The Billion Dollar Bad Boy Read online

  Green flames sparked in his eyes and she saw it. Anger.

  Yes, she’d been right. She had hurt him. And he was punishing her.

  “If you don’t care, then why are you so angry?” she demanded, keeping her hand on his arm, vaguely aware that her own anger wasn’t just about him jeopardizing this deal for personal reasons. That it had something to do with the thought of not seeing him again.

  “Angry?” His smile widened. “I’m not angry. What I am is late. So if you’ll excuse me.” He shook her hand away and pushed his chair back.

  Dammit, he couldn’t leave.

  Acting purely on instinct, Victoria stepped between him and the meeting room table. Then she pushed herself up so she was sitting on the edge, directly in front of him, and placed one stiletto-clad foot, then the other, on the arms of his chair. Caging him in the chair.

  Donovan stilled, shock tightening the lines of his face. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I told you we weren’t done and we’re not.”

  Anger flared across his features, a brief, bright flame. Then it was gone and he was smiling that smile again, the one she’d come to despise. Gradually the tension left his body and he sat back in the chair, his gaze dipping down to where her skirt rode up to her thighs. Where no doubt he had the perfect view of her panties.

  “Nice,” he drawled. “So what are you offering to make me stay? Another blow job? Because that might work, though I’m not making any promises.”

  He was doing it again. He was deflecting her with that horrible smile and that playboy facade.

  “Shock tactics won’t work on me, Mr. Morrow,” she said coolly. “I thought you would have learned that by now.”

  He lifted his hands and all the air disappeared from her lungs, as he wrapped his fingers around her ankles on either side of him, then slid them higher up her calves. “Then clearly I need to be more shocking.”

  Heat flashed through her, her skin prickling, an ache beginning to build between her thighs.

  “Shall I fuck you right here, Victoria?” Donovan murmured, his thumbs sliding back down to caress her ankles. “Or should I just walk away? Leave you sitting here on my meeting room table?”

  She tried to calm her racing heartbeat. “You’d better make sure you can walk away before you make ultimatums like that.”

  He laughed. “You think I can’t? Just watch me, sweetheart.” His fingers tightened around her left ankle and he pulled it off the arm of the chair, rising to his feet.

  Oh, hell.

  Taking a breath, she put one hand behind her and leaned back. “I suppose you could leave,” she said, hoping she sounded calm and in charge. “Alternatively you could stay and watch me instead.”

  And there it was. The merest flicker in his gaze, but she caught it. Knew he’d heard the heat she’d let deliberately bleed into her voice. “Stay and watch you do what?”

  She swallowed, her heart racing. Because she knew how she could win this. Make him stay. Make him do whatever the hell she wanted him to do. And the thought of it thrilled her, excited her in a way she didn’t quite understand.

  Slowly, she let her legs fall open a little wider and watched as his gaze dipped again, as if drawn helplessly between her thighs.

  “You think I’d give that away?” she said, her voice not quite as steady as it had been. “I’m a businesswoman, Mr. Morrow. Negotiation is my middle name. If you want to find out, you’ll have to stay.”

  “It’ll have to be quite a show, Ms. de Winter.”

  She met his gaze. Held it. “Oh, I assure you, it will be.”

  He hesitated a moment more, then, with an easy movement, sat back in the chair, placing her foot once more on the arm. “Then by all means. Entertain me.”

  Perhaps she was mad to consider what she was considering. She’d never done it before, after all. And yet she wanted to. Make this arrogant playboy sweat. Make him see that while she could walk away from him, he couldn’t walk away from her.

  Acknowledge that she was the one who wielded the greater power.

  Her heart beating even faster, Victoria eased her skirt up, allowing her knees to fall open wider. He didn’t move but his jaw tightened as his attention dipped between her legs.

  She leaned back further, a thick, heavy heat beginning to build inside her. Reaching down, she let her hand slide inside the waistband of her panties.

