The Billionaire’s Desire (His Submissive, Part Nine)

Ava Claire

Copyright 2013 Ava Claire

The His Submissive Series

The Billionaire’s Contract (Part One)

The Billionaire’s Touch (Part Two)

The Billionaire’s Passion (Part Three)

The Billionaire’s Heart (Part Four)

The Billionaire’s Girlfriend (Part Five)

The Billionaire’s Secret (Part Six)

The Billionaire’s Lust (Part Seven)

The Billionaire’s Promise (Part Eight)

The Billionaire’s Desire (Part Nine)

The Billionaire’s Past (Part Ten): June 21

The Billionaire’s Trust (Part Eleven): July 26

The Billionaire’s Forever (Part Twelve): August 23

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****

"So...where's the ring?"

The conversations around us ground to a halt as the attention flickered toward the lazy drawl

of Rachel Laraby’s voice. The crowd parted slightly, revealing her standing on the outskirts.

Wearing that blood red dress. Eyes flecks of emerald. Mouth an angry line of barely hidden

resentment.

For a moment, the silence took center stage and I almost believed that she’d said something

else. Something a little less obnoxious. But this was Rachel Laraby we were talking about—and

‘obnoxious’ was damn near her middle name.

“Rachel…” Jacob began, his voice a warning she’d be wise to heed.

“That’s me,” she said sweetly, dismissing him with a patronizing grin. She took a step

forward, drinking up the attention like someone that was used to all eyes being on them. That lived for

it.

Tonight was our night. Me and Jacob’s. He’d just asked me to marry him for crissakes. This

moment belonged to us—and she couldn't stand it.

The heat started in my cheeks and worked its way outward as the eyes that gazed at me and

Jacob like we were a romantic movie unfolding right before them dropped to my hand. To my left

hand. And my bare ring finger.

Just to cull the herd and remind them that the stage was hers, she repeated her question.

“Where’s the ring?” The lighthearted, nonchalant tone she’d used before was gone and in its

place was an edge that reminded me of the haughty actress I’d met months ago in Venice. The

glittering celebrity who should have been on top of the world but couldn't seem to wrap her mind

around the fact that Jacob Whitmore, billionaire CEO of Whitmore and Creighton, wanted nothing to

do with her.

The looks that passed back and forth between us and Rachel were different now. They

weren't sure where it was safe to land. Instead of the shock her question had originally garnered, the

tone had become markedly more uncomfortable.

“I mean, it was a lovely proposal,” Rachel gushed, attempting to smooth over her transparent

jealousy. “I’m just wondering if that was just an appetizer and Mr. Whitmore’s seconds away from

pulling out a tiny black box with a big ole rock in it.”

Jacob tensed beside me and I knew that he was dangerously close to saying something that

would make matters worse. He was usually the picture of calm, cool, and collected, but Rachel had

swooped back into our lives declaring war. Her question, not even five minutes after I said yes to his

proposal, was a heavy pill to swallow. I'm pretty sure Jesus Christ himself would have had trouble

turning the other cheek after the blow she’d just delivered.

She sauntered closer, eyes locked on Jacob with a smirk that told me she knew he was

creeping towards boiling point.

“It’s a valid question,” she said with an innocent shrug. “I’m just curious is all.”

I saw bloody freaking murder raging in his eyes, but I just held tight to his hand. Gripped it

until I saw the fire die down to embers and smoke. She wanted a blow up. She wanted to ruin our

moment. We couldn't give her that satisfaction.

Once I believed that I could speak without my voice cracking or calling her something that

would make my mother gasp, I turned back to face her, pulling on a smile.

"The ring--"

"--is none of your business," Jacob finished tersely, glaring at her like she was a piece of

gum on the bottom of his leather oxfords. Mouth twisted like she was a sip of alcohol, closer to paint

thinner than anything refreshing. Body so painfully taut that the slightest movement would be enough to

make it snap.

A murmur rippled across those gathered around us, the buzz of happiness officially snuffed

out. Just like she wanted.

I sighed inwardly, knowing she was tallying up the score. I was struggling to hold onto my

smile, trying desperately to pretend like everything was fine. I wanted to say something funny, to

alleviate the tension that electrified the air around us, but I had nothing.

And of course, Rachel wasn't done.

“It’s a fair question,” she continued, batting her eyelashes as she scanned the crowd, looking

for some confirmation that she wasn't the only one wondering. When she realized they were far more

afraid of Jacob than excited at the possibility of gaining her favor, she changed tactics. “It’s just that I

know that your little soiree will be breathtaking and jewelers will be knocking off your ring all over

the world. I was just hoping for a sneak peek.”

The smile on my face twitched, the nerve beneath my eye going haywire. If I was being

honest, I didn't even think about the lack of an engagement ring until she brought it up. I was still stuck

on everything else. The melody of the song pouring into my ears. Recognizing the bars immediately

and remembering Megan telling him that it was my dream to have that song playing at my wedding.

And then there was the look on Jacob's face as he dropped to one knee and asked me to spend

my life with him. It was the look of someone that had never loved anything or anyone as much as he

loved me. There was no room for anything but sheer bliss. It was a high so powerful that I could

barely feel my feet on the ground. But her animosity crapped all over that happiness. It anchored me,

poisoning one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

No, I told myself firmly, not giving that thought any weight. I wouldn't let her take this away

from me. From us. I didn't care about a diamond. I just wanted him.

I swallowed the burning anger that knotted my throat and leaned in, pressing my lips against

Jacob's cheek. I could tell from the way he barely responded to the touch that he was expecting me to

tell him to relax. To ignore her. But I had something more important to say than any of that. More

important than Rachel’s efforts to spoil our memory.

"I love you."

He stopped flinging daggers in her direction and tilted his chin toward me. I watched as

everyone else in the world washed away and every swirl of blue crashed into me.

His lips spread into a grin that made my heart skip a beat. "I love you too."

The 'awws' that sounded around us made my cheeks burn red but in that moment, we owned

our joy. Short of dropping to the floor and kicking and screaming like a child, Rachel couldn’t say

anything else without outing herself. She’d be a little less America’s sweetheart and a little closer to

Fatal Attraction.

Awkwardness nearly forgotten, the group drew back to us like moth to the firelight. I scanned

the group until I saw Claudia Joy, the soft lines of her face deepening as she gave me a big, toothy

grin.

We focused on the people that were at least putting on a better show of being happy for us.

Jacob shook hands, accepting congratulations and I went to Claudia and pulled her in for a hug,

squeezing my eyes shut. I wanted to focus on how happy she was for us. I almost didn’t want to open

them, sure that when I did Rachel would be staring back at me. When I got the nerve and conceded, I

breathed a sigh of relief. Rachel had given up her efforts and was stalking toward the exit.

Claudia followed my line of sight then leaned in, lowering her voice. "Good riddance."

I gave her another squeeze, shaking the last remnants of the negativity off and concentrated on

being happy. This was how you were supposed to feel after the love of your life asked you to marry

them. Like you were bursting at the seams with awesomeness and incapable of doing anything but

smiling.

She pulled back, giving me a toothy grin that rivaled the gold comb that held back her

chestnut hair. "I'm so happy for you, dear!" She held my gaze, searching and making sure I heard every

word that came next. "And you deserve this--don't let anyone tell you any different."

I could seriously hug her again and not let go. A bunch of people that could barely spare more

than a nod in my direction before tonight had been gushing about how happy they were and while I'd

thanked every single one, finally happy to have a few precious moments where I wasn't on the outside

looking in, it was a bittersweet kind of joy. If Jacob hadn't popped the question here, would they still

breeze past like I didn't exist?

And there I was being negative again. I didn’t want to think about the what if’s…not when the

actualities were much more pressing. Like the fact that I was engaged. "I'm just...overwhelmed...and

elated...and in complete shock!"

She nodded with a knowing gleam in her eyes. Paired with her wedding ring and a plethora

of pictures in her office with a smiling man who looked like she was the sun, moon, and everything in

between, I knew she was married and knew all too well the rush of emotion I was flooded with. "It

was a lovely proposal, Leila--and I'm sure the wedding will be amazing too."

The wedding...oh my gosh! Would we do something big and over the top? Something small

and intimate? Something in the city or something destination-y? And then there was the guest list…I

was out of breath just thinking about it.

She laughed at my wide eyes. "Just enjoy being engaged. Let the wedding planner worry

about everything else."

It was a little too late for that. I couldn't help but run through my mental checklist. I had to call

my mom and Megan and tell them. I doubted anyone at the party would let it slip to the paparazzi, but

Rachel would delight in it, probably spinning some ridiculous reason on why I didn’t have a ring. I

pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the headache that I knew was on its way.

But an electric current shot through me instead, silencing the nerves as Jacob glanced in my

direction. Those thick, perfectly shaped lips curled into a smile that melted me into a sticky puddle on

the terrace.

We were getting married.

He kept his eyes on me, shaking hands as he made his way through the crowd, turning my

worries into whispers and my insides into jelly. I knew that look. It stripped me down without lifting

a finger. It made thinking about anything but our naked bodies doing naughty things together all but

impossible.

I bit my lip as he stepped up beside me, flashing Claudia a smile that was a little more

genuine than the one he’d been passing out to everyone else.

"Congratulations Mr. Whitmore," Claudia said brightly.

"Thank you Claudia." Jacob put a hand on the small of my back and I shivered, turning red for

a whole different reason. His fingertips pressed into the paper-thin silk of my blouse and my body

hummed in anticipation of getting back home and having our own private celebration. But when he

drew his fingertips up and down my spine, I found myself entertaining wild thoughts like dropping my

hand to his crotch and stroking him. Teasing him like he was teasing me.

"Could you excuse us?” Jacob said, already steering me toward the door. “I still have another

surprise for my fiancé."

My heart swelled at the sound of the word. Fiancé.

He led me back into the building, making a sharp left down the hallway that led to the

elevators. Each stroke of his hand made it harder to walk because the lust whipping in my belly was

getting impatient.

When his hand dropped to my rear end, my mouth flew open in surprise. "Jacob--"

What came next was cut off as he yanked me down a side corridor and pushed me back

against the wall, claiming my mouth. My eyes were open, shock leaving me rigid. We weren't that far

from the terrace. Eyes wouldn't even have to pry to see us.

I put a hand on his chest, our lips separating. I could still taste him there and it threw gasoline

on the need flaring inside of me. We didn't have concrete and brick separating the executive floor and

muffling the sounds of our activities. There was no locked door or an unspoken order that told people

to mind their business. I wanted to make sure he knew what he was getting started before we reached

the point of no return.

“Here?” I asked in a tiny, breathy voice.

It was just us down a side hallway, right around the corner from the festivities. Jacob's hand

was up my skirt, fingertips digging into my thigh. His bright blue eyes narrowed in displeasure at the

fact that I'd tapped the brakes at all.

I wanted him; needed to feel his mouth on me as his fingers roamed over my body, but the

gossips at Whitmore and Creighton already had something new to whisper about. If someone

stumbled on us getting it on...

He didn’t answer my question the first time so I asked again, swallowing hard. "Jacob, are

you sure because--"

"Look at me."

I knew I was in trouble before I even tipped my eyes to his. In his glare I found my answer--

along with the steely irritation of a man who knew exactly what he wanted...and didn't like to be

questioned.

"I want you. I'm going to take my fingers and sink them inside of you right here because you

are mine. Period."

The ragged edge of his words spread over me, the tingle of need settling between my thighs.

Well, if you insist...

****

Jacob’s gaze laid my concerns about teetering too close to full-out exposure to rest. Worrying

about someone cutting around the corner, getting an eyeful of the two of us christening the wall?

Please. Jacob Whitmore could care less if we were a little close to the festivities. As far as he was

concerned, the apocalypse could be going down just outside, the whole world burning around us and

it didn’t matter. We were on fire. Him and me. And when the lust built to a fever pitch, taking me

over, I didn’t care either.

He came forward on a mission, pressing me backward until I was pinned to the wall. Even

behind his two-piece suit I knew the lines of his body. They were committed to memory, tucked safely

away and ready to play on loop whenever he moved. Drawing the eye to the part of him that I knew

well.

I reached out, my hands running up and down the front of his button down shirt. My lips

quivered with the rise and fall of his chest. The tightly corded muscles I grazed…it was mine. All

mine.

