The Billion Dollar Bad Boy (7 page)

Silence from behind her, his hands falling away from her hair. “Call it done?” There was a strange note in his voice, one she couldn’t place.

She glanced around. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

There was an odd intensity in his eyes. “Why done? Surely not regrets already?”

“No.” The word came out before she’d even had a chance to think about it. But once she’d said it, she realized it was true. She
didn’t
regret it. Hell, yes, she was embarrassed and wanted to put it behind her but there were no regrets. “In case you’ve forgotten though, I’m still engaged and we still have a deal to work through.”

His gaze flickered, as if he’d forgotten those things, too. “You’re going to stay engaged? After that?”

Victoria eyed him coolly. “Do I detect a hint of judgment, Mr. Morrow? That’s a little hypocritical coming from you.”

“I know you’re going to find this hard to believe but I don’t do married women these days. Or engaged women, either.”

“Except for when it slips your mind. Like now.”

He stared at her. “Interesting that you’re the one bringing up hypocrites, Ms. de Winter, when you’re the one who’s engaged.”

How did he do that? How did he make her feel so vulnerable and yet so angry at the same time?

Tension crept into her shoulders, pulling tight, and no amount of willing it away made any difference. “If you must know,” she said, “James and I had an agreement. A ‘get out of jail free’ card. One affair before the wedding, no questions asked. He used his a month ago. So …”

“You thought it was your turn.”

“Yes.”

“And was it worth it?”

She didn’t understand the look in his eyes, or the strange undertone in his voice. So all she did was lift a shoulder, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. “It was very nice, thank you.”

For a second his gaze burned into hers and she thought he was going to say something. Something that would shatter the moment entirely.

But he didn’t. He abruptly turned away instead, opening up one of the storage cupboards, getting out some tissues and, to her surprise, what looked like a small makeup bag.

“Here,” he said, turning back to her. “A few things to fix yourself up with.”

“You have makeup in here?”

He smiled, the intensity vanishing as if it had never been there, the charming, consummate playboy again. “Not so much makeup as toiletries. It’s been useful in the past.”

“I bet.” She took the bag. “You’re not going to say anything to anyone, are you?”

“About us? Of course not. What happens in the limo, stays in the limo.”

The tension in her shoulders released. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. Her father would have fifty fits if he knew about what had happened between her and Donovan. To say he was not a Morrow fan was an understatement.

“Good,” she said, examining what was in the bag. There were makeup removal wipes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a compact. She reached for the compact. God, she was mess. A total mess. Running mascara, smudged lipstick.

She wiped away the evidence with the wipes, cleaning up the running mascara, fixing the lipstick smudges before reapplying with her own lipstick from her purse. But nothing was going to get rid of the flush in her cheeks. Or the knowledge of what she’d done that glowed like fire deep in her eyes.

Yes. The answer is yes …

Victoria closed the compact with a snap.

“Welcome back,” he murmured.

“Thank you for the wipes.” She ignored the note of irony in his voice. “That was thoughtful.”

“That’s me. I’m a thoughtful kind of guy.” He was studying her, his expression unreadable.

She ignored him, checking over her skirt and making sure there were no rumples.

The driver’s voice came through the intercom. “The traffic’s moving at last, Mr. Morrow. Should be at the venue in a couple minutes.”

“Thank you, Chris,” Donovan replied calmly, not taking his gaze off her.

Victoria picked up her briefcase. “Well, this has been … interesting, Mr. Morrow.”

“It certainly has been, Ms. de Winter,” he said, as if all they’d been doing was having a mundane discussion about work. Then he smiled and her breath caught because there was nothing mundane in that smile. Only intention. Only heat and sensuality.

This is not over,
it said, quite plainly.

Well, he was wrong.

“We’re approaching the building now, Mr. Morrow,” the driver said through the intercom, breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere.

Donovan reached unhurriedly for the button. “Take us around the corner, Chris. We’ll let Ms. de Winter out there.” He leaned back in his seat. “There. And you don’t even have to be seen arriving with me. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The car came to a stop, the sound of the driver’s door opening, then closing.

