Fighting for My Billionaire Boss (7 page)

“The paparazzi do.” My grin wavers when he stiffens. “Once they call me a homewrecker, we can leave.”

Brick scowls. “They wouldn’t dare to call you that.”

“If they don’t, it’ll be a long night.” I swivel my hips against his hard cock, taunting my billionaire. “Will you be able to last?”

“Will
you
?” He hefts me over his shoulder and slaps my bare ass. “I plan to clean you so thoroughly, you’ll be begging them to call you a homewrecker.”

He carries me into the adjoining bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, I’m in dire straits.

Brick massages my breasts with his soapy hands, pulling and tweaking my nipples, and I writhe against him, needing, wanting more. His chest supports my back. His cock is nestled between my ass cheeks. Warm water streams over us. The combination is lethal.

Fuck. I might lose my own damn challenge.

“Can’t,” I pant.

“You can,” he murmurs against my neck, rinsing the suds off my skin. “You’re strong, Lucille. You can last.”

 I don’t protest, don’t tell him I’m a lady. Brick doesn’t need dainty or delicate, a woman he has to worry about losing. He deserves a scrapper, a brawling bad-ass chick who will stand by his side during tonight’s interrogation.

“I can last.” I will do anything to ease his concerns.

He holds me for a few moments, resting his cheek against mine. There’s a hint of stubble on his jaw, a tinge of roughness against my skin. I place my hands over his, lean back, enjoying our connection.

He’d felt it, as I did, from the first day we met. I’ve dated enough men to know it’s rare, special, something to hold onto with both hands, to fight for.

Brick turns off the water. The bathroom is filled with steam, giving the space a dreamlike quality. I step out of the shower stall. He wraps me in a massive white towel and rubs me all over, exciting my already overstimulated body.

“If the paparazzi mentions cheating three times or less, I decide where you come,” I issue another challenge. “More than three times, you decide.”

“They shouldn’t mention cheating at all.” Beads of water glisten in his black hair, dot his golden shoulders. “I would never touch another woman after touching you.”

“You were planning to see Gretchen.”

“But I didn’t.” He hands me a brush identical to the one I carry in my purse, except this one is brand new, not missing bristles as mine is. “Because you were right. She’d expect me to hold her and I couldn’t.”

This man is mine now. I dry my hair. Brick shaves, unabashedly naked. We bump shoulders, steal kisses, take every excuse to touch. I imagine a lifetime of mornings spent this way, preparing for our days at the office.

There is a vast collection of makeup and hair product set on the granite countertop. My thoughtful billionaire must have asked his staff to purchase anything I might need. Vivi and Chanelle would be in heaven if they saw this loot.

I manage to, once again, conceal the scratches on my cheeks. After struggling with my hair for several minutes, much to Brick’s amusement, I settle for a simple chignon.

Brick helps me with my dress. I assist him with his black tux. God, he looks devastating, clad in black and white. “I noticed you skipped the boxer shorts.” I straighten his tie. “Easy access. I like that.”

“I’m not wasting time.” He slides one of his palms under my skirt and squeezes a bare ass cheek. “A pull on my zipper, a flip of your skirt and I’m inside you.”

“Not until they call me a homewrecker.” I swat his hand. “Are we ready to go?”

“Almost.” He opens a drawer, extracts a flat black box. “I don’t want anyone to mistake who you are to me.” Brick opens the lid.

I blink, dazzled by diamond flowers set amidst delicate gold leaves. The necklace is a work of art, classic and fine, a piece of jewelry a real lady would be proud to wear. “Oh, Brick.” Emotion threatens to overwhelm me. “It’s too much.”

This isn’t a gift a man might give to his lover. This is a future heirloom he’d give to his wife.

“It’s not enough.” He fastens it for me, the gold cool against my skin, and he guides me to a mirror. “But it will suffice for now.” He kisses my nape.

We gaze at the image of us together. I appear small and dainty, standing in front of his broad shoulders, his tall physique. Brick’s black tuxedo frames my peach-colored dress. The possessive gleam in his eyes rivals the sparkle of the diamonds.

He hooks his arms around me, drawing me closer to him. “These stones are beautiful and rare and they look fragile, like tiny pieces of glass.” He touches the diamonds. “But they’re the hardest mineral in the world, able to cut less durable surfaces.”

