In Bed With the Billionaire Read online

  She could feel it as he spoke, the menace slowly deepening around him. The sense of threat gathering close. His voice was like a drug, a balm to lull her into thinking nothing was wrong, that she wasn’t in any danger, and only once he’d come to the end of what he was saying would she realize that she was on the edge of a precipice. And that she was about to walk over it.

  Hell, maybe she would walk over it. But she wouldn’t smash herself to pieces on the ground. She’d fucking fly.

  She tilted her head, folding the coat more comfortably around her. “So what do you think I am then?”

  He gave a low laugh, the sound rolling over her skin like rough velvet. “This isn’t a game, Temple. We haven’t just met in a bar and are indulging in a bit of light flirting and getting to know one another before a one-night stand.” His smile was very white, a shark’s. “You’re my fucking prisoner. You’re my slave. And I will do whatever the hell I want with you. So if that means giving me the truth exactly when I want it, that’s exactly what you’ll give me.”

  Something surged inside her, and it wasn’t fear. Not yet. It was something else, a hotter, more intense emotion. Almost like … excitement. Because again, here was the challenge she’d been seeking. The chance to pit herself against someone worthy of her skills.

  Her ultimate enemy.

  And maybe he too felt something similar, because she thought she saw the same excitement gleam in that mesmerizing green and gold gaze. A spark of heat that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps subconsciously he knew what he was facing and wanted the same challenge she did.

  No, fuck perhaps. He did want it.

  She smiled. “You know what? I have a theory. You don’t want easy, Jericho. And you don’t want me to give you the truth just like that. I think you want me to make you work for it.”

  He shifted in his seat, a lazy, languid movement. “Interesting theory. And why would I have any interest in working for it?”

  “Because you’re a man who can have anything he wants when he wants it. Because everything is easy for you. Because everyone does exactly what you say.” She crossed her feet at the ankles, the city lights glinting off the silver straps of her stilettos. “You want a challenge. And threatening me with death if I don’t tell you the truth makes everything far too simple.”

  “It would if you were afraid of me.”

  “But I’m not.”

  A silence fell, heavy, dense. Full of the same kind of pressure found at the bottom of a deep ocean.

  He was still, the sharp intensity of his gaze locked with hers. And her heartbeat sounded loud in her head all of a sudden, her mouth dry, a hot, tense feeling coiling tightly in her gut.

  She couldn’t work out what it was, why she wanted to keep staring at him and yet look away at the same time. Why she felt oddly vulnerable, as if he could see everything about her. The feeling was similar to the one she’d experienced as she’d sat in his lap, as he’d toyed with her nipple, making her feel … things. Unexpected things.

  Jericho moved slowly, lazily, like a great cat unfolding from sleep. He leaned forward, a faint smile playing around his beautiful mouth. “Yes, kitten,” he said softly. “Yes, you most certainly are.”

  * * *

  She didn’t like that, not at all. Her amber gaze widened and, beneath the veneer of confidence she drew about herself the way she’d drawn on his coat, he caught another glimpse of it. The flicker of fear. The same fear that had made her leap out of his lap back in the VIP room.

  Yet now she covered it as she had the last time, fussing a little with the lapels of his coat, sighing as if the conversation bored her. “Haven’t we talked about this? You seemed to think I wasn’t afraid of you.”

  “You’re speaking as if all fear is exactly the same. And it isn’t. There are many types of fear, Temple.”

  “And you would know, I suppose?”

  She said it as if she didn’t know who she was talking to. As if he hadn’t seen fear in every form there was, hadn’t felt it himself every single fucking day. Or at least he used to, until he’d gotten rid of that, along with every other emotion that got in the way of what he was trying to achieve.

  “I do know.” He watched her small, delicate face. The currents that moved in the gold of her eyes. The threat of physical harm had only made the fire inside her climb higher, as if danger made her burn more intensely, so no, it wasn’t that she was afraid of him. It was something else.

