The Billionaire's Desire (A Billionaire BWWM Steamy Romance) (8 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Sanniyah

I jerk
awake. For a moment, panic grips me as I my bleary eyes resolve my unfamiliar
surroundings. There is something heavy weighing me down and I fight the urge to
fling it off me before understanding finally takes hold.

I am in
Carter's bed.

His arm
is slung over me.

And he
is fast asleep.

I shift
a little, trying not to disturb him as I roll over and regard his sleeping
face. It shouldn't be possible, but he is even more beautiful in the soft light
of dawn. There is a faint golden stubble along his jaw, and it glints in the
sunlight like he has been polished to a bright sheen.

I catch
myself smiling softly at him, and for just a moment all is peace. Little
twinges and aches sound in my body as soft, subtle reminders of the incredible
night I had with him. I can feel the tenderness between my thighs and flush
slightly as I remember how he looked up at me, watching me writhe as he slowly
drove me insane.
 
Desire starts to
throb in my core, my body already craving his touch like an addict.

Carter
Easton, the reclusive billionaire, golden playboy,
darling
of the tabloids...I can't believe it. Carter fucking Easton is asleep next to
me. And all because I was lucky enough to plan his sister's wedding.

The
warmth in my body freezes to ice and I stiffen. Slowly, the dawning realization
of how badly I have fucked up grips me

He is a client. Camilla is a client. I am a
professional, who has built her reputation in the business by being level-headed
and unflappable. Reviews from happy brides point out my rational, pragmatic nature.
Not someone who is ruled by her emotions.

Definitely not someone who sleeps with the
brother of the bride.

Slow
horror roots me to the spot, and with it comes the shame. I crossed a line that
should never have been crossed. I allowed myself to succumb to private islands,
wine and a man who was far too skilled with his tongue.

The
memory of his tongue's skill sends another flood downward, but this time,
instead of heat it brings only guilt. I hurriedly untangle myself from his
limbs and stand up.

Carter
shifts a little without opening his eyes. "Good morning," he murmurs,
his voice muzzy with sleep.

I shift
on my toes, panic gripping at my throat. "I need to go," I say,
gritting my teeth.

Carter
rolls to the side and opens his eyes, smiling,
a
devastating dimple on his cheek. He looks me up and down, a long, lascivious
look that threatens to reignite the heat that has fled from my body. "You
don't look like you do," he says, casually.

I look
down and blush. Hard.

I am
still completely, ridiculously naked.

"You
look like you should be back in bed with me, honestly," Carter says, lazily
sitting up and treating me to a lingering glance of his washboard abs.

No Yahya, get ahold of yourself.

I lift
my chin and cross my arms, mustering all the professional gravitas I can manage
while still being in the nude. "Could you send for the pilot please? I'd
like to go home now."

 
"But you haven't even had
breakfast," he protests lazily. "I make a mean poached egg."

The
thought of Carter Easton making me breakfast nearly breaks my resolve. My
traitorous brain leaps right to the image of cooking in his gleaming chef's
kitchen...shirtless of course...maybe serving me strawberries dipped in cream.

Stop it, Yahya.

"I'm
not hungry," I tell him loftily. Then my stomach growls loudly,
immediately making me a liar.
 

Carter
blinks at my tone, then raises his eyebrows coldly. His face shows a million
different emotions before it finally settles on vast, aching disappointment.
But before I can realize what I've seen, it is gone, replaced by the coldly
polite mask he wore on the tarmac back on the mainland. The other Carter
Easton, not the one I got to know so intimately last night.

The
light in his eyes is gone and with it, something that had just started to
awaken inside of me.

I didn't expect this to be so damn hard. I
didn't expect him to be bothered so much.
"Listen, it's no
big deal," I say hurriedly
. I can
salvage this, I swear I can.
"I had a great time last night, but this
isn't going to work." I'm spewing lies as fast as I can come up with them.
"You're a businessman right? Sometimes things just don't work out the way
you planned, you know that. It doesn’t mean anyone did anything wrong...it's
just...bad timing...." my words trail away as I watch Carter's face
change. It's like a mask is sliding over his skin, freezing it into a pompous
grimace. I clutch my arms around myself rather than reach out to snatch the
words I had just spoken out of the air and start over again. But it is too
late.

"Well
then, Sanniyah," he says softly, so softly I have to strain to hear him.
"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll call Benson right now."

He
turns away from me. I am about to apologize, to beg him to rewind to five
minutes ago, but he is already walking towards the bedroom door. He never once
looks back to see me standing there watching him.

Without
his eyes on my skin, I feel suddenly cold. Swallowing down the lump in my
throat, I turn and shake out my clothes from where they lay in a heap on the
floor. "This is for the best," I tell myself firmly. "This isn't
part of the plan." I pause to look around the incredible bedroom, the
great expanse of wooden floor, gleaming and polished and warmed by the rays of
the morning sun that's only just risen over the horizon. The waves are lapping
their continuous melody outside of the opened windows and the air smells like
flowers and the sea.

