Billion Dollar Bastard: An Alpha Male Step Brother Billionaire Romance (12 page)

I was still atop him, my breasts crushed into his chest, feeling the rise and fall of the air cycling out of his powerful body. His eyes were closed and I lazily dragged my finger tips over his face, tracing the curves, tracing the contours, as if memorizing its shape.

His eyes opened then, suddenly.

KYLE

I watched her, watched her form, her beauty, taking everything in.

“So,” she said with a smile. “You finally got what you want.”

“That’s right,” I returned with a growl. “I always get what I want.”

I began to pull her close to me but she daintily placed a hand on my chest.

“Hold up,” Karen whispered. “I want to talk about what just happened.”

I felt myself growing hard again.

“I know what’s better than talking.” I hoisted myself on top of her, kissing down her neck. She gasped in delight, arching her beautiful back, pressing herself toward me. She was caught, I could tell, in between desire and logic. I hoped that desire would win out.

“No, we need to talk,” she whimpered finally as my lips grazed her breast, taking her nipple into my mouth.

“Fine, let’s talk,” I whispered, pressing myself inside of her. She rewarded me with a guttural moan, her legs instinctively opening for me as I began to pump into her, thrusting, taking her deep.

“We… We have to keep this a secret… Oh, god…” Karen whimpered, pressing her gorgeous breasts towards me as I claimed her once again, her legs up on my shoulders as I took her deep.

“A secret? Why the hell would you want to do that?” I asked, my voice husky, growling, tight with packed desire and passion, hungering for Karen as I pumped myself into her.

“Because… It would be a scandal… My career… Ahhh…” Karen yelped as I tweaked her flesh with one hand, gripping her bottom with the other.

Of course. Of course. Back to her career. I wrapped my arms tight around Karen, knowing this might be the last time we ever made love. I was determined to make it count and I latched my lips hard onto her neck, suckling at her flesh, nipping down to her collar bone and then her chest as I worked myself in and out of her, my body pressing down on her, our sweat mixing.

“Kyle… Kyle… Kyle… Oh, god…” she whimpered and I felt her body shudder, spasming in delight and gripping me hard. I gripped her in return as I felt myself release, my cock twitching and pulsating inside of her, releasing my essence. I felt her stretch, groaning around me as she receive me, trembling.

Finally, I slid out of her and lay next to her. It was evening by now, with New Orleans lit only by the lights of the French Quarter to one side of us and the downtown to the other side. The light filtered in through our open windows, bathing us in its willowy embrace, revealing my pale body and Karen’s pale flesh.

“You really want to deny this?” I said finally. “Everything we just had?”

I felt her hands on me again.

“No, Kyle, no… It’s just… You need to understand. It’s important for both of us. For our careers. People… People expect things from us.”

“Who?” I demanded. “Who expects anything from us?”

“Kyle… People do. My students. Your clients and employees. The other professors in my department.”

“Karen, I don’t give a damn about any of them!” I roared. “Damn it, I’m falling in love with you.”

I stood and stalked over to the terrace, stepping out onto the balcony even though I was still naked. I felt the cooled night air wash over me and sighed. I glanced behind me and saw Karen rise, following me.

She wrapped her arms around me and I felt her breasts press into my back.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But we just… We can’t. It’ll destroy my career.”

I sighed.

“It’ll destroy me,” she said, pressing her lips to my neck. I turned to her, pushing her back into the room as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders once more. I scooped her up easily, and then bent her over a coffee table.

“Then I’ll destroy you a few more times first,” I whispered into her ear as I entered her.

KAREN

I’ve never felt so exhausted and conflicted after coming home from a vacation.

On the one hand, I had collected reams and reams of fantastic material about Maribeth Wilson. I was ready now to start writing on her. I was positive. I knew so much about her, about her inner life, her thoughts… Everything.

But…

But on the other hand… Kyle.

I sighed. I was back in my office at Silliman. Classes had just finished for the day. From my window, I could see students streaming to and fro across the campus, giggling, smiling, happy to be finished with another Monday of classes. They had no idea what things would be like when they were older, even a few years older—when they found themselves needing to choose between a career and… And a love. A life.

But that wasn’t what was on their minds now. What they found themselves thinking about? Whose bed they would be sleeping in tonight. Whether or not they could finish their calculus problem sets in time to get drunk at a fraternity. If they could scrape together enough pocket change for beer. Who got the main part in the musical.

Their minds didn’t dwell on the things that my mind dwelt on, that Kyle’s mind dwelt on.

We agreed, reluctantly, to leave our relationship in New Orleans. He was dark and brooding our second day there as I insisted we try to take in some sights. We made love again that morning and once more before checking out of the hotel. And, then, in the limo on the way to the airport.

And then… Again in the limo that picked us up in New York and drove me to my condo. I figured we should get as much as we could out of that magical southern weekend.