In a moment this would be over. In a moment reality would assert itself and the woman she’d been in Donovan’s limo would be gone. The hot, desperate, needy, helpless woman. The woman who was definitely not a de Winter.

That moment couldn’t come fast enough.

Abruptly the door opened, the sounds of the city flooding in.

Victoria tightened her hand on her briefcase, then leaned over and grabbed her laptop bag. Then she looked at him, brief and cool and impersonal. “Thanks for the ride,” she said. “I’ll give you an hour or two to mingle, then I’ll find you and we’ll talk more about the docklands deal.”

Then without waiting for a response, she got out, slamming the door behind her.

The moment was gone.

*

The huge bar of the 2nd Circle—one of the infamous Nine Circles clubs and New York’s most exclusive venue—was packed. Politicians, actors, rock stars, old money and new, the influential and rich all in one heaving, glittering crowd.

All here to view the scandal that had rocked New York the previous month: straight-arrow Jax Morrow’s engagement to Pandora Garret, the daughter of one of New York’s biggest crime bosses.

Donovan lounged against the bar, scanning the crowds, irritated with the décor that prevented him from seeing who was who.

Massive, luxurious red velvet couches had been arranged at intervals throughout the huge space, long fringes hanging from the ceiling creating the illusion of walls around each of the arrangements, giving the feeling of intimacy without cutting them off from the rest of the bar. Discreet lighting furthered the intimate atmosphere.

Nice from a style point of view but what with the fringes and the lighting, he couldn’t see a damn thing.

He’d spent the past couple of hours doing his thing, meeting and greeting, oiling the wheels, making sure everything ran smoothly and that everyone was having a good time. It could have been awkward, the Morrow past dragged into the spotlight again following Jax’s engagement to Pandora, but Donovan made sure it wasn’t. Easing fears and calming doubts.

Of course Morrow Inc. wasn’t going to be involved in any of “that kind of thing” again. Of course it didn’t mean Morrow had ties to Garret. Of course Pandora had nothing to do with her father these days.

But for the first time in his life, he couldn’t seem to concentrate fully on the party. He was too distracted thinking about what had happened in the limo. Thinking about Victoria.

Thinking about why the fuck he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What have you done to me?

She’d lain on the seat after that orgasm he’d given her, thighs apart, flaming hair spread out like a sunset all over the leather, soft and warm and flushed with her arms flung up as if in surrender. That mask gone.

And for a second that’s all he’d wanted, too. Not to have to wear the mask.

To not be Donovan Morrow, the face of Morrow Inc., PR magician and professional playboy. To be himself.

As if you know who that is.

“What’s your problem? Did someone finally say no to you or something?”

Donovan didn’t turn as Jax approached. Like he needed yet another visual of a man sickeningly in love.

That his famously emotionless brother should fall for the lie that was love still surprised him. Clearly the guy’s capacity for self-delusion went further than Donovan had ever suspected. Yet he didn’t begrudge Jax the lie. Pandora was gorgeous and had improved his brother’s mood no end, which was a bonus. It was just that sooner or later it would all come crashing down, because that’s what happened with love. He’d witnessed it too many times to count over the years he’d spent as his father’s corporate spy, seducing the secrets out of his father’s business rivals, trading on his looks and the charm that would eventually get him his own PR company.

Love was an illusion. A mirage. People were wrong about religion being the opiate of the masses. Love was the true opiate.

Good thing he’d long overcome the craving because, as with any addiction, you could never get enough. God knew he’d spent long enough chasing fixes with his father.

“No,” Donovan said, raising the tumbler of neat Scotch he held in his hand and taking a sip. The stuff was expensive but he barely tasted it. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve been standing there scowling at the crowd for the last ten minutes.”

“Scowling? I’ll have you know I never scowl. I just crease my forehead in an adorable fashion.”

“Who is it this time?” Jax said, unfazed. “The blonde in the corner over there?”

“What blonde?”