  A thin strip of color stained his cheekbones.

  She watched him, stroking one finger over her clit, shivering at the sensation and at the tight, hungry look that crept over his face in response.

  “Are you entertained, Mr. Morrow?” she couldn’t help asking. “Still think you can walk away?”

  His gaze flicked to hers, green burning bright. Then he pulled his chair in, so he was right up close to the table, his breath feathering over the sensitive skin of her thighs. Like he was preparing to eat. His hands lifted.

  “Oh, no,” she said breathlessly. “Did I forget to mention? No touching. So put your hands on the table.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?”

  “I’m not fucking kidding you. Hands on the table. Or else I stop.”

  Again that intense gaze. “I could leave.”

  Victoria moved her hand, biting her lip as she stroked her clit again, making sure he could see it. “Feel free,” she murmured. “I’m quite happy here by myself.”

  He wasn’t going to leave, not if she could help it.

  Deliberately she closed her eyes as if he’d already gone, tipping her head back, spreading her legs wider. She eased a finger inside her sex, feeling her own slick, hot flesh grip tight, and she let the moan escape, the sound vibrating in the silence of the room.

  The sound of fabric shifting, the sense of someone looming above her.

  She opened her eyes. He was standing with his hands flat on the table on either side of her, his gaze glued between her thighs, the look on his face was so intent she almost couldn’t breathe.

  He wasn’t smiling now. Wasn’t in any way that lazy, taunting playboy. He looked hungry. Starving. For her.

  A surge of power went through her, twisting the pleasure harder, tighter. She’d made him stay. She’d put that look on his face.

  “You want to watch me come, Donovan?” she asked raggedly. “Is that what you want?”

  “Fuck, yes.”

  “Then watch.”

  All it took was a flick of her wrist, a movement of her thumb and the climax overwhelmed her, pleasure igniting like a flash fire. She held his gaze as she rode out the orgasm, shuddering, seeing him stripped bare. All hunger. All desire.

  And she knew then that this wasn’t about business. Or power games or masks.

  This desire, this need, went deeper than that, struck at the heart of both of them. And she wanted to explore it. See where it would lead.

  She pushed herself up, panting with the aftershocks. “I want to come home with you, Donovan. I want that night you promised me.”

  His gaze never left hers. “I said it was a one-shot deal. I wouldn’t offer again.”

  Victoria lifted a foot and pressed it against the fly of his suit trousers. He hissed between his teeth, his whole body going rigid and no wonder, even through the soles of her black stilettos she could feel how hard he was. “You’re really going to turn me down? Or do you want to punish me again?”

  He closed his fingers around her ankle but he didn’t pull her away, only held it, his grip warm and strong. “That’s tempting, believe me.” His throat moved, the white shirt he was wearing stretching tight over his powerful chest as he took a sharp breath. “I don’t know what you do to me, Victoria de Winter.” The intensity in his eyes burned hot. “I want to tell you that was it. That you don’t get another chance. But … you’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She moved, obeying an instinct she hadn’t known she possessed, sitting up and reaching a hand behind his neck, bringing his head down, his mouth on hers. Only a b
rush of lips but he let her. And when she released him, she said, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. And I was scared. I shouldn’t have walked away from you.”

  He looked down into her eyes, his thumb pressing hard against her ankle like she was pressing her sole against his fly. “This isn’t about business. Understand? If you come home with me, you come because you want me. Not because of this deal. Not because you want my land.” His voice was hard but she could hear a thread running through it. The same longing that had her in its grasp, too.

  “I understand.” She took an uneven breath. “Anyway I’ve … already come because I want you after all.”

  This time the smile that turned his mouth was genuine. Full of a deep, warm sensuality that she didn’t expect and caught the breath in her throat. “I got that. Believe me, I got that.” The smile faded, but the warmth lingered in his eyes. “Just one night, okay?”

  “Just one night,” she echoed.

