BILLIONAIRE

Part 7

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by Juliette Jones

Copyright © 2013 Juliette Jones

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed or scanned in any electronic or printed form

without permission.

BILLIONAIRE is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Cover art photo used under license from Shutterstock.com

First Edition: November 2013

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BILLIONAIRE (Part 7)

Lila

He looked so much like Alexander.

His hair was a glossy dark brown instead of midnight black and his expression was

less controlled, more youthful in the emotion it revealed. But no less intense.
Alexander’s intensity was disciplined, masked by cool, skillful awareness. Jake’s was
wilder, much closer to the surface.

And I could read the thoughts running through Jake Wolfe’s mind as his rapt gaze

locked onto me. A few of his friends laughed and called to him, throwing out a lewd
comment or two as he shut them out, focusing his undivided attention on me. He was
shocked to see me here, intrigued and also wary, not of me but of everything around me.
Like Alexander was, too: protective in an over-zealous way. I understood this. Maybe
that’s what childhood traumas do to a person and the people who care about them, who
know about the layer-upon-layer of damage inflicted. You get wary. You get suspicious
and distrustful. You end up morphing into a hyper-vigilant mess of untouchable yet
deeply vulnerable paranoia.

I had no idea what Alexander had told him about us, about the extent of our fiery,

immediate bond. Whatever Jake knew or didn’t know, he was already dedicated to the
job at hand. Clearly, caring for his brother’s “assistant,” found as she was – alone,
drenched and half-clad – was now his most pressing priority. He approached me,
spearing me with a stern, searching expression.

At first I thought I was imagining him. Like my wishes had taken form. But then, if

wishes came true it wouldn’t have been Jake Wolfe who was standing next to me in this
almost-seedy bar on a rainy, red-tinted night. It would have been his brother.
Reassuring me and making promises that might somehow heal my brokenness.

Jake looked bigger than I remembered him. His black leather jacket was well-worn

and added to the barely-there flicker of danger he exuded, the one I’d detected the first
time I’d met him. The aura of his darkhorse demeanor was even more pronounced
tonight. He was, like his brother, a stunning-looking man. His irises were so dark they
looked black, like Alexander’s, and his eyes were shadowed with that bruised
vulnerability I recognized. He looked like a badboy. A successful one. One with a
turmoiled past and maybe even a record. I couldn’t help thinking that if Jake Wolfe
didn’t have an older brother who guided him, employed him and bankrolled him, he’d
probably either be in jail or holed up in a mansion as an heiress’s moody gigolo. His eyes
sparked with a volatile unpredictability. In his world, this glimmer promised, rules
didn’t apply.

Jake pulled out a chair and sat down next to me, his eyes taking in every detail of

my clearly-distressed state of mind and my borderline-inappropriate state of dress. It
was the concern in him that made me want to climb onto his lap, to drink in the shelter
of him. He could take me back to Alexander. He could buffer me from the cold winds of
my fear and my loneliness. At the same time, I felt the conflicting urge to run away from
him as though my life depended on it.

My sense of equilibrium hadn’t exactly fled me, but instead was shadowed by a

spiked recklessness, like my survivalist instinct couldn’t quite tell which way was up.
Jake’s resemblance to his brother affected me as a visceral, physical longing. I wanted
Alexander so much my heart actually ached. But I wasn’t about to be locked up like
some animal at the zoo, to be admired and played with, exotic and useless. My anger and
indignation, though, had been damaged by a murky, creeping despair. As my buzz took
on a harsh, darkening edge, reality had started to close in. I had nowhere to go, save one
gilded cage. Sure, I could sleep on Eva’s floor, pick up where I’d left off three or
whatever weeks ago. But it wouldn’t be the same. I wasn’t the same. I’d had a long,
lingering taste of perfection and now nothing could or would ever compare to that. The
realization that I was not only changed by him but ruined for anything less made me feel
a renewed, rising sense of anger for Alexander. Damn him for presenting me with the
best of the best, for infiltrating me with all his goddamn glory so that anything in his
wake would seem inferior in every imaginable way. A brief memory flickered, of other
men who’d pursued me, way back when. In the hazy mist of my pre-Alexander
wasteland of a lovelife. How pathetic they all were. How mousy and mediocre. How
would I navigate those waters now, knowing he was out there, walking around with his
black hair and his wide shoulders and his brutal, masculine beauty? Other women

would chase him. They’d touch him, everywhere. No, he was mine, mine, mine. They’d
make hot, sweet love to him. They’d honor him by taking that glorious, pleasure-gilded
manhood into their bodies. Pushing deep. So deep. I felt the luscious effects of his echoing
presence even now, where I remembered him. Damn him.

“Lila, what are you doing here?” Jake repeated. “Does Alexan--”

“Please don’t call him,” I interrupted hastily, and that edge of desperation that

clung to my plea got Jake’s full attention. Not that I didn’t already have it, but this
complicated things. His eyebrows furrowed with contemplative confusion, and
something more. Only then did I realize I was grasping onto him. That my fingers had
curled around his wrist as I begged him. I’m not ready, I wanted to say. I can’t go back. I
want to, so much. But he crossed a line.

The line. I will not be made powerless by his obsessive

domination. I can’t be caged like that. I’ll go mad.

Of course Jake wouldn’t understand. Of

course his loyalties to his brother were much more entrenched than the requests of a
lonely, wanton, still-drunk acquaintance. I removed my hand, coiling my fists in my lap,
colder than I could ever remember being.

Jake shrugged out of his black leather coat and draped it around my shoulders. The

warmth of it was indescribable. It was a gentle gesture, and one I wasn’t expecting. I
wasn’t afraid of him, but there was an energy to him that kicked up the distinct feeling
that I needed to be careful. Jake rewrote rules and so did I. Tonight, I wasn’t myself. I
was out of control. He seemed to read this in me and on some level tune into it, and
soothe it. Like we were on some kind of fucked-up wildchild wavelength.

“Tell me what happened,” he said. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”

I felt grateful, that he didn’t immediately pick up his phone and call Alexander, that

would respect my wishes like that, even though he probably knew as well as I did that
his brother was half-insane with worry and even rage right about now. But Jake didn’t
move, or do anything at all, except wait for me to answer his question with a kind of
tender, dark-edged, unequivocal patience that was somehow exactly what I needed at
that moment.

When I didn’t immediately reply, Jake continued, his voice calm, like he’d talked

people off ledges before and had a knack for it. “I just saw him, a couple hours ago. We
had a meeting in his office. He said you were sleeping.”

“I was sleeping.”

“He said you look like an angel when you’re asleep.”

My throat felt tight and achy when Jake said that. I wished I could go back to

Alexander’s bed, and pick up where we’d left off. I’d be more patient with him this
time. I’d tell him not to lock the door.

“And then you woke up,” Jake continued slowly. “And at some point between

then and now, something happened. Something that pissed you off or freaked you out.”

Maybe because I knew enough about Jake’s past to feel that he might almost be able

to relate to my pathetic backstory, I answered him with an honesty that surprised me. “It
was more about something that happened a long time ago. To me. A memory came back
to me and I … I needed to leave.”

He watched my face, and his comprehension of what I was admitting was palpable

and connective.

“Did my brother do something to hurt you, Lila? Because if he did, I can assure you

that he didn’t mean to. He can be an overbearing asshole, that’s fucking true as hell. But
I can tell you this much: I have never, ever seen Alexander so affected by a woman as he
is with you. I mean it. He’s head over heels. Completely bonkers. And I can guarantee
that he would never do anything to deliberately push you away. His protectiveness gets
the better of him sometimes. It does. But he’s basically a good guy. You should tell him
what he did wrong. Explain to him. Make him understand whatever it was he did to
piss you off. I’m sure he’d do anything – and I mean anything – to get you back. You
should give him another chance.”

I’m not sure why but I was amazed that Jake was using the small offerings of

information I was giving him to try to make amends for his brother’s behavior. I found
this immensely endearing. Jake might have been a badboy and a rule-breaker but he was
loyal. And something in the depths of his dark, glinting eyes made me want to trust him,
and to follow his advice. Because I could see that he got this part of me that no one else
did. This broken, damaged corner of my soul was easy for him to detect because he’d
suffered too. The only thing that had saved him was the staunch, manic protection of the
very person I’d spent the past few hours desperately trying to avoid.

This realization softened something in me. It made me remember why Alexander

was so obsessively protective. He’d had to be. It was the only way he could keep his little
brother safe from the monsters under the bed and the predators outside the door.
Alexander hadn’t been locking me in; he’d been locking the threats out.

If I hadn’t drunk at least a bottle of champagne over the course of the past few

hours, followed by several long swigs of the sweet, warm, whiskey-heavy brew the
bartender had set in front of me, I might not have spoken my epiphany out loud. As it
was, Jake didn’t seem all that surprised. “He saved you,” I whispered.