  Casually, he reached for the edge of his coat that she’d wrapped herself in and flipped it aside. She blinked yet didn’t move, letting the coat hang open. But he could sense the tension in her.

  He put his hand on her bare thigh, letting it rest there, her skin chilled from her wait outside while he’d talked to some of the club’s clients. He’d let her wait longer than strictly necessary, but he’d wanted to see what she’d do, what she’d give away.

  Nothing as it turned out. Like she gave away nothing now.

  She smiled. “Are we getting to that now then? I thought you were going to make me wait.” There was no break in her voice, no shake. Not like there had been back in the VIP room. When he’d touched her, when she’d sprung away from him in what had looked like an involuntary movement.

  She’d been scared then, oh yes, she had. This little kitten may not be afraid to die, but she was afraid of something. And he thought he knew what that was.

  Maybe it was time to test a theory of his own.

  Haven’t you got more important shit to do than play with this little girl?

  Sure, he did. But there was something about this woman, something that niggled away in his gut. She was a threat to him in some way, and if there was one thing that had helped him stay at the top of this cesspit of an empire of his, it was the fact that he never let a threat go unguarded.

  Slowly, he slid his palm higher up her thigh, feeling her skin begin to warm beneath his hand. “And what is it that you think we’re getting to?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought I’d need to spell it out.”

  He moved his hand higher, letting the tips of his fingers push up beneath the thin elastic waistband that was all that was keeping the sparkly g-string on, settling his thumb in the warm, sensitive crease between the top of her thigh and her groin. Feeling the muscles of her stomach tense in instinctive response. “Maybe you do need to spell it out,” he said softly, watching her face. “I want to know what it is you think you’re going to get.”

  Her gaze flicked down to where his hand rested on her skin, then came back to his face again. The pulse at the base of her throat beat fast. Faster than it should have.

  This was what she was afraid of. His touch. And not because she didn’t want it. As he’d already established, she did want it. Which meant that what she was afraid of was her own desire. For him.

  Interesting. No, not interesting. Downright fucking fascinating.

  “Well sex, I assume.” She paused, tilting her head, red curls falling over the shoulder of his coat. “I mean, isn’t that what you do with the women you take home?” Another pause, those quick, golden eyes searching his. “Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you tuck them into bed with a cup of hot cocoa instead.”

  Perceptive little bitch, wasn’t she? She was guessing, of course. She would have no idea how close to the truth that was.

  He moved his thumb, stroking her gently, feeling a shiver ripple through her in response, slight and barely imperceptible but there nonetheless. “That sounds like wishful thinking.” He kept his voice soft, watching the ember in her eyes begin to glow.

  She gave a short laugh that sounded forced. “It’s not. Personally I’d be disappointed. All the rumors, all the build-up, and then hot cocoa? Yeah, I’d be very disappointed.”

  Her confidence was slipping just a bit. There was a sense of fragility to it now, as if all it would take was a sharp blow to make it shatter. And he could do that. He should do that. No woman talked to him like she did, no one period. They shut their fucking mouths and
did what they were fucking told, and they certainly didn’t tell him about how disappointed they’d be if the rumors weren’t true.

  Dangerous. She was dangerous. Who the hell was she? Christ, she was right about one thing though: He was going to find out everything about her and no, he didn’t want her to make it easy for him. He wanted the test. Yeah, so his whole life up until this point had been a giant test, and being Jericho had pushed him to his limits and beyond them, but he had to admit that lately he’d gotten comfortable. Too comfortable.

  Maybe she was just the threat he needed to keep him on his toes.

  He didn’t say anything, stroking her again, the softness of her skin beneath his thumb. So warm. He missed warmth. In her amber eyes there was another glimmer of tension, though her body remained relaxed. Strange she should feel discomfort now when she’d had no problem handling him or touching him back at the club. But of course, that had been when she’d made the first move.

