The Billionaire's Virgin Page 8

  Out the windows, snow swirled in the air, blocking the view.

  It was like being in a cloud.

  Putting the backpack on the floor, Mia got out of the bed and went to the door, pulling it open and peering down the hallway. There was no one around, silence hanging heavy in the air.

  Cautiously, she went down the hallway and through into the living area.

  That too was empty, the windows of the living room white with snow and cloud.

  Moving over to them, Mia stared at the whiteness beyond the glass. The silent whirl of the weather outside made her feel oddly disconnected from it, as if she’d been transported to another world like the one in the pages of that science fiction book.

  It was weird. She felt . . . good. Which wasn’t normal for her when she woke up. Usually her back ached and her hands and feet were sometimes numb, but that wasn’t a problem this morning. If it was morning, that was.

  Most of the time she woke when the sun came up, the sounds of sirens or garbage trucks her alarm clock. She was also used to sleeping lightly, in case someone crept up on her, but she had the feeling she’d slept both deeply and heavily the night before.

  It made her uneasy.

  Turning from the window, she took another look around the room, disturbed by the silence.

  Where was Xavier? And what was she supposed to do now?

  She wanted to leave as quickly as possible, because the longer she stayed here, the more difficult it was going to be to go back to the streets. Yet, she couldn’t leave because her clothes were nowhere in sight.

  On the low coffee table with all the magazines on it, was a piece of paper with a pen tossed carelessly beside it. Curious, she went over and picked up the paper.

  It was a note covered with a bold, black untidy scrawl. She could barely read the words and had to concentrate hard to make sense of them.

  I have to go out. Don’t worry about your clothes, they’re being cleaned. Eat anything you want in the kitchen and watch some TV. I’ll be back very soon. X.

  PS. If you leave with my robe, I’ll be very unhappy.

  She frowned at the paper. The last bit was probably a joke, but she couldn’t quite tell. Sure, she wanted to leave, but obviously going out into the snow in only his robe wasn’t a good idea—even she knew that.

  Putting down the paper, Mia looked around again, marveling again at the whole place. The thick carpet, the massive windows. The white leather couches and the sleek shelves, the banks of electronics and the flat, black expanse of what must be the TV on one wall. He’d said something about the controls last night, but she had no idea how to work them, not when she could barely use a computer.

  Tony had been helping her with getting all those papers and things, and had shown her how to search for stuff on the internet. But she’d never used a computer before and didn’t much like having the depth of her ignorance on show, so she’d only shaken her head when he’d tried to make her do it, getting him to do the searches for her instead.

  Wrinkling her nose at the TV, Mia decided to ignore it, moving down the hallway toward the kitchen instead, since food was far more important than TV. She only hoped she didn’t have to cook anything. Using an oven was okay and she could operate a microwave, but putting stuff together that wasn’t a sandwich? Not so much.

  Yet when she got there, she had to stop in the doorway, an odd, tight feeling in her chest. Because some bread and butter had already been put out on the counter, with various other spreads lined up next to them. There was also a glass of milk and a glass of what had to be orange juice standing next to the breadboard.

  He’d done that for her. It could only have been him.

  The tight feeling moved from her chest up into her throat and she didn’t know where it had come from, but she didn’t like it. Trying to ignore it, she went over to the counter and set about making herself a sandwich.

  There were all kinds of spreads, but she settled on the familiar—some strawberry jelly—slathering the bread thickly just because she could. Then she ate standing there at the counter, not bothering with a plate, sipping alternately from the milk and the orange juice. Part of her didn’t want to savor anything, in case she got too attached to the taste, but she decided to ignore that part of herself. She had the food now and not savoring it even a little seemed wrong.

  It was delicious. So delicious she had to make herself a second sandwich and she ate that up quickly too, already thinking about a third. But then she knew from experience that she’d end up feeling sick if she ate too much, so she contented herself with licking the crumbs from her fingers instead.

  She was just finishing up the orange juice when the sound of the elevator opening had her freezing into place.

  Was that Xavier? Was he home?

  A curious burst of some emotion that she didn’t quite understand went through her, and she found herself heading through the doorway of the kitchen before she’d even thought it through.

  Sure enough, there was a man standing by the elevators, a tall man with black hair. He was dressed in a dark suit and she thought for a second it was Xavier. Then he turned around.

  It wasn’t Xavier at all.

  His face was similar. He had the same arrogant cheekbones and high forehead, the same straight nose and firm jaw. His mouth was harder though and there was no curve to it, his eyes the dark, dangerous gray of snow-heavy storm clouds, and just as cold.

  He gave her the kind of look she expected, the kind of look men like him always gave women like her, sharp with contempt and dismissal. And she found herself drawing Xavier’s robe tighter around her, a chill creeping into her bones.

  “Of course,” the man said, cold contempt dripping from each word. “It’s not Xavier’s house without a naked woman wandering around it.”

  Every muscle in Mia’s body tightened in response to threat. And not the strange kind that she’d felt around Xavier, the kind that involved excitement. No, this was all danger and fear.

  She took a step back, trying to remember where the doorway to the bedroom was, so she could dart in there, find the knife Xavier had given her. Or maybe she could run to one side of the man and head to the elevators. Get out that way.