Jake paused, looking into my eyes intensely, not especially perturbed by whatever it

was I might have been insinuating. “He’s saved me more times than I can fucking count.
And he can save you too. Why don’t you let him.” His tone was almost dull, matter-of
fact. And it wasn’t a question. “Let me call him, Lila.”

“No,” I said, the lingering panic resurfacing. “Not yet,” I heard myself add. I

needed more time. The refreshed memories were still gripping into me. But they were
fading by degrees. Jake’s presence was helping. I could feel my logic and my love
returning, seeping into me like warmth.

I would go to Alexander. I would tell him what scared me, and what drove me,

until he understood. I would try to teach him how I needed to be handled. I knew Jake
was telling the truth. Alexander had told me he loved. Many, many times. He had
scared me, but it hadn’t been intentional. He was only acting on his own deep memories,
repeating behaviors that were as entrenched as my reaction. And I loved him. So much.
The past few hours away from him had been the loneliest I could remember. He was
worth every effort I could make, even if he’d fucked everything up.

But I wasn’t ready. The bitter taste of my fear lingered. The mess of my past clung

to me as tightly and wetly as my cold, skimpy dress. I wanted to sleep. Maybe in the
morning I could forgive, but darkness had a way of illuminating all the particularly-
gruesome half-hidden corners of my nightmares, detailing the dredged-up horrors with
sharp, insistent clarity.

“My apartment’s right across the street,” Jake said. “We’ll go over there, we’ll get

you warm, and we’ll call Alexander. Okay?”

I wasn’t sure that would be such a good idea. Some tiny voice in the back alley of

my brain warned against being alone with Jake Wolfe. My mind was too muddled to

analyze any of it; the only thing I could truly comprehend at that moment was how tired
I was. Still hazy and swilled from all the alcohol I’d drunk. Whatever the grandfatherly
bartender had given me only spun out the thin grip on consciousness I was just managing
to cling to. “I’m not ready to see Alexander. And if you call him, I’ll have to confront
him now, and I’m not up to it tonight. I need to sleep.” I stood up unsteadily, holding
onto the edge of the table for support. I slid Jake’s jacket off and handed it back to him.
“I know this is lame of me to even ask, but would you mind if I borrowed some money?
For a hotel? I don’t need much. I left my handbag at Alexander’s. I’ll pay you back,
Jake. As soon as I can. I’m good for it, I promise.”

But I was silenced then by Jake’s unexpected expression.

I’d forgotten how inappropriate my dress was until Jake’s eyes widened and his jaw

dropped in a unchecked reaction. The punished, rained-on, very-thin knit fabric of my
dress had stretched slightly in some places and tightened in others, and was practically
see-through. My breasts were half-revealed and the hem had ridden up to the tops of my
thighs. My long hair hung in half-curled drying skeins and did little more to cover my
budded nipples than the dress.

After several stunned seconds, Jake stood and hastily wrapped his jacket back

around me. “Jesus Christ, Lila. You can’t walk around like that. You are far too beautiful
and far too … on display … to do anything but let me take you back to my apartment.
Alexander would torture me slowly before throttling me with both hands – and he has a
fucking strong grip – if I did anything but take you home and call him immediately.”

He had slung his arm around me and was leading me through the crowd, which

seemed closer now, more attentive. My vision felt swirly and unhinged but I could see
vaguely that the bar was full of men. Some were yelling at a football game taking place
on a large-screen TV. Others were looking at me. Saying things. Rude things.
Suggestive. Aggressive.

“Jake, you lucky bastard. Let me.”

“She’s too young for you, Jake. Is she even legal?”

“Where you goin’, Jakey? It’s still early. Let her stay for a while.”

There were others. They were drunk and their laughter was tipped with the late-

night looseness that was less about humor than it was about messy, intemperate self-

gratification.

“Think of my well-being, Lila,” Jake was murmuring in a steady, soothing

monotone as he led me towards the door, as though to anchor me. “A lot of these guys
know me. Some of them know Alexander. He’ll hear about this and if he does, and
realizes that you were with me and I didn’t tell him about it … well, there’ll be hellfire to
pay. He’ll probably fucking fire me. He’ll definitely beat me to a bloody pulp and he can
be a mean son of a bitch when he puts his mind to it. I don’t really want to be on the
receiving end of all that so if you don’t mind obliging me on this one little detail, I’ll be
more than happy to give you as much goddamn money as you want.”

Jake swerved to shield me as his shoulder pushed against a man that was blocking

our escape. A big man, with a tight t-shirt that showcased a b-grade tattoo and the hours
he’d spent at some sweaty gym.

“Fuck off and back off, asshole,” Jake said. “We’re coming through so get the fuck

out of my way.”

Oh, God.

The man was angry, shooting daggers out of his eyes as we passed by him.

This was dangerous. Would he come after us? Would he challenge Jake? Would he hurt him?
Would he hurt me?

I was suddenly and immensely thankful for Jake’s well-built, roughed-up renegade

shtick. The beefy thug thought twice about acting out his bravado and laughed it off
with a couple other beer-swilling louts before turning his attention back to the football.

And Jake and I were out on the street, his arm still slung around me.

We walked in silence for a while, letting the adrenaline settle. The rain had stopped

but the streets were still oily-wet. The smell of New York City hung in the murky air: of
gasoline and expensive perfume, of sparky ambition and nightlit desperation.

“I can see how Alexander gets off on this white knight gig,” he commented blithely,

looking down at me. “You all right?”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the way I was clinging onto him to stop myself

from falling over or the scene we’d just made our dramatic escape from.

I was about reassure him. I thought I was all right, but I couldn’t exactly tell. I’d

find that out when he let go of me. At this point I wasn’t even sure I could walk by

myself. The only thing I was sure of was that I’d never, ever felt so tired in my entire
life. I wanted to thank him and ask him again for that loan. I knew there was a hotel on
the next block.

“My apartment is right here, in the building on the corner,” I heard him say.

But before I could tell Jake that I wouldn’t be coming up, that I needed to go it

alone, to sleep and figure out what and when and where and all the other details, the
night took on a strange, glittery brilliance.

Darkness closed in and it was beautiful and complete.

Alexander

The meeting went well enough. I made a few calls that would keep Jake from being

too closely investigated by the authorities. Insider trading wasn’t taken lightly, but
everyone had their price. I hated placating people with hush money. It wasn’t my style
and I’d never had to do it to get myself out of trouble. For the most part I avoided
trouble. Trouble was a pain in the ass.

I wished Jake would fucking wise up. His recklessless was getting expensive. I told

him as much and he left in a mood. Said he was meeting some friends in a bar nearby.

Not that I cared what my brother planned on doing for the rest of the weekend. I’d

see him on Monday to finalize a few more details and write a few more checks. Until
then, I had my own plans. Plans that involved a naked, nubile nymphet who, by this
time, ought to be very well rested. Just thinking about all that lush, pink beauty softly
writhing around in my bed got me instantly, painfully hard.

She’d been mad at me this morning, cooing little complaints about the fact that she

wasn’t CEO of my empire yet, or something. The thing was, I wanted to take her on.
Mainly because she was smart. The few times we’d discussed the publishing business,
she’d brought up some interesting ideas I knew I could use. Behind all those plush,
perfect curves and those irresistible lips was a bright, educated mind. And a sweetness
that blew my mind. A purity not just of body but of soul. I don’t think I’d ever met
anyone who was so naturally devoid of malice. Sure, she had her moments of feminine
contrariness like every woman is entitled to, but underneath the light stubbornness that
was nothing compared to my own, Lila was all about a shining beautifulness that just
about brought me to my knees every time I saw her.

But the problem was those plush, perfect curves and those irresistible lips. That

complete, incredible package that was Lila. As fucking disciplined as I might have been,
I had no idea how I was expected to think straight with all that walking around my office
as I tried to negotiate deals and manage staff. Even worse, how was I supposed to
concentrate when she left? When she went out to lunch meetings with lecherous editors
or horny writers? I could picture myself pacing around and moodily pining like some

goddamn lovestruck teenager as soon as she vacated the premises, disappearing to God
knows where with God knows fucking who.

Even this morning, when she’d talked about going out shopping and meeting up

with the friend she hadn’t seen for weeks got me all hot and bothered. Which pissed me
off to no fucking end. I didn’t want to behave this way. I knew it was irrational and
overblown. I knew I was pushing the boundaries of what she would tolerate. But I
couldn’t seem to get myself to calm the fuck down.

She just seemed so vulnerable. So soft. So defenseless.

The thought of what she’d endured as a child was enough to practically see me

hunting the redneck lunatic fucker down and wasting him. She hadn’t given me all the
details but she didn’t need to. Knowing that I’d never find him, that he’d be long gone
and that she’d never even told me his name didn’t make my desire to fuck him up any
less vehement. I could practically taste my revenge and it was sweet. Too sweet. And
too crazy. Dwelling and plotting would get me nowhere and it would only cause Lila
pain. She didn’t want to rehash all that shit and neither did I. It was more important to
focus on the future. She was here and I would do everything I could to protect her with
everything I had.