  He stepped back and she closed her legs, shivering a little as he helped smooth her skirt down, then taking her hands and helping her off the table. And he kept hold of them, turning them palm up and kissing each one in a swift motion.

  “I have to go. Like I said, I’m late and your … entertainment has made me even later. I’ll text you my details, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He released her hands and bent to pick up the papers on the table. Then he turned, and without another word, strode from the room.

  Victoria leaned against the table, her legs weak. And smiled.

  She didn’t know who’d won this round, but this time she had the oddest feeling that they both had.

  Chapter 7

  Donovan put the cold beer down on one corner of the plans for the docklands estate he had spread out on his coffee table, and looked down at them, frowning.

  He’d been fiddling with the plans ever since that exposé had hit the headlines and the Morrow’s gangland past had been splashed all through the media. Jax wanted that past buried and had made it his mission to get rid of those old ties—such as the old Morrow HQ.

  But Donovan had never been convinced that was the best course of action. Buried secrets never stayed buried for long, and he’d always been of the opinion that if you had bad shit in your past you acknowledged it, owned it. So no one could use it against you.

  It had been a strategy that had worked well in his PR business and he knew it would work here with the land, too. Except Jax had nixed it. Big brother always thought he knew best but big brother was wrong. Big brother needed to damn well listen to him for a change.

  Donovan stared down at the plans, at the sketches of a memorial to those who’d died in the gangland wars half a century ago now. And the small museum on the history of the area, including a reconstruction of Morrow HQ as it would have looked during the bad old days. Reminders of a family history steeped in blood. Deliberate reminders because, as the old saying went, those who forgot history were doomed to repeat it.

  Neither Jax nor his father seemed to have learned that particular lesson, which meant it was up to Donovan to make them.

  Just at that moment his phone, sitting on the table next to him, vibrated. He glanced down at the screen. Speak of the devil. It was a text from Jax.

  You closed that deal yet? I wanted it gone this week.

  Donovan picked up the phone, debated calling his brother and having it out with him then and there. But no. Victoria would be arriving soon and there was no way he wanted that interrupted.

  He texted Jax a response instead. Talk to you about it tomorrow morning.

  It better be good news. His brother texted back.

  Donovan’s smile had nothing to do with amusement as he answered. Sure. It’s good news.

  Because it was good news. He’d be selling that land over his dead body and Jax needed to know. Of course, his brother wouldn’t be happy, but if he forced the issue then Donovan was going to do what he’d told Victoria—he’d threaten to leave Morrow.

  He wanted that land. He wanted something of the family’s that was his because, Jesus, after all he’d done for Morrow when his father had run the company, didn’t he deserve it?

  Jax texted back. Tomorrow then. 9am sharp.

  Donovan texted an affirmative, then reached for his beer and took a sip.

  Tomorrow for sure. He was going to lay down the law to big brother.

  The intercom buzzed all of a sudden.

  And all thoughts of Jax and the plans went straight out of his head.

  Victoria.

  A rush of anticipation swept through him, along with a healthy dose of good, old-fashioned lust. After her little performance on the desk that morning he’d had meeting after meeting, pure torture at the best of times let alone with a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.

  But now was the moment he’d been looking forward to all day. She was here.

  He put his beer down and got up, went over to the intercom unit, and stuck his thumb on the button. “What is it, Danny?”

  “There’s a lady here to see you, Mr. Morrow,” his doorman said. “She wouldn’t give her name but she said you’re expecting her.”

  Desire twisted inside of him, hot and intense. “Send her up.”

  He turned, swept an eye around his massive apartment. Christ, first time ever he’d had a woman up here—first time he’d had anyone up here—and there was a strange, unsteady feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  He hadn’t thought he’d change his mind about inviting her home after she’d refused him at the club. He’d been determined to tell her what to do with her business offer, then get rid of her as quickly as possible. And yet the instant he’d seen her standing by the window in the meeting room, her small figure all neat and precise in her suit, not one red strand of hair out of place, he’d known getting rid of her would be far more difficult than he’d thought.