But he only let the contact last for a moment that slipped through my fingers. He gripped my

wrists and pulled them down to my sides, his hold firm enough to snap me from ogling his chest. I

stuck my lips out stubbornly because I knew the gesture, well versed in the silent order he was giving.

He was telling me all in good time. It was obvious he wanted this, wanted me so badly that he

couldn’t wait one second more to have me. To trust him.

And I did trust him. I willingly submitted to him more times than I could count. But tonight,

with the proposal and him so deliciously close, it was hard to obey and keep my hands at my side. My

fingers tingled at the thought of touching his jaw, trailing down the hard ridges of his abdomen,

dipping toward the dark tangle that led to the solid, bulging part of him.

Or maybe my fingers were tingling because his grip tightened, decreasing circulation.

I expected to see him glaring down at me sternly, seconds away from reminding me that I was

his to do with as he pleased. But it was longing that turned his eyes molten, melting the mask he

worked so hard to hold onto. He was turned on by my feistiness. The spark of disobedience in my

eyes. And if the way he was staring at my chest was any indication, he didn’t have a spanking in mind.

He released my wrists and even though I ached to wrap my hands around him, I kept them at

my side as he reached for my chest. When he rounded the curves, my nipples pierced their lacy

bondage. They were a slave to arousal, unable to listen to any command other than the lust he

invoked.

He spoke, his voice low and sexual. “I want to rip your clothes off. Take one of those

beautiful…” His voice trailed off, but his actions filled in the blanks. His thumb flicked my swollen

peak and it pulsed against the stimulation. There was something savage in the way he gazed at me and

it made my pulse quicken, wondering if he’d actually tear my clothes to shreds.

But his hands drew up until he cupped the sides of my face, pausing to look at me with

something indiscernible in his gaze.

He commanded my vision. I took in his aquiline features: his aristocratic nose, the perfectly

chiseled jaw, eyes impossibly blue. In that blue he showed me what all those deep, soulful looks

we'd shared since he popped the question meant. He made love to me with his eyes and I parted my

lips, turning his name into a fevered prayer. For strength. For more.

"Jacob..."

He took the sides of my face and his full lips gripped mine. The characteristic Whitmore

restraint was on a vacay as he forced his tongue into my mouth. He didn’t try to coach or goad mine to

movement. He gave it no other option. He swirled around it, sweeping me up in a cyclone of passion.

His lips consumed me, pulling and tugging, intermixing tingles of pain and a dizzying pleasure. If that

wasn’t enough, I felt the low rumble of a moan at the back of his throat and it coursed through my

body, gathering between my thighs.

And then there were his hands. The powerful, commanding things, nothing like the ones that

trembled by my side. There was no suggestion found in his grip. His body didn’t hint at what he

wanted. They were all over, staking their claim. Demanding my total submission.

My back was against the wall but I arched my lower body toward him. I looked him in the

eyes, pleading as the kiss deepened. He paid it no mind, so I started rolling my hips, pleading with my

body. He was making me work for it, positioning himself so that as soon as I inched close to feeling

the part of him just as wild with need as me, he maneuvered just out of reach.

Oh my god what was he doing to me? His lips crashing into mine, hands digging into my skin;

I was dangerously close to coming but I wanted more. I needed it. I let out little breathy moans that I

hoped went straight to his crotch.

Please…please…please…

My heart ratcheted up to a maddening drum in my chest as his hand moved from the outside of

my thigh to the inside. He hadn't even touched me and already I quaked, feeling the need seep from

that secret part of me.

His lips paused, letting me catch my breath. His eyes were locked on me, eyes drifting from

my face like it was the absolute last thing he wanted. But he was finally giving me what I wanted,

hands detouring to my panties. His fingertips snaked behind the seam of my underwear and pleasure

sparked up and down my spine when he brushed my lower lips, finding me wet and dripping.

His lips curved approvingly and he mouthed what I swear looked like, 'Mercy' and I blushed

with the heat of pride. But he gave me none, pumping two fingers inside of me and when I let out a

hiss of delight, added a third.

The sudden, full feeling made me gasp, my muscles contracting and expanding around him.

Before, these sensations had names. Pleasure. Ecstasy. Bliss. But his thrusts stretched me to

something I couldn’t quite name. The pleasure wasn’t alone--pain sparked like lightning, my body

clenching around the abrupt, beautiful invasion. I wasn’t sure if it was too much or not nearly enough.

And then I was moaning, rocking my hips as each new stroke pushed me closer to the peak. I

heard the sounds my body was making, wet and wild like the eyes that bore into me. His fingers built

up a rhythm that made breathy, lusty gasps shoot from my mouth. Each one slayed him and more and

more of his face released its inhibitions until it was no longer the eyes that betrayed him. Every

beautiful inch of him was delighting in watching me spiral closer to climax.

I was close, unraveling more and more by the second. My moans pitched higher until the

rabid sounds that hung on the air around us were unfamiliar. And then he said the words I’d been

waiting for.

"Come for me."

My body wanted to hold on to that feeling. The indescribable pleasure that only knew how to

groan for more. But when he bit his lip, failing to completely silence a low, intimate moan of his own,

I surrendered to him. My body was lost, caution thrown to the wind.

It took a minute to remember that we were in the hall, my skirt hiked up to my waist, juices

sticky and pooling. My breathing slowed as he ejected from me then stopped altogether when he

calmly took the fingers he had inside of me and brought them to his mouth. He tasted me, closing his

eyes and I felt the flutter reignite...just as a group of voices sounded in the hall behind us.

I quickly pulled my skirt down and whispered that I'd be right back before I skittered to the

bathroom. I ducked into a stall, putting both hands on the closed door and drew a shaky breath.

In.

Out.

In…

Oh my god.

That was...there were no words. Feeling him, watching him come undone before my very

eyes. I had to stop my hands for creeping down to the part of me that was still throbbing.

I gave my head a sobering shake, remembering the reason I'd ducked inside. I'd just creamed

in the hallway and if I didn't get it together, I'd have a very awkward walk to the car.

I hiked up my skirt and pulled off my underwear. They were a sticky mess and the thought of

tucking them in my purse was unsettling. I dumped them in the trash, washed up and dabbed at my face

with a fresh paper towel. The flush of arousal had dimmed, leaving a whisper of red in my cheeks.

But I couldn't wipe the smile off my face if I tried.

Jacob was waiting in the corridor. Shaking more hands.

My eyes widened when I realized something. He was shaking their hands with the same hand

he just touched me with.

His mouth quirked into a smile that was ours alone. Our little secret.

I walked over, turning red as I accepted more congratulations, thinking at the back of my mind

that we'd almost had an audience. Truthfully, my embarrassment was a drop in the ocean compared to

the tingly proposition of being caught.

After our final round of good nights, we continued down the hall toward the exit, my heart

still in my throat.

"Tonight has been amazing, Jacob."

He stepped into the elevator beside me and punched the button for the ground floor with a

wink. "The night's still young, love."

****

I'd been surprised when Jacob turned his car in the opposite direction of the penthouse

apartment and officially stumped when we breezed past the exit for the airport. But this...I was

nowhere near prepared for this.

The only light filtered from our car, the starless night sky inky and endless. We'd left the city

behind. Here there were fields of green instead of people. Trees and old abandoned barns instead of

towering buildings. It was hard to believe that a place like this existed two hours outside of the city. It

felt like a whole other world.

Jacob had attempted conversation, joking around when I asked for specifics about our

destination. But the last hour had been quiet except for the hum of the radio and the thudding hammer

in my chest. I had no idea where we were going but when Jacob took a sharp right onto a dirt road, I

was more than a little apprehensive.

I threw a worried look in his direction, not that he could catch it in the dark. "Um, Jacob?"

"Yes?"

"I'm getting a very Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibe."

He chuckled, the deep notes bouncing around the car as we took on what I was sure was an

infinite amount of potholes. "Where we're headed is secluded. Abandoned. A little rough around the

edges--but I'm 99.9 percent sure it's serial killer free."

We came up to a cluster of weeds and shrubs and the flash of reflective lights drew my eye.

There was a chain-link fence, padlocked with a sign affixed to the wire.

"Keep out," I read out loud before arching my brow when Jacob threw open his car door and

stepped out. He went to the padlock and shook the thing, sending a metallic whirring and rustling in

through my open window. Were we breaking and entering? My surprise was committing some crime,

Bonnie and Clyde style?

But he pulled a set of keys from his pocket, trying each one on the ring until the lock snapped

open. I watched him pull back one of the gates, still confused but more and more intrigued by the

minute.

Oh I get it, I thought quietly. It's his retreat. Some sprawling estate tucked away in the

country.

"This is your property?" I said out loud.

He eased us through the gate, giving me a sly smile. "It is."

I kept expecting the dirt road to give way to the smooth lines of a paved drive because I

couldn't imagine Jacob escaping anywhere that didn't scream luxury, but the ride was even bumpier

the further we rode. I narrowed my eyes in surprise when we pulled up to a modest log cabin tucked

between overgrown trees and brush.

"Well, here we are."

I stepped out of the car hesitantly, completely and utterly stunned. It was sturdy, a working

man's home, without any frills or excess.

And I loved it.

"This is yours?" I asked slowly, half expecting him to look at me like I was crazy and say it

was the butler's cabin and his mansion was a little further up the road.

But the look on his face was one full of memories as he held out his free hand, the other

gripping a small flashlight. "It was my grandparents."

I let him lead me over stumps, around fallen objects. The cabin brought some memories

flitting through my mind too. Barefoot summers in the country, feeling the earth between my toes and

the wind whipping through my hair. The trailer tucked behind overgrown weeds wasn't much to look

at, but I could still hear Aunt Lucille's radio blaring from the window, foot stomping country music

creating a soundtrack for my make believe. Out there, I could wear my cutoffs and not worry about the

fact they were from the plus department. It was just me and Aunt Lucille until the mosquitoes ran us

inside.

Anyone else might have seen a dated home dying for renovation and a property that could use

a landscaper's touch, but I could see it was so much more. And from the way Jacob squeezed my hand

as we drew closer, I knew this was a special place for him.

He flicked the flashlight on and pointed it to the right where a swing danced lazily in the

breeze. One of the ropes had long given up the ghost, but the other was still attached, holding onto the

branch for dear life.

"I remember when my grandfather built that thing." The light swooped to the left where a shed

creaked, weeds trying to bring it to the ground below. "He chopped the wood, nailed it together, and

braided the rope." Even in the dark I knew he was smiling--I could hear it in his voice. "I had to try it

out first. My grandmother rushed out, still wearing her apron, insisting on pushing me because she

knew my grandfather would be too rough."

I tried to imagine Jacob younger, carefree...but I came up blank. He was so guarded, always

the picture of cool and professionalism.

We stepped up to the porch, leaves and branches masking the actual steps. Jacob tested them

out first then guided me up them. When I heard scurrying before he even unlocked the front door, I

fought the flash of worry that cut through me. It was pretty obvious no one had been out here in a

while and god knows what kind of animals could have taken up residence in the meantime.

The door swung open and Jacob turned to me. "Wait right here."

"No problem," I said quickly, with absolutely zero misgivings about standing right there,

safely away from anything creepy, crawly, or feral.

The lights snapped on and all the air was snatched from my lungs.

It was just a single room, an open concept space that people paid good money for nowadays.

A flowered couch leaned against the wall to the left, a rectangular wicker table in front of it and a

deep brown armchair to the right. A wood burning stove was on the far right wall, a retro looking

fridge perched beside it. A wooden table sat in the middle of the room, serving as an island of sorts,

separating the two areas. But it wasn't the design of the place that made me gasp. It was the pictures

that hung on the walls.

I walked to the first, hanging near the door and larger than life. A woman was holding a baby

swaddled in a blue blanket. Her mahogany hair was stark against luminescent skin, but it was her eyes

that drew you in. They were a soft gray, the delicate color of a cloudy sky. But there was this sunshine

radiating from her. The happy glow of a new parent. When I studied the woman, things started

jumping out at me. The strong jaw. The feline, slightly predatory curve of her lips.

I knew the answer, but I still asked. "Is that you and your mom?"

"It is," he said gruffly, the floor creaking beneath him as he moved away from it. I glanced at

him, not missing the angry set of his body before I looked back at the picture. She looked so happy. It

was hard to believe this woman wearing a genuine smile was the same one I’d met. At what point did

she change?

I turned away from it, knowing that I may never get the answer to that question since she had

no intention of opening up to me. She made the choice to turn her back on her son and spat on my

attempt to start over. That was on her.