I stood for a minute on the glass-walled landing outside the door of my apartment,

looking out over the view of the city. The day was overcast, with gathering dark clouds.
It looked like a storm was brewing.

I took a deep breath, letting the fury in me dissipate. I didn’t want to burst in there

with a raging hard-on and a wild, provoked temper. I’d be gentle with her, and listen to
her girlish grievances. She might still be pissed off because I’d left her, to meet with Jake
and sort through the bullshit and the emails, even after I’d told her she could join me and
help me work, which was the very last thing I wanted her to do today. It wasn’t that I
didn’t think she was capable. It was more to do with the fact that I’d get the work done
faster without her there. Without the beckoning distraction of her innocent yet sultry
face. Her pouty lips. Her silky, gossamer hair. Not to mention other parts of her that
were too damn inviting to disengage from in any way whatsoever. I simply couldn’t get
enough. As soon as I was finished I wanted to start all over again, and get deeper, and
closer. Orgasms with Lila weren’t like endings, as with other women. They were like
the first taste of a new addiction, each and every fucking time. I wanted more, and

more. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to get any work done if we were at it on the desk
every five minutes. All I’d needed was a few hours of distance so I could concentrate.
I’d worn her out and left her to sleep. Where she’d be safe and secure. Warm. Satiated
in every way I could think of.

I’d make it up to her. Anyway she wanted. Anything she wanted.

A kiss. Slow and supplicating. She could take out her kittenish wrath on me. On

my mouth. She could bite me and hold me down. She’d be a little wild. Surly. She
might straddle me. Take me into that slick, tight sheath, squeezing and softly gripping
me with petulant little clenches as she slid herself along my rampant, starstruck length.

Fuck.

Just thinking about her was too much. My cock was so hard it was pressed

uncomfortably against the cold zipper of my jeans. I could arrive without the wild
temper but the hard-on was here to stay.

I opened the door.

Something felt wrong. The emptiness sort of echoed through my soul in a weird,

drafty instinct. But nothing was out of place. A radio played in the kitchen. Claude was
probably here, cleaning. Or whatever it was that Claude did. He’d been working for me
for around five years as a housekeeper and sometimes-chef.

But I wasn’t interested in what Claude was doing. I ran up the curving staircase,

taking the steps in threes. Odd whitenoise crackled somewhere behind my brain when I
saw that the bedroom door was wide open. A bottle of champagne sat on a small table
outside the bedroom. Two glasses. One still had a finger of champagne left in it. On the
other, a phone had been neatly balanced.

Lila’s phone.

I knew she was gone even before I reached the bedroom door. But I ran in and

looked around for her anyway, in a kind of frenzy that was uncharacteristic even for me.
I ripped the sheets off the bed, as though that might fix something, or ease it. It did
neither. I looked in the bathroom. She’d had a shower and had dropped the towel on
the floor. That was unusual. Lila was tidy; she liked her things arranged neatly. Even
when I told her she didn’t have to worry about stuff like that, that housekeepers could
clean up, she said she liked doing it. She liked trying to make order of the chaos that was
her life. That’s how she’d put it.

Her clothes were still here, and all her other belongings. Her bag. Her keys.

Lila’s coat was gone, though. Her favorite, the one I’d bought her that first time I’d

taken her shopping at Barneys. She’d been so thrilled with that coat. She’d said it was
the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn. She’d even cried a little, a single tear making a
shiny line down her youthful, lightly-freckled cheek. I’d kissed her and told her how
beautiful she looked, with her golden hair long and loose, illuminated by that inner glow
she seemed to radiate.

My Lila was gone.

I had to find her.

$

I felt manic. Crazy. Out of control. Like I was capable of doing absolutely anything

it took to find her and get her back.

Anything.

My brain fizzed with panic, with a sort of hyperalert commitment, and most of all,

with acute, cutting desperation. She was mine. Mine. And she was out there, alone and
unguarded. She would attract all kinds of unwanted attention, looking like she did. Just
being

like she was. Fucking hell. I touched my fingers along a few pieces of her clothes like

a pathetic wretch. What was she wearing? Was she warm enough? Was her hair still
wet from her shower? She’d drunk a third of the champagne; she’d be a little tipsy. Her
defenses would be down.

And she’d be upset, about whatever it was I’d done. What had I done, that was so

fucking bad she’d had to run away? Yeah, I’d gone to my office for a while, but so what?
She knew there was stuff I’d had to take care of. I’d told her she could start work on
Monday. I’d given her every assurance she’d asked for. I’d talked to her and fed her and
protected her in every way I could think of. I thought she’d been appeased by all that,
not to mention the handful of orgasms I’d given her by … ah, fuck. I couldn’t even think
about that. I was going to go fucking insane. I was going to lose my shit completely if I
didn’t find my Lila.

That’s all I wanted to do: just find her.

Before someone else did.

I ran down the stairs, almost breaking my neck in the process. I ran into the kitchen

to find Claude listening to some inane music station and baking something like a fucking
idiot. Usually I didn’t mind Claude’s presence. He was a benign character who fit into
his surroundings with a shadow-like unobtrusiveness. I’d hired him about five years ago
at the recommendation of a colleague of mine who’d taken a job in Hong Kong. Claude
was looking for work and I’d just bought the penthouse apartment that adjoined my
office. I’d taken him on, a couple days a week. He kept the place clean, the food was
good and we barely saw each other, which worked just fine for me. I needed a
housekeeper and a cook, and one that stayed the fuck out of my way. And Claude was
good at doing that. He was artfully, meekly gay, like he’d been raised as the youngest
runt son of a big family of burly farming Midwesterners and still felt the compulsion to
hide his sexuality like it was a defect. He’d loosened up on that front over the course of
his six or so years in Manhattan and was borderline flamboyant at times, wearing weird
outfits and becoming increasingly effeminate in the presentation of the dishes he
prepared. Like now: he was making frosted fucking cupcakes. I didn’t give a fuck either
way. I’d never asked him about his past and didn’t plan to. What I did plan on fucking
asking him was why the fuck he’d allowed Lila to waltz out of my apartment without
fucking calling me.

I grabbed the front of his shirt with my fist. “Where is she?”

Claude’s watery eyes rounded with fear. His hair was thin and straight and so

blond it was almost white. Everything about him suddenly annoyed the fuck out of me.
“Miss Lila?” he gasped with a southern lilt to his accent I’d never noticed before. Not
that I’d spent much time analyzing these things. Maybe he wasn’t from the Midwest.
Maybe he was a choirboy from East Buttfuck, Alabama. Who gave a fuck?

“Yes. Where is she?” I repeated, my aggression gaining momentum. “Did you

unlock my door? Did you let her out?”

“Y-yes, sir,” he said. “She asked for some champagne. I –”

“Do you know where she went?”

“No, sir. I – I thought she was waiting for you in your bedroom, sir.”

“She’s not in my fucking bedroom. She’s gone. Did she say where she was going?”

“N-no, sir. I was in the kitchen. I didn’t hear her leave.”

“You didn’t think to fucking call me?” Even as I said it, I knew I was not only being

an asshole but a complete goddamn psycho. I’d not only locked my girlfriend in my
bedroom but was now going ballistic all over my cook because she wasn’t still locked up.
But I couldn’t seem to stop myself, or to care. All I cared about was finding Lila.

“She asked me not to, sir,” Claude said. “She begged me not to.”

This piece of information hit me right in the middle of my goddamn gut. Or maybe

it was my heart. If I even had one. “She begged you not to call me?” I repeated stupidly.

“Yes, sir.”

I found myself glaring at Claude for several seconds. My fist was still clenched

around the bunched-up fabric of his shirt at his neck. I released him so suddenly he
stumbled.

I grabbed a fistful of my hair. Fuck fuck fuck. Lila was gone and it was my fault. I’d

driven her away by behaving like the lunatic that I was. “Why?” I asked. Like fucking
Claude could answer that question.

Claude’s fear took on the slightest edge of compassion, which pissed me off even

more. That was some twisted shit: this little imp getting some element of this
clusterfuck. The element I’d missed. “She seemed very agitated,” Claude said. “She was
extremely … relieved when I opened the door.” He spoke like he was wary of me, which I
guess he had a right to be at this point. I could not only pummel him into next week but
also fire him. Or both. If I hadn’t felt so fucking crazed I might have almost admired his
nerve and his honesty when he admitted the next part. “She’d been … pounding on the
door. Trying to get out. It was the lock, I think. She seemed very upset by it … like she
couldn’t handle being trapped like that.”

Lila had told me about her past. She’d carefully shared a few of the most painful

memories. Her words burned inside my chest like they’d been branded there. He used to
come into my room. Every night. It was relentless. And it made me feel so dirty. The pain of it
all was … just so awful.

Something had set Lila off. I knew all about triggers. I understood because my own

brother carried the same scars and so did I, by association, through his memories and his
vulnerabilities.

