The Billion Dollar Bad Boy Page 6

  All here to view the scandal that had rocked New York the previous month: straight-arrow Jax Morrow’s engagement to Pandora Garret, the daughter of one of New York’s biggest crime bosses.

  Donovan lounged against the bar, scanning the crowds, irritated with the décor that prevented him from seeing who was who.

  Massive, luxurious red velvet couches had been arranged at intervals throughout the huge space, long fringes hanging from the ceiling creating the illusion of walls around each of the arrangements, giving the feeling of intimacy without cutting them off from the rest of the bar. Discreet lighting furthered the intimate atmosphere.

  Nice from a style point of view but what with the fringes and the lighting, he couldn’t see a damn thing.

  He’d spent the past couple of hours doing his thing, meeting and greeting, oiling the wheels, making sure everything ran smoothly and that everyone was having a good time. It could have been awkward, the Morrow past dragged into the spotlight again following Jax’s engagement to Pandora, but Donovan made sure it wasn’t. Easing fears and calming doubts.

  Of course Morrow Inc. wasn’t going to be involved in any of “that kind of thing” again. Of course it didn’t mean Morrow had ties to Garret. Of course Pandora had nothing to do with her father these days.

  But for the first time in his life, he couldn’t seem to concentrate fully on the party. He was too distracted thinking about what had happened in the limo. Thinking about Victoria.

  Thinking about why the fuck he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  What have you done to me?

  She’d lain on the seat after that orgasm he’d given her, thighs apart, flaming hair spread out like a sunset all over the leather, soft and warm and flushed with her arms flung up as if in surrender. That mask gone.

  And for a second that’s all he’d wanted, too. Not to have to wear the mask.

  To not be Donovan Morrow, the face of Morrow Inc., PR magician and professional playboy. To be himself.

  As if you know who that is.

  “What’s your problem? Did someone finally say no to you or something?”

  Donovan didn’t turn as Jax approached. Like he needed yet another visual of a man sickeningly in love.

  That his famously emotionless brother should fall for the lie that was love still surprised him. Clearly the guy’s capacity for self-delusion went further than Donovan had ever suspected. Yet he didn’t begrudge Jax the lie. Pandora was gorgeous and had improved his brother’s mood no end, which was a bonus. It was just that sooner or later it would all come crashing down, because that’s what happened with love. He’d witnessed it too many times to count over the years he’d spent as his father’s corporate spy, seducing the secrets out of his father’s business rivals, trading on his looks and the charm that would eventually get him his own PR company.

  Love was an illusion. A mirage. People were wrong about religion being the opiate of the masses. Love was the true opiate.

  Good thing he’d long overcome the craving because, as with any addiction, you could never get enough. God knew he’d spent long enough chasing fixes with his father.

  “No,” Donovan said, raising the tumbler of neat Scotch he held in his hand and taking a sip. The stuff was expensive but he barely tasted it. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’ve been standing there scowling at the crowd for the last ten minutes.”

  “Scowling? I’ll have you know I never scowl. I just crease my forehead in an adorable fashion.”

  “Who is it this time?” Jax said, unfazed. “The blonde in the corner over there?”

  “What blonde?”

  There was a silence from beside him. He glanced at his brother, met the other man’s surprised blue eyes. “What?”

  “I don’t know, you tell me. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you be completely uninterested in a hot woman.”

  Red hair like a sunset. Sweet and hot and spicy against your tongue.

  Donovan’s fingers curled around the whiskey tumbler. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m not in the mood.”

  “Bullshit. You’re always in the mood.”

  What have you done to me?

  Christ, what had she done to him more like? He couldn’t stop thinking about her. About what happened between them. About that raw, naked look in her eyes as the aftershocks had gripped them. He’d never had it so intense, not with anyone, and God, he wanted more.

  She’d called it done. But they weren’t done. So not done. Not if he had anything to do with it.

  He took another tasteless sip of his whiskey. “No, I’m done with women. I’m thinking of taking up golf instead. I hear hitting balls with clubs is very therapeutic.”

  Jax eyed him.. “How did the meeting go?”

  Ah, shit. Trust Jax to remember the whole reason he’d been late to the party in the first place. Donovan forced a grin. “Extremely well.”

  “The De Winter offer’s good then?”

  “Almost.”

  “What do you mean, almost? You’ve been saying ‘almost’ about every damn offer we’ve had so far. We need that fucking thing gone, Van.”

  Anger turned over inside him, along with a good, healthy measure of frustration. “‘Oh, please, ‘we’ don’t need anything. It’s you that wants to sell it, not me.”

  His brother’s expression became stony. “We’ve had this discussion.”

  “Bullshit we had a discussion. You gave out a set of orders and that was the extent of the discussion.”

  “The land is a liability, Van, you know this.”

  “That land is my fucking birthright, Jax, and you have no right to sell it.”

  Donovan met his brother’s steely gaze and tension echoed in the air around them, sharp and hot.

  “Hey Van.” Pandora appeared suddenly out of the crowds, tugging on Jax’s arm and smiling at Donovan. “Do you mind if I grab my Prince Charming here? They’re playing our song.”

