The Billionaire's Intern Read online

  Her mouth had gone dry, and she had to fold her hands in front of her to stop them from reaching out to him. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.” He sounded rougher now. “What was it, Kira?”

  Her heart shuddered in her chest. “Why do you want to know?”

  Another silence followed, taut, vibrating.

  He was sitting so still, but the way he was looking at her . . . there was a hurricane behind his eyes. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

  Her breath caught, the desperation she’d been trying to hide all week winding tighter and tighter. “You’re my boss. I’m your intern. Isn’t that the way we’re going to play it from now on? Wasn’t that what you said?”

  His gaze didn’t even flicker. “Tell me, Kira.”

  And the words came spilling out. “I wanted to climb right over your desk and into your lap.”

  He said nothing for a long moment.

  Then he shoved his chair back, his silver eyes never leaving hers.

  She knew what it was. An invitation.

  Her pulse began to skyrocket. It was all she could do to stand where she was and not immediately move toward him. But she had to remain in control. She had to.

  “Lorenzo . . .” She couldn’t stop the way his name came out, husky and soft. “I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to do what you said and be your intern.” She took a shaky breath, half desperate. “I’m trying to stay in control of myself.”

  The lines of his face had hardened, became fierce and set. “I don’t want you to be good. I’ve had three days of trying to be around you without getting hard and it’s not working.” His lips peeled back in a snarl. “It’s not fucking working, and I’m not doing it anymore. I don’t want you in control of yourself, Kira. I want you fucking wild. So get in my lap. Now.”

  She didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. Her hold on herself shattered as easily as a wine glass hurled onto a concrete floor. She dropped the folder she’d been holding, papers flying everywhere, but she ignored them, already moving.

  As if she’d been waiting all week just to hear those words.

  Lorenzo hit the button on his intercom. “Hold my calls,” he ordered roughly. “And if anyone comes through my door, they’re fired.”

  She was at the desk, pulling her skirt up, getting onto the desktop, crawling over it to him, pulled inexorably by the look in his eyes. By the need pulsing hard between her thighs.

  I want you fucking wild . . .

  She obeyed her instincts, sliding off the desk and going down onto her knees right in front of him, her heartbeat rocketing. His expression became even more fierce, taut with hunger. He spread his thighs and she was leaning forward, surrounded by his heat and the scent of him, musky with male arousal.

  Her mouth watered. She wanted to taste him so badly.

  She reached to undo his belt, her fingers shaking. It felt like an interminable amount of time to get it undone, but he helped her, and then the top button on his pants was being unfastened and she was drawing his zipper down.

  She couldn’t stop the groan that escaped her as she reached inside his boxers and found his cock. He felt so good, hot and hard and velvety. God, she’d been dreaming about this ever since the weekend. Dreaming of tasting him, touching him.

  He made a growling sound, his hand fisting in her hair. “Yes. Fucking suck me, Kira. Do it.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice, opening her mouth and taking him in slowly, savoring the moment. Savoring the taste of musk and salt and the other, delicious flavor that was all Lorenzo.

  He made another sound, half groan, half snarl. The hand in her hair tightened, his free hand slapping down on the desk in front of him. “Fuck, yes.”

  Kira curled her fingers around him, delicately exploring the smooth, sensitive head of his cock with her tongue, relishing the tremor that went through the whole of his body as she did so, his fingers in her hair almost painful. Then she did it again, grazing her teeth over him this time, the guttural sound he made her reward.

  She leaned against him, his powerful thighs spread on either side of her, taking him deeper. Sucking him harder.

  She knew what to do. She’d done this to men before. But those encounters had always been mindless. It was not mindless now. Every sense she had was concentrated on him. On tasting him. On giving him as much pleasure as he could handle, because he wanted her wild and so that’s what she’d give him

  She could focus. And she was going to focus on him.

  He groaned her name as she began to suck him in earnest, her hand curled around the rigid length of his cock, pumping him. Increasing the suction.