There had been times when I’d convinced myself that I didn’t remember all the

details of that scene. But I did. It was etched there, devil-clear. I’d nearly killed our
uncle after I’d walked in on it. And Jake had never been quite the same. Things would
set him off. Random things that would evoke recollected anguish. We never talked
about the memories but they swarmed around us both, tainting everything. Abuse is like
that: it colors your entire world, even when you try to paint over it. I did my best to calm
Jake down and mostly succeeded. The days got easier. But the nights were jagged,
broken by routine nightmares. Sweat-soaked and screaming. For years and years and
years. Even now Jake takes on a haunted look from time to time, when things bubble up.

And I suddenly didn’t feel like beating up Claude, or anyone else. I just felt like

finding Lila and holding her close to me until she forgave me. Until she wasn’t afraid
anymore. Until her sweet face smiled at me. I’d almost forgotten that Claude was still
standing there until his voice broke through my haze of regrets.

“Go find her, Alexander. I’ll wait here and if she turns up, I’ll call you

immediately.”

I didn’t hesitate. I left without a backwards glance, pulling my phone out my

pocket as I took the stairs down to the street. I’d keep Claude – if he didn’t quit – and
give him a raise, maybe, if I ever returned to this apartment, or this company, or this life.
I didn’t fucking care about any of it. I felt strangely, entirely numb. My rage had settled
into an eerie, awful sense of desolation. I didn’t care about anything at all, save one
shining, damaged beacon in the dark daylight.

Lila.

I wanted her so badly it almost scared me. Here I was, a billionaire with a ten-

fucking-million dollar penthouse and a goddamn publishing empire. A gargantuan
investment portfolio that was bullet-proof, recession-proof and practically tax exempt.
Two Maseratis, a limo, a Maybach, a Ferrari, a Ducati, two Lamborghinis and a
Gulfstream. A hotel in Paris, a house in the Hamptons, an island in Maine, a studio
apartment in Key West, a city block in Houston, a bungalow in Malibu with a vineyard
and a view of the ocean. A yacht christened “Honey”: a coincidence that occurred to me
only now and that just about broke my fucking jaded heart at the realization of what I’d
let slip through my fingers.

None of it mattered. I’d have given it all to the first beggar on the street for a

glimpse of her. A touch of that silken hair. A kiss from those pink, candied lips. A
chance to tell her I was sorry.

Had it been something she’d told me about? That I’d forgotten about or

overlooked? Goddamn it all to hell. This was all my fault. I’d done this. I’d driven her
away with my obsession. It was me who’d scared her and trapped her and tightened the
noose of my own obsession until she’d broken.

It was me she was now trying to escape from. Hiding from. Going to dangerous

lengths to try to avoid. Where would she go? Who would she run to? My mind whirled
with the painful possibilities. I’d check out the friend – what was her name? Eve, or
Eva. But Lila was smarter than that: if she was running from me, she’d go somewhere I
wouldn’t think to look. Did she have anywhere to go? Old friends or acquaintances she
hadn’t mentioned to me? Ex-boyfriends? My stomach curled grimly at the thought. She
hadn’t had many boyfriends before me, she’d said. None that she’d felt any real
connection to. None that she’d wanted to give herself to, as she’d given herself to me.

So incredibly sweetly. So beautifully. Oh, fuck. So irresistibly.

God, I needed her. More than I’d ever needed anyone or anything in my entire

miserable fucking life.

I’d blown it. I’d fucked everything up. I had to find her. I had to. Or I would lose

my fucking fucked-up mind.

I could’ve taken one of the cars, parked in a locked fortress-like garage in the

basement of my building. I could have walked the streets or called the police. Greased
fingers. Scoured every inch of this crowded, lonely island. But no. I needed to think of
Lila. I didn’t want to hunt her down like some criminal or teenage runaway. I wanted
her to trust me. And want me. I needed to earn her trust by thinking of her, of what she
might have wanted me to do.

I needed to get my shit together and act like the man she’d want. I was going to

win her back if it was last driving ambition I had. I’d take the limo. That way, if I found
her – when I found her – I could offer to take her wherever she wanted to go. She’d have
every choice, every freedom. I wouldn’t push her. I’d listen until I understood
everything about her. Every fear, every trigger. I’d fix her and heal her and comfort her.

I’d make the deal so sweet and so complete she’d wouldn’t be able to resist.

My driver pulled up in front of my building and I gave him a few addresses. A

place to start.

The streets were crowded. It was the hour before dusk on a Saturday. Early

October. These details seemed arbitrary, strangely unimportant. I poured myself a
drink, hoping it might take the edge off, and scanned the crowds as the silence of the cab
throbbed with emptiness.

Please, Lila. Please don’t disappear on me. Please let me find you. Please.

Lila

I couldn’t see, or think. My awareness was enveloped in a thick, invisible fog.

From somewhere far outside the buffering layer of my unconsciousness, I could

hear vague sounds. And I could feel.

Hands on my body.

Warm, strong hands against my wet, frozen skin.

Touching me.

“Lila, I’m going to take these wet clothes off you, okay?” A man’s voice was

speaking to me. “I’m going to wrap you in a warm robe, and blanket.” I recognized this
voice. It was familiar to me yet not the voice I craved. “You need to get warm.”

Jake.

Jake Wolfe, Alexander’s brother.

Touching his fingers to my skin. Stripping the clothes from my body. Slowly,

carefully, deliberately.

On some deep, irretrievable level I knew this was not right. Jake shouldn’t be

undressing me, and seeing me like this, undressed and passed out. With his hands on my
body as he peeled off my skimpy outfit.

I started to protest but his hands were so warm. I sighed and shivered. I was so

cold my nipples were almost painfully beaded. When Jake’s hand skimmed my breasts, I
gasped at the ice-scalding sensation, moaning softly as I began to wake up. My eyelids
were still too heavy to open, but I could hear him clearly now.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Lila. I just want to get you warm.” He was untying the

tie that wrapped my dress, easing the prickly fabric away from my icy, sensitive skin. I
could hear his breathing coming in soft bursts, and I could feel the warm puffs of air on
my breasts as he revealed them. I tried to say something, to tell him to cover me, but my
request came out as a gentle moan. He was removing the dress from my shoulders,

unwrapping it from my hips, adjusting my body to pull the garment free.

Until I was completely naked.

I felt him touch me again, with a soft cloth. A towel, rubbing gently across the

strands of my hair and my face. Tentatively down my neck, across my bare breasts. “I’m
going to dry you off a little, okay? You’re soaked to the skin. He continued to speak but
seemed to be talking as much to himself as to me. “I’m not looking. Keep your cool,
man. Holy fucking hell. You are one incredibly beautiful girl, Lila. A knockout.
Alexander’s scored the fucking jackpot.” The towel rubbed across my stomach. Lower.
Along my hips and my thighs. He was gentle, so gentle.

For a fleeting, dazed moment I thought maybe I’d been mistaken. Maybe it was

Alexander. Maybe I’d been dreaming all along. Maybe I was still in his bed, wet from
my shower. Maybe it was him who was touching me.

I moaned again, shifting slightly, becoming restless. My eyelids were still too

heavy. No, I wanted to say. It wasn’t him. I could tell. By his voice and his indecision.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Jake was muttering. “If you belonged to anyone but him … damn, Jake,
hold it together, boy-o. Keep your hands off. Concentrate. You need to wrap her up and
keep her warm, and that’s all you need to do. Keep calm. Holy hell, keep yourself calm,
man. Hold it the fuck together.”

Jake was wrapping me in something soft and thickly cozy. I felt the light cinch of a

belt around my waist, of the robe being secured. And a thick quilted comforter was
draped over me and tucked in.

“There you go,” he was saying, and he sounded relieved. “You’re all right now.

You’re safe.” Safe from them and safe from me, he seemed to be suggesting. “Can you
open your eyes, Lila? Can you hear me?”

I could hear him. With effort, I began to open my eyes. At first the murky shapes

seemed covered in a veil-like gauze. The room was dark, but the city light from the large
windows cast a subtle glow on the interior of Jake’s apartment. I was laid out on the
couch and Jake was seated on a chair he’d pulled up alongside me. I concentrated and as
he came into focus, his shadowed face was concerned.

“Hi,” I managed to whisper.

“Hi.” He looked at me for a long moment. Then he smiled and shook his head with

mild exasperation. “Shit, you gave me a scare, passing out like that. You all right?”

“I think so,” I said, my throat parched and my voice rasped.

“Should I call a doctor?”

“No,” I said, attempting to sit up a little, but the room spun violently and I lay back

down. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a glass of water?”

“Of course you can.” He jumped up, seemingly glad to have a concrete task to

attend to. After a minute, he returned and helped me sit up enough to sip at the cool
water. It tasted indescribably good and I drank all of it.

“That’s it,” he said. “You’re okay now. You’re just fine.” I looked at his face, so like

his brother’s yet also so unlike him. I pictured Jake as a child, being comforted with those
very words by Alexander, once upon a time. And I missed Alexander’s stoic, unique
draw that seemed to fit so well with my own layered desires. So much. God, how I
wanted Alexander.

