Fighting for My Billionaire Boss (9 page)

“It is one of our many skills.” I flick my tongue under his rim and he shudders. “Tomorrow I’ll suck you off at the office, while you’re talking on the phone.”

Our weekends are always spent together, working. CEOs of up-and-coming companies don’t get days off. I rub my lips over his skin. And their assistants/lovers would never allow them to labor alone.

“That will be an interesting phone conversation.” Brick’s eyes gleam with amusement. “I can’t think while you’re touching me.”

“Because I please you.” I lick a drop of sweat off his hip.

“Because you please me. Very much.” My billionaire focuses all of his attention on me, on my face, my eyes, my soul. “And because I love you. You’re strong, passionate, intelligent and beautiful; a woman any man would want standing by his side, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, heart to heart.”

“It is us against the world.”

“It always has been.” Brick lifts me and sets me on his lap. The limo is silent and still. He wraps his arms around me and rounds his shoulders, surrounding my body with his. “I’ll protect you and you’ll protect me.” He splays his fingers over my flat stomach. “And someday we’ll protect our children.”

“Or they can protect themselves.” I cover his hands with mine. “Both of their parents are scrappers. They’ll likely be scrappers too.”

“I hope so.” Brick rests his chin on my shoulder.

I’ll have a life with this wonderful man, children. Judging by my family, they’ll be rough-and-tumble little boys, preferably with thick black hair, dark soulful eyes and grimly set lips. I sigh. There won’t be many tea parties in my future.

But there will be happiness and laughter and love.

That’s all a woman can ask for.

“I love you, Brick.” My voice is soft with emotion.

“I love you, too.” He cups my chin, turns my head and slants his lips across mine, not caring that I taste like him. This kiss is slow and gentle, a promise of a lifetime of love, a whisper of our shared future, of lazy Sunday mornings, tangled bed sheets, sun streaming through glass, warming bare skin.

Brick pulls back and gazes at me, his emotions reflecting in his eyes. I look back at him, showing him all of me also, not holding anything back.

I touch the scratch on his cheek. “To think we have Gretchen to thank for this.” I grin.

“She’ll remind us of that.” His lips twitch. “We’ve stopped.” He jostles me as he pulls up his tuxedo pants and fastens them. “Should we go home?”

Home. My heart swells. “Yes, let’s go home.”

Five months later, I’m putting the final touches on our late night tea party. A small round table is set in front of Brick’s big wooden desk. Two delicate chairs are tucked under it. A white tablecloth covers the surface. His teacup and saucers are a manly plain white. Mine are decorated with beautiful pink carnations. The silverware shines. There’s a tiered tray, one layer holding scones, another holding the prettiest little
petits fours
I’ve ever seen.

It’s perfect.

Almost.

“Don’t look.” I slide a cloth napkin fan a smidgeon to the left.

“I’m not looking.” Brick scowls down at his screen.

I step back, studying the table one more time. This is the perfect venue to watch Gretchen’s appearance on a late night talk show. She’s a Best Actress Oscar nominee for the small budget movie Brick and I inadvertently helped her publicize. We can drink and eat while she talks.

“Okay. Now you can look,” I announce.

Brick lifts his gaze. His lips curl upward, that hint of a smile telling me everything I need to know. He likes it. “The Queen would be proud.”

“I think she would be.” I beam.

He stands, strides to my side, pulls out my chair. I sit, feeling like a true lady. Brick pushes the chair closer to the table and claims the other chair. He’s a large man and looks even larger seated at our tea party table.

“Would you like some?” He grasps the teapot.

“Please.” I smile, holding out my cup. The teapot is filled with coffee. I was unable to acquire the taste for tea, but he allows me the illusion, not commenting, as he pours strong, black java into my cup and his.

I grasp the remote I’d hidden under a napkin and turn on the TV. The huge screen hangs on the far wall. The host is doing his opening shtick, making jokes about current events. “She said she’d be the first guest.”

“She’ll, no doubt, work us into the conversation.” Brick breaks a scone into pieces, dunks one of those pieces in his coffee. “We’ll have more paparazzi following us around tomorrow.”

“We already have some paparazzi following us.” They always will. He’s a billionaire. “What’s a few more?” I shrug.