  Then all at once, her head was being jerked back and his hands were under her arms, lifting her up, pulling her into his lap.

  She blinked at him, slightly dazed as her knees came down on either side of his narrow hips, her skirt tight around her thighs. Gasping, she put her hands on his shoulders for balance as he wrenched her skirt up.

  The lightning was in his eyes, hunger stark in every line of his beautiful face. She shuddered at the intensity of his expression as he reached between her thighs and wrenched aside the drenched silk of her panties.

  “I need to be inside you,” he said hoarsely. “I need us to be together.”

  And his arm came around her, an iron band pulling her close, and she felt the head of his cock push against her, push inside her. Her mouth opened on another strangled gasp as he slid deep, and she couldn’t help rolling her hips to take him deeper, relishing the burn and stretch of her pussy around him.

  His intense silver eyes were inches away and she was caught, pinned by the look in them. He began to move, his breathing harsh, holding her gaze with his as he thrust up hard into her.

  The pleasure unfurling inside her was annihilating. Soul destroying.

  Her fingers dug into the heavy muscles of his shoulders as she moved with him, coming down hard on him every time he thrust up. She was panting, and she knew she was going to lose herself. She knew it. But that gaze of his was her lifeline, and she didn’t look away.

  And when his free hand came up behind her head and forced her mouth to his, she went with it. Hungry and desperate, but not mindless. Not mindless anymore.

  Their movements got faster, the kiss becoming feverish.

  She bit him, desperate for more, and he gave it to her, the angle of his thrusts changing so he hit her clit with each upward movement of his hips. Kira shuddered, reaching down between her thighs without a thought, stroking herself.

  “Yes,” he murmured hoarsely against her mouth. “Fucking touch yourself, beautiful girl. Make yourself come. Let me watch you.”

  So she kept stroking, the bliss of his thrusts and the intensity of her own finger on her clit sending the sensation sky high.

  Then the tension broke, and she was shaking as pleasure exploded through her, his name torn from her in a harsh scream. The brilliance of his gaze swallowed everything, and she was drowning in ecstasy, drowning in pure silver.

  Drowning in him.

  His mouth pressed to hers as he gripped her tight, his own thrusts falling out of rhythm, becoming uncontrolled, as wild as she was. Then he stiffened, tearing his mouth away and turning his face into her neck, a savage groan breaking from him, his long, powerful body shuddering as the climax took him, too.

  For long moments afterward, he kept his arms tight around her, his breathing warm against the skin of her neck, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she loved the feeling of being held and contained, of having his warm body to lean against, of being able to sift her fingers through his thick, black hair.

  “We can’t go back,” he said eventually, his voice muffled against her neck. “I can’t go back. I want you too much. I . . . need you too much.”

  She didn’t ask what he meant. She knew. For a second, the relief was so acute she couldn’t speak.

  He wanted her. He wanted her like she wanted him.

  “Good,” she replied, when she finally found her
voice again. “Because I want you, too.”

  Lorenzo’s hand was in her hair all of a sudden, gently tugging her head back. There was something fierce in his eyes, something ferocious. “No, this isn’t just want, Kira. This is more. I need you.” His lips peeled back in one of those snarls again. “And I shouldn’t. I fucking shouldn’t.”

  Her heart kicked at the look in his eyes, at the hunger that burned there. And yet there was anger there, too, as if he didn’t want the feeling. It made a sliver of hurt slide under her skin. “Why shouldn’t you? What’s wrong with needing me?”

  His hand tightened. “You know why. It’s dangerous. For both of us. “

  “For me, yes. But I don’t understand why it’s dangerous for you.”

  His expression twisted. “Katie died because I needed her. Because I couldn’t handle my grief on my own, the way I should have. I was selfish. It was all about me, and so she died.”

  The ferocity in his face, the pain, was like a knife in her heart. “Needing someone because you’re grieving isn’t selfish, Lorenzo. God, sometimes you can’t deal with that kind of stuff on your own.” She searched his face. “Who told you that anyway?”

