Very Bad Billionaires (40 page)

Chapter 9 – Jason

That woman would drive me crazy if I let her. She filled both my mind and my dreams. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. In all my life, not one other woman had bewitched me quite the way she had.

As much as it frustrated me that she wouldn’t jump into bed with me, it made my feelings for her grow even stronger. If I thought she was the perfect bride for me and mother for my heir before, her willpower confirmed it.

We spent the next few days concentrating on getting to know each other better. Every date was like 20 questions with kisses for rewards. I felt like I knew everything about her, and the more I knew, the more I loved, and the more I wanted to know.

Then one night it happened. I knew that eventually it would, and in fact, I was surprised that it happened sooner. She asked me my last name. “Donnelly,” I said as I stared her straight in the eyes. I was expecting her to start asking questions about the company and about my parentage, but she didn’t. She didn’t even connect my last name with the company she worked for.

I let it go. She asked a question and I gave her an honest answer. She didn’t go any further into it, so neither did I. It wasn’t exactly lying, it was just leaving part of the truth out. Plus, I enjoyed pretending to be a normal person around her.

Then I ran into another problem. “So,” she said one afternoon. “You’ve been to my place a few times now, and I’ve never seen yours.”

Oh God
, I thought. “Well, in that case, why don’t I cook you dinner on Saturday night?” I said it before I even realized the mess I was getting myself into. I couldn’t let her see my house without giving myself away.

***

The next morning when I went into work, I stopped off at Julie’s desk. “I need another favor,” I said, giving her my best smile and puppy dog eyes.

“What is it this time?” she said as she looked up from her computer screen.

“I need you to rent me a standard apartment before the weekend, and have it furnished.” I rested my hand on her desk and tried to sound as casual as possible.

“Are you kidding? Jason, that’s impossible. Friday is three days away. How on earth do you expect me to furnish an apartment in that amount of time, and why do you need it in the first place?”

“I don’t know, call IKEA or whatever that place is called. There’s this girl...”

“Oh, there we go. Let me guess, Miss Rollins. I still don’t understand why you need the apartment, though.”

“She wants to see my house. I’ve been to her place a few times but she’s never been to mine. If she comes to my house, she’ll know I have money.”

“Jason, you’ve been seeing her for weeks now. Just how long do you plan on keeping this from her? I could understand you being secretive in the beginning, but this is bordering on ridiculous. If she still likes you despite your idiosyncrasies, she’d love you whether you owned the city, or didn’t have a penny.”

I put my hands in my pockets and looked at the floor, almost embarrassed by my shenanigans. “I know,” I said. “But I’m not ready for her to know yet. I want the time to be right, and it just doesn’t feel right yet.

“Okay, how big of an apartment do you want?” she asked. I could tell she felt sorry for me. It was also obvious that part of her couldn’t possibly understand my problems.

“I have no idea,” I laughed. “The normal size, I guess.” I walked into my office and sat down at my desk. Now that I had the apartment, I just had to figure out how to cook.

***

By the time Saturday rolled around, I’d already burnt the hell out of several recipes and knew there was no way I’d be able to pull off a dinner fit for Jerrica. I decided my best bet was to order takeout, and put it in a pan before she arrived. That way I could pretend I spent all day cooking it just for her.

After telling her where I “lived,” I asked her to come by at around six thirty p.m. I spent the afternoon getting myself ready. At five thirty p.m. I picked up our dinners, and at six o’clock p.m. I unlocked the door to my apartment for the first time.

Everything was running exactly according to schedule. I hung my jacket in the front closet, and then went to work in the kitchen. After I put the wine in the fridge to chill, I reached through the cupboards until I found pans that I thought would work.

Julie had done a great job of setting the apartment up. I made a mental note to give her another raise as I put our dinner on the stove. At six thirty p.m. on the dot, a knock came to the door. I rolled my sleeves up, and splashed some water on my forehead to make it look like I’d been sweating in the kitchen all afternoon.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” I said as I opened the door for her. She wore a blue dress that was absolutely stunning the way it changed color in the light.

“You have a lovely apartment,” she said as she came in and looked around. “It’s very clean.”

“I just cleaned up today,” I said, thinking fast. “I’m actually a slob.”

“Then you won’t mind if I do this,” she said as she grabbed a throw pillow off the couch and tossed it across the room.

“Nope.” I really didn’t care. It wasn’t really my house, but she didn’t know that.

“So, are you going to take me on the grand tour?” I kept trying to concentrate on dinner, but she was eager to look around. I knew I should have gone to the apartment earlier so I’d have time to check it out.
Oh well
, I thought.
It’s just an apartment. How hard can it be?

“Yeah, sure. For starters, you’re standing in my living room/dining room, and I’m standing in the kitchen. If you follow me, I’ll show you the rest of my castle.” I took her down the narrow hall. “To our left, we have the bathroom,” I said as I opened the door to a huge linen closet full of towels.

“Wow, you wouldn’t want to make that mistake in the middle of the night,” she laughed.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous about cooking for you,” I said as I shook my head. “Over here is where I sleep every night and dream of you.” I almost died on the spot when I opened the door and realized it was the bathroom.

“Good to know.” She nodded her head. “Let me guess, this room is your bedroom,” she said as she opened the last door.

“Yes, yes, that’s the one.” I walked in with her and sat down on the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. “Do you know why four-poster beds exist?”

“Because they’re beautiful and add character to a room?”

“No. In the middle ages, they had thatch roofs, and they leaked and bugs got in. The four posts and canopies kept the bugs and dirt from getting on the bedding.”

