The Billion Dollar Bad Boy Read online

  In among the tangle of clothes, he found his wallet and extracted the condom from it, protecting himself with ruthless efficiency. Then he moved back to her and all at once something struck him.

  He didn’t want to take her against the window where everyone could see. This was a deeply private, personal moment. And it was just between the two of them.

  Donovan reached for her, lifting her into his arms and taking her over to the couch.

  “You don’t like the window?” she asked, her arms around his neck. “Because I was fine with it.”

  “No. Tonight is ours. And I want it to stay ours.”

  He laid her down on the leather, covered her with his body, her soft curves fitting perfectly against him. Kissed her lips, her neck, pressing his mouth in the hollow of her throat, licking the fast beat of her pulse. Then moving further down, cupping one full breast in his palm, circling her nipple with his tongue.

  She groaned softly, arching beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair.

  But he didn’t want soft sounds. She was here in his apartment, where they had complete and utter privacy, and he wanted to hear her.

  Donovan used his teeth, biting her nipple, hearing her soft cry, her body shuddering. He licked the hard tip, soothing it. “Tell me you like it, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin. “I want to know.” Then he bit her again.

  “Oh, God, Van,” she gasped, shivering. “I … like it.”

  “How much?” He drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

  She gave another groan. “So much … God … so good …”

  He licked her, a lazy teasing circle of his tongue. “How good?”

  Victoria unwound one of her hands from his hair, took one of his, and shoved it between her thighs. “This good.”

  And it must have been very good indeed because she was wet against his fingers, slick and hot and ready for him. He stroked her gently and she moaned, her hips lifting in response.

  The feel of her, the sounds she made, the scent of sex and flowers in the air around them was too much. He couldn’t wait.

  Donovan slid an arm beneath her, spreading his hand in the small of her back, lifting her hips. Then he pushed into her, hard and deep.

  She gasped, her legs closing around his hips, arching beneath him. Her hands drifted down his back, nails digging in, applying delicious pressure.

  He raised himself on his forearms, looking down into her face. Into her eyes. They weren’t silver any more but dark charcoal, smoky with desire. And he got the feeling he was staring into the heart of her, the essence of who she was. Passionate and sensual, warm and giving.

  He’d never looked into the eyes of a lover before. Only with her.

  And he found he couldn’t look away now. The desperation began to fade, to be replaced by something else he couldn’t identify. Something deeper.

  He moved, another thrust, her body so tight around him, he almost shook. Her hands stroked his back, another scrape of her nails, her face alight with pleasure. “More …,” she whispered.

  He bent his head, kissed her, tasting sweetness, tasting Victoria. No one else knew this about her. No one else knew how sweet she was. How hot. How tight and wet she got. How giving she was. How passionate she could be.

  His movements became slower. He wanted to keep doing this, keep moving inside her, keeping the secret of her his and his alone.

  “Van …” Her voice soft in his ear, her breath on his skin. “That feels … so good.”

  Pleasure uncurled inside him, the pleasure of doing something that made her feel good. The need to keep doing it, not for himself but for her, because he cared. He cared so much. He moved his mouth to her jaw, her neck, kissing her, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin, keeping his movements slow.

  He had so many skills in the bedroom, long years of practice, but he’d never considered it anything to be proud of. Nothing about that period in his life made him proud.

  Yet now he was glad of it because it meant he could give her all the pleasure she deserved. All the satisfaction.

  Donovan slid his hands beneath her, tilting her hips, allowing him to slide even deeper. She gave another moan, her head tipping back against the leather of the couch, her throat a pale curve beneath him. He kissed her, moving faster now. Harder.

  “Oh … God …” Victoria panted.

  Her nails sunk into the muscles of his back, the sensual pain of it making his own pleasure coil so tightly he could hardly stand it. But he held onto his control. Kept it firmly in his grasp as he slid a hand between her thighs, brushed her clit with his thumb as he gave one, hard thrust.

  She cried out, convulsing around him, her nails digging in hard, her body arching.

  And as he watched the climax light up her face, he finally let himself go. Giving himself up to the pleasure, moving hard and fast until his own climax shot up his spine. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sweetness of her as he closed his eyes and let it take him.

  *

  Victoria lay on the sofa, pinned by the weight of Donovan’s body. She didn’t want to move. Perhaps not ever. So she didn’t, contenting herself with letting her hands stroke his back instead, feeling the gentle flex and release of his muscles as he breathed.

  After a long time, he finally shifted, his mouth brushing her neck, making her shiver. “Wait there,” he murmured. “I need to deal with the condom. I won’t be long.”

  He moved off her and disappeared through the doorway.

  Perhaps she should get dressed? She glanced over to where her gown lay on the floor, along with her underwear, but didn’t feel any inclination to put it on. No, all she felt was a kind of lazy, sensual satiation. Like a cat enjoying the sun.

  She rolled onto her side and her gaze fell to the coffee table, scattered with bits of paper, including some building plans. Curious, she sat up and took a closer look.

