middle of the dimly lit, spacious room. He watched her with wolfish lust in his eyes and a bulge pressing hard against his pants. Jenna’s arousal by his desire made her wet and aching for his touch again and did as he asked. Slowly. Teasingly. Boldly. She held his gaze as the silky summer dress fell to the floor. She unhooked her bra and cast it aside. When she looped her thumbs under the thin fabric of her thong, he spoke. “Stop there, Jenna. Come to me. Yes, now turn around.”

  Jenna turned, giving him her backside. His giant hands settled on her hips and he placed soft kisses and hot tongue flicks against her lower spine. He raked his fingertips down the length of her thighs, sliding her thong down as he went. His hands roamed freely up and over her skin, his tongue and lips followed. Dane turned her to face him. He watched her face as he traced a line from her navel to her wet, throbbing center with his tongue. When it touched her there, Jenna let out a primal moan of ecstasy. No one had ever touched her like this, loved her like this. She gave herself over to him, and he took her ravenously.

  He stood, never pausing in the exploration of her body. He nipped, sucked, licked each nipple. He gently raked his teeth along her clavicle, her throat. Then he laid her down on the bed and took off his shirt, then his pants. Everything about Dane Andersen was massive. When he freed his erection, Jenna’s eyes widened. He chuckled, held his huge cock in his hand, and said, “I will be gentle with you, Jenna. Until you tell me not to be.”

  Dane climbed on top of her. She could feel the weight and pressure of his cock at her entrance and she gripped his arms. He kissed her tense mouth until it relaxed, and he rocked against her slowly, inching his way into her until she found her body arching in need for more.

  Afterwards, as they lie panting against one another, Dane whispered against her throat, “You are mine, darling Jenna.”

  She thought it romantic and sweet. Later—too late—she discovered it was neither. They began dating immediately, exclusively. Dane introduced Jenna to a world she’d never imagined, one of luxury indulgence, and excess. He owned an estate auction house and collected beautiful fine art, heirloom china, and high-end furnishings for his own home. Compared to her, he was worldly, and Jenna—a small town girl who’d never been out of her hometown—was enthralled…and naïve. She was blind to the red flags that everyone else seemed to see.

  She’d been with Dane three months when her best friend, Lissette said, “Jenna? Don’t get mad, but don’t you think Dane is a little, I don’t know, too attentive?”

  “Oh, stop, Lissy. He’s not that bad. I mean, yes, he can be a bit…over the top, but I think it’s sweet.” Then, unable to contain her excitement any longer, she blurted, “He’s asked me to move in with him!”

  Lissette blinked at her, then seeing her friend’s obvious joy, gave her congratulations. Jenna ignored the look of dismay on her face, just as she’d ignored it from her mother that evening.

  “Jenna, honey, I’m just saying…maybe you two should slow things down a bit, hmm? You’ve only been seeing him three months. What’s the hurry to move in together?”

  “Oh, Mom, he’s so romantic. He says he can’t bear to be away from me. Isn’t that so…dreamy?”

  “Dreamy? Well, it’s something, all right,” her mother muttered.

&
nbsp; By the time Jenna had seen what they had seen, it was too late. With stealthy manipulation, Dane took over her life—I’ve put you on my cellular plan, darling. Here is your new phone—one day. Why are you still looking for a job, you can work for me, darling Jenna—on another. So, she began working for him as his assistant, traveling everywhere, eating in the finest restaurants and staying in the best hotels. They were together almost all the time. He bought expensive clothes for her to wear—I want you to look as valuable as you are, darling Jenna—and casually suggested she dye her hair dark—wear it this way, darling Jenna, it’s very sexy.

  His sexual appetite was insatiable, his need for her constant attention and affection exhausting. By the time Jenna had grown weary of his incessant needs, she was already so completely under Dane’s ever watchful eye…and under his thumb. It went on for two years. Two volatile, mercurial, surreal years. He volleyed from cajoling and begging to threats and coercion to keep her frozen in his grip. By the time Jenna had begun to quietly plot her escape, he’d already isolated her from everyone until they just drifted away. She was on her own. And she had been ever since.