  All he kept seeing was the woman in his limo. The woman in the club. A passionate, sensual woman who had looked at him like he was the only man in the world.

  A woman he wanted to get to know way more than was good for him.

  And then she’d gotten up on that meeting room table and all those good intentions had vanished as if they’d never been. She’d been right about one thing—he couldn’t walk away from her. Not after that.

  Donovan ran a hand through his hair and it was goddamned shaking, though he had no idea why. No, he hadn’t had a woman up here before, but that didn’t mean anything. Didn’t mean Victoria was special.

  So why did you ask her here then?

  He ignored the thought and through sheer force of will stilled his shaking hand. They were only here to have that one night that had been interrupted at the club. That’s all. Nothing more. He had to remember that.

  There was a knock on the main door of his apartment. Pulling himself firmly together, Donovan went down the hallway and tugged open the door.

  She stood in the foyer outside the apartment, her hair loose around her shoulders in a spill of gleaming red. A perfect foil to the shimmering silver gown she wore. It had a plunging neckline, showcasing the most incredible cleavage he’d ever seen, hugging the curves of her hips and thighs. There was an old world, pin-up glamour about her that took his breath away. A glamour that her severe suits and fastidious bun had only hinted at.

  He leaned against the door frame, taking her in. “You dressed up for the occasion. I like it. You look like a real princess now.”

  She colored, her mouth curving. “No princesses tonight, ice or otherwise. Tonight I thought I’d just be Victoria.” A slight pause. “Like you’d be Van.”

  So she’d remembered what he’d said at the club. He shifted against the door frame, desire sinking its claws into him. “Well, you look beautiful. I feel I should put on my tux to match.” He was only half-joking.

  “No.” Her gaze flicked down his body. “I like the jeans and T-shirt.”

  The unsettled feeling turned over in his gut. He ignored it. “I only wear them at home.”
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br />   “Then don’t change.” Her gaze met his. “Ms. de Winter and her suits aren’t here tonight. So let’s leave Mr. Morrow and his tux for the morning.”

  His mouth felt dry, his heart speeding up. Like she’d seen past him. Into him.

  This was ridiculous. He felt like an awkward teenage boy on his first date, an unfamiliar feeling since he’d never been awkward, not around women, and certainly not as a teenager. Jesus, what the hell was different about her?

  You know what’s different. You’ve never been just Van to a woman before.

  Her brows creased. “Are you okay?”

  And he wanted to laugh, to smile, to tell her he was fine, but instead he heard himself say, “This is the first time I’ve ever invited a woman here.”

  Fuck. Why had he said that?

  Victoria stared at him, an expression in her eyes that looked familiar though he couldn’t place it. Then she took a step toward him, rose on her toes, and kissed him, like she had in the meeting room that morning. Soft. Sweet. Leaving him full of that unsteady, shaky feeling again.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, and without waiting for a response, went past him and into the apartment, leaving the subtle scent of flowers in her wake.

  Thank you. God, how could two simple words make him feel so unsettled? So raw?

  He tried to ignore the sensation, pushing himself away from the door frame and following her inside, down into the lounge area.

  Victoria was standing in the middle of the room, looking around. At the comfortable, worn leather couches and his mother’s collection of Middle Eastern rugs, the bright colors of his art collection and the messy scatter of books. And again that raw feeling caught him, like his soul had been spread out in front of her for approval.

  He hated the emotion. Like he was back in his father’s office again, trying to show him a piece of school work or a drawing he’d done and being ignored, dismissed. Like nothing he did was ever good enough or of any interest whatsoever.

  Christ, what was wrong with him? It was just an apartment full of the things he liked to have around him. Nothing major.

  Donovan thrust his hands in his pockets, pasted on his usual smile. The one that made it look like he didn’t give a shit. “It’s not much,” he said flippantly. “But it’s home.”