The second picture was of a young boy at the beach, smiling up at the camera from behind a

mop of dark curls.

"Aren't you adorable!" I gushed, eating it up when his cheeks darkened and he fought to not

smile back at me.

When we hit the third, I knew this one was different. He was older in this one, lanky arms

and legs sticking out of his polo and shorts and his dark hair was a little less shaggy. He was looking

up at the sky and an older woman in a sundress was grinning at him with a love that radiated from the

frame.

"That was the first time I'd seen Nan in person in years,” he explained. “She and my mother

had been at odds because I was shipped off to a boarding school on the other side of the world. My

grandmother said that her son didn't go to some fancy European school and turned out alright and my

mother said that no child of hers would go to some second rate private school stateside and public

school was absolutely out of the question. My father sided with his wife, wanting to keep the peace."

His voice wavered. "My grandmother wrote me every week. And when I saw her..."

He didn't finish and the sorrow that clutched him broke my heart.

"She sounds amazing," I said softly. "I'm glad she was there for you."

"It was so much more than that." He shed his jacket, draping it across the arm of the couch

before he lowered himself onto the cushion. "I had so much darkness, Leila. So much anger. But when

I came here--" He nodded around us. "--everything was different. Away from the materialism, the

fake friends and fake smiles, away from my mother and father." He let out a tortured laugh that made

me wince. "Alicia Whitmore refused to step a foot out here. But my grandmother never spoke ill of

her or anyone else. She was a good person and I lost count of how many times she told me she loved

me."

"I wish I could have met her." I walked to the couch, lowering myself onto the cushion beside

him. Before, it was hard to envision anything besides the stoic powerhouse I knew and loved, but

now, I could almost see a young Jacob, joking around with the kind woman from the picture, helping

her in the kitchen, tinkering around outside with the rough-house looking man in the metal frame on the

side table.

"She would have given you a working over," he smirked. "And she would have loved you." I

slid my hand toward his and he brushed my knuckles with his fingertips. "About what Rachel said--"

"Whoa!" I cut in quickly, snapping from the Hallmark moment. "Neither of us should be

paying attention to anything that comes out of her mouth. I know I'm not."

"Yes, but about the ring--"

"I don't need a ring."

"But I want you to have a ring," he said firmly. "And it's very important to me that you have

my grandmother's ring."

His passion meant a lot to me and I felt honored that he wanted to give me a piece of history,

a piece of his grandma, but Alicia had been pretty clear about her feelings about Jacob marrying me.

“Your mother just isn’t on board, Jacob.”

When I looked at him I had second thoughts about stating the obvious.

"She's going to give it to me," he said, his tone low and dangerous. I've never asked her for a

damn thing. And this is important to me."

I cupped his cheek, trying to diffuse the situation. "I would love nothing more than to wear

that ring. To respect the memories that come with it and create new ones." I bit my lip, hating that his

mother had controlled him all of his life and still had power over this situation too. "But I don't think

Alicia is budging."

The stubborn glare in his eyes didn't dim. "She will. She has to. Because my grandmother did

more than love me, Leila. She saved me."

I figured he was speaking figuratively, but the way his jaw trembled with emotion, I wasn't so

sure. "What do you mean?"

A long, pregnant silence hung on the air and I dropped my hand to the couch. He was looking

past me and I could tell from the way his eyes darkened that he was about to share a painful memory.

"I'd spent my summer with Nan and my grandfather and she'd just gotten off the phone. My

mother was on her way. I had been gone for two months and barely a word from her or my father. And

I just couldn't. I couldn't get into that limo. I couldn't go back to that house, to that life. I knew it was

changing me.” He gestured around the room. “I was noticing things around this place. How worn

everything was. How small. How dated. And I felt horrible about myself. About who I was

becoming.” He stopped, his nostrils flaring as emotion raced across his face. “So I took my

grandfather’s gun and decided I was gonna end everything."

****

My mouth fell open. "Jacob..." I didn't know what else to say. Suicide? Jacob almost killed

himself? Even though I knew that the story had a happy ending, my heart was racing. My mouth was

bone dry.

"There was no fence back then," he continued, not looking at me. "Just this knee high grass as

far as the eye could see that my grandfather was too tired to mow. How long did they have? They'd

leave me and I'd have nothing. I'd just have my mother...and I'd be as miserable as my father.

So I sat down, the rifle trembling in my hands. It wasn’t a bulky thing but it felt heavy. So

goddamn heavy. And then I heard the crunch behind me. I tried to hide the rifle, but I knew she'd seen

it. That was the worst part—looking into her big brown eyes and seeing that she knew.” He paused,

the pain of it as fresh on his face as if it were yesterday instead of years ago. “You know what she

said to me? 'I'm not gonna be here forever, Jacob. To keep you honest and make sure you know that

you are loved. To tell you that as bad as things may seem, they'll get better. And you'll be better. You

have to believe it. You're gonna set the world on fire someday—and don't let anyone, ever, turn your

light off.'

I didn't even realize I had a hand covering my mouth until tears splashed onto my skin,

meeting the wall and going no further.

"She held out her hand and I gave her the gun,” he continued. “Her other one helped me from

the ground. She put it back in their bedroom then called me in the kitchen to help her make dinner."

His eyes shot over to me, and I didn't miss the sheen of emotion before he glanced away. "If it hadn't

been for that accident, some drunk redneck t-boning them one night after they left a late movie, she

would have given me the ring herself. She would have met you and known that I loved you and

wanted to give you the world—and some diamond that took up half your hand," he said with a small

chuckle. "And Nan would have reminded me that love was about more than money."

He brought a shaky hand to my cheeks, wiping away my tears. "She saved me once, Leila--

but you saved me too. You showed me that it was okay to let you in. That it was okay to love

someone."

He tipped my chin and I spread into his lips. Feeling his embrace. Wanting and needing

nothing else. I knew it was cliché, that a kiss could be so earth shatteringly amazing that it took your

breath away, but I was dizzy, my head spinning from his confession and the power of the kiss he

pressed on my lips. I remembered that cafe back in Venice, snorting 'poor little rich boy' when

Allegra talked about Jacob's pain. How clueless I'd been; naive to think that his childhood just made

him guarded. It broke him.

But eyes closed, lips parted, tasting him, feeling Jacob--I saw a man that was putting the

pieces back together. A man that loved me so much that I was ashamed I'd ever questioned it.

His arms roped around my waist and he pulled me tight against him. The kiss was still sweet,

imploring, but he pulled me to my feet and those hands had already flipped the page and were

focusing on another four letter word--lust.

My heart hammered in my chest as the buttons of my blouse were freed, the zipper of my skirt

yanked downward. He reclaimed my mouth and my tongue darted between his lips. My eyes flew

open when my brazen action sunk in, not knowing what he needed, but from the tight swell I felt

against my lower abdomen, I had a feeling he would give no complaints.

Still I stood there, my bra the only clothing keeping me from being completely nude. His eyes

drank in my body before his blue eyes settled on my obedient gaze, arms locked behind my back,

hooded eyes staring from behind dark curls.

"You would submit to me?" he asked, visibly shocked.

The word ‘submit’ sent a flash slicing through me and I felt my answer slicking my naked

lips. "Absolutely."

"For me?" The surprise in his voice. Like he'd expected his revelation to change something.

I brought my hands up, my fingertips stroking the perfect line of his jaw. "For us."

"Lay." It was a groan. A plea and I saw in his eyes the consuming love he never thought he'd

have or deserve burning bright.

And then it stilled, the deliciously powerful gleam returning.

He grabbed my wrist, and quicker than I could say 'holy crap' he'd spun me around and

pushed me up against the door. My chest was smashed against the wood. Pinned—for the second time

in one night.

The angle of the arm he still held was odd. Disorienting. It wasn't painful, but I knew if I tried

to reposition myself or pull from his grasp, all bets were off.

His other hand cupped my bare bottom, squeezing it. He was clearly still in a teasing mood

as well. He’d tug the globes apart, spreading me and sending cool air to my heated flesh, and just as I

felt lust seeping, sure he’d touch me there, he'd release me.

"I can smell your arousal," he said huskily. Both hands released me and my arms hung like

limp spaghetti noodles at my side. Of course he could smell me. I wanted him so bad that I shook, my

core leaking desire that coated my inner thigh.

I sucked in a breath as he moved back in, his erection snug against the curve of my bottom.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," I whispered hoarsely. My brain was tapioca pudding, but I realized my mistake as

soon as he reached around and took my arms, holding them above my head. Jacob didn't like

whispers. He liked moans. He liked to hear me scream.

He pushed his groin against me again, rocking into me, giving me a taste of what was to

come.

"I can’t hear you, Leila." His hands gripped my shoulders.

"Yes," I said, louder, with an edge that made him dig his fingertips into me. The warmth of

pain seeped in with the need.

Just the way I liked it.

"Tell me what you want."

I tried to lick my lips but my body was flush against the door and all I could taste was dust

and the bitterness of the old wood. The clock was ticking. The quicker I answered, the quicker I'd feel

him.

I turned my head slightly, not wanting my words to be muffled. "I want you inside me." I

added fuel to the fire, swirling my hips against him and he let out an unsteady sigh.

I'd hoped he'd order me to the couch or my knees, but instead he growled, "What do you want

inside? Be specific."

Was he asking me to talk dirty to him? I was both taken aback and even more aroused. Our

moans had always been our words before. I worried I'd ruin it by saying something odd as my tongue

rolled over the awkward bits.

"I want your...cock...inside of me."

"Inside of what?" he said, his voice tight with authority and white hot need.

My pulse raced. My body clenched. “You know.”

The look he was giving me told me he did…and he wasn’t letting me off that easy. Sucks,

because I was surprised I’d even gotten the ‘c’ word out.

“Here.” I took my finger and pushed it inside myself, feeling my body flutter around the digit.

It must have been close enough because I heard him unzipping his pants.

I made a C curve with my back and I couldn't help but groan as I felt him draw the head of his

passion up and down my slit.

"Is this what you want?"

It was exactly what I wanted, but I needed it inside. "Please Jacob…"

He entered me with a savage thrust, gripping me as he drove so deep in my channel that I saw

stars. He abandoned control and surrendered to the need that rocked us both.

Just when I felt like I could go no further, take no more, he’d bury himself deeper inside of

me. And then I was back, in the thick of it, scrambling to consume him. To take every swollen inch.

The sound of our damp skin slapping together met with the groans and his thrusts changed, his

grip lacking any finesse. He was holding onto me for dear life. Lost in me. He let out the words, the

permission for my release, but I waited until I felt him shuddering, filling me, and then I closed my

eyes and let go.

We stayed exactly as we were for a long time after we were done. My back to his chest, his

arms pulling me close, tighter, like he couldn’t get me quite close enough.

****

It had been a full twenty-four hours since I said yes and tonight, Jacob and I were announcing

our engagement officially to Megan and my parents.

Jacob hired a planner to set things up and make sure everything went off without a hitch and

she’d done a great job. She’d made sure the catered food was on time and set up in such a way that it

was like we’d copied a table from the restaurant and pasted it in our dining room. She’d brought in

some mood lighting that sent a warm glow over the main room. I didn’t think it was possible to make

the place look more breathtaking but the small pieces she’d come with--a tower light, a few vases,

fresh flowers, and a glass sculpture that created a flow in the living room--just magnified the beauty

of the space.

Still, I hovered, wiping invisible wrinkles from the tablecloth, straightening silverware, so

nervous and jittery I felt like I’d jump out of my bones.

When I did a circle and went to rearrange the flowers, she stepped in my path, giving me a

tight smile. “Miss Montgomery, I appreciate the help and input, but I’ve got it under control.”

My cheeks warmed and I fiddled with my earring. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

And so far, it was. I was still shocked that my mother hadn’t called me last night, furious that

the internet knew I was engaged before she did. And even though I’d called Megan when Jacob and I

got back from the cabin and squeed for a few minutes, I still felt like this was the real deal. It

wouldn’t be ‘official’ until Jacob and I stood up in front of the people I loved and told them we were

spending the rest of our lives together.

I saw a napkin slightly off center and sidestepped her. “I’m just gonna--”

“--Join me in the kitchen,” Jacob finished for me, descending down the stairwell. One arched

eyebrow made me clamp my mouth shut and give him a guilty nod.

I walked over to him, perking when I saw him brandish a bottle of red wine. He pulled out a

single glass and poured the burgundy liquid in, filling it nearly to the rim.