Commercials play. A burger place talks about their bacon-loaded cheeseburger. There’s a preview of yet another zombie movie. A truck company talks about how their vehicles can tow a small house.

I nibble on a scone and sip my coffee. Brick looks as handsome as usual in one of his black suits, his hair a little bit longer, touching the collar of his white dress shirt. His cufflinks are diamond clusters, adding a glitter to his ensemble.

I woke up in his arms, watched him dress this morning, spent most of the day with him, yet he still takes my breath away. This imposing man is mine.

He stretches out his legs, presses his shins against my calves, as though needing the physical connection with me. “If they ask when the wedding date is, I choose where I come.”

“If they ask three times, you can choose.” They always ask us at least once. Wedding watch started the moment we officially became a couple.

“Agreed.” Brick reaches over, takes a piece of my scone. He appears almost happy.

I narrow my eyes. We play this game every time we confront the paparazzi and he never acts this confident about a win. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“I know quite a few things you don’t. That’s why I’m the boss.”

“But—”

“Wait.” He holds up his hand. “She’s on.”

Gretchen walks onto the set, hugs the host and gracefully sits. They exchange banter. Brick’s ex is drop-dead gorgeous, her blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, her nose now repaired and healed, her green eyes sparkling.

I glance at Brick. He’s not looking at her. He’s watching me.

I smile at him.

“Pay attention.” He inclines his head toward the screen.

The host taps one of his cue cards against his desk. “Some say your… umm… confrontation with the feisty Miss Henderson, billionaire Brick’s so-called assistant, was all a publicity stunt, designed to drum up ticket sales for
A Wife Scorned
.”

“What don’t they believe?” Gretchen’s laugh is shaky. “That a billionaire cheated on me with his assistant?”

“There was no cheating,” Brick mutters.

“Or that he could love someone else?”

“He
does
love someone else.” My billionaire isn’t amused by Gretchen’s ponderings.

“Or that you would ever appear without makeup in public,” the host jokes.

Gretchen’s smile fades. “I would do
anything
to support
A Wife Scorned
, Jimmy. It’s a wonderful movie with a brilliant script, an innovative director and powerful female roles played by some of the best actresses in Hollywood.”

“She’s including herself on that list.” I laugh, having no illusions about our new friend. Gretchen is a talented actress and she knows it.

“Did that anything include picking a highly publicized fight with a billionaire and his assistant?” the host presses. “You were linked with Brick Armitage for only one week before you tussled with his pint-sized assistant. Was it all promotion, designed to pique America’s interest in you and your movie?”

“If I wanted to pique America’s interest, I’d do something like this.” She turns and faces the camera directly. “Lu, darling, do you see the blue
petit four
on the tray?”

Is she talking to me? I glance at the tray. There
is
one blue
petit four
set in the middle of the otherwise pink, yellow and icy green selection. A tiny pink carnation crafted from fondant decorates the top of it. It’s a miniscule work of art.

“Brick ordered that one especially for you.” Gretchen smiles.

“Brick? Brick Armitage?” The host gapes at her. “Did you just use my show to send a message to your ex’s new girlfriend?”

“Did she?” I gaze at him.

“We’ll always be in the public eye.” Brick turns the TV off. “It makes sense to have the media work for us.”

I glance at him, then at the
petit four
and then back at him.

“Open it, Lucille.”

Open it. Not eat it.

I select the pretty blue dessert. It has a tiny gold clasp. “It’s a box.” The most adorably realistic box I’ve ever seen.

I open it and blink, dazzled by diamonds. The ring has a huge center stone with diamond chips along the band.

It’s an engagement ring. Or is it? Yes, it has to be…doesn’t it?

“Brick.” I can’t say anything more, emotion clogging my throat.

“Lucille.” He moves to my side and lowers to one knee.

Oh my God. He
is
going to ask me to marry him. I squirm, struggling to suppress my excitement.

 “I love you.” His expression is deadly serious. “Never doubt that I will fight for you, for us. I already have.” My suit-wearing man wiggles his jaw. “Your brothers all have impressive left hooks. I see where you got that from.”

“You fought my brothers?” My eyes widen.

Brick nods. “They wouldn’t give their permission until I did. Your dad threatened to join the fight also but, after watching all three of them pummel me, he thought I had enough.”