  Jenna shuddered from the reverie, absently reaching up to her hair—now back to its original natural blonde—and cursing herself for letting her mind wander to such a dark place on a beautiful day. She’d been walking for almost a half hour when she heard the unmistakable bark of a dog. Several dogs. Jenna grinned, she’d found them. She walked faster—here the bend was more of a sharp curve—then suddenly, she was out in open terrain. A vast lake pooled out from a sandy beach, and three huge dogs loped and galloped about. John Wayne sat calmly by the water’s edge, staring out. Jenna followed his gaze. Her eyes locked on Griff’s. He was waist deep in the lake, shirtless. His hair was wet and tousled. Jenna blushed as deeply as Michael had just a short while ago.

  Unable to stop herself, she let her eyes travel down. Jenna noted his strong, sinewy arms, his tan, broad chest, and the way his fingers splayed at his hips. Here, her line of sight ended. The water lapped against his skin and obscured anything below. Oh, my God. Is he naked? She quickly lifted her gaze back to his chest. There was little hair—just the right amount for her liking—at the central crease. It was almost white against his tanned skin. At last, she forced herself to meet his eyes again.

  “Jenna? I think it may be best if you turn around for a moment,” he called out in his deep voice with a hint of humor in his tone.

  That certainly answered her question. She obliged, but then couldn’t help teasing, “Why, Griff. I’d never imagined you as the type to go skinny dipping.”

  There was a pause, then, “Miss Maxwell,” he said from directly behind her, “I’m flattered you’d be imagining me at all.” She turned just as Griff was buttoning his jeans. His shirt was still off, but he had a white towel slung over his bare shoulder. Griff’s squared chin was down, but she could see the small smile that teased the corners of his mouth. One eyebrow was raised, and he pierced her with his dark blue eyes from under his brow as he casually said, “Hand me that, will you?”

  He tore his gaze from her and toward the shirt lying on a boulder beside her. She hadn’t even noticed it there. Because you were too busy drooling over your coworker. Jenna’s instinct was to toss it to him—he was less than three feet away—but she ignored it and walked the shirt to him. Now she stood close enough to feel the heat emanating from his skin and see the droplets of water collect, then fall from his hair. He was close enough for Jenna to smell the lingering scent of his cologne. Without realizing she was doing it, she compared his scent to Dane’s. This man smells like summer, like sunshine—fresh and inviting. She extended the shirt, warm from the sun, and as he accepted it, their hands touched. They lingered. Griff smiled down at Jenna, showing perfectly straight, white teeth, and she swayed toward him.

  “Here you are, Mr.—” she paused, stepped back and said, “wait, I still don’t know your last name.”

  The undeniable spell of sexual tension was broken. Griff pulled the shirt on, fastidiously buttoning each button, and—to Jenna’s mind—stalled his answer. Cary Grant nudged a large, wet stick into Jenna’s hand, distracting her from Griff. Now it was he who was watching her—she could feel his eyes on her—but said nothing. She waited, unsure whether to repeat the question or let it go. Who was she to be pushing someone to give out personal information? They took turns tossing the stick for the dogs, using them to communicate with each other. ‘Go give the stick to Jenna, boy,’ he’d say. ‘Now give it to Griff, buddy,’ she’d say. They exchanged surreptitious glances.

  What is happening here? Jenna was being deliberately obtuse. She knew exactly what was happening. Good, old-fashioned physical attraction, the kind that shoots off fireworks in her pelvis at the mere touch of a hand. Look where that got me the last time. Still, she couldn’t help but be surprised by it. And alarmed. Thanks to her time with Dane, anytime Jenna even thought for a moment that she might be attracted to someone, she reminded herself that she had already proven she couldn’t tell a good man from a bad one. Regardless, she couldn’t jeopardize her job by getting involved with a coworker, anyhow. Especially one who was clearly on the upper rung of the ladder. Jenna saw how they all deferred to him, and how he walked around so at ease and confident. That’s the mark of a man in charge. Or a man sleeping with the boss.

