The Billion Dollar Bad Boy Page 5

  And he felt her muscles begin to loosen, the tightness relaxing. But he didn’t want to stop and look at her face, didn’t want to stop period, because, holy fuck, she tasted as good as he’d thought she would. Hot and spicy and sweet at the same time.

  He curled his arms around her thighs, licking deeper, harder. Using his fingers as well.

  She began to shake. “Yes … please … Oh, God … please …”

  Her fingers were in his hair, holding on tight, and he didn’t stop, his thumb on her clit, his tongue inside her, pushing her over the edge.

  Victoria went rigid in his arms. Then she gave a long, wordless cry, almost of surprise, her body convulsing as the climax took her.

  Donovan didn’t move, holding her as she trembled through the aftershocks. Then, once she’d calmed, he looked up at her face. Her eyes remained closed but those taut, tight lines were gone, her mouth full and soft, her expression relaxed.

  No mask now. She looked younger, vulnerable. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

  When was the last time he’d watched a lover climax? He couldn’t remember. He’d always been too into finding his own pleasure to watch someone find theirs.

  There was a constriction in his chest. One that hadn’t been there before.

  With an effort, he forced the feeling away because hell, he wasn’t done yet.

  He shifted, reaching over to one of the limo’s many storage cupboards set into the door, finding the stash of condoms he always kept in there. Bringing one out he debated getting her to do the honors, then discarded the idea. Her mouth had just about blown his head off and he was too close to the edge.

  Ripping the packet open, he tossed the foil, then protected himself.

  Then he reached for her, gathering all her relaxed warmth into his arms before sitting back, bringing her into his lap.

  She’d opened her eyes by this time, blinking at him, registering slowly where she was and what was happening.

  The weight of her on him was perfect, the wet heat of her pussy pressing against his cock, pushing him even closer to the edge.

  Her face was flushed a deep rose, her breathing fast and shallow. Her lipstick smudged, her mascara running. She didn’t look like the Victoria de Winter who’d walked into his meeting room an hour or so earlier. Cool and calm and tough as nails. No, this Victoria was soft and hot and panting. No mask. No ice. And this time, no control.

  He met her gaze. “Yes?”

  She didn’t reply. Instead she lifted her hips and slid down onto him as easily and gracefully as if they’d been doing this for years.

  As if she’d been made especially for him.

  The heat of her closed around him and for a second he couldn’t think. Couldn’t even move. Could only watch as her mouth opened in a soundless gasp, her eyes widening, pleasure unfurling over her face. “Oh … Donovan …”

  His name had never sounded so erotic. Hearing it shredded what was left of his control.

  He gripped her hips, beginning to move. Setting a hard, driving rhythm. Watching her as he did so, her pupils dilating into blackness. She looked dazed, like this was new to her, and shit, he knew how she felt. This intensity, this feeling, was new to him, too.

  Not a good thing …

  But no, he didn’t want to think about that, so he didn’t. Only moved harder, faster. Her hands on his shoulders, her fingers digging in, holding onto to him like she was drowning. Then her lashes fell shut, her eyes closing tight, her mouth opening, a cry of what sounded like anguish tearing from her throat as her body arched, her hands, her knees, her pussy clamping down on him like a vise as she came.

  It was only then that he let his own mask slip, her orgasm detonating his own. And he had to close his eyes in the end because it was too much, too intense, pleasure exploding around him, annihilating every single thought in his head.

  It took a long time to come back to himself afterward, as if somehow his soul had slipped its moorings and got free. Gone somewhere else. Somewhere he didn’t remember.

  When he opened his eyes again, he found her staring at him as if she’d never seen him before in all her life.

  “What have you done to me?” she whispered.

  Chapter 4

  As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Victoria knew she shouldn’t have said them. They sounded too needy. Revealed far too much. Also, it really wasn’t him she should be asking it of.

  The question she should have been asking was what had she done to herself.

  Because it had gotten out of hand, this little power game. And instead of winning, conquering like she expected, it felt horribly like it was Donovan who’d ended up with the upper hand.

  The pleasure had been … devastating. She’d never experienced anything like that before. Didn’t know it would make her forget herself. Turn her helpless. Expose a secret, feminine, emotional part of her she hadn’t known she possessed.

  And that meant it could never, ever happen again.

  Despite all her good intentions of being calm and cool, a wave of hot embarrassment had her pulling out of his arms, scrambling inelegantly out of his lap. What she really wanted to do was escape the hell out of his car entirely but of course she couldn’t do that. That would have been tantamount to running away, and she’d never been a coward.

  “Well,” she said instead, grasping for as much cool as she could muster, desperate to get some of the control back, “I guess the tabloids were right about what goes on in your limo. How interesting.”

  She didn’t look at him as she sat herself back down in the seat opposite, smoothing down her skirt, then bending to gather all the hairpins he’d scattered all over the floor of the limo.

  Until long fingers closed around her wrist. “Let me do that,” Donovan said.

  “I can do—”

  “I said, let me, Victoria.”

  At the sound of her name another bolt of electricity went through her and she had to take a breath, her heart racing. This was ridiculous. She needed to calm the hell down. And if he wanted to pick up her hairpins, why not let him?

