In Bed With the Billionaire Page 7

  Fuck. It looked like the old man was gearing up for another of his pissing contests, which meant continuing to argue would only make him look weak, and he couldn’t ever afford to look weak, not even when he was pretending to be a mere lieutenant of Jericho’s. Not with these bastards breathing down his neck.

  “What do you want, sir?” Temple’s husky voice, soft and full of respect filled the room suddenly. “I’m at your service.”

  Jericho tensed even further. What the hell did she think she was doing?

  “Down,” Anatoly said in his thick English, spreading his knees. “On the floor.”

  Temple turned, bending to put the tray back down on the table, and as she did so, her bright golden gaze caught Jericho’s. Again, there was no fear there anywhere. If anything, she looked impatient, as if she wanted to get this over and done with so she could get on with more important things. And there was also just the slightest hint of a defiance there too, as if she was pushing him again.

  Little bitch. Was this to test his word? To see if he’d do what he promised? Or was this to see how far he’d let this go?

  Well, he could let this go as far as he fucking liked. And if that involved her having to suck Anatoly Lychenko’s dick in front of everyone then maybe he should let her.

  You don’t want her to do that, though.

  No. Christ, he really didn’t. She was his tonight. The only dick she’d be sucking was his.

  He sat back in his armchair and raised his hand. Instantly the doors of the lounge crashed opened and Dmitri strode in.

  “This little shit is touching what isn’t his,” Jericho said without inflection. “Show him what we do to thieves.”

  Dmitri didn’t even break stride. He moved to where Temple stood and pulled her out of Anatoloy’s grip. Then he took the younger man’s wrist in one powerful hand and jerked him bodily out of the sofa, forcing the hand down onto the glass of the coffee table.

  Vassily was on his feet, shouting something, while Anatoly cursed and struggled.

  Dmitri, ignoring everyone, drew a long knife from its holster strapped around his thigh and raised it over Anatoly’s wrist.

  Jericho could not afford for these men to ignore him. He could not afford to show weakness. And since the only language they were familiar with was violence, that’s the language he would speak. Luckily he was well versed in it.

  He let Dmitri start to bring the blade down, Anatoly already screaming in anticipation of the pain, then he said sharply and coldly, “Stop.”

  Dmitri’s blade froze, inches from Anatoly’s pallid wrist.

  There was a moment’s silence, full of the echoes of Anatoly’s scream and Vassily’s loud curses.

  But Jericho didn’t look at either of them. He looked at Temple. She was standing to the side, watching Dmitri with an expression that he thought seemed almost … professional. Then, when the blade didn’t continue its downward fall, she glanced at him, and he saw it, the slight curl of her mouth in a smile that could only be called wicked. As if this was what she’d been wanting all along.

  Christ, had she been playing him? Had she been playing all of them?

  It moved through him then, something like respect and something else, deeper, darker. Hotter.

  This woman, whoever she was, whatever she was, he wanted her. He wanted that spark inside her, that wicked smile, that defiance. He wanted to take it, explore it. Own it.

  Somehow she’d taken a situation where she had no power at all and had turned it on its head, completely disrupted it. She’d forced his hand and all because of a promise he’d made to her.

  Fuck, since when had anyone forced him to do anything?

  He was going to crack her open and take whatever was inside. He was going to take it all.

  Vassily was shouting again, spouting nonsense about how Jericho was going to pay for this, about how he was going to suffer and how there would be no alliances. The usual bullshit.

  “Silence.” Jericho shaped his voice like a blade, as sharp as Dmitri’s knife, cutting the older man off. “Stop posturing, Lychenko. We both know Anatoly is a little prick who needs to learn to respect his betters, especially his betters’ property.”

  The Russian’s face was beet red. But since his bodyguards were all outside, he could do nothing. “This alliance is dead,” he snarled pointlessly.

