HONEY GIRL (Part 1): BILLIONAIRE Book Two (4 page)

I
hadn’t predicted exactly how turned on those beads would get her.  She wouldn’t
take no for an answer.  Right there in front of the boys.  She’d offered those
perfect, creamy breasts to my mouth.  She’d begged me, pleading and demanding. 
And I’d gone with it.  Of course I had.  She’d been so wet I hadn’t been able
to see anything past that juicy little pink pussy.  I’d forgotten everything
but her, like those movie shots where everything on the periphery fades out.  She’d
come right there on the fucking poker table, laid out on a bed of money like a
goddess Greek mythology had forgotten to document.  The Goddess of Jackpots and
Orgasms.

By
the time reality had kicked in they were already there.  Before I could even
react or fight them off.  Now, the memory was almost too rage-inducing to
handle.  If I could’ve blocked it out I would have but it flashed through my
mind in excruciating play-by-play detail.  Jon had been kissing her face. 
Cole’s hands had played with her silky hair.

And
Mark Faber had kissed her breast.  Licking that perfect rosy nipple that was
mine
.

He
was looking at her now.  I could see it on his face: he was remembering how she
felt. 
How she’d tasted.

I
was about to fucking lose it.  My inner caveman was seriously considering breaking
free.

I
couldn’t do this.

But
Lila was looking at me.  She could tell I was about to go ballistic, maybe. 
She was watching my expression, reading it.  She placed her hand on my thigh,
under the table.  She just left it there, holding me in place.  She recognized
him.  She knew what was going through my mind.

It
was good.  That light warmth calmed me a little, diffusing a single degree of
my fury.

I
had to take it.

I
had to own up to the fact that it was my own goddamn fault.  For putting her in
that position.  For not letting her come before the start of the poker game,
when she’d asked for it. 
Begged
for it.  For not insisting she cover up
a little, to save the skimpy, practically-transparent outfits for me and for me
alone.  I’d been blinded and blind-sided by this tsunami of lust that was so
new to me.  Of course I’d experienced lust before, but not like this.  Nothing
like this.  This lust was madness-edged and brutal.  Like it had one hand
gripped around my heart and the other grasped tightly around my balls.

That
old version of myself had been entranced by Lila Carmichael.  Covetous and wild. 
Now, I was so in love with her I could barely see straight.  The emotions were
ten times more complex.  And if I was going to spend a lifetime both protecting
her while simultaneously allowing her to exist and work and live her life, I
was going to have to man up and calm the fuck down.

Mark
Faber wasn’t the only one riveted by Lila.  They were all staring at her.  At
the vision that was Lila.  Her eyes matched the sea-green of her dress.  A few
tendrils of her golden hair had escaped the clip she’d pinned it up with,
framing her face in elegant coils.  Her full lips were pink and almost-swollen
…
from the blow job she’d just given me
.

God,
help me.

Her
right hand rested on my leg.  And her left hand, gently clasped around a mug of
coffee, displayed the ring.  One million dollars’ worth of Tiffany’s finest.

“Nice
to see you all,” I began, willing my own steadiness.  I didn’t want to fuck
around.  It was better just to get right to the heart of the fucking matter. 
And it turned out to be easier to do than I thought.  I
was
steady when
it came to work and leadership within the company I’d built from the ground
up.  As long as I focused on them – and not
on
her
– I was fine. 
My voice sounded unwavering, almost arrogant.  Which was also fine.  Better to
come across as a prick than a pussy-whipped mess.  “Most of you know by now
that I’ve hired a new assistant.  This is Lila Carmichael.”

Lila
smiled a little.  She seemed cool and quietly confident.  Aware of her own
power.  She’d changed over the past month.  She’d always exuded a kind of
sensual prowess, even if she hadn’t always been aware of this.  She had bowled
me right over with it the moment I’d laid eyes on her.  Now, she was more
experienced.  She knew her own influence.  It sort of radiated from her along
with her golden glow.

