Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name (36 page)

As I snuggled up beside Lovello on the sofa, feeling his arms automatically tighten around me, I tried to receive confirmation in a furtive approach. Landing a soft kiss among the small scatter of hairs on his chest, I asked, “Did I tell you that Trev came by the shoot today?”

Lovello stilled, then gave a perfunctory, “No.”

I wasn’t deterred. “Oh. Well he did. And I challenged him to an arm-wrestle. Kicked his ass twice. Did Natalio show you the video?”

A full sixty seconds passed before I realized he wasn’t going to answer. I knew that he saw it. And knew also that he saw more than just the wrestling.

A slimy feeling crept over me. What happened to me with Trevillo was something that would happen to any breathing woman, I’m sure. That didn’t mean I wanted the guy. Did Lovello think I’d go for his brother? I couldn’t even stand Trevillo and his irreverent self. And the fact that he was sleeping with my mother made it all the worse.

I breathed a heavy sigh. Lovello asked me this morning to trust him, and I’d really appreciated it if he would do the same. But then I thought about that fact, that he hadn’t said anything at all to me about it. So maybe he
did
trust me? Just not his brother? Maybe that was why he needed to hear me complete my sentence earlier?

Lovello tightened his arms around me again, and kissed the top of my head as I lapped one leg around his.
Yep, he trusted me.

“Will you read to me again?” I whispered.

Without hesitation, he recovered the Bible from the coffee table and started reading in gentle tones to me. “
A gentle answer deflects anger, but harsh words make tempers flare. The tongue of the wise makes knowledge appealing, but the mouth of a fool belches out foolishness. If you listen to constructive criticism, you will be at home among the wise. If you reject discipline, you only harm yourself…”

XIX

T
he following night, I was in the kitchen whipping up a meal of seared Mahi Mahi with grilled mango slices and steamed vegetables, when I heard the opening and closing of the front door which signaled Lovello’s arrival. When a minute passed and he didn’t appear in the kitchen, I deemed it odd because, one: The first thing that’s normally on Lovello’s mind when he gets in from work is food. And two: By request, I was preparing one of his favorite dishes.

While I continued slicing lemons, I listened as his footsteps echoed off the porcelain tiles and aimed down the hall — to the very end of the hall, where that third room used to be The Room. I listened as the door opened then closed some ten seconds after. Of all the times he’d been here, he’d never showed any interest whatsoever in the third bedroom of the house. We slumbered in my master bedroom and he did his devotions upstairs in the guest bedroom. So this sudden interest in the neglected third room at the end of the hall, which used to be my den of debasement, was rather eerie.

For some reason, my heartbeat sped off on an erratic tattoo, drumming harder with each step his feet made back up the hall and towards the kitchen. There was something nudging at me, telling me that I
should
be worried. Lovello strolled into the kitchen, wearing his favorite expression of no expression while undoing his necktie. He didn’t speak right away. Just removed his tie, coiled it neatly and set it down on a bar stool at the same time as he occupied the stool next to it. He then removed his suit jacket and set it down, also with gentle care.

If that peculiar and uncharacteristic behavior wasn’t a harbinger that something was wrong, then I don’t know what was. Lovello didn’t do
neat
and
gentle
when he unclothed himself. The real Lovello would have his suit jacket laying limply somewhere between the front door he came through and the kitchen. And his necktie would be found somewhere on the stove top next to the open flames. To top it off, he was ominously quiet.

Nevertheless, I maintained a casual composure and continued adding the finishing touches to dinner, watching him from the corners of my eyes as he removed his wristwatch and pocket bearings, setting them down with precise care on the countertop. At one point I almost laughed out, thinking this had to be a joke.

When I finally turned to ask him if he was ready to eat, I found him with his hands steepled under his chin, his impassive slate-grays almost nailing me to the kitchen wall. We had a stare-off for a few moments, as I tried to decipher what on earth he was about this evening.

Lovello broke the silence by asking, “When you bought this house, it came fully furnished, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “I know. Trev doesn’t sell unfurnished houses.”

Sooo … ? What’s he getting at?

He brought his steepled fingers to his lips, swaying his head back and forth so his fingers rubbed against his agonizingly sexy lips. “But that third room at the end of the hall, it’s empty. Stark. And the walls are painted such a dark purple…” He trailed off, gazing at me with expectant eyes that said I was supposed to pick up where he trailed off and finish by explaining why the room was empty.

Did he know? Impossible. Maybe he was just screwing with me. “I was planning on using the space for something…”

“Like a workout space?”

Okay, now I was positive he was screwing with me: he knew I already had a basement gym. “No.”

“Then, what?”

There wasn’t a plausible lie that I could come up with yet. As a matter of fact, I didn’t owe him an explanation. It was
my
damn house. Therefore, I ignored his question, because I was my
own
woman. “Are you ready to eat? Or do you wanna continue playing twenty-one questions?”

“What did you put in it?” he asked, without even a hint of humor.

Was he serious? “In what? The room or the food?”

“Both.”

Now I was enraged. “If you don’t trust me enough to think I’d put something in your food — God forbid whatever that might be and for whatever reason — then you can just leave my keys and walk your despicable ass out of here!” I yelled, tossing the pot of steamed vegetables down the sink. I reached for the Mahi Mahi, but before I could dump it, Lovello’s unwavering voice halted me.