  “You don’t like it when you’re not the one in charge, do you?” he asked, keeping his thumb moving on her.

  She remained ostensibly relaxed, one arm along the back of the seat, the other resting on the thigh still covered by the coat. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you tensed the moment I touched you here. Yet you had no problems touching my cock back in the club.”

  A smile played around her mouth. “Who’s to say I’m not the one in charge now?”

  He paused the movement of his thumb, letting it sit there, studying her. She gave nothing away, delicate features full of amusement, hiding all trace of that tension, of the discomfort he’d seen before. She had herself well under control.

  Whoever she was, she was very, very good.

  Sadly for her, he was better.

  He gave a soft laugh. “You’re not the one in charge, kitten. I am.”

  “Really? Interesting since I wasn’t the one with the hard-on back there.”

  “True. And yet you were the one who leapt off my lap when I touched you.”

  “Like I said, that was because—”

  “You don’t like wanting a stranger,” he finished for her. “You also don’t like being restrained, and you don’t like being told what to do either.”

  An emotion chased across her face, so fast he couldn’t tell what it was before it was gone. “Well, sure.” She rolled her eyes as if he’d pointed out the obvious. “Who does like being told what to do?”

  “Some people do.” He stared into her golden eyes. “But I think you’re a woman who knows what she wants and who takes it regardless. A woman who likes to have control.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Or maybe I’m as submissive as they come.”

  “Oh no, kitten, I don’t think you’re submissive.” He paused, looking at her, reflecting. “Or maybe you are? Maybe that’s secretly what you long for.”

  And there it was again, a shadow deep in the amber depths of her gaze. A current of discomfort or doubt. Fear … She didn’t look away from him, and he knew that was because she was trying to hide it. But he saw anyway.

  She gave a derisive snort. “Sure I do. Hey, I can be whoever you want me to be. Isn’t that what all the girls say? If you want submissive, I’ll be submissive.” A hint of amusement glittered beneath her lashes. “Or if you want my boot on the back of your neck, I can do that too.”

  She was playing with him, the little bitch. But that was okay, he was letting her. Sometimes lulling a person into a false sense of security was necessary to make them drop their guard. You made them think they were dealing with a pussycat and then you turned around and bit their heads off.

  “Let’s make another deal,” he said lazily. “If I win, you answer one of my questions as honestly and completely as you can. If you win, the same goes for me.”

  Something in her posture changed, though she didn’t actually move. And he had the impression that her focus had narrowed suddenly and completely on him.

  So, she liked the idea of asking him questions, did she? Well, since he’d ruled out her being a stripper, maybe she was a spy sent by one of his competitors to get information from him. Or, shit, she might even be an undercover cop. That could be … fun.

  He studied her. “You like that idea?”

  “What? Of asking you questions?” Another of those secret smiles. “I like the idea of beating you better.”

  Little liar. He’d let that pass for now. “But you don’t know what the terms of the deal are yet.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on then. The suspense is killing me.”

  Yeah, this was going to be fun. She was too fucking confident, too fucking sure of herself. He was going to break her wide open.

  “The terms are as follows.” Keeping one hand on her thigh, he reached for the other edge of his coat, pulling that aside too so she was fully exposed. “I’ll touch you where I like, however I like, and with whatever I like.” Gently, he peeled off the other pastie from her breast. “If you manage to go the whole night without telling me to stop, you win.”

  Again that quality of stillness to her, as if she was a cat suddenly conscious of a bird within reach of her paw. “That sounds potentially painful.”

  “I’m not talking pain. I’m talking absolute and total control.”

  “What?” Her brow creased. “You mean I have to stay in control?”

  He smiled, because she wasn’t going to like this. Not one bit. “Oh no, kitten. Where’s the fun in that? No, I’m talking of me having absolute and total control of you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  That maddening, smug smile played around his beautiful mouth like a song, the kind that stuck in your head, that was impossible to get rid of.