  They were plans for the docklands estate, marked and scribbled on with calculations involving sums of money, initial expenditures, and profit projections. On other bits of paper were sketches of buildings, gleaming glass curves and angles. One of a park and a high-end-looking shopping strip. Another, of all things, looked like a museum.

  She blinked. These were Donovan’s.

  At that moment, something soft was draped around her, a blanket. She looked up as Donovan came to sit beside her. “I thought you might be cold.”

  “Very thoughtful.” She pulled the soft material around her. “What’s this?”

  “What’s what?”

  She gestured to the coffee table. “These plans. Looks like they’re for the docklands.”

  He lifted a hand, ran his fingers through his black hair, a guarded look on his face. “Yeah. Just a few ideas I was playing around with. Nothing major.”

  “Oh, come on. I thought we were over the ‘it doesn’t matter’ stuff?”

  Blue eyes met hers. “And I thought we weren’t going to talk business.”

  “Technically we’re not talking business. We’re talking about your ideas.” She smiled. “Show me, Van. I’d really like to see.”

  Slowly, he smiled. A natural, almost boyish smile. “Okay. Wait there and I’ll get some wine.”

  They discussed it for hours. Over wine and some delicious little things he brought out from the kitchen: cheeses and grapes and antipasto.

  His vision for the area was incredible, a sensitive melding of the past with the present. An acknowledgement of the land’s dark history yet with a positive emphasis on the future. On moving forward. She loved the concept, even sharing with him her own thoughts, and soon the plans were a mess of scribbles and sketches, papers with calculations scattered all around them, an exciting project, bigger and better than anything either of them could have imagined by themselves taking shape in front of them.

  “I don’t understand why your brother won’t listen to you,” she said, sipping her wine. “Selling the land won’t make the past go away.”

  Donovan finis
hed the note he’d been scribbling then sat back. “He’s like Dad, he thinks everyone will forget if it’s swept under the carpet.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  A hard look crossed his features. “I have a meeting with him tomorrow. And I’m intending to make it clear he’s going to sell that land over my dead body.”

  It was an uncomfortable reminder of what they’d both purposefully put out of their minds for the night. That land and each of them with their own, very good reasons for wanting it.

  God, she’d loved tossing around ideas with him but he was right to keep business out of this. This night was about them, not the land deal.

  Victoria put down her wine, shrugged the blanket off her shoulders, and took the pen out of his hand. Then she crawled over and sat in his lap. “Let’s talk about something else,” she said, running her fingers over his bare chest. “I can think of a few topics.”

  The hard look disappeared, flames lighting in his eyes. “And I can think of a few better uses for that mouth of yours than talking.”

  Hours later, still naked and utterly comfortable with it, Victoria lay back on the couch in his arms, pleasantly drunk from the wine, not to mention from him.

  “You know, I think I was right,” she said, looking at the stuffed-full bookshelves all around his apartment. “You probably do sit around reading Tolstoy all day.”

  He must have remembered their first encounter in the elevator because he laughed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’d prefer a cheap thriller any day.”

  “Oh, sure. You and your set of first edition Hemingway’s. Don’t think I didn’t see them sitting on that shelf over there.”

  Gently he tugged her head back, his fingers coiled in her hair. Gave her a long, lingering kiss. “I have a very old and expensive copy of the Kama Sutra, too,” he murmured against her mouth. “Care to have a read?”

  “What? Again? Anyway, I don’t need to. You probably memorized the whole thing.”

  “Almost. And practiced it, too.”

  “I bet. Is there anything you haven’t done?”

  “I haven’t done you. In a bed.”

  “No. You haven’t.” She let her fingers slide over the hot skin of his chest, feeling the shift of his muscles beneath her touch, hearing the catch of his breath. Watching the burn of desire in his eyes. Her effect on him … “So what’s stopping you now?”

  Nothing as it turned out.

  Donovan’s bedroom was dark and cool, the bed large, the sheets white and soft against her skin. Yet even those things fell away when he touched her. And soon there was nothing at all but pleasure.

  She woke sometime after six a.m., his arms locked around her, and even though they’d spent the majority of the previous night making love, she couldn’t recall another time when she’d woken feeling so good.

  Yawning, she stretched and twisted in his arms, looking up to find him watching her.

  He didn’t say anything, only smiled, and her heart contracted inside her chest because it was that warm smile, full of heat and sensuality and genuine pleasure. The one that came from the heart of him, not the empty playboy smile.

  And hard on the heels of that weird tightness came another feeling. A sense of loss.

  Their one night was over. Soon she’d have to leave.

  He must have seen something in her eyes because he frowned, reaching out and pushing a lock of hair back behind her ear in a casual, tender gesture that tightened the feeling in her chest even more. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” Crap. You know. She let out a silent breath. “I felt … sad for a moment. I don’t want this to be over.”

  His fingers brushed her ear then trailed down the side of her neck. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

  Her heart gave a ridiculous leap. “You want us to keep seeing each other?”

  “Sure,” he said easily. “Why not? There’s nothing to stop us, is there?”

  She looked away. There wasn’t exactly nothing. There was the deal, for a start.

  It’s not about the deal though, is it?

  No, it wasn’t. It was about the fact that she was in danger of falling for him.