“You toss it, Axia, and you’re only gonna end up spending time redoing that meal. Because I
want
my dinner. You might as well start replacing those veggies you just tossed.” His voice was so calm and controlled, and his demeanor unperturbed, that I was irked to the point of wanting to throw the damn thing in his face. Who was he to think that he could control me and tell me what to do?

“I don’t have to do jack-shit!” Yet, my hands didn’t back up my words, because they didn’t make a move to dump the Mahi Mahi.

As if I hadn’t spoken, Lovello reached over the kitchen counter, took up a slice of grilled mango from the tray and began nibbling on it. Then he continued, disregarding my bitch fit. “So, are you going to tell me what was in the room?”

What did he know? What wasn’t he telling me? Was this some kind of test of honesty? Because I didn’t do very well at those. “What do you know?”

He perfected an arched brow at me. “Is there something I
should
know?”

And I chose to lie. Not lie, but say whatever I wanted. In all my adult years, I’d never had to answer to anyone for anything; and there was no way Lovello was going to take away my womanly independence and have me obediently answering when he questioned me, as if he owned me or something. “No. Nothing
you
need to know.”

“Hmm. Funny,” he mused, as he reached for another piece of mango slice. “A few hours ago, I was in a meeting with a certain Jordon Livingston. Ever heard of him?”

Holy shit …

When I merely stared at him, immobile and speechless, he continued in an indolent tone as he munched on mango slices. “Internet millionaire? Founder of Seel shopping website? Tall, with ashy-blond hair? Still doesn’t ring a bell?”

That idiot! What on earth did he say? Instead of answering Lovello — no, because I
couldn’t
answer Lovello, I turned from him and began rummaging through the fridge for vegetables to steam again. Not following his orders, just keeping busy … I told myself.

Lovello rambled on. “He just so happened to be seated right next to me in that meeting. And you, my baby girl, called to ask what I wanted for dinner. Mr. Livingston didn’t miss your picture that flashed on my phone screen when you were calling, though.” Lovello’s lips made a loud ‘pop’ as he sucked the remnants of mango from his fingers. He could be such a dick sometimes. “Can you make more of these, babe? They’re so good.”

The obvious play on his inflection and the words that he never, ever used like “babe” and “baby girl” made me want to start screaming again. There was just one mango slice left on the tray, but now was not the time to complain about him eating the whole thing without a thought that I might need some, too. I’d just have to grill more, as long as he continued to spill what he knew. So I grabbed a mango from the fruit basket as a silent answer to his request.

That made him continue. “After the meeting, Mr. Livingston wanted to have a ‘private chat’ with me. A private chat that had him wanting to know just how I sustained having you as my Domme; seeing that he’d been your Sub some two years ago and had to quit because of your lack of passion, your lovelessness and your ruthless need to just punish without a reason.”

The knife fell from my hand and skidded across the floor, but Lovello merely carried on in his leisurely tone as if nothing had happened, completely unfazed by my agitation. “You might imagine my confusion. But not wanting to have the poor sucker feel embarrassed by his misunderstanding, I feigned knowledge, thus having him spill everything. After all, he didn’t know the woman who was calling me to ask me what I wanted for dinner like a sweet and innocent girlfriend wouldn’t have told me that she was into that Domme/Sub, whips and chain shit. He couldn’t have known — like I didn’t know — that my girlfriend was a liar. He couldn’t have known — like I can’t believe — that my girlfriend would have the gargantuan balls to look me dead in the eye and lie to me.”

I should’ve pulled that idiot’s tongue out when I had the chance. What dumb sod goes around blabbing about their
very
unnatural lifestyle to a total stranger? “I’m not a liar,” I whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

“What are you, then? A phony? A fake? A cheat?” The indolence in his voice was slowly being supplanted by pique. It was evident that he was trying to steer clear of anger, though.

“None of the above. That’s just something I used to do that I don’t do anymore. And would rather not talk about.”

“And you didn’t think it was germane to tell me? Why would you want to keep something like this from me?”

“Because I wasn’t a real Domme, okay? It’s not something that’s in me.”

“You’re not making any damn sense, Axia. Why, then, would you do depraved shit like that?”

“Because … I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t tell me, or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I can’t.”

Lovello snorted and stood up from the bar stool. He stomped around the kitchen island towards me, grabbed my arm and began leading me out of the kitchen. “Well, you are. You
are
going to tell me. And now.”

Unwilling to let him control me in my own house, I tried to extricate myself from his grasp, fighting and yelling for him to let me go as he hauled me towards the living area. Lovello stopped and gripped my shoulders to still me, looking me dead in the eye, his face hard, severe and … frightening. So much so that I stopped fighting instantly. “Axia,
don’t
push me. Tonight is not the night to throw one of your crazy fits. And if you hit me, I’ll know it’s because of your predilection for whipping around helpless men. I’m not helpless. So I
won’t
take it. Therefore, you’d do best to take my advice and chill the hell out.”

He stared at me for a beat longer, daring me to retort, but I was so shaken by his threat that my tongue felt heavy in my mouth. There comes a time in a relationship when a woman is forced to acknowledge who’s the man and who’s the woman. This was one of those times for me.