  “In that case,” she said smoothly, “feel free.”

  He released her and she straightened, steeling herself to meet his gaze.

  He’d put himself to rights, his pants done up at least, but he’d left his bow tie undone and his shirt open at the neck. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at that patch of brown skin. Watching his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat

  She could still taste him in her mouth. Still feel him inside her.

  Yes. That’s the word you want. That’s the answer. Yes.

  Victoria wrenched her gaze away, completely unable to think of what to do.

  Which was bad. Very, very bad.

  “Come sit back over here.” He patted the seat next to him.

  Since there wasn’t any reason not to and arguing would reveal far more than she wanted to, she did as he asked, settling onto the seat beside him, smoothing her already smooth skirt. “Now what?” she said.

  “Turn your back to me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Just do it, Victoria.”

  Well, at least that would mean she wouldn’t be looking at him. She shifted in her seat, presenting him with her back. And then stiffened as she felt his fingers in her hair.

  “Stay still,” he murmured.

  “I’m getting a little tired of following your orders, Mr. Morrow.”

  “Hush.”

  Hush, he’d whispered, his hands gentle on her thighs, the word falling over her like rain. Close your eyes.

  “And I think after that we can dispense with the Mr. Morrows. It’s Van, okay?”

  Victoria tried to force the memory away, but she could still feel those gentle hands on her thighs, still see those intense, blue-green eyes looking into hers as if he didn’t see Victoria de Winter the ball-busting ice princess at all, but someone else. Another woman. The woman behind that. Which was crazy because there wasn’t another woman behind tha
t, was there?

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said coolly. “We’re business colleagues, remember?” Reminding both of them that reality waited outside the confines of the car. A reality that was going to give her back some of the control.

  There was silence behind her.

  Then he said, “Ah, yes. Business. In that case, Ms. de Winter, if you wouldn’t mind keeping still, I’ll fix your hair for you.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that she could do it herself. Yet she didn’t move as his hands gathered her hair and twisted it up into her customary bun, carefully beginning to put it back into place with the pins he picked up from the floor.

  Well, if he wanted to pin her hair back in place, who was she to argue? She didn’t care one way or the other.

  “So,” he said quietly. “Are you going to tell me what you meant?”

  “Meant about what?”

  “You wanted to know what I’d done to you.”

  Tension coiled inside her. She looked down at her hands. “Did I? I don’t remember.”

  “I think you do.”

  She stared out the window of the limo at the traffic outside. Horns sounded, a siren echoing off the buildings.

  Soon they would be at the party …

  Oh, hell. The party. Where she’d planned to force him to negotiate this deal.

  Her stomach dropped. She’d forgotten all about it. How on earth had that happened? She’d gotten so caught up in the game they’d been playing that it had slipped her mind. Completely. Which was unheard of. She never forgot a business deal. Never.

  Clasping her hands in her lap, Victoria took a deep, silent breath.

  She was a businesswoman. She was a de Winter.

  “It was nothing,” she said dismissively. “A commentary on your prowess which, I have to admit, is impressive. I can see why you’re so in demand.”

  “‘What have you done to me.’” A pin slid into her hair. “Those were your exact words.”

  Victoria swallowed past the lump in her throat, ignored the flame of embarrassment that seared her yet again. “If I’d known I was going to get an interrogation as well as sex, I would have come prepared. Do you do this with all your lovers?”

  “No.” Another pin slid into her hair. “But then my lovers usually say things like ‘that was amazing’ or ‘your cock feels so good’ or ‘let’s do that again.’ No one has ever said ‘what have you done to me.’” He slid yet another pin. “Like I hurt them.”

  Her throat tightened. “You didn’t hurt me, don’t be ridiculous.”

  He did. Don’t deny it.

  Because she could tell herself all she liked that what they’d shared had been about control and power games. But really, it hadn’t been. It had been about desire. About wanting someone and being wanted in return. About reaching for what had been missing in her life—excitement, passion, pleasure … Things she couldn’t have because they were weaknesses she couldn’t afford. Not if she wanted to be a true de Winter.

  She remembered eavesdropping on a heated conversation her father had with her brother Marc, not long after her mother had died. Her brother had gone off the rails and she knew that made her father sad. She’d been only ten and yet she’d been getting into trouble at school herself—her mother was gone and her father seemed to treat her like a stranger. The unwanted gift he couldn’t return.

  Then, as she heard her father angrily end the conversation, it had come to her that if her brother wasn’t going to be the son her father wanted him to be, then she would. And maybe, finally, he’d accept her as part of the family, not the girl he’d adopted to make his wife happy.

  So she’d worked her ass off to be that son. Sharp and tough and hard. The kind of businesswoman her father respected and approved of. Was proud of. Who would eventually be ushered into the sacred de Winter boardroom to take her place at his side.

  But that wouldn’t happen if she didn’t land this deal. If she kept getting distracted by Donovan Morrow and meaningless sexual desire. This was important. Cameron de Winter wanted that real estate back in de Winter hands and that’s what she was going to do.

  “If I didn’t hurt you,” Donovan said quietly from behind her, “then what was it I did do to you?”