“What are you implying?” I said, feigning insult.

“That you need to relax,” he answered with a chuckle. “Clarissa Stone does this for a living,

Leila. The whole point of hiring her was so we wouldn’t stress.”

I rolled my eyes and took the glass. “I’m not stressing.” When he cleared his throat in a

‘you’re full of crap’ way, I added, “Much.”

I held the wine in my mouth, swishing it around before I swallowed, savoring the notes and

bite as it went down.

Jacob was watching me, his tanned skin golden against the crisp white shirt he donned.

“You look amazing.”

He was just leaning against the counter, but somehow he turned it into foreplay. His firm

body drew the eye, first to his chest, then down to his crotch where I found myself wondering if we

had time for a quickie.

When my eyes darted back up, remembering myself, it was too late. His smirk said he knew

exactly where my head was--firmly in the gutter.

I took another long gulp, shying away from him and turning bright red. “So Megan and the

‘rents will be here soon.”

My body tingled with glee when he wrapped his arms around my waist, taking the glass and

putting it back on the counter. “I don’t think that’s what you really want to talk about.”

My eyes darted to the dining room entryway where I saw Clarissa sweeping back and forth,

rearranging things. “You really think now is the time for this?”

“You tell me,” he whispered seductively. “Tell me you’re not wet at the thought of us going

to the bedroom right now.” His lips brushed my ear. “Or maybe we could get a little creative right

here.” His hands careened down to where I was throbbing, cupping me through my slinky black

number. I was seriously considering doing something that would definitely put a kink in the dinner

plans.

The elevator dinged and I let out a hiss of simultaneous relief and annoyance.

“Saved by the bell,” Jacob murmured, releasing me reluctantly.

I spun around and pecked him on the cheek while flipping the tables and pressing my hips

into him and watching his eyes smolder. “Until later.”

I sauntered to the elevator, still tingling with a grin slathered on my face. I heard Megan’s

familiar tone and rubbed my hands together excitedly. The doors separated and she stepped out,

mirroring my joy.

I opened my arms. “Meg! It’s so good to see...” I didn’t finish, my smile creeping downward

when I saw she wasn’t alone. It didn’t have anything to do with some weird bff, territorial thing. It

was more my brain slowly registering who the guy was. The cropped gold and brown hair. The

chiseled jaw, the mouth accentuated by a goatee. The sea foam green eyes. She’d spoke of him,

usually after one drink too many or after she claimed that he was a ‘type’ and that was the reason she

and Cade would never happen. This guy with the smug grin on his face was the man that she fell for

so hard that she related to the kids that doodled hearts in the margins of their notebook.

Mark Winters. The PE teacher that broke her heart.

Megan noticed my snarl and gave me a glare that I flat out ignored.

“Leila, this is Mark.”

I just burned a hole right through him, taking the Colgate, ‘ain’t I fine’ curve of his lips,

balled it up and spat it out. I didn’t say a word to him for two reasons. One, I had my bestie’s

back...and from the things she told me about how he ogled anything that twitched her hips even after

she told him about her trust issues, he was the kind of guy that mother’s warned their daughter’s about.

Bad news. Gorgeous eyes, bodies that didn’t quit and tongues that only knew how to lie. So I was SO

not gonna be fake and play buddy-buddy with this guy.

And two, just what was Megan thinking bringing him to my engagement dinner? This

obnoxious guy who obviously spat on fidelity was her date to a celebration of me and Jacob devoting

ourselves to each other? I was flabbergasted.

But Megan was the one looking at me like she was confused. “You remember Mark, right?”

“Oh yes,” I said roughly. I snatched the bottle of wine he was holding out as a peace offering,

going back and forth between cracking him over the head with it and using it to knock some sense into

my friend.

As if Jacob could sense something was about to go down, he appeared at my elbow, easing

the bottle from my grip. “It’s always good to see you, Megan.” He shook Mark’s hand. “Why don’t I

show you around while they catch up?”

Mark leapt at the opportunity, oblivious to why I wanted nothing to do with him but

conceding the fact that things were dicey at best.

As soon as Jacob wheeled him to the next room I turned to my amnesiac friend. “What’s

going on Meg?”

“What do you...?” She frowned then let out a clipped laugh. “OH. You mean Mark.”

“Yes, I mean Mark,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “Mark that you work with. Mark the

Woman Eater. Mark that’s a spitting image of your ex in every douchey way.”

She dropped the act almost instantly. I hated invoking the ex-boyfriend card, but desperate

times called for desperate measures.

“Is this about Cade?” I grilled.

“What?” she snorted. “What does that have to do with Cade?”

“You told me he’s been calling. And you claim you don’t like him.”

“And I don’t,” she reaffirmed brusquely, her fair skin turning redder by the second. “Which is

why I’m here with Mark.”

I was confused. “Let me get this straight. You’re seeing your skanky co-worker again to

convince yourself that you don’t like Cade?”

She turned on her heels in a huff, proving me right. “Is there alcohol? This is supposed to be

a celebration.”

I had half a mind to turn her back around and refuse to go along with this charade. It was bad

enough that she vetoed any convo that tipped in Cade’s direction, but bringing Mark here tonight?

That was too much.

But when I saw her pick up a bottle of wine and almost gulp it down straight from the source,

I realized that maybe she didn’t need me to storm the walls and restore her honor. Maybe right now,

she just needed a friend.

I swiped my half-drunk glass of wine from the bar and stepped up beside her. “Let’s make a

toast.”

“To what? My idiotic romantic choices?” she quipped.

“No,” I answered, biting back the desire to scream, YES! and shake some sense into her. “To

do-overs.”

“Do-overs?”

I nodded slowly. “For the chance to show you how much Jacob meant to me…and not through

an article or cluster of pics on some blog. To the chance to have my best friend by my side, reminding

me that love meant more than all the other BS. For being here for me today.” My nostril flared as I

watched the emotion fill her eyes. “And I hope you know I’m here for you too, Meg.”

She sniffed and clinked her glass against mine. “I’ll drink to that.”

We both swallowed down some booze and I tried to focus on the warmth and not the burning

questions in my head. But I saw Jacob and Mark strolling through the rooms and it just made me angry

all over again.

She saw my pursed lips and her face hardened. “Not today. Today is about you, Leila.”

I heard the sound of the elevator, meaning the final guests were coming up, so I conceded

defeat. For now.

Clarissa breezed over to us, giving Megan a cordial smile before she turned to me.

“Everything’s ready to go, Miss Montgomery. Congratulations and have a wonderful evening.”

Megan walked over to the sculpture in the living room, admiring it. Changing the subject.

“She did a great job. It’s beautiful in here.”

Nice try. “Megan, I really think we should talk about this.”

“Leila dear!” I could pick my mother’s screech out of a sold out concert over the whoops of

delight and guttural riffs. I threw Megan a silent ‘we’re not done here’ and wheeled to face her.

She’d gone all out, wearing a sleeveless fuchsia dress and dangling earrings. Her brown hair

was highlighted and she towered over my father in heels. She took a long look at me. “This little

black dress is beautiful, sweetheart.”

It was an ebony colored spaghetti strap number that was chic enough to be elegant but the

knee length hem kept it casual.

Dad stepped up beside her, adorably holding out an orchid.

I gave him a bright smile. “Thank you so much.” I deposited it on the counter and swiveled

back to the living room area, ready to show off the place and the touches added for tonight. I gestured

for them to follow, wanting to give them a tour. “Let me show you--”

Mom yanked my left hand toward her face. “I told you Earl! She’s, engaged!” She brought my

hand to her eyes, squinting. “Where’s the ring?”

****

I’d been awake for what felt like hours, watching the sun chase the shadows until there was

only light. I wasn’t avoiding the day per se, but I was comfortable. I was cuddled up with the next

best thing to Jacob, a big, fluffy pillow that smelled like him: fresh, with hints of musk and a smell

that was uniquely his. I was perfectly situated, the cotton candy soft covers wrapping me in the

world’s most comfortable burrito. And I knew once I threw the covers off I’d have to think. I’d have

to remember the horrible night I was pretending I wasn’t avoiding.

Jacob had tried to be covert when he hired the party planner, but I’d seen the invoice.

$500/hour plus the less than 24 hour fee of $375 equaled a whole lot of money just so I could relax.

Focus on us. Focus on sharing our wonderful news.

Eight hundred and seventy five dollars down the drain because my mother fixated on the fact

that I was ring-less. I’d counted six, six times that she found some slightly different way to ask why

my ring finger was bare.

Questions like, “Are you still shopping around for a ring?” and “I’m sure Jacob has

something special tucked away to give you soon!” and “Is there a big reveal after dinner?” Poor

Jacob probably regretted offering the use of his hand as my stress ball when I nearly crushed every

single bone after she had the nerve to ask if Whitmore and Creighton was having financial problems.

Dad picked upon my nonverbal cues--deadening silence, grinding my teeth, downing three bottles of

wine in the span of two hours--and put me out of my misery, claiming that he wasn’t feeling too hot.

And then there was Megan and Mark. I could barely keep my eyes off him. I was sure I caught

him winking, savoring that fact. I couldn’t deny that he was attractive. All-American good looks

paired with his blond hair and bright baby blues. He was dressed in head to toe Abercrombie and

Fitch, reeking prep and holding himself like a man that had been told he was cute one too many

times...and all but ignoring his date like a man who’d broken one too many hearts.

He was so obviously sketchy it was ridiculous. Just what was Megan trying to prove by

bringing him to this private function? I’d barely been engaged for 24 hours and I was already feeling

Bridezilla coming on, but of the eloping variety. At the moment, I didn’t want to see anyone’s face but

Jacob’s.

Jacob. I pulled the pillow close and inhaled deep. Catastrophic dinner or not, no one could

take away that moment. The first bars of that song hushing the crowd. My heart skyrocketing to my

throat. My brain officially on the fritz because it was happening. Eyes locked, souls so in tuned that I

just knew, before I took a step toward the stage, what would come next. He was going to ask me that

question. The question I knew I’d say yes to before it even left his lips.

And we were gonna get married.

“Married.” I said out loud, the words bouncing off the walls and settling back on me. “Mrs.

Leila Whitmore.” Or would I keep my name? Hyphenate? It all seemed to pale in comparison to the

greater thing. Marrying him. After the contract, the worries, Rachel Laraby, and Cade Wallace, we’d

figured it out and it would be just he and I, just like this. Always.

My arms slackened on the pillow. Just like this? Me snuggling with a pillow? I threw it back

on his side of the bed and unrolled myself from the covers. I stretched my arms wide and let out a lazy

yawn.

Jacob better have all kinds of coffee...

I froze just outside the door, hearing hushed, nearly muted voices filter up to the second level.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 10:35. Not the wee hours of the AM, but definitely too early

for visitors. I was infinitely closer to a morning person than Jacob was, especially on the weekends.

Everyone at the office knew to not even send him an email before 10 am. He spent the first few hours

of his day replying to messages, checking out the financials, things that didn’t require human

interaction.

But I could hear the disdain in his voice. He wasn’t just interacting. He was arguing with

someone.

I hovered at the landing, fingering a hole in my old, worn t-shirt. I felt like I was

eavesdropping, even though Jacob had told me a million times that this was our home, what’s his was

mine and vice versa. But he had so much. It was easy to forget, to be overwhelmed and feel like I was

a visitor.

I heard ‘Leila’ ring out in a female, uncomfortably familiar voice. A voice that was speaking

my name like it was a cuss word.

Alicia.

I don’t know if it was the fight end of ‘fight or flight’ kicking in or a desire to look her in the

face and tell her I wasn’t going anywhere (again), but my legs were moving down the stairs at

lightning speed. They were in the library, Jacob at the fireplace, dangerously close to the fire poker.

Alicia was sprawled out in one of the chairs like she owned the place.

Naturally.

Jacob was the first to notice me, his expression softening almost guilty. “Leila...I didn’t know

you were up.”

Alicia tossed me a wilting look that she exacerbated with a perfectly disgusted scowl. “Well,

at least she bothered to put on a bra this time.”

The annoyed, slightly juvenile part of me wanted to whip it off and toss it in her self-

righteous face with a whoop, but I didn’t want to give her the pleasure of the added effort. “Alicia.”

“It’s Mrs. Whitmore,” she corrected, her tone frosty enough to make hell freeze over.