I hear
Carter somewhere in the vastness of his house. His words are muffled, but his
tone is angry and cold. I think back to the switch he made last night, the two
Carters. The coldly polite and distant one seems to have returned with a
vengeance.

This is
what I need in order to be able to leave right now. I need to believe that
Carter is unstable, unsuitable, not the right man for me.

The
only way I can walk away is if I can convince myself of that.

Chapter Twenty

Carter

For the
second time in as many days, I am watching the helicopter take Sanniyah Jones
back to the mainland. Except this time I am not angry
at
myself. I am angry
at
her.

I don't
want to be. I want to be civil, to be understanding. She got cold feet, sure,
these things happen. I realize my circumstances aren't exactly normal, and I
try to be accommodating of that fact. But my mind, the broken part of me that
tries to always build defenses around myself won't stop with the nagging,
intrusive thoughts. The conclusions my nightmare jumped to.

She works for the tabloids.

She had a secret camera.

She's going right to them. She'll tell them
everything you told her because you were stupid enough to open your heart
again. When you know better, Carter. You know better.

Fuck.

I
resist the urge to shout obscenities, and instead I strip down to my boxers and
pull on a pair of running shorts. A punishing run in the sand will soothe the
paranoia, but there's not much I can do about the ache that has settled into my
heart.

Because
I liked her. I fucking liked her a lot. I liked her body, and her laugh and her
brain. I liked her smile and her toes and the way she went from prim and proper
professional to wildcat in the bedroom. I liked the way she tasted and I liked
the way her moans sounded as she moved underneath me.

I liked
her enough that I couldn't help but wonder if I might be ready to try being
normal again.

And then
she fucking
left. Again.

So much
for normalcy.

Anger
wells up in me again the minute I step back into my bedroom. I am sweaty and
dripping, and in desperate need of a shower, but there's something that needs
to be done first.

"Carter?"
Cammy sounds surprised to hear from me out of the blue on a Sunday morning. She
sounds like she has just woken up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah
everything's fine," I say in my big brother reflex, then pause.
"Actually, no, it's not."

"Can
I help?"

I sigh
when I hear Cammy's concern. My sweet baby sister, I can picture her expression
exactly. She is leaning over the edge of her bed, cupping the phone with both
hands, ready to jump through the lines if necessary to help me however she can.
I feel a rush of love fight with the annoyance. "Actually, yeah, you
can."

"Name
it."

"Fire
Sanniyah Jones as your wedding planner."

Cammy
is silent for a long while. The longer she waits, the angrier I get. At Cammy
for hiring Sanniyah in the first place, at myself for sounding like a
vindictive asshole. And at Sanniyah for...well, I wasn't actually sure about
that. For leaving, I guess. For leaving when I really fucking wanted her to
stay. "Carter?" she finally says, her soft voice reproachful.
"Carter, what did you do?"

"I
didn't do anything."

I can
hear the ugly petulance in my voice, and so can Cammy. "Carter..."
she presses, sounding for all the world like our mother.

I sigh.
"I might have really fucked up, Cam."

She's
silent, waiting. My sister won't judge me. I'm doing enough of that myself.
"Sanniyah came over for dinner last night," I tell her.

"Really?"
I can hear the thud and know that Cammy has just jumped to her feet.
"Carter, that's huge, oh my god! How long has it been?"

"Since
I invited a woman to Annika? Never, Cammy.
 
I've never invited a woman, invited anyone to come here. Besides you and
Greg, of course."

Cammy
exhales softly. "Wow." The bulk of what she means is what she isn't
saying.
Does that mean you're getting
better?

"No,"
I answer her unasked question. "Not wow. Because she left in a hurry this
morning and now I can't stop the thoughts, Cam."

"Oh
Carter, you should go see Dr. Kaplan. Call him, I'm sure he can squeeze you
in."

"It's
Sunday, Cam."

She
sounds confused. "Oh, I guess it is. Greg just came back from Australia
and he's got me thinking it's Monday already. Are you sure he wouldn't see you
on a weekend? Don't you pay him enough?"

I laugh
bitterly. "Yeah I think I probably do. But," my words feel like they
are stuck in my throat....

Cammy
understands at once. "But you can't come here."

"No."

I hear
the phone rustling, hurried conversation, and I groan inwardly. Then Cammy's
voice returns. "Send Benson. We'll be at the airport in a half an
hour."

"You
don't have to..."

"Shut
up," she says, so sweetly I have to smile. "You haven't seen Greg in
forever anyway. He was just saying how he's dying for a swim. We're coming out
to be with you. And no one is firing anyone until you look me in the eye and
say that's what you want. Got it?"

She sounds
so much like my mother that I can only nod, the naughty little boy being
disciplined. "Got it," I echo, hanging up the phone. Then I turn and
hurl it as hard as I can into the bed. But the anger isn't there anymore. The
paranoia has receded and in its wake it leaves only heavy sadness.