  She studied him—or the back of him, really—again. Perfect posture. Awfully well dressed for hired help. Old Hollywood film actor kind of handsome. Back in the kennel she’d almost said something like that to him, then caught herself. The boss lady had probably named all these dogs with him in mind. Then the thought crossed her mind—oh, my God, he’s a kept man—and a burst of laughter flew from Jenna before she could stop herself and Griff turned sharply.

  His brow raised, and his tone was sardonic as he asked, “Care to share what amuses you so, Miss Maxwell?”

  It unnerved her how he slipped back and forth between Jenna and Miss Maxwell. He was at one moment intimate and familiar, then next, formal and aloof. The only thing Jenna felt sure of, was her own deplorable taste in men. She’d been blinded by her attraction to Dane from the moment she met him, and she was about to do it again with Griff Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was. He was likely another Machiavelli, wearing a disguise of gentility so she’d fall under his spell and be trapped. Her thoughts evolved so rapidly that when she answered him, her tone was unreasonably icy. “No, Griff. I don’t think I would. In fact, I think I’m going to head back to the house now.”

  “Very well, then. We’ll walk back with you,” he replied, then after a brief hesitation, “if you don’t mind, of course.”

  Jenna couldn’t very well tell her new quasi-boss ‘no, you can’t walk back’ to their mutual home, so she nodded curtly and began walking, Cary Grant close to her side. She could sense more than hear Griff following quietly behind her as the dogs trotted and galloped around them in big loping arcs. She recalled the way Dane would sneak up on her in different parts of the house, then clamp his massive hands on her shoulders and whisper in her ear—

  “Jenna?”

  Jenna jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder and let out a small sound, almost like a yelp, simultaneously raising her fisted hands in front of her—just the way Juno taught her in the YWCA self-defense class she’d taken in Georgia those first months on the run. Griff stepped back. His look of surprise turned into wariness, then concern. He raised his hands, palms out, and made a placating sound like one would to a skittish horse.

  “Whoa, whoa, there. Easy, now. Jenna, I’m not going to—I wouldn’t…”

  Jenna’s shoulders dropped, and her fists unclenched. When she’d spun around, all her mind would let her see was Dane, but Griff’s deep yet somehow soft voice seeped through her haze of panic. She blinked hard, and there was Griff. Solid, unfamiliar, yet reassuring, not-Dane, Griff. Her body—even her bones it seemed—went suddenly, almost painfully loose and her hands began to shake. Aware of Griff’s concern, Jenna forced
a laugh and said, “Can’t sneak up on a city girl! Sorry, reflex.” It was a perfect explanation, everyone is on their guard in the city.

  Griff lowered his hands and relaxed as well, but the look of concern and…something else remained. Was it sadness? Understanding? Or merely sympathy? Jenna wasn’t sure, but it made her want to cry. His was the first genuinely kind looking face she’d seen in the two years she’d spent in New York. She turned away and rubbed at the stinging in her eyes. She was about to run when he spoke again.

  “Jenna? You asked for my last name earlier. It’s…Pierce, Jenna. I’m G. Pierce. I apologize for not telling you right away, but I needed to see…”

  “I understand,” she said. And she did, actually. “You had to see who I was when not around the boss. If that’s all, Mr. Pierce?”

  She waited long enough to hear him quietly say, “That is all, Miss Maxwell.” Then she ran ahead, going straight to the guesthouse and not looking back.

  Griff

  Griff didn’t make a move to follow her. What more could be said? He had offered an apology that he technically did not owe—even Jenna acknowledged the merit of his omission. His mind went back to her face when she’d spun around, fists raised defensively, her pupils dilated and her skin ashen. He knew that look all too well, and it confirmed a suspicion he’d had all along—Jenna Maxwell had escaped an abusive relationship. His own sister, Angeline, wore that look the first time she’d come to him in fear for her life from her husband, Ian, and each time after. Yet, unlike Angeline, Jenna had escaped. Angeline stayed for another two years with Ian, eventually cutting Griff from her life completely. Be it shame, pride, or fear for what Griff might do, it was no matter. He could not save someone who refused to be saved, or so he’d told himself over and over. Angeline died from an ‘accidental fall’ in their London home. Griff never forgave himself.