  “Where is he?” the man demanded, beginning to walk toward her. “Tell him to get his sorry ass out here. I’ve got something I want to say to him.”

  She took another step back, her heart slamming against her ribs, not taking her eyes off the threat in front of her.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, impatiently. “I haven’t got all day. Where the fuck is Xavier?”

  “He’s here, asshole.” A familiar, deep voice said from the elevators.

  The other man turned sharply.

  Mia went still.

  Xavier was stepping out of the elevator and coming down the hallway, long strides closing the distance between him and the other man. He didn’t stop and he didn’t slow, coming straight for the other guy, getting right up in his face.

  The man didn’t back away, but she could see him stiffen. He was a little taller than Xavier, but Xavier seemed wider somehow, more powerfully built. Or maybe that was the aggression and hostility radiating from his tall form.

  “Mia?” Xavier’s voice was sharp, and he didn’t take his gaze off the other man. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know what the feeling flooding through her was this time. It was relief. Relief that he was here. “No.” The word sounded thin in the heavy silence of the hallway.

  “What the fuck are doing in my apartment, Lorenzo?” Xavier demanded.

  “Your apartment?” Lorenzo sounded icy and sarcastic. “Not with Dad’s name all over the property title it isn’t.”

  Xavier’s eyes narrowed into thin, blue slits, his hands curling into fists. He took another aggressive step forward, forcing the other man to take a step back. “Like I said, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  Mia had no idea what was happening
between the two men or why Xavier was suddenly so angry—no, not just angry, he was furious. Why? Who was Lorenzo?

  She studied them, noting the resemblance between them. Was Lorenzo his brother? If so, why were the two of them so hostile to each other, because there was no denying that fact. Xavier was bristling, while there was nothing but contempt in his brother’s eyes.

  “You were seeing Dad about the ranch, weren’t you?” Lorenzo folded his arms as if to brace himself against any attack Xavier was going to launch at him.

  “Yeah, and?” Xavier lifted his chin, the look on his face insolent. “You got something to say about it?”

  “Of course I’ve got something to say about it. It’s not yours, you bastard.”

  Xavier gave him a cocky, arrogant grin. “Tell that to Dad. He just signed it over to me, asshole.”

  Lorenzo’s expression hardened, and Mia suspected he was battling the urge to punch his brother in the face. “He wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, actually, he did.” Xavier took yet another aggressive step, forcing Lorenzo back again. “I got him the contract he wanted and so he gave me the ranch. You got a problem with that, you take it up with him.”

  For a second the atmosphere in the hallway flooded with violence, the electricity of it crackling around the two men, sending goose bumps over her skin and making her shoulders tighten. The urge to run and hide under the bed was almost overwhelming, yet curiosity wouldn’t let her. She wanted to see what was going to happen.

  “Come on,” Xavier murmured, his eyes glittering. “Take a swing, brother. I dare you.”

  The tension around Lorenzo’s tall figure gathered tight and Mia felt herself begin to move. But not away toward the bedroom. Instead she found herself walking quickly toward them and she didn’t know quite why, not when her instinct was to run from violence.

  All she knew was that she didn’t want Lorenzo to take that swing.

  But she’d only got halfway there before Lorenzo gave a short, hard laugh. “I wouldn’t sully myself.” He stepped back from his brother and sidestepped him, moving toward the elevators. “Don’t kid yourself that this is over.”

  Xavier turned, watching as the other man stepped into the elevator, the tension abruptly dropping from him. “Take a chill pill, dickhead. And while you’re at it, you might want to book a room at the hospital to get that stick up your ass removed.”

  Lorenzo didn’t reply, the doors closing on him instead.

  There was a brief silence and then Xavier turned around, his gaze roving over her as if he was checking she was all there. Then he closed the distance between them, moving in that fast, fluid way that had her heart climbing up into her throat.

  But not like it had felt when it was Lorenzo in the hallway. No, this was quite different and yet, somehow, no less disturbing.

  She forced herself to stay where she was, because running from him was ridiculous. He hadn’t hurt her and she thought that maybe he wouldn’t.

  Careful. You can’t trust anyone, remember?

  Oh yeah, she remembered. But he’d had plenty of opportunity to do whatever he wanted with her and he hadn’t. He’d given her a bath, wrapped her up in a robe, and put her into bed. Then he’d left her breakfast. She didn’t have a lot of experience with kind men or with kind people in general, but she thought those probably weren’t the actions of someone who was out to hurt her.

  “Are you okay?” He came to a stop in front of her, that sharp gaze of his checking her over yet again. “Did he scare you?”

  “No.” No way she was going to admit that. “He just took me by surprise.”

  But she had a feeling he’d seen through the lie anyway. “I bet. Prick. Look, he’s an asshole, but he wouldn’t hurt you. Probably not anyway.”

  “Is he your brother?”

  Xavier’s mouth twisted. “Resemblance that obvious, huh?”

  “That and he mentioned your father.”

