The Billion Dollar Bad Boy (12 page)

Jax texted back.
Tomorrow then. 9am sharp.

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

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

The intercom buzzed all of a sudden.

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

Victoria.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did you ask her here then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unsettled feeling turned over in his gut. He ignored it. “I only wear them at home.”

“Then don’t change.” Her gaze met his. “Ms. de Winter and her suits aren’t here tonight. So let’s leave Mr. Morrow and his tux for the morning.”

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

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

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

Her brows creased. “Are you okay?”

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

Fuck. Why had he said that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at him. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Smile like that. And use that … tone. Like you don’t care.”

His jaw felt tight. “Perhaps I don’t.”

“No, you do care. You just don’t want people to know that you do.”

He found he’d tensed up, his muscles tight. “If I’d realized we were going to have a heart-to-heart chat, I would have finished my damn beer. Maybe even have had a second.”

There was a silence, deafening.

Victoria’s gray eyes didn’t budge from his. “What are you so afraid of?”

He wanted to say he wasn’t afraid. That she was wrong, he didn’t care. But he couldn’t get the words out. Instead he found he was repeating himself, like a fool, “No one else has ever been here. Not even my brother.”

She blinked. “So why me?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, wanting the conversation to be over and done with right now. “Can I get you anything?”

“You’re changing the subject. If you must know, this”—she waved a hand at the apartment—“isn’t what I was expecting.”

Relax, you fucking idiot.

He tried to force the tension out of his shoulders. Failed. “And what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Something … more minimalist, I guess. Something a lot more sleek and shiny.” One corner of her mouth turned up. “A bit more like Mr. Morrow actually.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not.”

“I can see that.” Her voice was utterly neutral, no judgment there at all. “I like it. It’s comfortable. Restful. And it makes me curious.”

“Curious?”

“To know more about you.”

“That’s not what this night is supposed to be about, Victoria.”

She remained still, the light shimmering across the fabric of her gown in time with her breathing. “It can be about whatever we want, Van.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “And I want it to be about more than just sex.”

He could see fear in her eyes and it was familiar. Mainly because he felt it, too. The fear of rejection. Of being honest, of opening yourself up and having that flung back in your face.

He kept his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do with them, unsure of what to do period, the unsettled feeling turning and turning like a ship caught in a whirlpool.

She looked down at her hands wrapped around her silver purse, held protectively in front of her like a shield. “I’m adopted,” she said… “After my brother was born, my mother became infertile. She’d always wanted a girl and eventually convinced my father to let her adopt one. Dad didn’t want another child. But he loved Mom and in the end let her have her way.” She let out a soft breath. “Mom died unexpectedly when I was eight, and after she died, my dad was left with me, the child he never wanted in the first place. Kind of like an unwanted gift he couldn’t return.” Her head lifted, , something painful in her eyes that made his heart constrict in a way he wasn’t used to. “I know he did his best for me, but he’s always made it clear that I wasn’t his choice, that he adopted me for Mom rather than because he wanted me.”

Christ. He knew how that felt. He knew it intimately. “What do you want from me then?”

Her eyes were direct, full of a bare honesty that made him want to look away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I want you to make me feel special, Van. Like I’m someone’s choice. Like I’m worth something to someone. I’ve never had that before, not even from James, my own damn fiancé.”

The edge of pain in her voice was like a knife against his skin. Because he knew what it was like to want to mean something to someone and yet know you didn’t mean a fucking thing. How it hurt. How desperate it made you. And how, in the end, in order to protect yourself you had to pretend not to care. Pretend and hope that one day, it would actually be true.

Donovan took his hands out of his pockets, walked across the room to her, gripped her hips, and tugged her close.

“I meant what I said when I told you no one else has ever been here,” he murmured, looking down into her eyes. “You’re the first. Because you
are
special, Victoria. And I intend to spend all night showing you if that’s what you want.”

*

Victoria moved her thumb over the hard muscle of his chest in a caressing motion. She was achingly conscious of everywhere he was touching her and everywhere he wasn’t. And part of her just wanted to melt into him and let him take what he so obviously wanted.

But that wasn’t the way it was going to happen tonight.

She’d known that morning as she’d sat on his meeting room table that what was between them was more than passion and sexual chemistry. There was familiarity, recognition. As if deep down they were the same somehow.

It made her want to know more about him. More about the man he kept so carefully hidden. The man in jeans and a T-shirt who lived in a warm, homely apartment surrounded by books and art, and not the stainless steel and sleek modernity she’d expected.

He surprised her. He kept on surprising her and she wanted to know more.

She also wanted more of that feeling her gave her. Like she was special. Different. Like she was worth knowing by him, too.

Victoria looked up into his eyes, saw the heat in them. And something else. “What about you?” she asked quietly. “Do you have anything you want to share?”

He smiled. “No. It’s all happy families where the Morrows are concerned.”

But she knew that smile by now. And the reason for it. “So I’m honest with you, but you don’t have to reciprocate? You know that’s not how it works.”

Donovan’s gaze flickered. Then he bent his head, brushed his mouth against her ear, sending a shiver straight through her. “What works is me showing you my bedroom. And then perhaps we can continue this conversation afterward.”

Oh, she could do that. She could let him distract her with passion, with pleasure. Yet if she did, next thing she knew it would be morning and he’d never have told her a damn thing. Well, she hadn’t let him get away with pulling that crap before. She wasn’t going to now.

Pulling her head away from his exploring mouth, she looked into his eyes. “I thought I was special?”

A flash of frustration crossed his face. “So, what do you want from me then?”

“Let me go and I’ll tell you.”

There was reluctance in his eyes as he let her go and that gave her a small burst of satisfaction. “What is it then?”

She turned, putting down her purse on the rough granite of the coffee table, then walking slowly to the windows. The night beyond the glass pressed in, the lights of the city sparkling like a scatter of diamonds.

She had to think about this. About how to get him to drop that smiling, slick, playboy mask. He was protecting himself, she was sure of it. The same way she used the hard-edged businesswoman to protect herself. Because it was easier to be someone else than be yourself.

And the face Donovan Morrow showed the world wasn’t who he was.

Someone else lay beneath that. Someone far more intense and serious. Someone who filled his apartment with comfortable, vintage furniture. With bright, Eastern-style rugs on the floor and colorful abstracts on the walls. Someone who filled those low shelves with books and magazines, all stacked neatly, with small sculptures and knickknacks arranged at intervals.

Someone whose home wasn’t a showpiece or a hotel room. There was no artifice about it and yet the place was full of beauty and heart. Full of passion and interest in more than parties and women and money.

Victoria took a breath then glanced back to where he stood.

His feet were bare, his inky black hair untidy. And she knew she was seeing him for the first time. Not the seductive man in the limo or the club, or the hard businessman across the meeting room table. But someone else. Someone she’d never met before.

“You think I told you about Dad for nothing, Van?” she asked quietly. “Well, I didn’t. I told you because I hoped you’d share with me, too.”

His jaw tightened. “That was your decision, not mine.”

“You don’t trust me? Is that it?”

He was silent again. So long that she thought she wouldn’t get anything at all from him. Then, at last, he said, “It’s not that. I just … don’t talk about myself. To anyone.”