This is how he sees me. I’m a diamond, beautiful and rare, a carnation, sturdy yet delicate, a cussing, scrapper of a lady, his assistant, and now his lover.

And I love this man for viewing me this way.

I love him. Period.

I meet his gaze through the reflection, yearning to tell him how I feel, not brave enough to open my mouth. My brothers would call me a chickenshit and I guess they’d be right, but it’s too soon and I have too much to lose if I make a mistake.

Then the moment is gone. Brick grasps my hand. “We should go.” He walks with me out of our bedroom, a space he had decorated for me. “The paparazzi will be waiting.”

***

They
are
waiting. Chaos erupts as the limo rolls to a stop in front of the gothic, revival-style mansion Arianna Ross chose for the St. James’ annual charity gala. Hands pound on the vehicle’s tinted windows and I jump, not expecting that level of aggression.

“The bodyguards will push them back.” Brick appears cool and collected, lounging languidly against the leather seatback, his left arm around me, but I feel the tension in him, the flexing of his muscles. I see the veiled aggression in his eyes.

I can’t allow the paparazzi to bother me or my billionaire will lose his shit. He needs a woman who can handle herself in the public eye.

“You’re a fuckin’ lady,” I mumble to myself, loud enough for him to hear. “No fighting. No jabbing reporters in the eyes with your fists or kicking cameramen in the nuts.”

This self-coaching snags all of Brick’s attention. His eyes gleam. “No fighting. Save that feistiness for me, Lucille.”

“You have to wait until they call me a homewrecker, to experience my feistiness,” I remind him.

“They’ll call you that, but not until they mention cheating four times.” He nods. “I’m coming on your chest tonight, while you wear your pretty necklace.”

The door opens. People yell Brick’s name.

“That’s too bad.” I move with him toward the commotion. “I was hoping you’d choose to come down my throat.”

Brick stops abruptly, turns his head and stares at me. “You want that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t want it.” I push him forward.

He steps out of the limo first. Lights flash. The yelling increases in volume. My tuxedo-wearing man holds out his hand. I clasp it, proud of myself because my fingers are damn steady. He helps me out.

I’m temporarily blinded by brightness and I follow him, not knowing where we’re going or who is shouting at us. The questions and words blur together. Cool plastic bumps against my leg. Someone tries to grab my arm.

“Are you okay?” Brick murmurs into my ear, partially shielding me with his big body.

“I’ll be seeing spots forever,” I whisper back. “Next time we do this, I’m wearing big ass sunglasses…and panties. I think someone tried to snap a photo under my skirt.”

A sexy growly noise comes from my billionaire’s throat.

“Calm down.” I pat his arm. “I’m too short and was moving too quickly for anyone to see anything.”

I glance around us. The crowd has been relocated behind a black velvet rope. They fight for position, elbowing and pushing their fellow media hounds.

“Are you ready for this?” Brick asks, peering at me, concern in his brown eyes.

“Yes.” I smile up at him and cameras whirl. “Let’s have some fun.”

“I wouldn’t call it fun.” He turns with me to face the horde.

“Mr. Armitage, Mr. Armitage,” a freckle-faced man yells. “Introduce us to your date for tonight.”

“Miss Henderson is my date for tonight and all future nights.” The pride in Brick’s voice warms my chest.

“Is this the same Miss Henderson who acts as your assistant?”

I scrunch up my nose. “I wouldn’t say I
act
as his assistant. I
am
his assistant.”

“An assistant with extra duties, we hear,” a man says slyly and the others laugh.

“How long have you been sleeping with your boss, Miss Henderson?” a brunette woman in a bright red shawl asks.

Brick pushes against me. I hold my over-protective man back and answer the question. “Before Gretchen confronted me, I had no idea Mr. Armitage was interested in me. So, after that little tussle.”

“The catfight,” a man yells.

“We had a heart-to-heart talk. I guess that, ironically, we have Gretchen to thank for this.” I lift our linked fingers and look up at Brick, not hiding how I feel for him. He meets my gaze, his lips curling upward.

“Mr. Armitage, are you saying you didn’t cheat on Gretchen?” was the next question.

“One,” Brick murmurs. “Can you repeat your question?” he asks louder.

“Play fair,” I whisper, pinching his side.