“I carried you up here,” Jake said, and his tone was barely contrite, like he had

something to feel guilty about. “You were so cold. I put something warmer on you, so
you wouldn’t catch pneumonia or something.”

“Thank you, Jake. It’s all right. I’m feeling warmer already.” It was true. The

burning coldness was beginning to tingle as my fingers and toes began to thaw out. “Did
you call him?” I asked softly.

“Not yet. But I’m going to. We have to let him know where you are. He’ll be so

wild with worry he might hurt himself, Lila. Not intentionally but he goes into a rage
when … well, when someone he loves is threatened or lost. There’s no telling what he
might do or how he might react.”

I thought about this, closing my eyes again. I didn’t feel up to having it out with

Alexander tonight, but all the anger had seeped out of me somewhere along the way of
my train-wreck of a night. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for a life of independent fortitude.
Sure, I could crash at Jake’s tonight, insist that Alexander be kept in the dark, and resume
my quest to climb out of my hole of debt, homelessness, joblessness and loneliness by

relying only on my wits and hard work and survive-at-all-costs outlook.

What I felt like doing was sleeping.

In his arms.

In his bed. Under his protection and with his big, powerful, passionate body

wrapped around mine. He was warm, warmer than anyone I’d ever met. And he was
beautiful. So beautiful. I craved his touch and his shielding presence. My mouth felt
strangely thirsty for him, like I missed his taste.

I wanted Alexander like I wanted air and sunlight. Safety and life. I wanted to

immerse myself in the haven of all that he was.

I felt a small feathering touch on my hair and opened my eyes. Jake had absent-

mindedly begun to finger a strand of my hair, twirling it gently as though fascinated.
This might be another reason to call Alexander. Jake had acted honorably in the face of
my full-blown distress. Unfailingly so. I also knew that he had had a lot to drink tonight,
before he’d run into me. Alexander had said it and I had seen it myself: Jake was a
reckless soul; he wasn’t good at toeing the line. And the way he was looking at me now,
behind the mask of his self-control and his loyalty, there was more to the story. He
might be acting honorably, but the thoughts flashing behind his eyes were anything but.
It wouldn’t pay to test him.

“Please,” I said. “Yes. I want you to call him. Tell him I’m here. I want to see

him.”

Jake’s touch went still. My hair fell through his fingers as he pulled his hand away,

collecting himself, as though realizing his mistake. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. I want to make sure he’s okay.”

With that, Jake pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his brother. It took

only seconds for Alexander to answer. “Hey,” Jake said into the phone. “I found Lila.
She’s here. At my place.”

Alexander

Lila was at Jake’s?

How? Why?

There were too many fucked up questions to ask on that discovery to

even know where to start.

The only thing I was certain about was the fact that I was going to beat my brother

to a goddamn fucking pulp if there was even the slightest possibility that he’d … no, it
was too bizarre and downright excruciating to even fucking contemplate.

Lila was safe, that was the main thing. She was at Jake’s and she was safe.

What I needed was to get there. Now. The limo wasn’t far from where Jake’s

apartment was located. But traffic was heavy and we were headed in the wrong
direction. We were stopped at a red light.

I jumped out of the limo and started running down Fifth Avenue like a goddamn

fucking lunatic. I hate it when people run through the streets of New York City. They
always look like lunatics, and they usually are. Today, I couldn’t give a flying goddamn
fuck what I looked like. I just needed to see her. To make sure she was okay. To try to
get to her before my brother’s shaky-at-best scruples broke down, if it wasn’t already too
late.

Negotiating the crowds at high speeds as best I could without fatally injuring

anyone (that I know of), I ran the three blocks in goddamn world record time, possibly. I
got screamed at, grabbed and even punched at one point but I hardly felt it. People
didn’t like being shoved aside as a madman made his way to his star-crossed and possibly
compromised lover, apparently. The throngs were waving their fists and yelling abuse at
me as I turned the corner onto Jake’s street.

The doorman of his building opened the door for me and it was a good thing he did;

there was no telling what I was capable of in my current state of mind. He even said
something to me, like he’d been expecting me. Go right on up, Mr. Wolfe. Your brother’s
expecting you.

You’re goddamn right he’s expecting me. He’s expecting my fucking fist

to connect with his fucking face, is a thought that ran through my mind, but I didn’t

bother voicing it. I was already in the open elevator, punching the button for the fourth
floor and the apartment that I’d helped fund. A fact that had never bothered me. Until
now. Until right fucking now, as I was about to find the only two people I cared about
on the entire face of fucking Earth, together. I could only hope that those two people
weren’t going to reduce me to a shredded goddamn mess of torment when they made
some twisted announcement, or admitted some indiscretion that would rip my heart
right out of my goddamn chest.

I could handle it, maybe. I deserved it, whatever I found in Jake’s apartment.

All I wanted was to see her.

I pounded on Jake’s door and he opened it abruptly, causing me to almost fall into

the room.

I stood there, breathing heavily from my run, getting my bearings.

It was dark. None of the lamps were on and the only light was cast by the glow of

the city outside the expansive windows.

She was lying on the couch, covered by a pillowy duvet. The blond silk of her hair

shone white-gold in the darkness. Her eyes were open, and the green hue of them
caught the light. “Alexander,” she said softly.

I kneeled down next to her and took her cool hand. The relief I felt at that moment

was indescribable. The fizzing adrenaline pumping through my system seemed to
transform into pure, amped-up devotion. Fuck, how I loved her. Every cell in my body
was tuned into this perfect vision I thought I might have lost forever: Lila. Her golden
hair, falling in mussed-up, Aphrodite-like waves. Her soft mouth, saying my name, the
sound shooting an arrow of thrilling delight into my soul like I was some twee,
lovestruck romantic. Which I didn’t even mind being, not for her. Anything for her. My
senses drank in every detail of her face as she watched my reaction to her. Her pink
mouth. The young, flawless curve of her cheekbone. The light dusting of freckles across
the bridge of her nose. Her eyebrows, like feathery, expressive blond stripes. And her
eyes, teary and bright.

“You’re here,” she whispered. She sounded so tired.

“I’m here.”

She reached out to touch my hair, smoothing a strand of it out of my eyes. “You’re

hot,” she smiled weakly.

“I ran to you. As soon as Jake called.”

As I said his name, I looked up to see him standing there, next to the couch. My

rage had cooled, now that I’d seen her, like she fed some sort of calming potion into me,
just with her presence. “I found her at Joe’s. Just sitting there, alone, soaked from the
rain.”

I knew my brother very well. And I could detect a note of accusation in his

statement: it was my fault she’d been found that way. He’d taken an interest in Lila’s
well-being and protection, clearly, and I didn’t know how far that interest extended as
yet, or what it meant. Either way, he was right. It was my fault she’d run. It was my
fault she got caught in the rain, alone and scared.

“You just … ran into her?” I couldn’t help asking the question. I would tread

carefully but the uncertainty was burning me.

“Pure coincidence,” Jake clarified, and I stopped myself from breathing an audible

sigh of unadulterated relief. There’d been no prearranged meeting, no clandestine
rendezvous that might have signalled a heart-breaking development. I could only hope.
I channeled every ounce of self-control. Remain calm, I commanded myself. Everything
will be fine if you keep your cool. For her. For Lila.

“Jake was so kind,” Lila said, and the pronouncement did nothing to soothe my

precarious composure. And you weren’t. She didn’t say it; I don’t even know if she was
thinking it. But I was. And there was something I desperately wanted to say. It
occurred to me then that I had never said those two words to anyone, possibly ever.
Until now.

“Lila,” I began. “I’m sorry.”

Lila’s tears welled up and spilled, painting shiny lines down her face. She tried to

sit up and I helped her. She seemed weak and unsteady. And I could see then that she
wore a plush blue bathrobe.

Jake’s robe.

A shot of ice jolted through my veins but I didn’t immediately react. He would

have given it to her, to change into. Her clothes had been wet from the rain. And I could
see it there, the bunched-up, still-soaked scrap of the dress she’d been wearing, lying
across the arm of a nearby chair.

My focus shifted to Lila as she began to speak quietly. She sounded sad, and that

defeat in her voice cut me up. I wanted to stomp on her defeat. I wanted to rip out her
sadness, and make it all up to her a thousandfold. I would fix everything that had ever
hurt her. I’d right my wrongs and everyone else’s. I would to give her everything I had,
to charm her and win her and enchant her so I could see her smile again. Her smile was
the only goddamn thing I cared about.

“It was him,” she began slowly. She didn’t seem to mind that Jake was listening,

too. Some kind of trust had built up between them that I no longer minded. There were
things they had in common – devastating things. Maybe she could take comfort in
knowing the few details she knew about Jake’s past. A shared burden is sometimes
easier to carry. “It was the man I told you about. My mother’s boyfriend.” She paused,
and I held her hand gently, wiping her tears with my fingers. And I waited. She would
speak when she was ready.