  “Dad.” The word was bitten out. “It was a lesson he instilled in me early on. Every man should be an island, he used to say. You shouldn’t need anyone, shouldn’t want anyone. A man should be self-sufficient and strong. Too much emotion made you weak.”

  Her chest tightened. “Do you really believe that? Because if you do then you must think I’m the weakest person you’ve ever met.”

  Another fierce expression crossed his face. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. You’re not weak, Kira. You’re the very opposite of weak. But you’re not selfish with it, you’re—”

  “Of course, I’m selfish with it.” She put her hands on his chest, holding herself away from him. “I do whatever I want. Follow every impulse. I don’t think about the consequences it will have on people.”

  “Yes, but that’s not your fault. That’s your condition.”

  “I can’t blame everything on my condition, Lorenzo. At some point, I have to take responsibility for it.”

  He stared at her a second longer, then his attention shifted. He moved, pulling carefully out of her and putting his clothing back to rights, before he did the same for her, too. “I am taking responsibility. That’s what I’ve been doing since Katie died. Or at least I should be. But I . . . I just can’t fucking keep away from you.”

  She paid no attention to his attempts to smooth her skirt down, staring at his starkly beautiful face. “It’s not just about Katie though, is it?” Because it wasn’t, she could feel it deep in her bones. “This is about something more.”

  Lorenzo busied himself for a moment with her skirt, stroking along her thigh. Then he said, “When I was twelve, I overheard an argument Dad was having with Mom. She told him that she hated New York and that she was going to go back to Wyoming. I couldn’t bear the thought of her going, of her leaving me there alone with him. He was so cold, and I hated him. So I rushed in and begged her not to go. And Dad . . .” A bitter laugh escaped him. “He said that of course she couldn’t go. That she had to stay.” His lifted his gaze to hers. “She had to stay for my sake.”

  Sudden understanding curled inside Kira’s chest. “It’s not only Katie you blame yourself for, isn’t it?”

  Lorenzo’s gaze was inexorable, sharp with grief. “Mom hated New York. Hated it. And sometimes I think that if I hadn’t rushed in and told her not to go, if I hadn’t wanted more from her, perhaps my goddamn father wouldn’t have used me to keep her here. She would have gone back to Wyoming. She would have been happy. She wouldn’t have drowned herself in fucking vodka and sleeping tablets.”

  Kira touched his face, running her fingers along the exquisite line of his carved cheekbones, wanting to soothe the raw note in his voice. “Do you really believe that? Sure, I can imagine her wanting to stay for you. But you didn’t pour vodka down her throat or give her pills. Those were her choices.”

  His long black lashes fell, veiling his gaze. “I held onto her very tightly. I wanted her to stay so very much, and I was afraid she’d leave. And when Dad told her she had to stay for my sake, I was . . . glad.”

  “You were twelve. Of course, you didn’t want her to leave. Of course, you were glad.”

  He looked away, shaking his head. “She withdrew from me after that. I think she blamed me, too.”

  She gripped his chin, turning him back to her, meeting his gray eyes. “You didn’t kill her, Lorenzo. Just like you didn’t kill Katie. You loved them and you’re taking responsibility for their deaths because you couldn’t protect them. You couldn’t save them.”

  The look in his gaze burned her. “No.”

  Kira leaned forward so her mouth was inches away from his, staring right at him. “Yes. Why else were you resisting me? It wasn’t only yourself you were protecting, you were trying to protect me as well. And that’s not selfish, Lorenzo. Not in the slightest.” She hesitated. “Though I’m not quite sure what you think you’re protecting me from.”

  An emotion she couldn’t read flashed across his face. Then he lifted his hands, pushed his fingers into her hair, gripping her. “I’m protecting you from me, beautiful girl. I want too much. It hurts people, and I’ll hurt you eventually.”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “No, you won’t. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “You’d better be.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Because I can’t give you up, Kira. Not yet.”