  Victoria stared at the tanned skin of Donovan’s torso, all hard cut muscle, lean and strong. He was as beautiful under his clothes as he was with them on.

  You’re not in danger of falling. You’ve already fallen.

  She felt cold and exposed all of a sudden. Like her skin had been peeled away, leaving all the nerve endings raw.

  It was too late, wasn’t it? She had fallen for him. And where did that leave her? They hadn’t agreed on anything more than a night. Caring wasn’t a part of the deal and neither was love. But, God, maybe she wanted it to be.

  “Victoria?” he murmured, a finger beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “What do you think? Another few nights? More?”

  “How much more?” she asked carefully. She had to know where she stood before she committed herself to anything. Because she had a horrible feeling he probably didn’t feel the same way. And if he didn’t … But no, she wasn’t going to think that, not yet.

  His smile deepened. “I don’t know. Perhaps until we’re both sick of each other?”

  A sharp sliver of disappointment cut through her. He doesn’t feel it … “And how long will that take do you think?”

  “Does there have to be a time limit?”

  “Well, with you there usually is, isn’t there?” It came out sharper than she’d intended.

  He touched her mouth with his thumb, caressing her lower lip gently, frowning. “Something’s wrong? What is it?”

  She forced a smile. “No, of course not.”

  “Hey, isn’t that my line?”

  “It’s fine, Donovan.”

  “Bullshit it is. And since when did I go from being Van back to being Donovan?” His fingers closed around her chin, holding her. “You don’t want more? Is that it?”

  She couldn’t look at him, focusing on the white pillow behind his head. “Actually, I don’t think more is a good idea.”

  His frown deepened. “Why not?”

  “Oh … a number of things. I mean, we haven’t even resolved what’s happening with the deal for a start.”

  His gaze searched hers, too sharp, too perceptive. “This isn’t about the deal. What’s going on, Victoria?”

  She wanted to look away but he was holding her chin now, keeping her gaze on his. And the very last thing she wanted to do was tell him the truth. But he wouldn’t leave this alone, and she knew it.

  “I don’t want another couple of nights,” she said hoarsely. “I want more than that.”

  The crease between his brows didn’t budge. “And I told you I’m fine with that. We can keep doing this until—”

  “Until what?” A shiver went through her, a weird kind of tremble. “Until we’re sick of each other, you said. Well, what if I never want to stop doing this? What if I never get sick of you?”

  He blinked, as if she’d slapped him. “What are you saying?”

  “What do you think I’m saying? I’ve … fallen for you, Van.”

  All the color drained from his face. Then abruptly he looked away, an expression flickering in his eyes she didn’t understand. Releasing her, he then untangled himself from around her, sliding off the bed, and going over to where his jeans lay on the ground, picking them up.

  Victoria gripped the sheet, cold from the loss of his warmth creeping over her skin, and another kind of cold creeping through her heart.

  “That was never part of our deal,” he said, jerking his jeans up over his hips.

  Of course he didn’t want her. Of course he didn’t feel the same.

  Her heart felt like he’d given it a sharp, hard kick.

  Why? Did you expect something different? No one ever wants you. No one.

  She turned away, sliding to the edge of the bed, struggling to keep all expression off her face. “No, I know it wasn’t.”

&
nbsp; Donovan stood near the end of the bed, jeans sitting low on his lean hips. He didn’t look angry. He looked furious. “So why tell me?”

  “Why? I thought we were being honest with each other. But I guess that wasn’t what you wanted.”

  “No, you’re damn right, that’s not what I wanted.” He thrust his hands in the pockets of his jeans, blue eyes burning. “I’m not the man for you, Victoria. And I never will be.”

  She slid off the bed, wrapping the sheet around her, knowing she could walk away. Turn around and never come back. But she’d never let him get away with anything before and she wasn’t going to start now.

  “And why can’t you be the man for me, Van?” She walked over to where he stood, getting up close. “Give me one good reason.”

  “Because I don’t want to be.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “How’s that for a reason?”

  “Not good enough. You invited me into your home, you told me about your past. You don’t say those things to women you don’t care about it.”

  “What would you know about what I care about?”

  “You care about that land. And you care about those plans. And art and books and—”

  “Stop,” he said in a hard voice. “We’re not having this discussion. What we’re having is more sex because I have a meeting to get to at nine and I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  “Don’t do this.” She stepped even closer to him. Lifted a hand to cup his cheek, the warmth of his skin beneath her palm. “Don’t try to distance yourself from me. I know you’re doing it to protect yourself.”

  He jerked his head away from her touch. “You don’t know anything.”

  She let her hand fall. “I know one thing. I know I’m in love with you.”

  Chapter 9

  He didn’t want it. Not the words, not the soft look in her eyes, not the feel of her hand. It was too dangerous, too threatening. If she touched him, if he let her, he’d shatter and he couldn’t afford to shatter. Because she was lying.

  She couldn’t love him, not after the things he’d done. The men he’d lied to, the women he’d screwed. All the people he’d manipulated over the long stretch of his so-called illustrious career. Sure, he was the face of Morrow, but no one knew the dirtiness behind that face.