After a few minutes, she continued. “He used to lock me up. So he could … so

whatever he wanted. To use as he wanted, when he wanted. So I couldn’t escape. Every
night, after my mother passed out on the couch, he would come to me. That sound, of
the key … the lock … it reminds me of all those nightmares.” Her tears were streaming
freely now as she spoke again, those big pooling green eyes looking at me. “I just had to
get out.”

“You locked her up.” It was a statement not a question, as though all had suddenly

become clear. Jake’s disgust was palpable, but he knew my history, as well as his own.
He knew my hang-ups were a side-effect of his abuse and his protection.

“You didn’t know,” Lila said to me, defending me, of all things. “You couldn’t have

known that. I hadn’t told you that part.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done it. I just wanted to … keep you

safe.” It was fucked up. It sounded fucked up, even the way I said it, the similarities
between my behavior and some monster who’d wanted to possess her for his own
pleasure and his own power. To keep her for his very own. Exactly as I had. I’d become
one of the very monsters I’d been so determined to protect her from.

“It’s not the same, Alexander,” Lila said, as though reading my thoughts. “Not at

all. Not even close. But it scared me. I can’t handle it. I just couldn’t see straight, or
think, or do anything. I just had to get out of there.”

I wanted to apologize again, but the words seemed too small, too inadequate to

express how much I loved her.

“Jake found me.”

“She was a little out of it,” Jake said. “She fainted, and I brought her back here.” I

didn’t have to ask why he didn’t call me as soon as he’d found her. I remembered what
Claude had said. She begged me not to. I could hardly blame her. Even so, as I held her
hand and contemplated the glory that was her face, I knew I wouldn’t give up trying to
win her back, to convince her to forgive me if it took me the rest of my life. “She was out
cold and freezing, so I got her out of her wet clothes and put the robe on her. And
convinced her that we needed to let you know where she was.”

I’ll admit it, and it’s fairly obvious by the chain of events that brings us to this point

that I can be an overbearing, volatile, hot-headed asshole from time to time. This turned
out to be one of those times. Jake had found Lila, given her shelter and talked her into
allowing me back into her life. All those things registered as the acts of a loyal,
conscientious brother, which I’d later thank him for. But the only detail I could
concentrate on, however, at that moment in time was one: I got her out of her wet clothes
and put the robe on her.

He’d stripped her, as she lay unconscious. He’d seen her naked, and I had no doubt

he’d enjoyed every minute of his oh-so-righteous act. My nerves were shot twelve times
over by this stage, and as much as I might have tried to cling to the last vestiges of my
self-control, it was a lost cause. Very carefully, I eased my clasp from Lila’s hand. I stood
up. And I lunged at my brother.

It wasn’t the first time I’d taken my frustrations out on my brother and probably

wouldn’t be the last. He used me as his therapeutic punching bag on a regular basis, too,
and had since he’d grown to almost my height. I still outweighed him, though. This
time, he’d been expecting retribution, I could tell. He knew he was guilty. He knew he’d
enjoyed salivating all over my naked girlfriend, whatever the circumstances might have
been. He fell as I landed on top of him and I got a good left hook in before he punched
me in the stomach. We rolled and growled and punched and knocked over a table. I got

in a few more solid hits but Jake’s a scrappy fighter and we’re evenly matched. And he
was as amped-up tonight as I was. We might have killed each other if it wasn’t for Lila.
As soon as I felt her hand touching my shoulder, I froze, breathing hard. Jake did, too.
She was too close to risk any more violence. She couldn’t be harmed.

“Stop it right now, the two of you,” she said sternly, her face heart-breakingly

serious and mind-numbingly beautiful. Like an angel, crouched there, scolding us.
“Alexander, you leave him alone. He’s been only kind to me. And good. He found me,
and he helped me. He’s done nothing wrong.”

Jake turned to me. “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I wanted to, but I wouldn’t do

that to you, brother. I wouldn’t. Not after everything. I was keeping her safe for you.
She’s for you. She’s good for you. You deserve her.”

My brother, as close as we’ve been over the years, was not especially sentimental.

He keeps his emotions, generally speaking, close to his chest. It’s sort of a defence
mechanism of his, I’ve learned. This was the most emotional thing I’d ever heard him
say.

And I believed him. I believed him so much it hurt.

Then he turned to Lila and said, “You should forgive him. He saved me, and it

wasn’t easy. That’s why he acts the way he does: he had to. He had to be a mother and a
father and a brother and a provider. I was a fucked-up kid who needed help. And he
helped me. Every day. Every single fucking day of my miserable fucked-up life. He
never gave up on me. He still hasn’t given up on me, and that’s saying something. He
can help you, too, Lila. He’s the most generous person I know and you should forgive
him. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

With that, Lila kissed Jake’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said to him. “Thank you for

saving me tonight.” Then she turned to me, and I noticed she wasn’t crying anymore.
“Alexander, I’d like to go home now,” she said.

Lila

Alexander gently picked me up and carried me into the elevator, holding me

against his chest and his sheltering heat like I weighed no more than a child. His
distinctive scent provided a divine blend, both comforting and erotic. He smelled like
sweat and love and money. I turned my face up to his and curled my arms around his
neck as the elevator door closed. I weaved my fingers through the coarse black locks of
his hair as I contemplated him. The flexed muscles of his shoulders and his neck. The
bruise that was forming around his eye. The disheveled, wild look of him, beneath the
relieved, almost somber expression. God, how I’ve missed his face. His hair. I’m never, ever
leaving him again,

I thought. I can’t. I need this too much.

“I love you,” I whispered, looking into the depths of his midnight-black eyes. “I

love you so much.”

“I’m so sorry I scared you,” he said, his voice rasped with emotion. Could any man

be more perfect than this one? Forget that he was gorgeous beyond belief, the sight of
him and all his rugged, swarthy masculinity scalding my senses, overwhelming me with
relief and happiness and hunger. It was the dedication, the remorse and the total
devotion that got me most of all. His eyes were reddened from the rawness of his relief.
That he’d found me. That I might forgive him.

It was enough. I did forgive him, with my whole soul.

I pulled his face to mine and kissed his lips tenderly. So softly. Just tasting him,

reveling in the fact that he was here with me. He groaned, as if my kiss was breaking his
heart.

“You know what I want to do with you?” he asked, that dark husk in his voice

unfurling something in me. “After we’ve worked out your schedule and got you
acclimatized at Skyscraper, I want to take you out on my yacht. Just you and me.” He
paused, then added. “If you want to.”

I couldn’t help smiling. This was the Alexander I’d fallen in love with. The one

who’d asked me if I was game before taking control of every detail of my well-being. The

one who’d charmed me and fixed me, on my own terms, and on his. Equally. “I want
to,” I said, kissing him again, more deeply. Touching my tongue to his parted lips.

He was breathing more heavily but his grip tightened. The elevator pinged and the

doors slid open. I didn’t care about anything or anyone but Alexander. With my arms
still wrapped around his neck, my hands entwined in his hair I kissed his stubble-
roughened jaw as he carried me into the foyer. I was vaguely aware that the doorman
opened the door for us, that the limousine driver he had called from Jake’s apartment
was already there, opening another door. But all my focus was on Alexander’s face. On
his taste, his scent, the feel of his body under his shirt. He said something to the driver
before the door was closed behind us, sealing us back into Alexander’s plush world. He
settled me onto his lap with his arms wrapped around me.

I kissed him again. His feel and the taste of his lips against mine was luscious,

drugging, insanely seductive. I touched my tongue to his, playing him, drawing his
tongue delicately into my mouth. He exhaled with a low, savage sound, but he pulled
back. “You’re tired, sweetheart. I don’t want to push you tonight. You’ve been through
the ringer. I want you to rest.”

I loved the genuine concern in his voice. I’d scared him today and he was taking no

chances with me. He’d promised to be careful, to make amends for his mistake. And he
was right: I had been through a ringer of sorts today, one that had left me emotionally
raw and also insanely thankful. That I had him. That he was mine, flaws, obsessions and
all.

I wanted to show him how glad I was to see him. I wanted to prove to him that I’d

forgiven him, and that I trusted him. “I don’t want to rest yet,” I said. “Alexander, make
love to me. Right now. I want you so much.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, Lila,” he said, tuning into my wavelength.

Understanding

me. “Let me take you home. I’ll run you a hot bath in the Jacuzzi. I’ll

pamper you and feed you. Let me do that for you tonight. I don’t want you to wear
yourself out. You need rest.”

“All right,” I said, loving him a thousand times more than ever, kissing the corner of

his mouth, his cheek, nibbling on his earlobe. I knew he’d relent even though he hadn’t
yet given in to me in his own mind. He could protest all he wanted but I knew what he
liked. And I knew what I liked. He wanted to pamper me and I would let him. “Lay me

down, Alexander,” I said softly into his ear, touching little butterfly kisses along his jaw
to his lips. “I want you to lay me back onto the seat so I can rest.”