I wished I was better at playing this game, at pretending being around people I hated was

easy as pie, but I stalked over to Jacob, knowing every bone in my body was spoiling for a fight.

When I stepped up beside him, I realized that he probably wasn’t at the mantle because he was

considering something homicidal but because it was the farthest point from Alicia.

Somehow, it still wasn’t nearly far enough. The woman could turn a glare into poison. I felt

queasy just being on the receiving end of it.

I took Jacob’s hand and nudged him toward me. I didn’t care about her. I knew the number

she’d done on him. The life he’d lived that almost drove him to suicide.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

“Did you just ask my son if he was okay?” she said indignantly. She pursed her lips into a

thin, no-nonsense line that matched the two piece charcoal gray suit she wore. “What are you

implying? That a mere conversation with me would do him harm?”

I kept my eyes on him, but directed my answer at her. “I’m implying that your negativity isn’t

good for anyone. This is a happy time for us.”

“A happy time for you, maybe,” she replied coolly. “Mrs. Jacob Whitmore...as soon as you

say ‘I do’ your net worth increases substantially.”

His eyes were pleading. Well, as close as Jacob’s stark blue eyes got to asking for anything.

Asking wasn’t even in his dictionary--Jacob commanded. But they were soft and I knew he was

telling me to keep my cool. She just wanted a reaction, like all bullies did.

I spun to face her, ignoring my own little voice that told me I was just feeding the fire. “I

know your marriage was about money. But that’s not why I’m marrying your son.”

“You’re marrying for love, right?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Right.”

“So there will be a prenuptial agreement.”

Jacob and I both rushed to answer her, each reply on the other side of the coin. He said

absolutely not--my answer was missing the whole ‘not’ part.

We exchanged a look and she let out an airy, condescending laugh.

“Engaged, and you haven’t even discussed one of the most important things.”

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Everything happened so fast; being swept into Jacob’s

world. Living, loving...being dumped in the lap of luxury had its perks. The jet, the fancy restaurants,

the clothing, all the trappings of wealth and prestige. But I’d fallen in love with the man. The strong,

confounding, dominant man. I wasn’t expecting some payout on the off chance that our marriage came

to an end. I only wanted my fair share, whatever that meant.

I could tell the prenup conversation was far from over, but whatever frustration the topic

brought Jacob was hurled at his mother. “I never should have allowed you to come here.”

“You could have denied me access to the elevator. Had me thrown out like you threatened the

last time I was here.” Her gray eyes glittered like she had something up her sleeve, one last trick that

would change the whole game. “You try to make me the bad guy in all of this--a bad mother. But if

that’s so, why did you invite me here?”

I had no words, gaping, waiting for the answer to that question myself. Last night after

everyone left, the one thing that brought a smile to my face was a joke he’d made before whisking me

up to bed to make me smile for a totally different, R-rated kind of reason.

“You know what the party needed?” he’d said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“More booze?”

“Another guest.” I’d frowned and he’d finished, “My mother.”

I’d recoiled like he’d just said the most ludicrous thing ever before he laughed. Jacob, my

gladiator of a man who was so used to hiding away anything that made him vulnerable, had thrown his

head back and laughed.

It was a joke; one I’d agreed was a good one because I thought we were on the same page--

Alicia Whitmore in our home=a very bad idea. But he’d called her. He was the reason she was

lounging in our living room like she was some goddess come down from Olympus, gracing us with

her presence and infinite, useless knowledge.

Jacob ran a hand through his dark locks and I noticed things I’d missed because I was so

tuned into Alicia. He was in a navy button down shirt and deep, nearly caramel colored khakis. To

the passing eye he was the picture of collected. But I saw now that his shirt was riddled with

wrinkles as were his pants. His hair had the rough, I’ve-been-running-my-hands-through-it-for-hours

look about it. And I saw the shadows beneath his eyes. I couldn't be mad because he didn’t tell me

about wanting to talk to her and invited her here. He’d already beaten himself up about it.

“I asked you here because I don’t believe you can look us both in the face and say no.”

Alicia frowned, confused. “What?”

“I want you to tell me why you won’t give me my grandmother’s ring. To tell us.”

I brought my hand to my heart, almost like I was trying to remember it was there. That I was

alive and this was all happening.

I wanted to move to Jacob, to tell him to brace himself for the worst because despite the

animosity he held for her, it was clear he still cared about his mom. That he believed that somewhere,

somehow, she could still be reached. And I knew from the way her lip curved upward, her eyes

lingering on me before they returned to her son, that she was about to do something she thought would

hurt me but would really just hurt the person neither of us truly wanted to bring any pain.

Jacob.

“Your grandmother left the ring to your father and he entrusted it to me. When you meet

someone worthy of her memory, I will give you the ring. But I’m telling you, both of you, as long as I

have breath in my body, Leila Montgomery’s fingers will never touch it.”

****

After an engagement dinner filled with my mother finding several different ways to ask about

the lack of a wedding ring, having to play nice as Mark cozied up to Megan, and Alicia Whitmore

reaffirming her dedication to keeping me away from the family ring as long as possible, I couldn’t

wait to get back to work. Mia Kent, Whitmore and Creighton’s newest client, would be just the

challenge to take my mind off the disastrous evening.

Mia couldn’t keep her name out of the tabloids lately. Golden hair, cherubic features and a

voice that gave singers twice her age a run for their money made her a household name. She starred in

bubblegum pop TV series on a kid friendly channel until she hit eighteen and decided to shed her

good girl image in favor of something on the other side of the spectrum. Shots of her public

intoxication, flipping cameras the bird, and unabashed drug use had everyone playing Dr. Phil, trying

to save Mia from herself. But public scrutiny intensified and she spiraled further into dangerous

territory. She shaved one side of her head, let some poor excuse for a tat artist doodle all over her

body and started hanging on the arm of a different skeevy guy every night of the week.

While her public image had taken a beating, she hadn’t alienated the music industry. Top

executives were still clamoring to sign her, hoping to be the launching pad for her unreleased album.

She’d come to us herself, the first sign that all hope wasn’t lost--she could admit there was a

problem.

I pulled up the agenda, scribbling a couple of notes. There were several charity functions

coming up--one of which was a concert for needy children. If we could get her in a gorgeous dress...

“I think I owe you a cup of coffee.”

I nearly snapped my pen in half. I didn’t even have to look up to know it was Missy. I

recognized the entitlement, the subtle notes of ‘I’m better than you’. The edge that cut when she

deigned to speak to me, making it crystal clear that she’d rather be doing anything other than giving

me her precious time. But why was she here?

I narrowed my eyes, confusion lasting for a split second. Coffee--that’s right. We’d attempted

a truce before and she tried to buy me coffee. I made it clear that I wasn’t good at pretending and

didn’t want to owe her anything. It was no secret that she thought my input was worth less than

nothing, so I was surprised she was standing at my door doing the exact thing that caused drama the

first time around.

She held out the cup. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I just threw some splenda and a little

bit of skim milk in.”

My mouth twitched at the skim and zero calorie sweetener, “What are you trying to say?” on

my tongue. But I remained silent, my eyes trained on her as she strolled in with no invite and plunked

the coffee on my desk. This woman had some serious nerve.

“It’s not spiked,” she said with a smirk. “I promise.”

I didn’t accept her peace offering. Maybe she wasn’t trying to poison me, but I didn’t believe

that her intentions were honorable either. “I’m good.”

Her face twisted like she was sucking on a lemon before she shrugged and picked it back up.

“I’ll be more than happy to drink it myself.”

“You do that.”

“It’s not always you against the world, Leila. Why can’t I do something nice for you?”

“Oh please,” I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “I would be all kinds of stupid to believe

you’re completely above board. You’ve had it out for me since I walked through the door. And you’re

buddies with Rachel--”

“Friends with Rachel?” She laughed like that was the funniest joke she’d heard in a long

time. “I know you’re not talking about Rachel Laraby.”

I didn’t even crack a grin. “I think we both know that’s exactly who I’m talking about.”

Missy flipped her bone straight midnight hair over her shoulder with a snort. “Rachel Laraby

and I aren’t friends. She treats anyone that works for her like they were born for the sole purpose of

being at her beck and call.”

I faltered. I hadn’t been expecting our Rachel’s to line up. I was expecting her to sing

Rachel’s praises and talk about how they bonded over caldrons, full moons, and a mutual dislike of

me. But they’d been together at the party...it didn’t match up with the slighted disposition in front of

me.

“I thought...” I swallowed, making sure I stripped any emotion except for indifference from

my voice. “I just assumed you were friends.” And that’s why you were trying to make friendship

bracelets with me over coffee. Rachel’s little spy.

“No,” she replied, raising her chin. “Rachel Laraby is a client and nothing more.”

Putting together the pieces of the puzzle that was Jacob Whitmore had sharpened my people

reading skills. I didn’t even have to try to tell that something had gone down between Missy and

Rachel. Did Missy see a kindred spirit in the Head Bitch In Charge department and try to strike up a

friendship only to get shut down? The idea of Rachel putting Missy in her place brought me more

pleasure than it should have.

Still, I was a little leery about letting bygones be bygones. “I was trying to get ready for the

meeting, so if that’s all…”

“Oh,” Missy’s high cheekbones darkened as her lips ticked awkwardly. Message received. “I

guess I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned on her heels, stilettos tapping on the floor as she left the way she came. I watched

as she went, wondering if she’d whirl around and tell me that she was tired of kissing my ass. Jekyll

and Hyde and prove that showing her the door was obviously the right choice. But there wasn’t

indignation coloring her features when she turned back to me at the door. She was genuinely

remorseful. I almost swore her eyes were glassy with tears.

“I know that I’ve been downright cruel to you,” she started. “But I’m trying to make up for it.

I hope we can climb over this hurdle at some point.”

Great. Now I felt guilty.

“Missy,” I called out before she could exit. “I’ll take that cup of coffee after all.”

She turned around, dark eyes double their normal size. But she didn’t ask questions, walking

back to my desk and holding out the cup.

I took it and put it beside me. It was more a gesture than anything else.

She scanned the room as she worked her way to the armchair in front of my desk. “It looks

nice in here. Understated. But every piece has a function.”

“I guess that intro to decorating course paid off,” I said with an almost smile. Wow. Was I

really here, playing nice with Missy Diaz? Relaxing when she flashed me a legitimate grin?

“It’s good that you’re putting down roots,” she said after a minute. “The others didn’t even

unpack their cardboard boxes. It was like they knew it was temporary. But not you.”

“Not me,” I said quietly, glancing away. There were moments when I wondered if it was all

a dream, that Jacob would snap out of it and send me packing. But my heart had other plans. It

wouldn’t let me walk away. And even though Jacob set up an obstacle course around his own, I

couldn’t take the easy way out either. Sure, working for Whitmore and Creighton was my dream. I

lived for tough situations, careers to fix, and going to Cade’s movie premiere was like a pilgrimage to

the Promised Land. But hands down, I wouldn’t trade a single moment with Jacob. That was worth

everything.

I realized I was zoning out and Missy was watching me. I cleared my throat and smoothed my

hair away from my face. “I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of faces coming and going. You’ve been with the

company for…five years?”

She snorted. “I started working here after I graduated and I wish that was only five years ago.

It’s closer to fifteen years.”

“Fifteen? So you worked with...”

“Mmhm,” she answered with a hint of reverence that rubbed me the wrong way.

It was crazy how neither of us said Carlton Whitmore’s name. Hers was out of some bizarre

sense of respect--and for me, it was like I was afraid he’d rise from the dead and eat my flesh.

I leaned forward, intensely curious. “How was it? Working for him?”

“Carlton Whitmore was amazing,” she said with stars in her eyes. “He knew how the

business worked since he was a part of the establishment.” She stopped, giving me a peevish look.

“Between you and me, I think the fact that Hollywood chewed him up and spit him out drove him. He

knew what it was like to have his movies on the marquis. To be big time--and he knew what it was

like to lose it all.”

I sat back, nibbling on my lip. I knew that Carlton had done a helluva job keeping his family

drama under wraps, so she didn’t know the true gravity of that statement.

“He knew how to make this a fun place to work,” she continued. “But he also knew how to

put in the work himself. There was no sitting back and letting the grunts do the heavy lifting. He was

there alongside the team, building contacts and the Whitmore brand.”

“So the consummate professional.” Like Jacob.

