The Billion Dollar Bad Boy Page 4

Her cheeks were pink, however, and she’d lowered her hands to absently smooth that little gray skirt of hers over her knees. A nervous motion.

  It made his own fingers itch. To push that skirt up. Way, way up.

  Her legs would be pale, her skin soft. Her panties would be white. Lacy. A nest of red curls visible. He’d push her back against the seat, spread her thighs, pull aside those lacy white panties …

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her cool voice cutting through his heated fantasy.

  “Apparently nothing.”

  “No you’re not. You’re looking at me like—” She stopped abruptly.

  Donovan had no such qualms. “Like I want to push your skirt up, spread your legs, and eat you alive? Yes, guilty I’m afraid.” He had his smile ready. “But don’t worry, like my dick-sucking fantasies, I know that’s not actually going to happen.”

  “Why?”

  The blunt question took him by surprise. “Why what? Why won’t they happen?”

  “No. I meant, why me? Or is it me merely because I’m the nearest convenient female?”

  He laughed. “I’d hardly say you were convenient, Ms. de Winter.”

  Her mouth twitched, again as if she wanted to smile but couldn’t let herself. “You understand my point though. It must be somewhat inconvenient for you that the only woman around to sexually harass is me, the ball-busting de Winter ice princess.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured. “It has its upsides. I’ve certainly never had a discussion about Tolstoy where blow jobs were mentioned. Or been accused of hating women. Or had the prospect of a perfectly good party ruined because some smart, sexy redheaded businesswoman wants to talk deals instead of getting drunk.”

  She blinked and satisfaction unwound inside him, because this time he’d scored the hit. This time he’d surprised her. But it didn’t last long, that fleeting surprise gone in a nanosecond. “Are you expecting me to be flattered, Mr. Morrow?” she asked.

  Donovan smiled. “I don’t expect anything, Ms. de Winter. I thought we established that. You’re the one who expected more.”

  Her words from the elevator hung between them, filling the space with electricity. Possibility.

  Silver sparked in her eyes. Fire beneath the ice. And he caught his breath.

  “Actually,” she said. “I think you expected plenty. I think you expected me to say no.”

  “Say no to what?”

  “This.”

  Abruptly she leaned across the space between them.

  And put her hand on his cock.

  *

  Victoria had spent a lifetime in the boardrooms of power, learning the business ropes from her father, Cameron de Winter, owner of one of New York’s biggest property development firms. She knew all about men and their power games, the jockeying to be the alpha dog, the one in control. She’d played those games before and she was good at them.

  She’d had to be if she wanted to take over the reins of the company eventually.

  And one of her first lessons had been to stay strong and never show weakness. Never let a man intimidate her.

  Including a man like Donovan Morrow.

  He thought he could play her. He thought he was in control of this situation.

  Well, he wasn’t. She was. And if he wanted to play these games with her, then she’d play them. Except she was going to win.

  Now that she had her hand directly on the source of his power, so to speak, she wasn’t going to let go until he backed off. Until he stopped talking in that lazy, taunting, teasing voice of his. Until he stopped brushing her leg, sending sparks shooting through her, making her skin feel so tight and hot she wanted to claw it right off.

  Yet it wasn’t until the moment she’d touched him that she realized, not only had she made a mistake, she’d made the worst mistake in the entire history of the world.

  His big, lean body was tight as a coiled spring. But she could feel warmth beneath her hand. No, not mere warmth but heat. A hot coal under a layer of ash. A coal that, if she touched it with bare skin, would ignite all that dry tinder inside her. And she’d go up in flames.

  Oh, God … He was so hot. And hard. Very, very hard.

  The breath froze in her throat, pressure grew in her chest.

  His eyes glittered. “Ms. de Winter,” he said in a perfectly level, calm voice. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  No, she didn’t. She didn’t have the slightest idea. But something in her desperately wanted to find out.