He obliged immediately, setting me carefully down into a reclining position, his

eyes full of anguished, almost manic concern.

“I’m warm,” I told him. “Too warm. Untie my robe so I can cool off a little.”

He did, parting the robe, holding his palm to my forehead. “Maybe you have a

fever. I should take you to a doctor.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t need a doctor. I feel cooler already.”

His eyes were on my face and his fingers gently smoothed my hair. I slid my arms

from the robe so I was laying on it, completely naked. Alexander, for the first time since
I’d known him, didn’t seem to notice this. He was too preoccupied with my health. I
found this funny and also ridiculously endearing. And I planned to remedy the situation
immediately.

“I’m warm but my skin feels cool, and tingly,” I said. “After being outside in the

ice-cold rain.”

A ripple of tortured rage flashed behind his eyes at the thought of me, cold and

alone. “I wish you had just come to me –”

I touched my finger to his lips and he quieted instantly. “Would you warm me with

your hands? It would feel so good if you would touch me. Just gently. Like this.”

Taking his hand, I placed his palm on my arm, rubbing it softly against my skin.

I closed my eyes and relaxed my hold, letting him continue as my arms fell to my

sides. He caressed my arms, massaging gently with both hands. “Mmm,” I sighed.
“That feels so good. Do my legs, too.” My eyes opened and our gazes met. “If you don’t
mind, that is.”

His mouth quirked at the corner. Not quite a smile. This was our thing: this dance.

Allowing options. Not forcing. Not running. Trusting. Meeting halfway. This was
what we were learning how to do, despite our individual difficulties with it. “I don’t
mind,” he said quietly, moving to my feet, which he massaged with deliberation,
pressing into the arch of my foot with his thumb until I exhaled with pleasure. After the
long walk in high-heeled boots, his careful manipulations felt downright heavenly. I

wasn’t sure if he intended his touch to be erotic, but I responded nonetheless. I couldn’t
help myself. The gentle-strong strokes of his fingers reminded me of other places he’d
caressed me. I let my legs part, keeping my eyes closed, so he could see me. Every inch
of me. I was his and I wanted him to be reminded of that. My sex was moistening with
each glide of his fingers. I could feel the gentle swell and pulse begin to plump me under
his watch. I wanted him to watch as I grew increasingly turned on. His hands had
moved to my calves now, gliding higher.

“My legs are sore from walking so far,” I murmured.

“Is that right?” he said, and his grief at the thought was less pronounced now. His

hands moved to my thighs as he continued to massage me with his thorough, passionate
touch. I was very wet now, as he caressed the tops of my legs and behind, to my ass,
kneading gently, working me for my own pleasure. As he massaged, his fingers roved,
parting my intimate curls with unassuming, feather-light touches. I loved how gentle he
was, how careful, exposing me completely. I wanted him to see me like this: naked,
open, ready. I wanted to live and die just like this, as his. “How’s this?” he asked, and
there was a light smile in his voice.

“Very, very good.”

His touch traveled higher, stroking my stomach, moving to my breasts, which he

began to knead and gently squeeze. I arched against his hand and he gave me what I
wanted, pinching my nipples lightly between his fingers, rolling them and tugging them
into tight, achy little pleasure-points. My legs parted further. My pussy pulsed with
each delicate pull as his hands expertly coaxed the desire higher.

My eyes were open now, my hands lightly gripping his arms. “I thought of you all

day. I missed you so much. I wanted you.”

My words affected him, I could see this. The pain I’d caused him was written all

over his body language, from the enduring worry in his eyes to the tense set of his
shoulders. I vowed to peel back every layer of his anxiety, to soothe it and right it. “I’m
here now,” he said. “I’ll do anything you want me to do. You should know that by
now.”

I thought he might deny me, thinking me too tired or ill. “Anything?”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Make me forget everything but you. All I want is you.”

“I’m yours, honey girl. All yours. Only yours.”

“Kiss me, Alexander. Kiss me. I want to feel your mouth on me.”

Alexander didn’t hesitate. He kneeled down, lacing my leg around his neck as he

lowered his mouth to me. Before he touched me, he blew a light breath onto my humid,
wanting flesh. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, blowing onto me again. My sex
clenched with anticipation. He was so close. My body was greedy for him, for the touch
of his soft, hungry, perfect mouth. “All I want to do is love you.”

“Yes. Please love me, Alexander. Please touch me.”

“How do you want me to touch you, Lila?” he said, holding my legs open, licking a

teasing, barely-there kiss. The touch sent a wash of deep, electric heat into my belly.
“Like this?”

My hands were fisted in his hair and he eased them back down to my sides.

“Relax, honey,” he crooned. “I promise you. I’ll give you everything you ask for.

Everything. Lie back and relax. Let me take care of you. Let me kiss you.”

I obeyed him, unclenching my fists, allowing him to take his time. The loll of the

limousine’s movement calmed me further. He must have ordered his driver to cruise for
a while. Or else the driver had figured it out for himself. The outside world hardly
mattered to me. I was cocooned in the luxury my dream lover provided. All thoughts
evaporated into feeling as Alexander’s tongue found me, lapping gently, sending a surge
of warm bliss through my sex that just about blew my mind. He dipped a fluttering lick
into me, then touched his tongue to my clit in a pressing caress that took me to the edge
of insanity. “Or like this?” he said huskily.

“Yes. Yes. Like that. Just like that. Oh, please.”

His slow lick was deeper, touching a sublime, unbelievably sensitive place. The

tension in my body was laced with the sweet release I knew was coming. The beauty
was rising up. And Alexander’s tongue nudged blissfully against my clit, pushing me
into an orgasm so intense I cried out, rocking against him as his tongue stayed there,
where I needed him to be, suckling and nudging and prolonging the ecstasy as I writhed
in a feast of voluptuous, undulating pleasure.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “That’s my Lila. I’m going to make you feel so good

you’ll never want to run from me again.”

Through the lingering waves of my climax, his comment struck a chord. I didn’t

ever want to run from Alexander again. Now that he understood what drove me and
what scared me, I hoped I would never, ever need to. “Alexander,” I whispered, tugging
at his shirt. “Come here.”

He kissed my still-pulsing nub once more, nuzzling gently before lifting himself up

with his arms to lay his big body gently over mine, barely touching me with his weight.
Even the light pressure gave me every clue as to the state of his arousal. I wrapped my
arms and legs around him, preventing any retreat. I kissed his mouth. Once I might
have cared that I could taste myself, but not now. I wanted everything that had to do
with Alexander. His rigid length pressed against my stomach as I pulled him closer.
“You need to rest now,” he said. “Are you ready for me to take you home?”

“Not yet.” I kissed his remarkable face and unwrapped my arms from his neck,

unbuttoning his shirt to feel the sculpted planes of his chest.

He covered my forehead once again with his palm. “You do feel a little feverish –”

My fingers slid under the waistband of his jeans, circling the rock-hard width of

him, squeezing as my other hand unzipped his pants to release him. “I’m feverish with
desire for my knight in shining armor. I need you so much. I want to feel you inside me.
You said you’d give me whatever I want. And I want this …” I squeezed him more
tightly, stroking him from root to tip until he groaned and hardened even further. I
pushed his jeans down his lean hips, positioning him, guiding him to my slippery center,
pushing the head of his cock into me. “… here.”

“Damn it, Lila,” he gasped. “Fuck. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“You are taking care of me. Just like I want.” I wrapped my legs tighter around

him, levering his hips towards me until he slid deeper, possessing me inch by ecstatic
inch. God, he felt good. The tiny muscles deep inside me clenched and spasmed,
tightening around him in welcoming ripples.

“Oh, fuck, Lila. Oh, God.” His voice was so rasped it was almost unrecognizable. “I

only wanted to keep you safe. Physically safe and emotionally safe, too. I never meant to
hurt you, or scare you. I’m so fucking sorry. I love you so much. Too much.”

Alexander’s eyes were shiny with remorse. I was amazed to feel the drop of a tear on my
cheek. His tear. His eyes were bloodshot, framed by those long, thick lashes.

Alexander. My Alexander. I couldn’t bear his pain. And I couldn’t believe I had

touched him so deeply and so completely. My hands moved to his hips, to the hard,
flexed muscles of his backside. I pulled him closer, until he was filling me, thickly and
entirely. My body was cradling his, fluttering around him in a tight, wet, connective
bond. Involuntarily, my muscles clenched around him as though to draw him further
into me as I took his face between my hands. I felt his torment as if it was my own, deep
inside my heart. “Look at me, Alexander.” He did, and I felt the sting of my own tears.
“You didn’t know. I never told you that part. It’s over now, and we’re here, together.”

“I can’t lose you. I thought I’d lost you.”

“You couldn’t lose me if you tried,” I told him. “You’re mine. I need you too

much.”

“You’ve touched me, angel,” he said, thrusting into my clasping depths, “like I’ve

never been touched. I’m crazy for you. Crazy in love with you. Crazy.”