“Yes, but at the same time no,” she answered. “He knew everyone’s name, asked about kids

and grandparents and didn’t bitch if people had to take off for family emergencies. He made us work-

-but he cared about us.” She must have noticed the dumbfounded O my lips were holding because she

quickly added, “But Jacob is amazing too. We all know it. He’s the one that took us to the next level.

There would be no Whitmore and Creighton without him.”

I almost told her to relax. I wasn’t gonna run and tattle that she liked Carlton more. I was

genuinely surprised that he knew anyone’s name other than his own though. He was a philanderer, a

cheat, and a horrible father. I guess he wasn't Lucifer, but the fact that he made everyone’s family but

his own a priority made my chest tighten with disgust.

****

I knocked on Jacob's door, waiting until I heard the rumble of 'come in' before I stepped

inside. I could tell from the way his expression shifted from business to something intimately ours that

he was expecting someone else.

He put down his pen, flipping the folder closed. "Since when do you knock?"

I saw the playful spark in his eyes and put my hand on my hip. "I knock." I bit my lip, barely

able to get that lie out with a straight face. "Sometimes."

As much flack as I gave Jacob for allowing me my professional autonomy, I knew I had a bad

habit of not extending him the same courtesy. Considering we'd put all three x's in XXX in multiple

locations in the building, I figured we should at least keep up appearances when it came to certain

things. I might not be able to stop the dirty thoughts from racing through my mind and even acting on

them a time or three, but if Natasha wasn't at her post, I could at least knock before barging in.

"I thought we could go down to the Kent meeting together."

His brow furrowed before he gave me a sheepish look. "Mia Kent...that's right, it's happening

in--" He glanced at his Rolex. "--Fifteen minutes."

I gave him an understanding smile. I knew all too well that Jacob was behind. Before us, a

forty hour work week was rare. He burned the midnight oil, the very definition of a hands-on CEO. I

hated that my conversation with Missy popped in my head. Tales of another Whitmore who lived for

this company and gave it everything. It was just a reminder of all the ways Carlton fell short. Jacob

made time for me and still managed to run a profitable enterprise.

"If you need to finish some things up, I'll just see you downstairs."

"Actually, I'm gonna sit this one out."

I knew stranger things happened. The boss sitting in on the preliminary meeting for new

clients was more a courtesy than anything else, but my eyes still rounded in surprise. "Are you

swamped? Maybe I can help."

He studied me for a moment then beckoned me with a finger. The smallest gesture and I

already felt a stirring inside of me. Images of that same finger sinking.

Thrusting.

But when I perched on the desk beside him, he kept his gaze in G-rated territory.

"I appreciate the offer, but I know you've been looking forward to this case. Watching old

Carolina, California reruns."

Carolina, California was the TV show that put Mia on the map. She played a small town girl

who was discovered humming in the grocery store and signed on the spot and whisked to California

to sing in a rock band.

"It was just research," I said unconvincingly.

"Right," he winked. "That's why I caught you singing along? Strictly research and all of that?"

"That's right." I said, blushing with embarrassment. The lyrics were slightly cutesy and

rhyme-y because of the intended audience, but catchy nonetheless. And there was just something about

Mia. She had this pull. Charisma. That spark dimmed lately with all of her hijinks, clothing

malfunctions, and the choice of company she kept, but she still had it--and we'd make sure she didn't

become another example of why child stars were destined to be adult disasters.

"It's about more than helping a client that desperately needs it," I said, looking at the folders

Jacob had accumulated. "And sure, I like her music a little more than I probably should. I can't put my

finger on why I’m so invested, but I really want her to turn things around."

Jacob gave me a curious look. “Maybe you see her as a little sister?”

I was an only child. My mother smothered me with every ounce of attention and love she

could spare and while my father wasn't as affectionate, I knew that it was more his own rearing, being

the quiet, strong, emotionally under wraps man of the house, than a lack of love.

I didn't know anything about a sibling bond. I knew how close Megan was with her sister and

how crazy they drove one another, but they had a connection that put drama on pause if one was in

need. It seemed bizarre that I already felt tied to Mia, responsible for helping her when we hadn't

even met.

I was probably the last person that needed to be working on her case. She needed someone

that was all business and wouldn't let the mushy gushy cloud their judgment. I hated to admit it, but

Missy seemed perfectly suited to run things.

"What if I helped you?" I pointed at his mountain of projects. "We could put our heads

together and put a dent in this."

He didn't even consider it. "It looks serious, but I thrive under this kind of pressure. Just like

you thrive when you're hands-on, working with the client. You'll work the Kent case." His eyes

narrowed. "I need someone in there to balance Missy out. Someone that's driven but doesn't lose sight

that we're working to help rebuild personal and professional lives. And that someone is you."

Nerves knotted my throat. I knew Jacob thought I was capable. And I believed it myself. But

there were still the whispers of doubt that scratched beneath the surface. "I'm just your personal

assistant, Jacob."

"We both know you're more than that. You said you want to earn your place at the table and

prove that you belong here. That's why you're gonna march that hot behind back the way you came, go

to that meeting and show them that you're the person to watch at Whitmore and Creighton."

I looked into those blue eyes that I knew so well and I saw more than love. I saw a leader. A

man who knew what to say to make me charge into battle for him. Maybe he didn't ask about his

employees' children or have a stack of invites to holiday dinners and graduations, but he saw the big

picture. How much did all of Carlton's words mean anyway if he chunked a teetering company on his

son as soon as he graduated from college?

"What's going on, Leila?" His hands gripped mine, bringing my attention back to him. "I can

tell there's something else bothering you besides this meeting."

I blinked at him, only entertaining the thought of saying 'nothing' for a millisecond. No more

secrets. No more half-truths. I didn't know how bringing up his father would affect him, but I would

give him the respect of letting him deal with it and not try to handle him.

"It was just something Missy said." When he scowled, I quickly added, "Not anything

negative. She just talked about her time at Whitmore and Creighton. Working for your father."

Jacob tensed, his features turning downright predatory. This was what Carlton Whitmore did

to him, a life of disappointment turning the word 'father' into profanity.

"I'm sure she talked of how he walked on water, swooped in with his red cape, doing the

impossible, handing out jobs like candy. His story conveniently leaves out the fact that he ignored

incompetence because he was too busy drinking or screwing."

I didn't know what to say to that, but I had a feeling he wasn't expecting a response. He

needed to vent.

"Whitmore and Creighton was just another business headed toward bankruptcy or better off

being chopped up and sold off to someone that actually knew what the hell they were doing. It was

nothing before I stepped into this office."

He was clenching and unclenching his fists, back in that place before us. But he didn't have to

go alone.

"I never really asked you what it was like taking the reins when you were twenty-one."

I knew I was ready for more responsibility when I got my degree, ready to take on cases

instead of just getting coffee and being seen and not heard. But taking on an entire company, and a

failing one at that? Heck no.

He tugged at his tie, the lines on his face those of someone with the weight of the world on

their shoulders.

"I'd studied business. There was no way I was going to go into anything but business. And I

knew I'd inherit Whitmore and Creighton someday. She was my father's baby. The only child he cared

about. And when he gave me my graduation present, telling me the business was mine, I was so

honored." He grit his teeth angrily. "He was letting me take the reins. Barely graduated. I thought that

maybe he was finally seeing me. Respecting me.

When I found out how much disarray the company was in, I was more than angry. I'd always

told myself that it was the job. He wasn't around because he was hard at work. He had

responsibilities. We weren't the only family he was providing for because there were all the

employees that counted on him too. But when I saw the company was a swift breeze away from

bankruptcy, I was offended. He didn't care about us--and he sure as hell didn't care about all the

people that would be unemployed if the company went under.

And it was my name above the door too. I was the one that would have to live with the

failure. So I had to be the adult. Cut out the partying. Drop the dead weight. Take a company that used

to be synonymous with 'yeah right' and turn it into a force to be reckoned with."

And it was. The company wasn't the sum of its past, a comeback kid. They were innovative,

hands-on, turning the biggest divas into relatable figures that connected with everyone from their

colleagues to small town audiences. Whitmore and Creighton was a multi-billion dollar company and

Jacob was always making contacts, branching out, building something new and incredible. When

there was a crisis, you called Whitmore and Creighton.

"And I guess I'm the monster." He had a smile on his face but it was one filled with a quiet

sadness that made me want to just throw my arms around his neck. "The tyrant that followed the Great

Carlton Whitmore."

"Don't worry about them," I said firmly. "They don't know that you're the reason they still

have jobs. And they don't know you."

The smile broadened, the light returning to his intensely blue eyes. "But you do."

I leaned in, lowering my voice like I had a secret. "I do. You're a tenacious businessman, but

you're not heartless. You care a lot more than you let on."

He followed through, coming forward until we were face to face, lips almost touching, our

breaths mixing.

Tingling.

"I love you," he whispered. And just in case I didn't catch it, he kissed me, tattooing those

very words on my heart.

****

The clock read thirty minutes past 11am.

Thirty minutes past the start of Mia's appointment.

Missy was running point and I could tell from the way she sat, rigid and unmoving, eyes

straight ahead, that she was getting closer to losing it with each passing second.

I heard a voice carry from outside the conference room and breathed a sigh of relief. It had to

be Mia because no one else would dare make a peep knowing Missy was on the warpath. And when

the voice got closer, louder, I recognized the high pitch of someone that really didn't give a damn.

"I've got this thing. No, I'm not partying...I'm not that bad,” she giggled. “Whitmore and

Creighton. Yeah, from that show. I know...Jacob is HOT."

I tightened my grip on the armrest. Do not walk in here on your phone. Do not-

The giggles were at the doorway. Since everyone in the room was grimacing, I knew that she

was adding insult to injury, breezing in late with her cell glued to her ear.

I was the only one that dared to look up from my folder and at our client. Mia had only

crossed legal age territory four months ago. I could still remember clicking through news websites,

making sure my mother was out of ‘Aha!’ distance and detouring to the gossip section.

She’d been so happy in her birthday pictures, flashing the paparazzi a peace sign to go with

her hippie approved maxi dress and floral crown. There’d been rumblings that she was caught using a

fake id, smoking, drinking--but who doesn’t test the limits at eighteen? It would have been way more

bizarro if she was holed up having knitting nights.

But Mia embraced her newfound freedom a little too liberally, arms wide open as she

plummeted into a world full of headlines like, ‘Mia’s Cry For Help’ and ‘Mia’s Sultry Mug shot’.

I didn’t think it was possible for her to look worse than the ‘stoned chic’ that had become her

signature look, but the girl still yapping on her phone proved me wrong.

Her honey colored hair had been part of her character’s identity in Carolina, California. In

the show, her agent was always trying to lighten it, make it edgier. She was a far cry from those soft

curls now. Her hair was bleached to the point that it was a shade below white. It hung in stiff, bone

straight layers--except for the right side of her head, buzzed painfully short. It didn’t match with her

features. Instead of making her look rocker chick she just looked like she was trying way too hard.

Her makeup was just as heavy handed. Her foundation was slathered on to the point it was a

mask, a prominent line beneath her chin where her application brush had come to a stop. The silver

eye shadow was too heavy, too glittered and washed out her sky blue eyes. The false lashes were too

much, the length tacky and jarring. Bright red lips were the icing on the cake, making her look like she

should be working the streets instead of owning them.

And then there was her clothing. Her pants, shorts, whatever had been left at home. An

oversized flannel shirt hung on her gangly frame, the greens and browns dingy and worn. She paired it

with a pair of combat boots that looked like they’d been worn by an entire army before they passed on

to Mia. Of course she didn’t need to be in her evening finest for a meeting, but considering the

purpose was to repair her image, it would have been wise to NOT look like she’d just rolled out of

bed and could care less.

She took in the room, her attention clearly still firmly on whomever she was talking to on the

phone. I could feel the tension, thick and suffocating. I tried to draw her gaze so I could send her some

sort of signal that now was not the time to be catching up with friends, but she was in her own world.

“Nah, it shouldn’t last too long,” she said with a shrug. “Why don’t I--”

“Get off the phone NOW.”

The growl from Missy made me want to crawl under the desk. She wasn’t playing around.

Unfortunately, Mia didn’t pay any mind to the severity in her tone.

“Hold on one sec, Scott.” Mia held the phone away from her ear. “Excuse me?”

“Miss Kent,” Missy blazed, rising to her feet. “We have been waiting for you for over thirty

minutes. This may be hard to believe, but our time is precious. You need to get off your phone, sit

down in that empty seat and let us do our job.”