  Absolute and total control …

  He knew. Somehow, he knew exactly what made her uncomfortable. What she didn’t like. What … disturbed her.

  The fucking asshole.

  She thought she’d been totally in command of herself, letting nothing slip, not even when he’d put his hand on her thigh, when his thumb had started stroking over her skin, making everything inside her pull together in a hard, tight knot of sensation. Somehow he’d picked up that she found the touch disquieting, though how, she had no idea. And now he was going to use that against her.

  Dammit.

  Come on, this is nothing. You’ve had pain, you’ve had torture, you’ve had all kinds of different shit. A night of kinky sex isn’t going to break you.

  No, it goddamned wouldn’t. Hell, if worse came to the worst, she could just kill him and questions be damned. Then again, if she did that, she’d never find out what had happened to Thalia. And she wanted to know. She had to know.

  So, she was just going to have to suck it up, wasn’t she? No point getting all worked up over it anyway. It was just sex and yeah, she’d had that many times before.

  Going to be slightly different this time around though.

  Temple looked into his cold, sharp green eyes, making no attempt to cover herself because that too would give away more than she was willing to reveal. “Do I have a choice about this?” she asked bluntly. “I mean, given that I’m your prisoner and all.”

  “No,” he replied, just as blunt. “I’ll do it anyway since you’re mine for the night. But at least this way you have a chance at getting something from it.”

  “Why? I thought you didn’t give a shit about what I wanted?”

  “I don’t. But maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t want this to be easy.” His gaze followed down the length of her exposed body, studying her in a curiously detached fashion, as if she was a canvas he was going to paint on and hadn’t quite decided where to start. “Maybe I want the challenge like you said. I don’t think threatening you with torture or death would work anyway.” His gaze flicked back to hers. “Pleasure is certainly a different approach.”

  As if being under someone else’s total control would be pleasurable. She’d been her own woman ever since she’d been sixteen years old and she liked it like that. The t
hought of him—especially him—being in charge of her was …

  Frightening?

  Firmly she pushed that thought away. Sex, it was just sex. A weapon, a tool. Meaningless. That’s all she had to keep thinking of it as.

  “Fine,” she said, keeping her voice steady and level. “You have a deal.”

  “Perfect.” He didn’t smile, just held her gaze for a second. Then he shifted, reaching over to the seat for his phone and, picking it up, looking down at the screen and punching in some numbers. Turning away from her, he began another conversation with someone in French, ignoring her as if she wasn’t lying stretched out beside him, the coat open to reveal her bare breasts.

  For some reason that annoyed her even more than his stupid deal had. So she made herself stay where she was with the coat open, lying there as if she didn’t care that he wasn’t looking at her, that she wasn’t bare to the waist, watching the lights of Paris shine through the windows of the limo and listening to the rise and fall of his beautiful voice.

  Maybe she slept or dozed, or fell into a kind of half-daze, because it seemed quite suddenly that the limo stopped and the door was pulled open, a rush of cold air over her bare skin making her nearly gasp.

  “Out,” Jericho murmured in her ear. “We’re here.”

  Pulling herself together, Temple gathered the coat around her and managed to get out of the limo without falling over her stilettos.

  Ahead of her was a beautiful old building of weathered gray stone, with huge windows covered by shutters, small wrought iron balconies, and steep, sloping roofs of dark gray slate.

  She knew nothing of Parisian architecture, nothing of Paris at all really, but this building seemed to encapsulate everything she’d dimly heard about the city. About its beauty, its elegance, and its age, not to mention the fact that it looked like a place someone with millions, if not billions, of dollars would live in.

  Perfect beauty for a perfectly beautiful crime lord. Perhaps this building was rotten to the core too.

  The Russian bodyguard shut the limo door behind Jericho then strode up to the arched front door of the building. Punching in a code on some buttons on a control panel set into one of the stone pillars that stood on either side of the door, he then pushed the door open. His attention flicked down the street and back again, clearly on the alert for any threats.