“You fought all three of them at once?”

He dips his head again.

I shouldn’t be surprised. My brothers would think that was hilarious, tag team battling a billionaire. “That’s where you were on Sunday.” He wouldn’t tell me. “And why you returned with bruises on your arms, chest and stomach.” He wouldn’t talk about those either.

“They took it easy on my face.” Brick touches his chin and winces. “I’m to tell you that is a wedding gift to you.”

A wedding gift. He’ll ask me to marry him now.

Now. Now. Now.

“They knew they’d be fighting me next if they seriously hurt you.” It’s difficult to focus. My heart is pounding. My palms are moist.

“You’re my scrapper.” Brick’s eyes gleam with admiration. “And I need you by my side. Always.”

He removes the ring from the box and holds my left hand. His fingers are trembling as badly as mine are. I wiggle to the edge of my chair.

“Lucille, will you mar—”

“Yes.” I can’t wait, throwing myself at him.

He catches me, easily absorbing the impact, and then playfully falls backward, his movements controlled and slow. I wiggle on top of him.

“Yes.” I reach too low and kiss his chin. “Yes.” My next attempt is too high, landing on his nose. “Yes.” I finally locate his lips.

His chest shakes as he allows me to ravish him. My grim man is laughing at me but I don’t care. Joy bubbles out of me, spilling all around us.

Our tongues tumble and twine. Brick catches my waving hands, manages to slide the ring on my finger. It sparkles, matching his cufflinks.

Because he knew he’d ask me to marry him today. He talked to my father and my brothers, fighting for their permission. He arranged the adorable
petit four
box. He asked Gretchen to hint about it on national television.

Brick did all of this for me. I touch his cheeks. Because he loves me.

“That was a ‘yes, you’ll marry me’?” He glides his hands under my skirt, hooks his fingers around my panties and pulls them to my ankles.

“That was a ‘hell yes, I’ll marry you.’” I remove his tie, hastily unbuttoning his shirt and spreading open the decadent fabric to explore his chest.

His golden skin is marred with purple bruises. He must be in so much pain.

“These are your battle wounds.” I kiss each of them, flicking my tongue over him, tasting salt and man. “Proof of what you’re willing to do for us, for our relationship.”

“For our family.” Brick flips me onto my back. “I’ve been tested. You’ve been tested.” He unfastens his pants. “We’ve been exclusive for five months and three days.” He pushes his pants and boxer shorts to his knees. “Is there any reason we need protection?”

My breath hitches. Does he want to start our family right now? “I’m on birth control.”

The flare of disappointment in his eyes confirms my suspicions. “Then we’ll practice today.” Brick skims his lips over mine. “Get it right.” He rubs his shaft against my pussy lips, wetting himself.

I’m dripping, ready for him, my fiancé. The diamond on my finger catches the light and joy mixes with my arousal.

I clasp Brick’s shoulders and undulate underneath my future husband, caressing him with my entire body. My fitted jacket and bunched skirt hamper my efforts. I huff with frustration, wanting to feel more of my skin against his yet unable to tolerate the delay undressing would create. That’s how desperate I am for him.

“I need you inside me.” I smack my lips against his chin. “You’ll win our bet.” The paparazzi will ask about our wedding date at least three times. “You can choose where you come.” I bite his skin. “But I have my preference.”

“I’m listening.” He bumps his tip against me as he aligns himself and I quiver with anticipation, wanting that delectable fullness only he can give me.

“I want you to come while deep inside my tight pussy.” I lift my hips, taking his cock head inside me, savoring the sensual stretch, the unique experience of having his bare flesh against mine. “Fill me with your hot wet spunk, Brick. I want to smell of you all night, to have your cum drip down my legs while we walk through the office, to make a mess on the limo seats.”

“I never knew ladies could talk so dirty.” He pushes deeper and deeper. I feel everything, the bloom of his tip, the veins on his shaft, the coarse hairs at its base. “There’s nothing between us, Lucille.” His voice lowers. “And fuck, it’s fantastic.”

“It’s better than fantastic.” I tilt my hips, he shifts inside me and we both groan, pleasure radiating over our bodies. “This is better than anything I’ve ever experienced.”