Mia just stood there, clearly unaccustomed to anyone giving it to her straight. But she didn’t

move toward the chair--she slowly brought her phone back up, glaring at Missy. “I’m sorry about that.

This lady’s freaking insane and--hey!”

I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me because there was no way that Missy just

snatched the phone from Mia’s hand. But she was right there, towering above the girl, holding the

phone so tightly I was surprised it didn’t crumble between her fingers. I heard the muffled sound of

whoever was on the other end before Missy won the staring stand-off and ended the call. She tossed

the phone on the conference room table with a splat and returned to her seat.

Mia was still standing, fuming, but after a minute she yanked the chair back and sat down.

“Now, I’m going to introduce you to the team that will be working on your case,” Missy

started. “I’m--”

“I don’t care who you--” She flung her hand. “--or anyone else in this room is. I just want to

find out if I’m gonna get what I paid for.”

Missy’s dark eyes flashed, but she gave our new client a smile so sweet it was poison. “Very

well. You can review contact information at your leisure. We’ll get right to it.”

Mia blew a bubble with her gum and popped it with an obnoxious snap. I unscrewed my

bottle of water and took a long gulp.

“We’re here because of one reason and one reason alone. You are single handedly destroying

your career.”

I nearly spat up my water. I wasn’t the only one surprised by Missy’s bluntness. A couple of

gazes jumped from the folder before falling dutifully back down. And Mia--well, if she turned any

redder, I was sure her head would explode.

“What did you just say to me?”

Missy calmly put one hand on top of the other. “I’m not gonna blow smoke up your ass. I

know that the people around you tell you what you want to hear. That you’re okay. You’re a rebel.

You’re trendy. You’re just being young, wild, and free.” Her tone darkened. “I’m here to tell you the

truth. This little grunge number you’re rocking? You look like something the nineties threw up.

Without our help, the only thing you’ll be is a one liner in comedic routines. The only singing gigs

you’ll be offered is jingles for commercials. And as far as acting? A porn parody of Carolina,

California.”

I was holding my breath, somewhere between ‘OH MY GOD…just…wow’ and ‘Oh my god

did she just tell a client she was a hop, skip, and a jump away from doing porn?!’.

But Mia wasn’t holding her breath. I could tell from the way her body shook that she was

breathing overtime, her tiny framed hunched over the table like she was contemplating lurching to the

front and clawing Missy’s face off.

This situation was going from bad to worse in record time. No one else was saying anything

so I opened my mouth. “Miss Kent, I think what Mrs. Diaz is trying to say is that your career is at a

critical tipping point and we’re here to ensure that you tip in the right direction.” When Mia whipped

to face me, still angry, still confused, I clarified. “Towards success.”

I saw the fight in her eyes flicker, her breathing dialing down a notch. I gave her an uneasy

smile and a nod before I turned to Missy. “We’re here to help, right?”

Now Missy was the one that looked like she was ready to step in a ring, ready to go a round

or two with me. “You’ll have to forgive Miss Montgomery. She hasn’t been with the company for

very long.”

Don't do it, Missy. I’d just given her an out. Mia was calming down and we could move

forward.

“I meant exactly what I said,” Missy continued, going dark just as I feared she would. “I’m

not gonna tiptoe around anything. You are going to do, say, and go where we tell you or you’re going

to fail.”

The gasp of horror that hissed from Mia’s mouth made me feel more than a little sorry for her

and I scrambled to fix things. “Miss Kent...Mia...”

But she was already up, kicking the chair out of the way, throwing a grown up tantrum that

had everyone gaping at her.

Bad, meet Worse.

“I’m not gonna sit here and let you talk to me like that. Do you know who I am?” Spit flew

from her mouth like rain. “DO YOU?!”

“Today I do,” Missy said, crossing her arms nonchalantly. “Without us, in five years you’ll

be that girl that was on that show. Another child starlet that hit eighteen and lost their damn mind.”

Mia stormed from the room, leaving silence in her wake. I knew Missy was opinionated. It

was her M.O. But that ‘get in line or get out’ attitude wasn’t one size fits all. Mia came in combative,

gearing for a fight. The last thing she needed was to have someone give it to her.

Missy pushed her chair away from the table. “She’ll be back.”

I guess that was her way of concluding the meeting because everyone else followed suit,

pushing back and filing from the room. I hung back, waiting until it was just she and I.

“Can I have a minute, Missy?”

She didn’t say yes, but she turned to face me, clearly still unpleased that I dared to interrupt

her during the meeting. As much as I wanted to tell her that I was trying to fix her fallout, do her a

favor, I tried to alleviate the tension instead.

“I just wanted to say that I spoke up because I felt that the dialogue was headed down a

negative path,” I explained. “She deals with negative day in and day out, people trying to be armchair

psychiatrists when no one knows what’s behind this except for Mia.”

“And I don’t care what’s behind it,” Missy said curtly. “I’m not here to be her friend or her

confidante. I’m her publicist.”

“I get that, but why can’t we be understanding of her specific needs and--”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you a secretary? What value is your opinion in this matter?”

She may as well have spit in my face because the sting of her words sliced just as deep as

hocking a loogie would have. I guess our second ceasefire lasted a few hours longer than the first but

was it progress if I was back to hating her guts?

Missy left the room, probably off to brag about how she’d just schooled both me and Mia.

My hands were shaking, my eyes filling with what I refused to admit were tears. I left the conference

room with my eye on the bathroom down the hall. I would make myself decent before I had to walk

through Missy’s territory.

I pushed open the door and went to the sink, putting my trembling hands beneath the water,

rubbing them together, trying to calm down. I thought I heard something, someone so I stood up taller,

steeling myself for one of Missy’s cronies to come out, ready to report back that she’d successfully

gotten under my skin. But the door swung open and it was Mia.

Mascara making dark streaks down her face. Mia, falling apart.

I took a step in her direction, wanting to say or do something to let her know that everything

would be okay.

She threw venom that stopped me in my tracks. “What the hell are you looking at?”

She stomped past me without another word, yanking open the door and leaving me wondering

why I even tried.

But I couldn't shrug it off. She needed help, and not of the 'or else' variety.

****

Natasha was watching me pace back and forth in the lounge area with this little smirk on her

glossed lips that told me Missy had already talked to her about the meeting.

Missy's harsh words...Mia's face...

I'd spent the past hour wondering if I should do the very thing Natasha's smirk dared me to

do. Play the Jacob card.

Under normal circumstances I would never. Ever since it was made public that I dated Jacob,

I knew that my co-workers minced the few words they spared for me, worried any comments might

make their way back to him. There was a part of me, the piece that kept walking the strip between the

sofa and table, that thought I would be tattling. That if it were under different circumstances where I

didn't have a close relationship with the boss, I would handle this situation differently. I'd take my

grievance to the source and we'd settle it as professionals. But I'd tried talking to Missy, politely

suggesting that maybe we try a position that was a little less boot camp and her response had been to

keep my mouth shut. I was a secretary, and her word was law.

But I'd seen the fallout from her heavy handed intervention with my own eyes. Mia’s face

wasn't that of someone that was close to realizing the error of their ways. She was a girl on the verge

of collapse and Missy's words were just the shove to knock her over the edge.

So yeah, I was considering playing dirty, but I could worry about Missy's ego or I could

worry about the client.

I stopped pacing.

You knew what you were gonna do as soon as you saw Mia's face.

I put one foot in front of the other, not backing down from Natasha's death stare. "Is Jacob

in?"

She ran a hand through her white blond hair. "He is. Is he expecting--"

I didn't wait for whatever obtuse or hidden threat she could work into her next statement,

starting down the corridor. I knew she was on my heels, talking about how I needed an appointment

and how I still owed him professionalism even if we had a personal relationship.

I almost laughed. Professionalism? Like she was some stellar example of it, all but saying

‘nanananana’ in a sing song voice for the past fifteen minutes. But not even the desire to give her a

piece of my mind could outshine the purpose of my unscheduled meeting with Jacob.

I swore he was in the exact same spot he'd been in when I left before the meeting. I opened

my mouth but Natasha had already muscled her way to the front.

"Mr. Whitmore, I informed Miss Montgomery that you were very busy, but she insisted."

I had to bite back amusement at the fact that her volume went from loud and sure to barely

audible by the time she got to ‘insisted’. Probably because his eyes left his paperwork as soon as she

said my name.

He didn't even have to say a word before she turned around and left, closing the door with a

click.

"How was the meeting?"

It was pretty obvious he knew it was a train wreck. If the little awkward exchange between

Natasha and I wasn't a dead giveaway, the stress filled expression on my face and the single arched

brow on his, was.

"We started off with a bang. The client was thirty minutes late."

The arch dropped immediately. "This is about Missy."

The fact that he knew she was in the center spoke volumes, but I nodded slowly to confirm it.

"I get that she's rough around the edges and gets the job done." It was probably the reason she

survived the purge after Jacob took over. Even then, he must have seen an invaluable asset to

Whitmore and Creighton. Every successful company had a Missy behind the scenes; someone willing

to get their hands dirty and cut through the bull.

"But?" Jacob said, waiting for the next bit.

"I think she may have gone too far today."

He steepled his hands beneath his chin. "What happened?"

"She pretty much told Mia Kent she'd become a porn star if she didn't do exactly what she

said."

"A...porn star?" Jacob repeated slowly. He dropped his hands to his desk. "Surely she was

speaking metaphorically. Followed it with a laugh or joke of some sort?"

I could tell from Jacob's reaction that he was trying to make sense of it and the more he

worked over the situation, the angrier he became.

His voice took on the low, dangerous tone that always had everyone scurrying for cover.

"You can't be serious. She couldn't have been serious!"

I'd already crossed the biggest hurdle. I worried he'd appreciate her tough as nails approach

and tell me the client needed a dose of reality. He'd done the opposite...but he was still glaring at me

like he wanted to shoot the messenger.

He rose from his chair, buttoning his jacket with a precise, controlled movement. But his eyes

betrayed him. Jacob was about to chew Missy out.

I took a tiny step back, but knew I needed to explain the real reason I came here. Even though

I was aware that Missy would throw me under the bus if our roles were reversed, I didn't come so he

could string her up.

"Nine times out of ten, her angle would have worked. But Mia is not some jaded celebutante

that needs a stern talking to." I moved back to where I stood, finding my groove. "She's eighteen. She's

just a kid. And she's terrified. Scared straight isn't the right way to handle her--she needs

understanding. We need to remind her that she is wasting her potential and headed down a dark path,

sure...but not by berating her."

I waited for him to respond, not sure if he saw so much red that my words didn't register or

was contemplating what I said.

He played his cards close to the chest, his eyes, his face unreadable now. I had no idea which

way the wind would take him. Would he march downstairs and give her the same talking to she gave

Mia? Would he take my words to heart and ask for my suggestions? It was all guesswork. I held my

breath and crossed my fingers for door number two.

"I take it Miss Kent was far from receptive?"

"Oh I think the message was received loud and clear." I bit my lip, remembering Mia's face.

"I'm just trying to ensure that the right message is sent if she decides to use our services."

I was banking on her desire to prove Missy wrong, but the fact was it was anyone's game. I

wouldn't be surprised if she never walked through Whitmore and Creighton's revolving door ever

again. In the event that she did, a new strategy needed to be implemented.

Jacob walked to the front of the desk. There was still ten, fifteen feet between us, but I felt as

breathless as if he was up close.

"What are you suggesting we do to fix this situation?"

I was so relieved that I couldn't help but let out a sigh that rippled through the silence. There

were no guarantees, but all I wanted was an opportunity to be heard. Nothing more, nothing less.

"She fired her manager recently, right? She's untethered and has no clue what she's doing.

She's in no position to manage herself. So first, we need to find her someone that will hold her

accountable. Keep her on the straight and narrow. Chew her out if necessary. Be the bad guy."

I stopped, wondering if he had something to add, but he was just listening intently.

I swallowed and continued. "We need to focus our energy on getting her back to the fun, girl

next door that the world fell in love with in Carolina, California. Right now she just looks like a

child acting out for attention. The story people see when they see her should be that she’s still young,

but she’s not naive. She’s in control of herself. Of her destiny. Not an edgy young woman who maybe

dipped too far onto the dark side. She’s small town. She’s relatable. The fame overwhelmed her, but

she’s learning from her mistakes. She’s grown up. She belongs here.”