“As
some of you might have heard,” I continued, “Lila is now not only my new
assistant but she’s also my fiancée.  We plan to marry soon.”

I
let this information settle for a few seconds.  There were some surprised
murmurs, some not so surprised.  A few of them offered their congratulations.  Ashley
Lynch, executive editor of the fashion section of the magazine, obviously hadn’t
heard the news.  Her eyes widened.  Ashley was a tall, willowy woman with dark
hair she always wore pulled back in a tight bun, which made her look severe. 
Her chunky, black-rimmed glasses and flowing outfits were her trademark.  It
wasn’t a look that endeared her to men, but she was good at her job.  I’d been
encouraged to head-hunt her from another magazine about two years ago.  I’d
offered her big money to jump ship and she’d worked out well.  The fashion
shoots had received glowing reviews and had been called “hip, must-have and oh
so New York” by the New York Times, a quote that had become a sort of tag line
for the department.   Ashley had walked in, glanced at Lila, then turned her
attention to the agenda.  But she was listening now.  Staring at the ring.  And
I knew the first fucking person she would call.

Shawna.

I
let the unpleasantness of
that
realization drift.  I hadn’t thought
about my ex since Lila had showed up on the scene.  To be honest, I couldn’t
remember exactly how we’d left it.

The
entire thought process left me feeling irritated.  When I spoke again, my voice
sounded mildly pissed off.  Which was probably a good thing.  I didn’t want
there to be any misunderstandings about the next detail.  “Lila just graduated
from Princeton.  Top of her class.  She has some experience in publishing and
will be working alongside me in whatever capacity she and I choose.  With my
assistance – and yours – she’ll be learning the ropes.  The ins and outs of the
entire magazine.  She’ll spend time in each department, to be informed directly
by each of you.  I want her to learn the workings of the company from the
ground up.  So I’ll thank you in advance for welcoming her and guiding her in
whatever way she requires as she settles into her new role.”

I
glared at Mark Faber. 
Except him.
  I had a distinct urge to fire his
ass on the spot.  But I inwardly applauded myself on my restraint.  I could
sack him if the need arose.  If he made one wrong move or if it all became too
much to bear.  Until then, I had enough on my plate besides looking around for
new head of the Political and Current Affairs Department.  The guy had around
twelve degrees and must therefore be smart enough to decipher that I would
happily throttle him if he so much as touched a hair on her pretty little head.

He
saw the look I gave him.  He said something polite and non-suggestive to Lila
and she smiled at him briefly and replied with a tactfully abrupt – for my
sake, I knew – response before turning to the next person as I began to
introduce them, one by one.

On
to the next item on the agenda, which was filling me in on all I’d missed since
I’d been away.  Taking my spur-of-the-moment hiatus from life so I could gorge
myself on her beauty and her sweetness.  Her smile and her laughter.  Her
initiation and her satiation. 
Her luscious body and that tight little –

No.
 
Control it.  Do.  Not.  Rise.

Fuck.

It
was agonizing, with her delicate little hand still resting on my thigh like
that.

I
stared at Ashley Lynch, who was speaking.  I concentrated on her bulky glasses
and her beaky face.  The way her hair was scraped back into its school-marmish
bun.  She was working some odd look that might have been edgily fashionable but
it was doing her no favors.  I wondered, and not for the first time, what she
and Shawna had ever had in common.  My ex-girlfriend was a highly successful
model who wrote a monthly column for
Skyscraper
.  A day in the life of a
jet-setting supermodel, that kind of thing.  It had been Ashley’s idea.  They’d
become friends and still were for all I knew.

This
was better.

Listening
to Ashley Lynch’s androgynous monotone as she talked about her vision for the
next fashion spread was helping.  My hard-on was back under control.