I was set to have a call with him to actually discuss how we would administer the fund, something we never quite got around to in New Orleans. In between sex, sightseeing, and the restaurant reservations Kyle had managed for us—Emeril’s one night, Galatoire’s the next night—we never really got around to talking shop.

He had offered to come up to Silliman for our talk, but I figured a phone call would be safer. After all, we couldn’t have sex over the phone.

Less of a chance for distraction.

But first, I was set to have a meeting with Masha. She glided in, giggling, still in weekend mode. She got serious when she saw my glum face.

“I guess you saw the tabloids, huh?”

“What?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “What tabloids?”

Masha bit her lip. I knew that she had a guilty pleasure habit of eating up nasty tabloid gossip. She reached into her bag and pulled out a rolled up copy of the New York Inquirer.

The front page showed a very familiar face kissing an unfamiliar one: a skinny white girl in a barely-there black dress. It was Kyle.

The headline loudly proclaimed: “BEAUTY AND THE BILLIONAIRE.”

I snatched the tabloid out of Masha’s fingers and began to digest it: Kyle Stone, apparently, was seen at a chic Upper East Side bistro with his ex-wife, and shared a kiss with her as they left. This was last night. Literally hours after we had made love in the limousine on the way home.

My fingers trembled. I knew I couldn’t show any discomfort to Masha. I bit my lip, trying to fight back the tears.

“It would be nice for Mr. Stone,” Masha offered. “If he could patch things up with his wife. It was a really messy divorce.”

She blushed.

“I read all about it in the papers.”

“Of course you did,” I murmured, rolling my eyes. I shoved the paper back into her hands.

“Listen, I’m not feeling well. I was out of town this weekend and I think I had something to eat that didn’t really agree with me.”

I sent Masha away, telling her that we’d reschedule. As she left, I rose, closed the door to my office, and sank down to the floor heavily, leaning against it. I let out a loud, hard sob that racked my chest.

No, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t get torn up over a man. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t what I was about.

But no. It was too late. I was in love with him and I was broken now, broken to see him with someone else. If only he had taken his time, taken time to let the relationship end, to cool, to mourn it like I was.

But no.

Again. That very night. With his ex-wife. A woman I knew was five years younger than me and at least twenty pounds lighter.

It hurt bad. It cut deep. It made breathing hard.

And he was going to be calling any minute. How the hell was I going to be able to talk to him? There was nothing I wanted to say to him. There was nothing I could say. I had insisted, demanded that we end things, that we keep our relationship in New Orleans and let it die there.

But, no. It didn’t die in New Orleans and it didn’t die on the plane back or even in the limousine.

It died on the front page.

KYLE

I should have learned long ago that meeting with Liana in person was a recipe for disaster.

After I had my driver take Karen back to Connecticut, I set off back to New York. There were a few final details regarding some shared assets that Liana and I had to iron out. We had agreed several weeks ago to meet that Sunday evening for dinner. Her lawyer was supposed to accompany her—mostly to keep her in check and make sure she didn’t go wild, didn’t drink too much.

And, honestly to make sure she actually showed up.

But instead, it was just Liana who met me there. I should have known that it was a bad sign but I was lonely. I couldn’t make myself walk out of the restaurant. Instead, I sat down with her.

I should have walked out but I just couldn’t. There are always times in your life when you know you should leave but you just can’t. You just can’t.

The meeting was surprisingly civil at the beginning and even… productive.

But Liana kept ordering drinks. She disappeared to the bathroom for fifteen or twenty minutes at one point and came back in a daze, trembling and sniffling. She moved her salad around, not eating it, barely even making an attempt to act like she was eating dinner. She was looking painfully, sickeningly skinny.

Finally, as she was slurring her words, thrashing a bit in her chair, becoming incomprehensible, I decided it was time to call an end to the meeting. I got the check, paid it, and had the host call her a cab. As I accompanied her outside to make sure she got in and pay the driver (since Liana never has money on her and often forgets her purse and wallet), she threw her arms around me and pressed her familiar lips to mine.

I tasted the clammy, cold sweat on them and the liquor and something that I suspected was cocaine. I pushed her away but not before the street scene seemed to erupt in flashes.

Paparazzi. Perfect ending to a perfect weekend, wasn’t it?

I gave it no more thought, until I called Karen the next day.

“So, how’s Liana doing?” she asked coldly before I could even say hello.

“What?”

“I saw the tabloids today. My only question is whether you called her before or after you took me to Connecticut.”

“Karen, that was a meeting to finalize some aspects of the divorce…”

“Well, it looks like there are still parts to be finalized,” she growled and hung up.

I slammed my own phone down. Fuck.

I spun around in my chair, looking out over the city. I hated this—hated this dance we were doing, hated not being in control. I wanted to get away—get away from this city, from the forces that we keeping Karen and me apart…

I gritted my teeth and made a fist. I dug my nails into my palm, dug them so deep that they almost drew blood. I growled. I wanted to scream.

But no. I don’t quit. I fight. I fight till I win. That’s what I’ve always done.

I’m coming for you, Karen.