  “You gave me a couple orgasms and they were very nice. But that’s over now so I think we can call it done, don’t you?”

  Silence from behind her, his hands falling away from her hair. “Call it done?” There was a strange note in his voice, one she couldn’t place.

  She glanced around. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

  There was an odd intensity in his eyes. “Why done? Surely not regrets already?”

  “No.” The word came out before she’d even had a chance to think about it. But once she’d said it, she realized it was true. She didn’t regret it. Hell, yes, she was embarrassed and wanted to put it behind her but there were no regrets. “In case you’ve forgotten though, I’m still engaged and we still have a deal to work through.”

  His gaze flickered, as if he’d forgotten those things, too. “You’re going to stay engaged? After that?”

  Victoria eyed him coolly. “Do I detect a hint of judgment, Mr. Morrow? That’s a little hypocritical coming from you.”

  “I know you’re going to find this hard to believe but I don’t do married women these days. Or engaged women, either.”

  “Except for when it slips your mind. Like now.”

  He stared at her. “Interesting that you’re the one bringing up hypocrites, Ms. de Winter, when you’re the one who’s engaged.”

  How did he do that? How did he make her feel so vulnerable and yet so angry at the same time?

  Tension crept into her shoulders, pulling tight, and no amount of willing it away made any difference. “If you must know,” she said, “James and I had an agreement. A ‘get out of jail free’ card. One affair before the wedding, no questions asked. He used his a month ago. So …”

  “You thought it was your turn.”

  “Yes.”

  “And was it worth it?”

  She didn’t understand the look in his eyes, or the strange undertone in his voice. So all she did was lift a shoulder, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. “It was very nice, thank you.”

  For a second his gaze burned into hers and she thought he was going to say something. Something that would shatter the moment entirely.

  But he didn’t. He abruptly turned away instead, opening up one of the storage cupboards, getting out some tissues and, to her surprise, what looked like a small makeup bag.

  “Here,” he said, turning back to her. “A few things to fix yourself up with.”

  “You have makeup in here?”

  He smiled, the intensity vanishing as if it had never been there, the charming, consummate playboy again. “Not so much makeup as toiletries. It’s been useful in the past.”

  “I bet.” She took the bag. “You’re not going to say anything to anyone, are you?”

  “About us? Of course not. What happens in the limo, stays in the limo.”

  The tension in her shoulders released. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. Her father would have fifty fits if he knew about what had happened between her and Donovan. To say he was not a Morrow fan was an understatement.

  “Good,” she said, examining what was in the bag. There were makeup removal wipes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a compact. She reached for the compact. God, she was mess. A total mess. Running mascara, smudged lipstick.

  She wiped away the evidence with the wipes, cleaning up the running mascara, fixing the lipstick smudges before reapplying with her own lipstick from her purse. But nothing was going to get rid of the flush in her cheeks. Or the knowledge of what she’d done that glowed like fire deep in her eyes.

  Yes. The answer is yes …

  Victoria closed the compact with a snap.

  “Welcome back,” he murmured.

  “Thank you for the wipes.” She ignored the note of
irony in his voice. “That was thoughtful.”

  “That’s me. I’m a thoughtful kind of guy.” He was studying her, his expression unreadable.

  She ignored him, checking over her skirt and making sure there were no rumples.

  The driver’s voice came through the intercom. “The traffic’s moving at last, Mr. Morrow. Should be at the venue in a couple minutes.”

  “Thank you, Chris,” Donovan replied calmly, not taking his gaze off her.

  Victoria picked up her briefcase. “Well, this has been … interesting, Mr. Morrow.”

  “It certainly has been, Ms. de Winter,” he said, as if all they’d been doing was having a mundane discussion about work. Then he smiled and her breath caught because there was nothing mundane in that smile. Only intention. Only heat and sensuality.

  This is not over, it said, quite plainly.

  Well, he was wrong.

  “We’re approaching the building now, Mr. Morrow,” the driver said through the intercom, breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere.

  Donovan reached unhurriedly for the button. “Take us around the corner, Chris. We’ll let Ms. de Winter out there.” He leaned back in his seat. “There. And you don’t even have to be seen arriving with me. Aren’t you lucky?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The car came to a stop, the sound of the driver’s door opening, then closing.

  In a moment this would be over. In a moment reality would assert itself and the woman she’d been in Donovan’s limo would be gone. The hot, desperate, needy, helpless woman. The woman who was definitely not a de Winter.

  That moment couldn’t come fast enough.

  Abruptly the door opened, the sounds of the city flooding in.

  Victoria tightened her hand on her briefcase, then leaned over and grabbed her laptop bag. Then she looked at him, brief and cool and impersonal. “Thanks for the ride,” she said. “I’ll give you an hour or two to mingle, then I’ll find you and we’ll talk more about the docklands deal.”

  Then without waiting for a response, she got out, slamming the door behind her.

  The moment was gone.

  *

  The huge bar of the 2nd Circle—one of the infamous Nine Circles clubs and New York’s most exclusive venue—was packed. Politicians, actors, rock stars, old money and new, the influential and rich all in one heaving, glittering crowd.