Which
was a very good thing because my phone rang and it was a call I would need to
take.  A police detective.  Jake had mentioned him this morning.  My brother had
given the guy my number, at the detective’s insistence.  He wanted to speak to
me about the accusation against Jake for insider trading that my brother was
tangled up in.  I’d already made up my mind to do everything I could to pay our
way out of it, if it came to that.  And I knew I might have to spend the next
few hours dealing with whatever it was this cop was going to tell me.

I
stood up.  To the collective group: “Sorry, I have to take this.”

I
made a decision right there and then, even though I knew it would have a major
downside;
that
downside, though, was a million times more palatable than
picturing Mark Faber drooling all over Lila for the duration of the morning. 
“Ashley,” I said.  “Show Lila around today.  Give her a tour of the fashion
department and introduce her to your people.  Looks like I could be tied up for
a while.”  I realized how fucking abrupt I sounded.  “Thank you,” I added. 
Ashley’s tense, puckered face softened by a miniscule degree.  Usually I was
more dedicated to my people skills but today was already having its way with
me.  I’d been given a practically-public blow job by my unbelievably hot nymph
of a fiancée and my brother was about to get arrested.

I
looked at Lila as I left.  “You all right?”

“Fine.” 
She smiled in that sexy-demure way she had.

I
had an urge to tell her I loved her, but was aware of the twelve pairs of eyes
staring at me.

“I’ll
see you later,” she said.

It
was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done it my life: leaving her. 
Pathetic, possibly.  I didn’t even fucking care.  I felt like scooping her up
and taking her someplace private, where we could be alone and talk and laugh
and make love in that insanely beautiful way we had. 
So I could wrap myself
around her.  So I could reach her and kiss her and touch her.  So I could get
inside.

It
was all I really wanted to do.

Instead,
I opened the door and closed it behind me as I answered the phone.  “Alexander
Wolfe.”

“Mr.
Wolfe, this is Detective John Rizzo with the NYPD.  How are you this morning?”

“Fine. 
You?”

“Well,
I’ve been better.  Despite my track record, I don’t enjoy putting people away. 
I’m gonna cut right to the chase: the FSE is demanding justice.  Someone’s head
has to roll, Mr. Wolfe.  Your brother’s laptop was seized and we have enough
evidence to put him away for ten years.”

Ten
years?
 
Shit.
  What the fuck had Jake been
up to?  “I’m sure we can come to an agreement, Detective.  I have very deep
pockets.”

“They’re
not gonna be satisfied with a pay-off this time, Mr. Wolfe.  They want blood
and they want time.  I suggest you meet with your brother, prep your lawyers to
within an inch of their lives, and get ready to write some fat checks.  Even
so, you’ll be lucky if he gets less than two years.”

I
ran a hand through my hair.  My skin felt clammy as a low-strung terror iced
through my veins.  Jake had spent a week in juvie once when he was sixteen.  It
hadn’t gone well.  Jake wasn’t cut out for hard time.  He looked tough but his
chasms of vulnerability somehow still shone through the hard-man façade.  The
combination was like a beacon for thugs and bullies.  My heart skipped a couple
of beats at the thought of Jake behind bars.  My little punk brother who’d had
every hard knock life could cough up.  Because of that, he couldn’t quite shake
his fuck you attitude.

I
suppressed the urge to swear at and/or threaten Detective Rizzo.  “I’ll be in
touch as soon as we’ve met with our lawyers, Detective.”

“Make
it sooner rather than later.  An arrest will be issued next Friday if we
haven’t heard from you by then.”

The
line went dead.

I
leaned against the wall for a second, feeling suddenly drained.  I wished I
could take him away, hide him somewhere.  Maybe we could pull it off.  He could
simply disappear, change his identity, live out his life in a beachfront condo
in Rio or somewhere.  If I thought it would work, I might have suggested it. 
But Jake didn’t do rules.  He wouldn’t stay put or abide by an imposed
lock-down.  He’d turn up in New York, no doubt, or get pinged by some
power-happy border control officer once the heat died down.

I
called my lawyers.

Coming Soon:

HONEY GIRL (Part 2)