  He didn’t move, staring at her. “Be very careful, Victoria.” There was now a rough edge to his words that thrilled something inside her she hadn’t realized was there. “Be very, very careful about playing this game with me.”

  Excitement made her pulse accelerate. .

  No one had ever looked at her with hunger like that. Not even James.

  A pang of guilt went through her at the thought of her fiancé.

  She didn’t love James. She never had. And he didn’t love her. He was respectable, the safe choice that had made her father happy and her feel more a part of the de Winter family.

  James had been a friend, but apart from a couple of passionless kisses, she’d never shared anything else with him. Before he’d left for Paris for six months, they’d agreed on one “get out of jail free” card regarding their engagement. An affair, if the opportunity presented itself, no questions asked. He’d called her a month ago to tell her he was going to use his card. She hadn’t cared. Hadn’t even remembered.

  Until now.

  Now she couldn’t think of anything else.

  She could use that card, right here, right now. Take some of that passion Donovan was offering. Some of the freedom from control. Explore the desire she’d tasted in his kiss. Would that be so very wrong of her?

  Once you marry James, it’ll be over. You’ll never have this again…

  Decisively she pushed her briefcase out of the way then sank to her knees on the floor of the limo, pushing apart his muscular thighs.

  Only to gasp as he closed them abruptly, trapping her between them.

  Her hands reached out to grip his thighs for balance, thoughts scattering as the reality of his body and the burning heat of it seeped through the wool of his pants into her palms, the delicious pressure keeping her positioned exactly where she was. Not a lot. Just enough. Enough to know that if she tried to escape, all he’d have to do was flex those impressive muscles a little in order to keep her trapped.

  God, why did she like this? Why did this make her feel so hot? So achy and restless?

  She looked up at him, saw the raw, primal expression on his face, a thread of doubt winding through her. This wasn’t the taunting playboy of the elevator. This was a different man. A dangerous man.

  “Sweetheart,” he said softly. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

  Oh no, he wasn’t going to take the control away from her again. Diminish her again. He wasn’t going to make her feel small and feminine and weak. Young and inexperienced.

  Her heart was beating faster, the excitement coiling tighter and tighter. The heat of him around her, the muscular heat of his thighs holding her fast.

  It’s not just to prove a point. It’s because you want to. Because he’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen and just for this moment you want a piece of that. Just for one moment you want to be a bad girl.

  She glanced up at him, met that hungry blue gaze. “What makes you think I don’t want to?”

  “Victoria—”

  “Quiet now.” She moved her fingers to the button of his pants.

  Only to have his palm come down on her hand, pinning it. She looked up at him.

  The look in his eyes changed, the intensity filling the space between them, so hot and thick she could barely breathe. “If you start this, I will finish it.” Perhaps she should have found that disturbing. But she wasn’t disturbed. She was excited. Aroused. If she could best him here, she could best him a
nywhere.

  “Stop talking now, Donovan,” she said, very deliberately using his name.

  Then she shook off his imprisoning hand, reached for the button on his pants and slipped it open, took the zipper in her fingers and tugged. He was already hard, the breath hissing between his teeth as she pulled on the zipper. The sound made a shiver go down her spine. God, and she hadn’t even touched him yet.

  She glanced up. Hunger was etched on every exquisite line of his face, his jaw was tight. His eyes had gone dark, the green fading into midnight blue.

  He wanted her. He was desperate for her.

  She’d never had that before in her life. Never had someone desperate for her.

  Not any of the nice, safe boyfriends she’d had in college. The ones her father had approved of. And certainly not James, her own damn fiancé.

  It was intoxicating. It was powerful. And she never wanted to give it up.

  Spreading open the material of his pants, she slid her hand into his black boxers, curling her fingers around the hard length of his erection. He was so hot, his skin smooth to the touch. She drew him out and he tensed as she tightened her grip, making a soft, growling sound in the back of his throat.