There was a silence from beside him. He glanced at his brother, met the other man’s surprised blue eyes. “What?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you be completely uninterested in a hot woman.”

Red hair like a sunset. Sweet and hot and spicy against your tongue.

Donovan’s fingers curled around the whiskey tumbler. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m not in the mood.”

“Bullshit. You’re always in the mood.”

What have you done to me?

Christ, what had
she
done to
him
more like? He couldn’t stop thinking about her. About what happened between them. About that raw, naked look in her eyes as the aftershocks had gripped them. He’d never had it so intense, not with anyone, and God, he wanted more.

She’d called it done. But they weren’t done. So not done. Not if he had anything to do with it.

He took another tasteless sip of his whiskey. “No, I’m done with women. I’m thinking of taking up golf instead. I hear hitting balls with clubs is very therapeutic.”

Jax eyed him.. “How did the meeting go?”

Ah, shit. Trust Jax to remember the whole reason he’d been late to the party in the first place. Donovan forced a grin. “Extremely well.”

“The De Winter offer’s good then?”

“Almost.”

“What do you mean, almost? You’ve been saying ‘almost’ about every damn offer we’ve had so far. We need that fucking thing gone, Van.”

Anger turned over inside him, along with a good, healthy measure of frustration. “‘Oh, please, ‘we’ don’t need anything. It’s you that wants to sell it, not me.”

His brother’s expression became stony. “We’ve had this discussion.”

“Bullshit we had a discussion. You gave out a set of orders and that was the extent of the discussion.”

“The land is a liability, Van, you know this.”

“That land is my fucking birthright, Jax, and you have no right to sell it.”

Donovan met his brother’s steely gaze and tension echoed in the air around them, sharp and hot.

“Hey Van.” Pandora appeared suddenly out of the crowds, tugging on Jax’s arm and smiling at Donovan. “Do you mind if I grab my Prince Charming here? They’re playing our song.”

With an effort, Donovan relaxed against the bar, hoping his smile didn’t look as forced as it actually was. “Sure. Be my guest.”

Jax turned his glare on his fiancée. “We don’t have a song.”

“We do now. Come on, I haven’t had enough dancing. Oh and FYI, quit it with the scowl. I was hoping to marry Prince Charming, not Grumpy the dwarf.”

Jax rolled his eyes but let himself be led away. As he went, he gave Donovan a “we’ll talk about this later” look, which was pretty much par for the course with Jax and his big-brother shtick. The guy never took “fuck off” for an answer.

As the pair of them left, Donovan found himself watching the way his brother’s hand rested in the center of Pandora’s mostly bare back, fingers trailing over the red silk of her gown. A protective gesture.

The sight needled him for some reason.

As if he needed an extra needle.

Damn fucking Jax and his refusal to see reason.

He’d never been jealous of his brother, not even when it had been clear their father preferred Jax. His older brother had always looked out for him and looked out for him still, Donovan knew that.

But right now Jax’s rigid attitude needed a damn adjustment. His brother had never known what it was like to not feel a part of your own family. To have the name and the blood but not the acceptance. Even Sean, their half-brother and the outsider, had been more of a Morrow than Donovan had. Donovan was too good, too needy, too desperate for approval to be a true Morrow, and his father had always despised neediness in all its forms.

No, this land was his chance to finally have what Jax had. A piece of the Morrow legacy that was all his. If only he could get his brother to see it.

Donovan leaned against the bar and knocked back the rest of the Scotch. Trying to find a good mood at the bottom of a whiskey tumbler was probably a mistake but hell, he’d done it before. He’d do it again.

As he did so a flash of red in the shifting crowd caught his attention. A woman in a plain black strapless cocktail dress, standing out in the heavily couture crowd like a pure white lily in a field full of poppies. The only bright thing about her was her hair, a knot of red on top of her head.

Victoria.

She was talking to Alex St. James, the owner of the 2nd Circle and a playboy with an even more infamous reputation than Donovan’s. He must have said something funny because she laughed, her cool self-containment dropping, warm amusement lighting her expression.

A tight feeling lodged behind his breastbone.