  With an effort, Donovan relaxed against the bar, hoping his smile didn’t look as forced as it actually was. “Sure. Be my guest.”

  Jax turned his glare on his fiancée. “We don’t have a song.”

  “We do now. Come on, I haven’t had enough dancing. Oh and FYI, quit it with the scowl. I was hoping to marry Prince Charming, not Grumpy the dwarf.”

  Jax rolled his eyes but let himself be led away. As he went, he gave Donovan a “we’ll talk about this later” look, which was pretty much par for the course with Jax and his big-brother shtick. The guy never took “fuck off” for an answer.

  As the pair of them left, Donovan found himself watching the way his brother’s hand rested in the center of Pandora’s mostly bare back, fingers trailing over the red silk of her gown. A protective gesture.

  The sight needled him for some reason.

  As if he needed an extra needle.

  Damn fucking Jax and his refusal to see reason.

  He’d never been jealous of his brother, not even when it had been clear their father preferred Jax. His older brother had always looked out for him and looked out for him still, Donovan knew that.

  But right now Jax’s rigid attitude needed a damn adjustment. His brother had never known what it was like to not feel a part of your own family. To have the name and the blood but not the acceptance. Even Sean, their half-brother and the outsider, had been more of a Morrow than Donovan had. Donovan was too good, too needy, too desperate for approval to be a true Morrow, and his father had always despised neediness in all its forms.

  No, this land was his chance to finally have what Jax had. A piece of the Morrow legacy that was all his. If only he could get his brother to see it.

  Donovan leaned against the bar and knocked back the rest of the Scotch. Trying to find a good mood at the bottom of a whiskey tumbler was probably a mistake but hell, he’d done it before. He’d do it again.

  As he did so a flash of red in the shifting crowd caught his attention. A woman in a plain black strapless cocktail dress, standing out in
the heavily couture crowd like a pure white lily in a field full of poppies. The only bright thing about her was her hair, a knot of red on top of her head.

  Victoria.

  She was talking to Alex St. James, the owner of the 2nd Circle and a playboy with an even more infamous reputation than Donovan’s. He must have said something funny because she laughed, her cool self-containment dropping, warm amusement lighting her expression.

  A tight feeling lodged behind his breastbone.

  You stupid prick. Did you think you’re the only one she drops her mask for?

  He shoved that thought away, watching as a flare of interest passed over St. James’s face, the man’s smile widening. He leaned down, his mouth close to Victoria’s ear, murmuring something to her. His hand drifted to the small of her back. That protective, possessive gesture.

  A raw, primitive, and wholly unfamiliar feeling flooded Donovan, his muscles tensing in preparation to go over there and tell that son of a bitch to take his hands off her.

  He’d even taken the first step when he caught himself, aware suddenly of what he’d been about to do.

  What the fuck? He didn’t get jealous. He never got jealous. Jealousy implied that he gave a shit and he didn’t give a shit.

  What have you done to me?

  Nothing. He’d done nothing to her. And she’d done nothing to him.

  And maybe she was right. Maybe they should call it done. Maybe it was over and he should let it go. Let what happened in the limo, stay in the limo.

  At that moment, she turned her head, her cool gaze catching his. And he felt the electricity arc between them. Electricity that shouldn’t still be there and yet, inexplicably, was.

  With a conscious effort he relaxed his muscles. Settled back against the bar. Held her gaze.

  She’d said she was going to give him a couple of hours before she’d find him to “discuss” the De Winter offer, and she had. Pity. Earlier he might have been up for further “discussion.” But not now.

  Because it wasn’t her that was important.

  It was his birthright. His legacy.

  And he was going to keep it no matter what offers Victoria de Winter came up with.

  No matter what his damn brother said.

  Chapter 5

  “Over there, by the bar,” Alex St. James whispered in Victoria’s ear. “I think Donovan Morrow wants to kill me.”

  She turned her head and looked because she couldn’t help it.

  Sure enough, she spotted him through the crowd, leaning back against the matte black bar, looking dissolute and thoroughly disreputable with his tie loose and his collar undone. He was smiling but it was razor sharp, and when his gaze met hers, all the air in her lungs abruptly disappeared.

  “Well, unless you have some competing docklands real estate to sell me, then I can’t think why,” she said, pleased with how cool her voice was.

  “I can think of a reason. And it doesn’t have anything to do with real estate.”

  Victoria made herself look away from Donovan, trying to get her breathing under control. “Like what? We’re doing business together.”

  “Men don’t look at women like that over business, darling.”

  “Men shouldn’t look at women like that at all.”

  Alex gave a soft laugh. “But where’s the fun in that? Don’t worry, Victoria, I’m the very soul of discretion.” He stepped away from her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your … business. I have some other women I need to go and harass.”

  Victoria flicked a glance back over to where Donovan stood at the bar. He had the fingers of one hand curled around an empty crystal whiskey tumbler, the other hand in his pocket, leaning there casual and slightly bored. As if he was standing at a bus stop waiting for a bus.

  As she met his eyes again, the smile that curved his sensual mouth lost its sharp edge and softened with an echo of heat. He lifted a brow at her in a silent question, then took his hand out of his pocket, glancing down at his watch rather pointedly.