  Jericho slowly put down his own vodka glass. “No, it isn’t. You need it, and we both know it. Now, Jericho is a generous man and a forgiving one. Anatoly made a mistake, but he can keep his hand this time.” Holding the old man’s gaze, he went on. “Dmitri? See that the Lychenkos have unrestricted access to the club, and I do mean unrestricted. Everything is on the house.”

  That should keep things sweet for a while at least. The Russians were a pain in his ass, but in the end they were simple, and at least his point would have been made.

  Now he had to make another one.

  “Come here, kitten,” he ordered Temple.

  She hesitated only a second, coming over to his chair, her head down, not meeting his gaze. Her manner was subservient, and yet the way she moved was as far from subservient as it was possible to get, a swing in her hips, her shoulders back and proud.

  Oh, he was going to enjoy taking her down, yeah, he really would.

  “We were having an interesting business discussion, and now you’ve ruined it.” He kept his voice mild, knowing it sounded all the more threatening for it. “On your knees.”

  She blinked at him, meeting his gaze for a second, and he could see first the surprise then the fleeting look of annoyance in her eyes.

  “Are you questioning me?” he asked, making sure she heard the edge of menace in the words.

  The annoyance in her eyes flickered. “No.”

  “Good. Now turn around and get down on your knees.”

  There was no hesitation this time as she obediently turned to face the rest of the room, dropping gracefully to her knees in front of his chair as if she was sitting down at a table ready to dine.

  He reached forward and buried one hand in the softness of her hair, closing his fingers tight on her curls and jerking her head back hard. Her intake of breath was barely audible, but he heard it, the darkest part of him savagely pleased at the sound.

  You shouldn’t be doing this. Let someone else find out who she is.

  No. She was his now and so were her secrets. He would be the one who discovered them, no one else.

  He tightened his grip in her hair, drawing her head back even farther, exposing her throat and arching her back. “Apologize to my guests, kitten.”

  “I’m … sorry.” Her voice sounded strained, her body quivering with tension, but he didn’t let go or loosen his grip.

  Anatoly was shaking his hand and cursing, his narrow face pale as he got up from the sofa. “Fucking not worth it anyway,” he muttered furiously in Russian. “Redheaded slut. I’ll fucking kill you.”

  But his uncle laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and pushed him hard toward the doors.

  Jericho kept Temple exactly where she was as the two men left the room, her hair soft and warm against his skin. He didn’t want to let it go. He wanted to wind it around his wrist like a leash, holding onto her as he did whatever the hell he wanted with her.

  He looked down at her as the doors closed behind the Russians, her head bent back so her gaze was directed to the ceiling, her body arched. The pulse at the base of her throat beat fast, and there was a slight flush to her lovely, milky skin.

  “A crime lord who keeps his promises,” she murmured a little breathlessly, her subservience melting away as if he wasn’t pulling her hair so hard that it had to have been hurting. “Who knew? Except you told me you’d cut off any body part that touched me and that bastard still has his hand.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have manipulated me then.” He adjusted his hold, drawing her head farther back so she was staring directly up at him. “I don’t like being played.”

  Her eyes glinte
d. “Bullshit. I think you love it. Anyway, I didn’t disobey you, did I?”

  Oh, she was skirting the line, beautiful little bitch that she was. He studied her face, trying to see behind those amber eyes, figure out where all this confidence, this power, came from. “You were encouraging Anatoly, don’t think I didn’t notice. Why? What were you trying to do?”

  She shifted and that had to be because she was uncomfortable, bent back the way she was, but no sign of it showed in her face. And he was conscious once more of the subtle scent of her body, something musky and sweet, filling his senses and making him hard. Of the feel of her hair around his fist, silky curls spilling over his thighs. Of her mouth, that perfect little cupid’s bow, curving in a secret smile as if even now, even like this, it was she who had the upper hand.

  Of the brilliant gold of her eyes, staring up at him, swallowing him whole.

  “If you want to know that, you’ll have to win this deal then, won’t you?” Her voice was soft, taunting.