I stopped. Finished. I’d finally put out the vision I’d been honing since we first took her on as

a client. The vision I tried to share but was pretty much laughed out of the room. It was straight from

my mouth to someone who could actually do something about it.

“Did you share this with Missy?”

“I tried,” I said honestly. “She thinks the best way to proceed is to stay the course. Strip Mia

down to nothing and build her back up.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think that’s a mistake. I think that instead of helping her, we’re just bringing her fears and

demons to the surface.” When he turned his back to me, moving back to his desk, panic gripped my

throat. “I’m not trying to start trouble. I just don’t agree with our current course of action.”

He picked up his phone, punching the speaker button before a series of numbers. I just about

died when I heard Missy’s voice answer.

“This is Missy.”

“Hello, this is Jacob.”

The line went quiet, her voice going from the ‘what is it’ edge to something infinitely more

accommodating. “Mr. Whitmore! What can I do for you?”

“There’s going to be a slight change with the Kent case.” Jacob’s eyes settled on me. “Leila

Montgomery is your second. I’ve just heard some great ideas from her end and I like the direction

she’s taking.” His eyes fell to the phone, narrowing to slits of blue like he was putting the fear of God

into her face to face instead of over the phone. “I want her opinions to be valued and heard. I trust you

both to ensure our client’s needs are met. That’s all.”

He ended the connection, leaving me and surely Missy, equally flabbergasted.

“I’m her second?” I walked around the desk, needing to be up close. Needing to hear it again.

“That’s right.” He gave me a look. “And don’t start on the promotion kick. You want to earn

your place at the table, this is how that gets done. Show them you’re exactly where you belong.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I threw my arms around his neck, squeezing tight. “Thank you

for this opportunity, Jacob.”

“Thank you for coming to me,” he answered. “I know you’re worried about nepotism, but this

has nothing to do with the fact that I’m crazy about you. I disagree with Missy’s approach and I know

you’ve been working hard on this case. I think together, you two can really do good work. As long as

you’re on your best behavior,” he added with a wink.

“Me?” I said, pinching his arm playfully. “You should talk to Missy. She wasn’t even talking

about me and I almost cried.”

“Well, it’s settled then. Wherever she goes, you go. You give it to her straight. If you think

she’s being too much, say so. I’m just so happy you’ve come to me, finally proving that you trust me.”

He brushed a wayward curl behind my ear. “Didn’t think I’d see you as some power hungry

overachiever.”

That alone meant as much as being Missy’s second. I knew what everyone thought of me.

That I slept my way into my position. That I didn’t have anything of any real value to contribute. And I

knew Missy wouldn’t hesitate to say that I begged for a new position, but I didn’t even care about all

that right now.

He looked down at me, his tongue darting over his bottom lip. “You know how sexy it was

watching you march in here, expressing yourself? Going to bat for someone, damn the fallout?”

I smiled as I reached down, gripping the curve of his arousal. “I think I have an idea.”

Lust heated his gaze before he nodded at the door.

I walked briskly to it, engaging the lock. “Can we--?”

He peeled off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves. “We can...and we will.”

****

My back was against his chest. I could feel him breathe me, his heart racing even though his

voice was calm. Sultry.

"You have no idea how sexy it was to see you take charge. Speak out for your client."

I drew an unsteady breath as I felt his fingers unbuttoning the front of my blouse. There was

no urgency in his movements. Always the picture of calm, the Dom in charge. I couldn't say the same

for myself. I'd passed calm when I saw that look in his eyes--that look of carnal need. That special

spark where I knew we were throwing the employee handbook and decorum out the window. This

wasn't an office, with rules and regulations. This was our space. A room made up of all the ways he

could have me. Up against the wall. Pressed against the floor to ceiling windows. On the chaise. On

the floor.

All of the above.

I looked down, not believing there was still several buttons to go. I was dying for him to just

rip it from my body. Send the buttons flying and push me back onto the desk. I didn't even care that I'd

have to hold it together with a prayer after we were done. I didn't care about anything except his body

and my body, colliding until we were both too spent to notice that we weren't the only two people on

the planet.

His eyes blazed downward, stopping at my feet. "And you in those shoes--"

I let out a hot, nervous giggle at that, remembering the associate telling me they said 'take me

now' but the crystal accents tacked on a throaty 'please'. I hadn't been sure about them...me and heels

just didn't mix.

And then I put them on.

I didn't really believe in the whole item of clothing or even a pair of shoes having the ability

to change your life, but when I stood in front of that mirror, something clicked. The way they made my

legs go on forever, the way they hugged and accentuated; these shoes were foreplay. And even though

I'd cursed having to wear something so dressy since I couldn’t find my more conservative pair this

morning, I knew it was serendipity.

I felt like the most desirable woman alive.

My shirt hung open in the front, goose bumps spreading across my fevered flesh when he

pressed his palm against my abdomen.

"You're so beautiful, Leila," he murmured. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"It's for you," I whispered softly, trembling slightly when he swept my hair to one side, dark

curls spilling over one shoulder. I turned around slowly, facing him full-on. I saw myself reflected in

his crystal eyes. My wild, unruly hair, the curves of me, my sun kissed skin. I saw what he'd been

seeing all along. What he wanted for the rest of his days.

He pressed a sizzling kiss against my cool flesh, heating it until my temperature rose to meet

the warmth in my belly.

"Don't give me all the credit." he said, still taking me in. "You walked in here like a woman

in charge."

Since that was his role, I almost worried this was some segue into reminding me of his place,

of my place, but he just stepped forward, gripping my hair and exposing the nape of my neck. He

rained kisses up and down the sensitive skin, his other hand dropping to my skirt. That wasn't nearly

as torturous as the shirt. He expertly unhooked the clasp and pulled the zipper down until it slumped

at my feet.

Lust heated his gaze as he held out his hand, helping me step out of the circle of fabric. I

gripped him, moving to take off the heels, but he stopped me, his voice a whip that snapped my gaze

back to his.

"No. I want those to stay on. The heels--and nothing else."

Every part of me tingled, the lure of what was to come making my heart skip a beat. My

fingers rattled so nervously that I was surprised I maintained my grip on anything long enough to

unhook my bra.

His eyes were locked on my chest and when I saw them flicker, his tongue sweeping across

his bottom lip, I let my eyes drop to his crotch. The perfectly tailored cut of his pants teased under the

most unassuming circumstances and now…nothing was left to the imagination. I almost stepped

forward, reaching, wanting to free it since it was obviously fighting and pushing against the seams.

He cleared his throat and I stopped short.

"Don't mistake my desire for something else."

He was reprimanding me. And it was making me very, very wet.

I blinked at him coyly, fluttering my eyelashes as I released my hold on the lacy number, bra

fluttering to the floor. My panties followed suit as I shimmied them over my hips, then bent at the

waist to pull them off the rest of the way.

His eyes took me in like I was some fantasy come to life before his very eyes. The first time

I'd come to this office and he asked me to strip, I froze. Every insecurity in me rendered me unable to

comprehend how he could find me attractive. I couldn't fathom how a guy, beautiful, devastatingly

handsome, would want to watch me strip and touch myself.

But standing there, naked, and in freaking stilettos, I felt beautiful. I didn't ask myself if this

was a dream or if I deserved him. He wanted me. Needed me. And I needed him. We belonged

together.

He strode back to me, pulling his tie loose. He clutched my chin, tilting my lips up to meet

him. Nerve endings fired, moist desire gathered between my thighs and thoughts zipped through my

head at the speed of light. I was spinning, dizzy from his lips. His taste. This man could turn a kiss

into sex. Skin to skin, tongue probing, pulling me against him until everything else was white noise.

The only thing that came through in wild technicolor was this kiss.

When he pulled back, letting me catch my breath, I felt the sides of my mouth tip upward as I

watched him. His eyes were still closed and he brought his fingers to his lips, like he could still feel

me there. Branded on him.

I pursed my lips when he came forward, closing my eyes and expecting him to kiss me again,

but they popped open when I felt his lips on my thigh. I looked down in surprise, seeing the dark

waves on the crown of his head.

Jacob was on his knees.

He's about to...

I leaned back onto the edge of the desk, not even caring that it wasn't the most comfortable of

things to be leaning against. The flutter of pain was nothing compared to the rush of blood roaring in

my ears when I felt him press his lips against my intimate flesh.

Soft caresses rippled across me as he lingered up and down each fold. His lips brushed my

trembling skin, humming. It was like he was savoring my scent. Savoring my taste.

He ran his hands over my calves, around the knot of my knees, smoothing over my thigh until

he gripped the bottom of my behind and pulled me forward. For a second, I felt the disorienting shock

of having nothing to steady me. Nothing but air. I was going to fall on my butt and there was nothing

sexy about that.

But his hands were underneath my bare cheeks, holding me just the way he wanted. Closer.

Flush to his mouth.

His tongue replaced his lips, sliding just inside and sending a shiver up my spine. God his

tongue felt delicious on my warm skin. It was an instrument and he used it to make music along the

walls inside of me.

Every part of me cried out in unison. I wanted him deeper, wanted to spread myself wider to

give him that bundle of hot need that pulsed and was yet untouched. Each stroke of his tongue moved

closer but he darted out of reach until I was writhing, practically groaning for him to taste it.

He pulled back, lips against my lower lips and I swear I heard something that sounded like a

chuckle. He was making me work for it...but I couldn’t muster anything other than moans when his

mouth dove back inside. Even the eye roll was a fail, eyes fluttering madly when he finally took his

tongue to the swollen knot and went to work. He circled it, flicked it--but I wasn't prepared for when

he took it between his lips and sucked.

Pulsing squeezes sent a cacophony of sensations over me. Beautiful, intoxicating waves took

me out of reality and thrust me into what had to be some mad dream. Jacob Whitmore couldn't be on

his knees, with his face buried in my crotch. Those couldn't be my legs on his shoulders, shoes

sparkling as I crossed my ankles and drew him close. And the growl of approval that rumbled from

him and right through me...

But it wasn't a dream. It was his hands spreading me open and his tongue tasting me from the

inside, my back arched and mouth wide open.

Dominant, submissive--none of it mattered because I'd lost all control. I felt the need building

and I let go. Closed my eyes and fell, arms wide open into bliss. Jacob caught me, pulling me into him

as he took all of me.

Jacob. My Jacob...and we were just getting started.

And then I heard the phone.

I braced myself on the desk, glaring at the thing with disdain. I almost reached over and tore

it off the hook and chunked it across the room, but it had already cut through the electric haze of us

and rational, not-getting-mind-blowing-oral-sex Leila knew better.

I looked down at Jacob, his eyes, his smirk, still hungry for more. He pulled me back

forward, his gaze locked between my legs like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Ignore it.”

I was distracted, but it finally stopped ringing and there was another sound I was

preoccupied with. His belt being unbuckled. His zipper pulling downward.

And then the phone started ringing again. By the time it stopped, we looked at each other,

knowing that whatever mood we’d been in was killed, dead, and mounted on the wall.

I shimmied back into my underwear, feeding my arms into my bra then fastening it. I stepped

into my skirt and watched Jacob wipe his mouth with his handkerchief.

A flurry of knocks at the door brought me from the buzz, and even though my shirt was

buttoned, skirt up, I found myself covering my body apprehensively.

Jacob fixed his tie with angry jerks, clearly not happy that someone was not only blowing up

his phone, but now somebody was beating down his door too.

He gave me a small nod, making sure I was decent before he pulled it open.

Natasha and Claudia were side by side, both talking at the same time. Jacob's voice rose

above theirs, silencing everything but his obvious annoyance.

"What is going on here?"

"Well, I tried to call you--" Natasha began, looking at me pointedly.

"Mr. Whitmore," Missy interrupted wisely, picking up on the anger Jacob was about to

unleash on her friend. "There's been a development in the Mia Kent case."

Something about the way she said 'development' made me nervous and when she seemed to

look everywhere but at me, I knew something was wrong.

I took a step toward her. "What happened?"

"We're still getting details, but according to the news, her friend found her in her apartment

thirty minutes ago."

I brought my hand to my mouth. Oh God…

"They found pills..."

Natasha let out a frustrated sigh, cutting to the chase. "They’ve rushed her to the hospital.

They’re saying that Mia Kent overdosed."

###

Thank you for taking the time to read The Billionaire’s Desire. Please consider leaving

a review! xoxo, A.C.

About the Author

Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to

paper or glued to her e-reader, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and searching for

her own brooding billionaire.

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