  It was wrong to feel relief. Wrong to let the sudden surge of need flood through her.

  But right now, she didn’t care.

  “What makes you think I’ll let you?” she murmured.

  And then she kissed him before he could answer.

  Chapter 11

  The Constantin’s midsummer garden party on the terrace of their Greenwich Village townhouse was one of the highlights of the Manhattan social calendar. Jenny Constantin controlled the guest list with an iron fist and invitations were hard to get, a fact that Jenny encouraged for the sake of exclusivity.

  Lorenzo, of course, had no problem getting an invite since the de Santis family—one of the richest and most important in New York—was precisely the kind of company Jenny wanted at her garden party.

  “Lorenzo!” she exclaimed as Lorenzo walked in the doors, coming to greet him with a genteel Chanel No. 5−scented hug. “How nice of you to come.”

  “Of course,” he said with a forced smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Ivan was there, too, greeting guests as they came in, and he shook Lorenzo’s hand. “I thought you weren’t going to come this year?”

  “Like I said to Jenny, I wouldn’t miss it.” His gaze went to Kira, who was standing next to her father, radiating polite friendliness. “Besides, I had a few things I need to talk to Kira about.”

  “Of course, of course.” Ivan made a shooing gesture toward the hallway. “Go on out to the terrace. You too, Kira.”

  “You sure, Dad?” Kira’s blue eyes were guileless. “Mom said she wanted me to stay and help greet people.”

  But Jenny had already moved on to the next lot of guests and was paying no attention whatsoever.

  “I’m sure,” Ivan said. “Go on.”

  Lorenzo didn’t miss the gleam in Ivan’s eyes as Kira moved toward him. Clearly the guy thought encouraging Kira to spend time with him was going to get Ivan what he and Cesare wanted. Which was fine. Ivan could keep on thinking that. Especially when the opposite was going to be true.

  Resisting the urge to reach out and slide an arm around her waist, Lorenzo turned toward the hallway that led to the terrace where the party was being held and began to move down it, not looking behind him to see if Kira was following.

  It was harder than it should have been to keep his hands to himself, though after the past week he really should have anticipated that keeping them off Kira was bound to be a problem.

  Since that i
nsane moment in his office after Nero had left, where he’d not only lost his grip on the hunger for her that was tearing him apart, but had thrown his years of iron self-control out the fucking window, he’d had her every opportunity he could.

  That night after work, he’d taken her back to his place and gorged himself on her. Then the next night, and the one after that, and the one after that. Long, hot, desperate nights, trying to sate the hunger inside him. Yet somehow only making it worse.

  If all they’d done was have sex, it might have been okay. But they didn’t. They talked to each other, had conversations, and not only conversations about business, but about other things as well. Conversations about trivial things. Meaningless things.

  Lorenzo didn’t have meaningless conversations about anything with anyone. They were always about business or politics or money or the company. In fact, the last time he’d had a conversation about nothing with someone, it had been with Katie.

  It didn’t help that Kira’s mind was a joy and a fascination. She thought about things differently, connected subjects in unfamiliar and exciting ways, and he never found her tendency to skip from topic to topic annoying. Only intriguing. She’d told him more about the idea she had for her classes, which he had to admit, sounded excellent. And one night after work, she’d brought along with her a little wooden box that on opening, proved to be full of needles and pins and brightly colored silk threads, as well as beads of all different shapes and sizes. Then she’d gotten out a scrap of black silk and showed him what she’d been working on—a pretty, lacy pair of shorts. Her work was exquisite, and he’d told her so. She’d blushed, then flung the silk to one side and climbed into his lap, letting him know in no uncertain terms how much she liked his comment.

  She never hid what she felt when she was with him, her moods quicksilver and just as fascinating as the rest of her. Every emotion was all there for him to read in her eyes, on her pretty face, warm and generous and open.