  “I guess that’s a giveaway.” Raising a hand, Xavier shoved it through his thick, black hair. “I’ve got two brothers, no three—Nero’s a half brother. But Lorenzo’s the oldest. He’s also the biggest asshole.”

  Mia had the weirdest urge to touch the hair he’d spiked up, purely to see what it would feel like. Which was stupid. Touching people was never a good idea. Never. Instead, she pushed her hands under her armpits. “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “Nope. And the feeling’s mutual. He’s a cold, stiff-necked bastard who never has a good word to say about anyone.”

  “But he’s your brother.”

  “So?” An expression she couldn’t read crossed his face. “Let’s just say personality clash and leave it at that.”

  “But, I—”

  “Did you eat some breakfast?”

  As changes of subjects went, it was pretty obvious, yet for a second Mia was tempted to keep going anyway. She wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to know more, she just did. Maybe it was because she’d never had any siblings of her own and was curious. Whatever, that was beside the point since Xavier clearly didn’t want to talk about it and she wasn’t confident enough to push it.

  “Yes,” she said instead. “I had two sandwiches.”

  His mouth curled in a smile that felt like the sun coming out. “Not bad, sweet thing. Did you drink the milk as well?”

  Why did that smile and the warm sound in his deep voice make her want to blush? Why did it make something small and hot glow in her chest?

  She tightened her jaw, trying to resist the feeling. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a kid. You don’t need to talk to me like one.”

  His smile turned amused. “Prickly, huh? You must be feeling better.”

  Mia felt her cheeks get hot. She glanced away from him, not wanting to meet his gaze. “Where are my clothes?”

  “You got my note?”

  “Yes, but are they cleaned yet?”

  There was a silence.

  She glanced fleetingly at him. He was looking her over yet again, but this time there was something assessing in his eyes. “Where’s the fire? It’s like you’re desperate to get out of here or something.”

  Of course he wouldn’t understand. Why would he? He had money, he had an apartment, warm clothes, food to eat. He wouldn’t know what it was like to not have any of those things, to not even know when you might get them.

  He wouldn’t know that sometimes denial was easier than letting yourself have something that could be taken away from you.

  “I have . . . things to do.” The words sounded ridiculous even to herself, nevertheless, they were true. She had to figure out where she was going to sleep tonight and where she might get some more food. Perhaps find an extra blanket from somewhere. Then she had to go back to Tony, see if he’d made any progress with getting her birth certificate.

  “‘Things,’ huh?” The amusement in his eyes faded, the expression on his face becoming hard. “Speaking of ‘things,’ there’s a few we need to get straight. First, you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here with me. Second, you’ll get your clothes back when I’m good and ready to give them to you. Third, tell me what you have to do and I’ll help you with them whatever they are.”

  Her heart squeezed hard in her chest and she had to look away again, catching her breath.

  She hadn’t known what he wanted to do with her this morning, but telling her she was staying wasn’t it. “I can’t stay here,” she said, carefully because she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “I mean, thank you for last night, but . . . I have to go.”

  Yet he’d got that look on his face, the same one he’d had last night when he’d told her she was coming home with him. The one that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Let me get this straight,” he murmured, his voice suddenly low and a bit dangerous. “You’d rather go out into the snow in cheap, badly fitting clothes, and risk freezing to death instead of staying in a perfectly good penthouse with a bath, central heating, food, and a massive bed?”

  Tha
t flush was back, creeping through her cheeks, making her feel uncertain and embarrassed. “You don’t understand,” she said, looking down at the floor.

  “No, you’re right. I don’t fucking understand.”

  And part of her didn’t want to explain it to him. Because why should she? Even if she gave him all the reasons she couldn’t stay, he wouldn’t understand. Men like him never did, not when they had everything and couldn’t imagine not having it.

  “I need to go,” she said stubbornly, keeping her gaze on the floor. “I don’t belong here.”

  Xavier let out an impatient breath. “You belong wherever I say you belong. And right now, you belong in this apartment.”

  A jolt of anger went through her and she raised her head sharply, meeting his gaze head-on. “I can’t. And if you stop me, I’ll . . . call the police.”

  An answering anger glittered blue and hot in his eyes. “And what are you going to say? ‘Sorry officer, but Xavier de Santis is holding me captive in his twenty-million-dollar penthouse and won’t let me leave to go and freeze to death in the streets. Please, please help me.’?”

  Her eyes prickled. No, those couldn’t be tears, they just couldn’t. She hadn’t cried in years. Not since the day she’d crept out of her grandmother’s apartment, battered and bruised, crying with anger and pain and fear.

  Crying made you vulnerable and you couldn’t be vulnerable, not out on the streets.

  She swallowed, a thickness in her throat, suddenly and painfully aware of just how out of her depth she was here. Of course she couldn’t call the cops. She didn’t know the significance of Xavier’s name, but given the fact that he rode around in a limo and owned an apartment the value of which she couldn’t even conceive of, he was clearly someone pretty important. And she knew from experience that the cops only listened to important people. Not to people like her.

  Which meant she was trapped here.

  A feeling of suffocation swept over her and before she knew what she was doing, she’d sidestepped him and started heading for the elevators. She didn’t even know where she was going, obeying only the blind need to get out.