His lips twitch as the man repeats the question. “Two.” My billionaire is determined to win this challenge. I don’t mind because this means he’s no longer seeking to kill the paparazzi. “I don’t cheat.” He draws himself up proudly, looking down his nose at the man. “Gretchen and I had ended our relationship before Miss Henderson and I had our talk.”

“If you didn’t cheat, why does Gretchen claim she was betrayed?”

“Three,” Brick murmurs, adorably smug. “I won’t speculate as to why Gretchen said what she did,” he addresses the tabloid reporter. “It’s best that you ask her.”

“You won’t
speculate
?”

Heads turn toward the screech. Oh shit. Gretchen is here.

I glance at her. And she looks… fucked-up. The always glamorous actress is dressed in an oversized gray hoodie and black yoga pants. Her hair is a mess. Her face is swollen and bruised. Vivid white plaster covers her nose. She isn’t wearing any makeup.

Yet she somehow manages to appear beautiful, in a damaged sort of way.

“You betrayed me, Brick.” Gretchen waves her hands. Her nails are broken, the polish chipped. “You made me fall in love with you and then you walked away.”

“We were together a
week
.” He moves, positioning his body protectively between me and his insane ex. “Half of that time you were in L.A.”

“Is that when you cheated on me with her?” She curls her top lip at me. “While I was away?”

“Four. I choose.”

I ignore Brick’s side comment, enthralled by the pain on Gretchen’s face.

“Is that when you tore our relationship apart, ripping the beating heart from my chest?” She splays trembling fingers over her chest. “Destroying all that is good and right in my world?”

Her emotion is ragged and intense, this gorgeous creature brought to the brink of madness by love.

Fuck. Now, she has me feeling bad for her.

“I didn’t cheat on you.” Brick is less impressed with her display. “I would never disrespect you or Miss Henderson in that way.”

“Disrespect?” Gretchen’s voice rises even more.

The paparazzi are watching us with a grotesque fascination, their cameras snapping, their mics thrust outward. This will be on every entertainment show, every tabloid front page for the next week.

“You threw our love away to be with that…” She points at me. “That irritatingly average Jezebel, that nondescript slut, that…”

“Say it,” Brick rumbles for my ears alone.

“Homewrecker.”

Shit.

“We’re done.” He lifts me off my feet and slings me over his shoulder.

“Brick,” I protest, clinging to the back of his tuxedo jacket, my ass in the air. “We can’t leave now.”

“She said the word.” My boss straps one arm over my skirt-covered legs, ensuring all of the important parts of me remain concealed. “The gala is over for us.” He strides with me toward the limo.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, from us.” Gretchen follows us. “You know you don’t love her, not like you love me.”

“I never loved you,” Brick snaps. “I’ve always loved Lucille.”

He loves me? My eyes widen.

“Can you repeat that for us, Mr. Armitage?” a reporter dares to demand.

I’d flick him the finger, tell him to fuck off. My billionaire, however, stops and turns toward the crowd. “I love Miss Henderson. She’s the only woman I’ve ever said those words to…other than my mom.”

Oh, God. I stroke his back, unable to see his face, yet feeling his grief.

“Miss Henderson is the woman I hope to someday marry, if she’ll have me.”

He loves me, wants to marry me. I blink back tears.

“That wedding will be the splashiest spectacle Toronto has ever seen,” Brick continues. “And there will be limited room in the press box. Remember that when you’re dealing with my future wife.”

“Noooo,” Gretchen howls, flinging herself to the red carpet. “You love me.”

“Christ.” He carries me toward the limo. Jeff, the driver, opens the door. Brick sets me on a seat, claims the spot beside me.

“You’re a bastard, Brick,” Gretchen shrieks, entering the vehicle also.

“Get out,” Brick barks.

“I’m going with you.” A moment ago, she was ranting deliriously. Now, her voice is eerily calm, rational. “Shut the door.”

He hesitates.

“Do it, Brick,” I advise. If Gretchen is truly disturbed, she could have a gun. She might shoot him if he resists. But I suspect she’s as normal as I am.

He closes the door. Palms smack the windows. The limo moves.

“That should snag me slots on all of the late night shows.” Gretchen appears pleased with herself. “My movie is too small-budget, the producers said.” She snorts. “They can kiss my cellulite-free ass.”

I stare at her. “What movie?”

“This was a publicity stunt,” Brick says at the same time.