  Then his fingers moved to her hair, beginning to roughly pull out the pins that held her bun on her head. He dropped them carelessly all over the floor of the limo, then pushed his fingers into her hair, fanning it out over her shoulders.

  Red. Different from the golden blond of her brother and father. Her mother. All the de Winters. Every day a reminder that she wasn’t really one of them.

  Donovan twined his fingers in it, pulling gently. “Did you know I’ve been imagining your hair loose? Holding on to it as you go down on me. Directing your movements how I want them.”

  He’d been fantasizing about her? She let out a ragged breath, the blunt words making the heat inside her twist.

  “And it’s just as soft as I thought it would be,” he continued. “Just as silky.” He tugged on it a little harder, sending prickles of heat washing over her skin. “Put me in your mouth, princess. And do it now.”

  The order was another challenge. Another attempt to wrest control from her.

  His words sent a bolt of heat straight between her thighs.

  Victoria lowered her head, hesitating only a second. She hadn’t lied. She’d done this a couple of times before, brief and unpleasant episodes in college when she hadn’t wanted to and had only done it because she thought she ought to. She hadn’t enjoyed it and she was half afraid this moment with Donovan would somehow feel the same.

  But it wasn’t.

  He smelled good for a start, sandalwood and musk and warm, dry earth. And when she gave him a tentative touch with her tongue, he tasted good, too. Salty and yet sweet at the same time.

  A raw kind of sound escaped from him and that was all she needed. She opened her mouth, took him, closing her lips around him, feeling his fingers tighten even further in her hair.

  “Fuck,” he murmured. “Fuck, that’s good.”

  Victoria smiled and closed her eyes, losing herself in the taste of him. In his heat. In the sounds he made as she increased the suction, gripping the base of his shaft tightly in her fist. His hands in her hair moved, directing her, urging her faster, then slowing her down.

  She went with it, loving how she made his body shake beneath her hands, loving the powerful feeling that rolled through her once more. The knowledge that she was the one making him tremble. Making him whisper dark and shocking things in the silence of the car.

  Making him lose control.

  She’d never felt so utterly in command. Knowing it was her who’d brought them here. Her who’d made it happen. Not him and his stupid head games.

  She began to lean into the raw heat of his body, every inhibition falling away. Exhilaration pulsed through her. With growing confidence, she slid one hand beneath his dress shirt and up over the hard, cut muscle of his abdomen. Feeling his muscles tense as she stroked him. He felt so good. Oiled silk over steel.

  But then sharp prickles moved over her scalp as he began to pull her away.

  “That’s enough,” he said hoarsely.

  Was he serious? She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to drive him over the edge. Wanted to make him lose control completely and utterly.

  “I said that’s enough.” He pulled hard on her hair and she gasped, lifting her head reluctantly from him.

  “What?” she panted.

  The look in his eyes just about burned her to the ground. “I told you I was going to finish this.”

  *

  Donovan had never been harder in his whole damn life and he’d wanted her to keep going, to take him to heaven with that beautiful mouth of hers.

  But she wasn’t doing this to make him come. No matter what she said, she was doing this to prove a point. To take control.

  And he was damned if he was going to let her.

  She’d surprised him at every turn. But he’d lay money on the fact that she wasn’t as cool and as in control as she seemed and he wanted her rattled. Shaken. As shaken and as desperate as he was.

  Fuck, he was even trembling, and a woman had never made him shake like this before. Never ever.

  Ahem. What about the fact that you weren’t going to mix business with pleasure?

  Ah, fuck business. He couldn’t think about that now. They were in this moment, in the limo, where nothing else existed and nothing else mattered.

  He was going to make her tremble. He was going to make her fucking scream.

  “Sit,” he ordered and when she did so, on the seat opposite him, he slid down onto the floor. . His turn to be on his knees. And he couldn’t think of a better place to be right at this particular point in time.

  The quicksilver of her eyes met his, her face flushed, that incredible hair of hers down around her shoulders in a straight red fall—much longer and thicker than he’d imagined. Her mouth was full and pouty, every trace of that hard, icy businesswoman gone. The woman who looked at him now was all softness and flaming red heat.