  He smiled down at her, tightening his grip on her hair. “I’m not sure you want to keep throwing down challenges like that.” He raised his other hand, placing one finger on the pulse at her throat, feeling it race beneath his touch. “Not when you have no idea what I really am.” And she really didn’t. No one did. Who he was inside was a secret he kept all to himself.

  “So why don’t you show me?” There was a hard glitter in her eyes. “I can take it. I’m stronger than I look.”

  Oh yes, she definitely was, no doubt about that. “This isn’t about pain, Temple, I told you that in the car.” He moved the finger at her throat, slowly sliding it over smooth, silky skin, down to the curve of one breast, gently circling one proud nipple. “This is about pleasure.”

  A flush tinged her skin, her pupils dilating, her body tensing. A flash of anger moved in the golden depths of her gaze. No, she didn’t like wanting him. Didn’t like the way she responded to him. Maybe this deal would be easier to win than he thought.

  Christ, he hoped not.

  “I can take that too.” Her voice was thicker now, but her jaw had hardened, as if she was bracing herself for something.

  “Can you?” Gently he took one little nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Prove it then.”

  And he pinched her.

  Hard.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sensation arrowed from her nipple straight down between her thighs like a flaming sword, and it was all she could do to hold in the sudden gasp it drew from her.

  Instinctive anger rose, but she fought it down. Whatever she felt didn’t matter. Just like those stupid Russian assholes hadn’t mattered. Just like standing there serving them vodka hadn’t mattered. Just like that prick’s hand on her ass hadn’t mattered.

  Just like the way Jericho protected you didn’t matter?

  God no. Especially not that. She didn’t need any man’s protection, not these days.

  No, none of it mattered. The only thing that did was getting the information out of him. The man with his fist buried in her hair, who was holding her at his feet with her head bent back. So she had no choice but to look up into his sharp, green-gold eyes. Into his beautiful face.

  Oh, she could have gotten away. A twist here, an elbow there, and she’d have loosened his hold on her. But she couldn’t. No matter how much she didn’t like being this willingly helpless in front of a man, she had to ignore her own feelings.

  She was going to win this deal, she just fucking would.

  “This is hard for you,” he murmured, the soft velvet of his voice rolling over her. “You don’t want to feel anything when I touch you.” Another pinch, just as hard, the same white-hot bolt of feeling piercing her.

  She gritted her teeth silently, staring up at him. He was right, but she wasn’t going to tell him that, wasn’t going to give him any more ammunition. She just had to keep telling herself that pleasure didn’t matter. That it meant nothing. “What makes you say that?”

  “Your jaw is tight and I can see you resisting.”

  “Maybe I just don’t like having my head jerked back like this.”

  “I know you don’t. That’s why I’m doing it.” The pressure on her nipple released, and she could feel his palm against the underside of her breast, cupping her. “You don’t like me touching you like this either.” This time a gentle stroke of his thumb over her achingly hard nipple, making her want to shiver. “In fact, I bet even now you’re trying to think of some way to get back the control.”

  “No.” Her voice sounded hoarse and thick. Dammit. “You want to win this and so do I. Which means I do what you say, and you have the control.”

  “It also means I’m going to push you until you say stop.”

  She made herself smile at him, a “fuck you” straight in his face. “I’m not going to say stop. I told you, I can take anything.”

  Gold flared deep in his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

  Pressure released all of a sudden, her head freed, and she found herself kneeling facing the beautifully appointed lounge with its expensively upholstered white couches and antique furniture. It looked like something out of a magazine, from a movie star’s house, from the art on the walls to the bowl of exquisite white roses on the coffee table. A place where people came to sit and enjoy the surroundings or talk about intellectual subjects.

  Not a place where a woman stood naked merely to add to the decor. Where a man could grab her, only to have that hand nearly cut off. Not that she cared—she would have done it herself if all this hadn’t been so very important. But the beauty of the room was just another reminder of where she was. Of who was sitting in the chair behind her, as classically beautiful as the room ahead of her.