I kissed him and kissed him again. My legs were wrapped around his hips, my sex

pulsing around his deeply-insinuated flesh in receiving, rippling embraces. “I love you,”
I whispered, looking into his eyes as the tears ran in tickling tracks down my temples. “I
love you.”

He rolled his hips as he plunged into me, stirring his big, heavy cock into my

melting depths. I was coming. I don’t think I’d stopped coming. His thickness pushed
the ecstasy into me in powerful drives until the rhythmic bliss erupted in starry
overload. The orgasm was an all-soul experience, as spiritual as it was physical. Our
gazes held as I came, as my pussy clamped violently around his glorious, coercive bulk.

“My honey girl,” he whispered in a rasped groan before the heated waves had

entirely subsided. “Come again with me.”

Alexander cupped my ass and angled my hips, thrusting his cock as deeply into me

as I could take him, pressing strongly against my womb. He nuzzled his face into my
neck, biting me softly, marking me as he possessed me. With his cock he skillfully
stroked that sensitive place inside me, the slippery friction taking me to the very brink. I
tried to hold on, to stave off the rising peak. But he was relentless, tireless, forcing the

rapture with his plunging insistence. “Oh, Alexander. Come with me. Oh, God. Stay
with me.”

“I’m with you, honey girl,” he gasped against my throat, “I’m with you.”

We set each other off: the heavy, milking grip of my inner muscles was compelled

and compounded by the jetting jolts of his thick, spasming cock as it plunged and slid. I
bit Alexander’s shoulder as he growled his tortured pleasure against my neck. We
bucked and writhed and rode that pleasure as far as it would take us. And we lay like
that, moistly locked and wholly immersed, for a long time, looking into each other’s eyes,
our hair and limbs tangled, our bodies replete, humming and alive, amazed, entranced,
utterly in love.

$

Alexander took me home. That’s what he called it and that’s what it felt like to me

now: home. As he promised, he ran me a bath in the Jacuzzi, he pampered me, he fed
me. And he let me rest.

And then he made love to me again, and again, as I asked him to do. I coerced him

and I willingly succumbed to him. As equals. As lovers. And two damaged souls,
hinged together by our jagged edges.

On Sunday, we were eating a lunch prepared for us by Claude, who I couldn’t help

notice was sporting a very expensive-looking new Rolex. He’d served us, then promptly
disappeared.

Alexander’s doorbell buzzed.

“A delivery, sir,” came the voice over the intercom. “From Barneys.”

“Send it up,” Alexander replied.

A man delivered two large boxes, gift wrapped, and one smaller one. Alexander

tipped him with a hundred dollar bill, and the man thanked him profusely before taking
his leave.

Alexander turned to me, leaning one bare, toned shoulder against the wall, his

hands slung into the pockets of his low-slung jeans. My hands had wreaked havoc on his
black, too-long hair and he needed a shave. His olive skin emphasized the whiteness of

his teeth as he smiled. Damn, the man was gorgeous, like a badboy pirate who’d taken a
break from the high seas to wrangle a couple of boardroom deals before the next ship
took sail. “For you,” he said. “Open them.”

“Alexander, I’ve already told you: you don’t need to buy me things,” I began, but

my protests sounded futile even to me. He could buy me anything he wanted, we both
knew that. And I had a feeling I knew what these gifts were. Replacements, for the
things I’d lost during my meltdown.

A new coat, identical to the one I’d left behind at that distant, hazy restaurant. And

a new pair of Balenciaga boots, like the ones I’d ruined schlepping through the pouring
rain, lost, alone, afraid.

I looked up at him, overwhelmed, so very grateful. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled. “There’s another one.”

“What’s this one?” I unwrapped the third, smaller package, gasping when I saw the

dress. A white dress, made of fine cotton, frilly but not overly so. Feminine and
incredibly well-made. A modern take on a peasant dress, short and flattering. “It’s
beautiful.”

“Put it on.”

I shrugged off the robe I was wearing – Alexander’s, not Jake’s – and slipped the

dress over my head. I twirled for him, smiling, feeling happier than I could ever
remember feeling. I pulled on the boots and put on the coat, standing in front of him.
“There.”

He contemplated me for a few seconds. “There’s something missing,” he said.

“What’s missing? That’s everything.”

Alexander took a small, velvet box out of each of his pockets. One was pink and the

other was blue. He held them out to me, balancing them on his upturned palms. “Pick
one.”

I looked at him warily. “Alexander.”

“Lila,” he replied, smiling widely.

“What’s this?”

He took a step closer. “I guess you’ll have to open them and find out.”

I hesitated, but his smile was infectious. I reached for the blue box, but he

withdrew it as I reached for it. “Take the pink one first.”

Watching his face, I took the pink box. Tentatively, I opened it. “A gold key,” I

said, my observation tipped with a light question.

“Yes. A gold key. It’s the key to my office. And my bedroom. And it’s yours

now.”

After all the recent melodramas, this gift was a heavy statement: a promise. The key

to my bedroom.

I would never again be trapped, or locked in. My freedom was his new

priority, one that was, at times, difficult for him to allow; it meant that he had to
relinquish total control.

And here, too, was the key to his office. Knowing what I did about Alexander, this

was significant. He was allowing me out and allowing me in. His office was his
kingdom, the control center of his vast empire, the one he’d struggled and sweated and
toiled his whole life to build, driven by desperation at times, spurred by dreams and also
nightmares. The same office he’d been very reticent to allow me to step into, once our
relationship had taken on the intensity that had begun that very first day I’d met him.
Still, I wasn’t sure what this meant. Maybe this was the key he gave to all his assistants,
to tidy up, to take notes, to file away the paperwork he hadn’t quite gotten to.

“I don’t want you to be my assistant,” he said, reading my mind and dashing my

hopes with a single, brusque pronouncement.

I didn’t answer right away, but I could tell he could read my disappointment by the

way his chin dipped lower and he assessed me from under his long eyelashes. I was
slightly irritated when he grinned again, as though he found my disappointment
amusing.

“I want you to be my business partner,” he continued. “I’m going to train you to

work alongside me.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He wanted to share his publishing empire

with me? Not just as a minion but as an equal? I didn’t know what to say. I was
completely, utterly speechless.

He took another step closer, holding out the blue box. “None of it means anything

without you, Lila. I want you. I love you. Now open this one.”

I think my jaw had dropped open by this point. And it only got worse when

Alexander bent down onto one knee in front of me. Before I could reach for the small
blue box, Alexander looked up at me. Slowly, tantalizingly, he opened it, revealing the
biggest, glintiest diamond ring I had ever seen. The obscenely-large rock was set on a
band made of honey-colored gold. It was simple and luxurious and exceptionally
beautiful. Solid and mesmerizing, catching light. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

Until Alexander began to speak. Then it was his face that held my attention. His

sincere, heart-breaking face. “I figured since I can’t bear to let you out of my sight,” he
began, “and I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, and nothing is as important to me
than your well-being and your happiness … well, that I better make a few changes
around here. Will you make me the happiest man alive by saying yes to me? Lila, will
you marry me?”

It took me several seconds to respond to him. He reached for my hand, taking the

ring from the box and sliding it onto my fourth finger. It fit perfectly, like it belonged
there.

Then he tugged gently on my hand, pulling me down to him. I kneeled in front of

him. His presence and his love fed me a kind of comfort I’d never experienced before.
Contentment, joy, unadulterated hope.

“Yes,” I finally said. I hadn’t realized I was crying until I felt the warm slide of a

tear on my cheek, and my throat felt tight when I choked out my reply. “I’ll marry you.
I’ll marry you.”

Alexander took my face in his hands. “Thank God for that. I already bought you an

engagement present. It’s down below, in my garage. How do you feel about Porsche 918
Spyders? I can get you something else if you don’t like it. Of course you’ll also have
your own limo and driver, and the use of mine whenever you want it. But it’s always
nice to have your own wheels. Do you know how to drive, Lila?”

“No.”

“Great, I can teach you. And when –”

“Alexander.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to buy me a car. You’ve already –”

“Too late,” Alexander said, cutting me off. “We can argue about that later.”

But then he smiled at me. He kissed me, tenderly, hungrily, endlessly. Our hands

were all over each other, our mouths insatiable. Until we were rolling on the floor,
clothes tossed aside. Until I was naked except for my new diamond ring, which I had no
desire to ever take off. Until he was all around me, on me, inside me.

I believed that Alexander and I were destined to be together. Our attraction had

begun with an uncontrollable lust and grown into an all-encompassing, deeply
meaningful, wholly necessary bond. There would be bumps in the road along the way, I
had no doubt about that. He’d given me his key and his ring, and he’d promised me he’d
try to curb his obsession, to give me room to breathe while still keeping me safe.

I couldn’t see the future, and I hoped that our love would sustain us.

Time would tell …

$

eBooks now available:

BILLIONAIRE (Part 1) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 2) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 5) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 6) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 7) by Juliette Jones

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BILLIONAIRE (Complete Book)

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Coming soon:

BILLIONAIRE (Book 2)