  And challenge. He mustn’t forget that.

  He put his hands on her knees, eased her skirt up slowly, and yes, just as he’d imagined, her thighs were pale and soft.

  In the silence of the car, he heard her breath catch. “What are you doing?”

  “What I imagined. Spreading you out. Eating you alive.”

  A shiver went through her. “I thought you said that wouldn’t happen.”

  Donovan smiled when the color in her face deepened, her eyes widening.

  He paused. “This game isn’t a foregone conclusion, princess. Anytime you want to stop playing, just tell me.”

  Her jaw tightened. “That’s Ms. de Winter to you. Stop the hell calling me princess.”

  He laughed, he couldn’t help it. Even now, even knowing what he was going to do, she was holding out on him. Holding strong.

  Well, it wasn’t going to last. He was going to break her and it was going to be so fucking sweet.

  With a quick movement, he shoved her skirt up her to waist and yes, Holy Christ, he was right. White lacy panties, a gleam of red curls through the fabric.

  Beautiful.

  Gently, he pushed her thighs apart, spreading them wide. She made a soft sound but when he looked up, she only lifted her chin, her gaze calm and direct meeting his. As if she was in the boardroom and they were discussing a deal, not in a limo with him about to go down on her. As if he couldn’t smell her, all musk and jasmine and hot, feminine arousal.

  It was a mask she wore. A mask to stop herself from wanting.

  A deep, unexpected sympathy moved inside him. He knew what it was to wear a mask. How heavy it was to wear one. And how good it was to take it off and just be.

  Donovan put his hands on the inside of her thighs, stroking her skin with his thumbs. She was so smooth and soft and silky, like her hair had felt knotted tightly in his fingers.

  “Come on, Mr. Morrow,” she said, an edge in
her voice. “We’re not at a—”

  “Hush.” He moved his thumbs higher, still gentle, still stroking. “And close your eyes.”

  “But I don’t—”

  He moved one hand, placing it directly over the damp heat between her thighs. Looked into her flushed face. “Close. Your. Eyes.”

  He wasn’t expecting her to and yet she surprised him again, dark lashes at last falling shut. Closing him out. Good. It was hard to drop the mask when you knew people were watching.

  Donovan leaned forward, pressed his mouth to the soft skin of her stomach, just above the waistband of her panties, feeling it dip and hollow at his touch. A sharp, indrawn breath from above.

  He shifted his hand again, hooking the lace to the side, and slid his fingers through the damp red curls between her thighs. She gasped aloud, the sound shocked, a tremble shaking her. The muscles of her thighs tensed.

  He had assumed she wasn’t experienced and this confirmed it.

  Donovan paused. “Shall I stop?”

  “No.” The word was sharp, bitten off.

  The mask again. But then, she wouldn’t be this wet if it was all just a mask. If it was all a point she was making.

  He looked up at her. She had her eyes screwed up tight, her beautiful mouth slightly open, the lines of her face as taut as the muscles in her thighs.

  Jesus. He wanted to make her come, make her mouth open, her eyes open, everything about her loosen and sprawl outward, relax and soften, the mask dropping …

  He stroked his finger though the soft, wet folds of her pussy, finding her clit, circling, teasing.

  She trembled again, another sound escaping her. “No …”

  “No?” He slicked the pad of his thumb over her clit. “Are you sure?”

  “I mean … God … I mean …”

  “Say yes, Victoria.”

  Her hips moved under his hand, rocking as he caressed her. “I can’t …”

  “Yes.” He spread her wide. “That’s the word you want. That’s the answer. Yes.”

  Then he bent his head and put his mouth between her thighs.

  She cried out as he pushed his tongue inside her, as he licked her deep and slow, another tremble shaking her.

  “Oh … God … ,” she gasped in a hoarse voice. “Yes.”