“I see,” she said as she looked around the room at the pictures that hung on the walls.

I couldn’t believe I just tried to make a conversation with her about dirty beds and bugs. All I wanted to do was get back to the kitchen, feed her, and then take her out. I wasn’t in my element in this apartment.

“The one thing I find interesting is that nothing in this apartment seems personal,” she said. “You told me blue was your favorite color, but you don’t have anything blue. You have all sorts of pictures on the wall, but no pictures of your family.”

As I tried to think of a quick explanation, the smoke detector started going off in the kitchen. We ran out there, and I started scrambling through cupboards looking for a fire extinguisher while our dinner burned to a crisp.

She walked over and turned the burners off. “Where’s your fire extinguisher?”

“I don’t know.” I kept rummaging through the cupboards.

“Do you have any baking soda? That will work too.”

“I don’t know,” I growled. “I’m sorry, I just need to put out the fire for now.”

“Okay, hand me a lid.”

I looked at her like I didn’t have a clue because I didn’t. She started going through cupboards herself, and found a lid to smother the flames. I watched in amazement as the fire died out.

“We need to talk,” I said as I led her over to the couch and sat down beside her. I could tell by the look on her face she thought I was going to break up with her.

###

Click here to continue reading Part 2!

I love to write stories about powerful men and women and the romances fiascos they find themselves in. Whether it’s shifters, billionaires, or just ordinary people, they’ll make their way into one of my books.

So many stories flood my imagination every day. I love to write them down so other people can enjoy them too. For me writing isn’t a job. When I write, I see the stories playing out in my head. It’s almost like going to the movies for free. I hope you have the same experience when you read them.

Sign Up For My Newsletter to stay up to date on all my new releases!

NEWSLETTER SIGNUP

Visit My Amazon Page to find more of my books!

Misha’s Amazon Page

Follow Me on Twitter!

@Misha_Carver

Book 1

Meg Watson

CHAPTER 1 - PREFACE

She is making just the most precious sound, there, her cheeks puffing against the tight white cloth that stretches over her mouth. The whole room is filled with light that comes down from the high ceiling like beams through a cloud. This is just how I imagined it. Every time.

A thousand times. A million.

Standing just inside the arched doorway I wait, knowing she can’t see me as she slowly wakes up. She will think she’s alone as her eyelids lighten, as she slowly tries to make the room focus. It will be long seconds before her thoughts clear enough to wonder where she is.

Her golden hair rustles against the platform end, streaming in waves, gleaming as she tries to move her head. Then, there, she tries her shoulders. Then, there, her hands flex against the bands that hold them tight to the platform. I watch her fingers clawing futilely at the empty air with a sensation in my chest that is as light as joy.

Next she’ll try her hips, then try to raise a knee. I can hardly stand it: how perfectly this aligns with my vision. I can hardly believe it’s happening and my heart swells with anticipation.

Now she’s trying to cry against the white cloth, her voice muffled into parody. I breathe deeply, inhaling the light, the sounds, the salty tang of her awakening fear.

She’s going to be the last, because after her I would have no real purpose, no excuse to indulge this… fascination. And since this is the very last one, I want every moment tattooed into my memory so that I never forget it.

Maybe I will have this room turned into a library. Perhaps an authentic cathedral with white marble niches and a place for each of my artifacts. I would like to come back here to remember, but only here. The rest of my life will be clear of this. All this...

All this blood.

The thought of her hot, healing blood catches in my chest and I hear myself sigh in anticipation. She hears it too and begins thrashing in earnest, trying to see who is behind her. Her hair streams wildly from side to side but she can’t maneuver to catch sight of me.

It’s only discipline that keeps me where I am, savoring every second of this, knowing that at some point I will break and already sorry for it to be over. I feel myself walking toward her, though I haven’t moved yet. I feel my face bathed in the heat of the light that reflects off her naked belly. I feel my palm stroking the array of thick blades, pausing over each to choose the perfect one. Which one?

I know which one, really; that’s just another tease. I know exactly which blade, just like I know exactly how the rest of our encounter will go.

It’s going to be wonderful.

I cast an eye toward the stainless steel tray next to her. It’s ready, though I can’t see anything on it through the reflected glare. My hand flexes.

With a powerful, violent surge she strains valiantly against her bindings, the leather creaking and groaning as she bucks. She can’t get loose, no matter what she does. Rationally I know it’s impossible. Still the worry gnaws at me.

Don’t rush me, please.

Please.

I have waited so long for this, I need just a moment more to savor it.

But she can’t hear me and the more she thrashes, the more that niggling voice whines in my mind
—
what if she gets out? What then? I don’t want to engage in anything as vulgar as a wrestling match. I don’t want to chase her around the grounds. I don’t want her blood anywhere it shouldn’t be.

But she’s not stopping, and already I can see one shoulder rising higher than it should. No matter how improbable, she is getting loose, and now I am going to have to rush things. This is not how I wanted it and I feel this moment ripping away from my vision, cleaving the imagery into something else entirely.

I’m going to have to act swiftly to get this back on track. I don’t want it like this. But there, it’s undeniable, her shoulder is definitely jerking beyond where the restraints should have held her fast.

Please stop, I want to call out. I feel the back of my neck going hot with urgency. My legs quake with the suppressed impulse to run. Stop this now, and we can have a few more moments together.

But she’s not going to stop. She’s going to push it. And then I won’t be able to help it.

She’s going to make it all come out wrong.