  A man with poison in his veins. A monster.

  A monster who nearly cut off that asshole’s hand just because he touched you. A monster who makes you wet.

  A breath shuddered out of her, the pressure between her thighs acute. She didn’t want to look down at herself, didn’t want to see the evidence of what he was doing to her. She just had to keep thinking of the end result. Of Thalia.

  “Come here,” he said quietly, an unmistakable order.

  She turned, looking over her shoulder at him.

  He was sitting back in the white armchair, his long, lean body stretched out. The white cotton of his shirt was open at the throat, the strong column of his neck exposed, revealing smooth tanned skin. He looked ostensibly relaxed, safe in his power, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he wasn’t dangerous, not for a second. This was a predator merely waiting for its prey.

  Good thing she had no intention of being prey.

  She rose to her feet, making the movement lithe and graceful, then turned to face him. Raised a brow. “Anywhere in particular?”

  His head tilted and he stared at her for one long second. Then he smiled, hard-edged and bright as a sword. Slowly, he pushed himself out of the chair, unfolding himself to his full height right in front of her. A broad-shouldered wall of hard muscle and warm skin, towering over her, no doubt trying to intimidate her.

  But she wasn’t intimidated.

  She looked up at him, meeting his gaze head-on.

  “You’re not very biddable are you?” His hand lifted, and strangely, he touched her cheek lightly in an almost-caress.

  She blinked, put momentarily off balance by the touch. “Hey, I did what you told me to.”

  His hand dropped, and he hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her suddenly and hard against him. The heat of him stole her breath, her palms coming up instinctively to press against the firm, hot wall of his chest, trying to keep some distance between them.

  But there was no distance to be had. He bent his head, his mouth covering hers before she even realized what he was going to do. The kiss was as raw and demanding as the one back in the club had been and another deep, hidden instinct had her stiffening in preparation for pulling away.

  Except his hand was at the back of her head, h
olding her there, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. And then he slid his tongue deep into her mouth, taking what he wanted whether she wanted to give it to him or not.

  Her heart seized, an electric thrill moving through her. He tasted hot, the bite of the vodka he’d been drinking giving the kiss an alcoholic kick that made her dizzy. A wave of uncontrollable heat prickled, her skin tightening, making her acutely aware that she was naked. That the cotton of his shirt was rubbing against her sensitive nipples, the wool of his pants against her bare pussy …

  Temple tried to breathe, tried to shift in his arms, anything to relieve the pressure that coiled tightly inside her, to take some of the control back. But she couldn’t move.

  And then she felt his hand slide between them, his fingers pushing down between her thighs without any hesitation, spreading the folds of her pussy and finding her clit, brushing a fingertip over it. She stiffened, the intensity of the sensation catching her by surprise.

  Oh, shit, this was … good. It feels so good. And you want it.

  His finger circled again, his mouth hot, demanding, the kiss becoming deep and wet and carnal. Unlike any other kiss she’d ever had. But no, she couldn’t think that, couldn’t make this different in any way. This was a means to an end, that’s all.

  And yet she shuddered under the touch of his stroking finger, the pleasure so acute it was almost pain. A dim panic began to twist inside her, but she tried to ignore it. So what if he made her feel good? It was only physical. It didn’t touch her in any real way.

  It’s a betrayal. And you like betrayals.

  No … No, the past had nothing to do with this. Nothing.

  His finger circled her clit then pressed down on it, and this time there was no stopping the sharp gasp that escaped her or the sharpening of the panic that followed it.

  She wasn’t used to physical pleasure. No one had ever given her any. The only time she’d ever taken some for herself was when she was alone, when she was tired and needed to sleep, to relax.

  It wasn’t like this, being held in a man’s arms. Where she wasn’t the one directing how fast or how slow. How hard. When to stop and when to keep going. Where she was completely at his mercy.