  Irritation crept down her spine. He didn’t want to discuss this deal anyway so why was he acting all impatient about it? She’d been on her way to talk to him when Alex St. James had waylaid her. And you didn’t say no to Alex St. James. No one did.

  A small vibration came from her phone in the beaded clutch she held. No prizes for guessing what that was about. Her father, probably. As soon as she’d gotten out of the limo, she’d had a De Winter minion courier her over a dress so that she didn’t have to wear her suit to the party, changing quickly in one of the 2nd Circle’s opulent powder rooms. No doubt her father had found out about the dress and wanted to know exactly what the hell she was doing attending a Morrow party.

  Victoria took her phone out and glanced down to check the text. Sure enough, a text from her father glowed on the screen. What the hell are you doing at Jax Morrow’s party?

  Damn. She hadn’t wanted to talk with him until the deal was in the bag.

  Quickly, she sent him back a response. A deal, Dad. You’ll see. Then she turned off her phone to prevent him from harassing her further, and put it back in the clutch. She steeled herself. And began to move through the crowd to the bar.

  Donovan watched her all the way, that charming, insolent smile curling his mouth. But something glowed in the depths of his eyes. Something hard. Something determined.

  It made her heart speed up and excitement gather in her throat.

  Why was the thought of matching wills with him again so thrilling? So much more intoxicating than the one glass of champagne she’d allowed herself? God. It didn’t bear thinking about. Especially when all those kinds of thoughts kept leading back to one place: the limo.

  “Ah, Ms. de Winter,” Donovan said as she approached the bar, his voice full of lazy heat. “At last. You said two hours and it’s a couple of minutes past that now. I was getting anxious.”

  “Really? And here I was thinking you didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course I want to talk about it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good party by discussing business?”

  “So, have you had a chance to consider my earlier offer?” She found herself clutching her purse somewhat more tightly than she should have been. “I’ll get a better deal together and we can meet tomorrow.”

  Donovan made a soft humming sound, looking down into his tumbler as he did so, a meditative look on his face. “A better deal. Tomorrow. It’s an attractive offer, I have to admit.”

  Victoria stayed quiet. . He was going to go for it, he was. The land would be hers and finally she would have done something right.

  Finally her father would realize what he had in her.

  That she might not have the de Winter blood but she was a de Winter in everything else that mattered.

  Donovan looked up from his glass, still smiling. But there was a hard gleam in his eyes. “Yes, a very attractive offer. But the answer, Victoria, is no.”

  She fought to keep the disappointment off her face. “What? No, the offer isn’t good enough? Or no, you want more time to consider?”

  He straightened against the bar, placing his tumbler very precisely down on top of it. Then looked at her, his eyes hard chips of turquoise. “The answer is no, I will never sell Morrow land. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

  Shock coursed down her spine but she held herself strong against it. Refused to let it get to her. “You’re bluffing.”

  He leaned back on his elbow, quirked a brow. “You think?”

  “Your brother wants to sell it.”

  “My brother is wrong. It’s Morrow land and it’s staying in Morrow hands.”

  No, she was not going to let him have this. She was not going to let him take this deal from her, not now when she was so close. She’d never let a deal she wanted slip through her fingers. She wasn’t about to let this one go now.

  She took a deep, silent breath, controlling the shock and surge of anger. Made herself give him a cool smile in return. �
��Does Jax know you’ve decided not to sell?”

  His expression didn’t change but she saw the slight flicker in his eyes. So slight she might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching. “This,” Donovan said in a hard voice, “has nothing to do with Jax.”

  So he didn’t want his brother to know. Finally, she had leverage.

  Victoria leaned her hip against the bar. “Hasn’t it? I wonder what he’d say if he knew that you’re refusing our—let’s face it—more than generous offer.”

  The lines of Donovan’s features hardened. He was not smiling at all now, anger glowing in the depths of his eyes.

  And perversely, all she felt was more excitement building in her chest, in her throat. Excitement that she’d made him drop that lazy, taunting playboy mask he wore. That she’d made him reveal himself.

  “I mean,” she went on, sensing her advantage, “if you’re not amenable, I could even take it to him directly. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to—”

  He moved, so fast she didn’t have time to get away, his hands on her hips, pulling her close. She froze, heat radiating out from where his hands touched her, stealing her breath, stealing all thought.

  His mouth was at her ear, his breath feathering the side of her neck, all warmth and the smokiness of the whiskey he’d been drinking. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Each word soft, firm. Then he leaned in further, took her earlobe between his teeth, and, very gently, bit her.

  It felt like she’d stuck her finger in a power socket, a surge of electricity shooting straight through her. Making her move instinctively, without a thought, uncaring of where they were, turning her head so her mouth met his sensual taunting one. Conducting the current between them into one hot, aching endless loop.

  Everything stopped. There was nothing but this moment. Nothing but her mouth on his and the heat that echoed and reverberated through them.

  Donovan pulled away after what felt like eons, his eyes so dark the color looked obscured by thunderclouds. “Don’t do this,” he said quietly. “Not business. Not tonight.”