Before Her Billionaires

Before Her Billionaires

by Julia Kent

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Copyright © 201
4
by Julia Kent

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

The book you are about to read,
Before Her Billionaires
, is the prequel to the
New York Times
bestselling series,
Her Billionaires
. The four-part series first debuted in November 2012, and reached the
New York Times
bestseller list in October 2013 as a single-author boxed set.
 

Since that time, five additional books in the series have been published:
It’s Complicated
,
Complete Abandon
,
Complete Harmony
,
Complete Bliss
and
Complete We
. This prequel looks at the three main characters, Laura, Mike and Dylan, before they meet via an online dating service at the start of
Her First Billionaire
.

Laura Michaels sat up in her dark, lonely bedroom, heart slamming
in
her heated chest, the dream so real she could still taste his mouth against hers,
feel
hands pressed into her soft curves,
sense
fingers exploring
where she wanted them most in the lush territory of her abandoned body
.
Yet her bed was empty, as always.
 

She should have calmed down. She should have been able to shake the reverie. She should have let it all fade.

W
hat kept her heart beating so fast, though, was
one
undeniable fact.

There had been
four
hands
on her
in that dream...

This prequel takes Laura, Mike and Dylan from the
New York Times
bestselling series
Her Billionaires
and offers a glimpse into their yearning for what was meant to be...
 

From
Authors

“Her stories are sensual, incredible, and outright hilarious—the PERFECT combination.”

—Sara Fawkes,
New York Times bestselling author of the
Anything He Wants
series
 

“
If you like menage romances … with lots of humor, this is the series for you!”
 

—
Mimi Strong, New York Times bestselling romantic comedy author
 

Reader
Reviews
 

“
This book is not to be missed!!!”
 

“
Wow Julia has done it again!! This book had me on edge with the suspense and overwhelmed with laughter at times! I even cried a little. I absolutely love this series!!! I can’t wait to see what’s to come next!!! This is a must read!”
 

“
Every chapter made my heart beat faster in anticipation. Julia Kent once again pulls at our emotions and allows us to fall in love with the characters all over again. Enjoyed the story from every character’s POV. Getting to see their individual reactions to every situation made the suspense for the finale overwhelming. Very well worth my heart palpitations.”
 

Reader Emails

“
I just can’t imagine how you come up with this stuff, but am so glad you do!”
 

“
I finally had to write to you and tell you that you are simply one of the most amazing authors. Your humor is perfect. I really do bust out laughing out loud. My family thinks that I am crazy when I do it but I can count on a good read from you especially when it has been a rough day. There hasn't been a single thing that you have written that I haven’t fallen in love with the characters. They become real and some of your lines have become a part of our family language. Thank you for sharing your amazing gift.”
 

“Having another fantastic evening as I just finished your latest book and now the fam can go to sleep since the laughing/screaming out loud has stopped...Stomach muscles are sore.  Better than sit-ups! :-)”

Before Her Billionaires

The sound of her steady breath was the only way she could anchor herself as he pressed against her in the silk-covered bed. Moonlight dripped into the room through sheer curtains that billowed in, pushed by a wind so eager to watch what Laura and her lover did under covers and in privacy that it made the cloth tickle her calves,
elicit
ing a throaty laugh as his hands catalogued her.

He smiled, face in the shadows, thickly-muscled arms tending to her and only her. The muted sound of the city clamored outside, both immediate and distant, a background rumble that seemed necessary, like oxygen. It was there, it was noted, and it was forgotten, imprinted into her. What was new was him—his touch, his taste, his scent.

Him.

“You are perfect,” he whispered, a husky voice darkened by want echoing through the room. Mingled with her quickened breath, it made her feel whole. Richer and more mature somehow, tempered by her own driving, throbbing need.
She felt changed,
from a woman who felt lucky to be under his attentions to one
who was
wanted enough to be secure.

The shafts of light from the window teased her as they danced across his face, highlighting only the thick, blonde waves she could touch as she felt for his shoulders, fingers playing with his shirt collar, the warm rush of skin and hair at the back of his neck like an invitation to bury herself there.
She
inhal
ed
musk and a lightly-spicy cologne, orange and clove and something that staked her in place.

She never wanted to leave. Her unclothed legs savored the feel of his, the tingle of thick leg hair against her own smooth skin.
A deep breath filled her chest, her throat, her senses with his scent, making her ache to have him inside her in so many more ways. While his musk lingered in the air she inhaled, his fingers made other parts of her shiver, the rush of heat between her legs both welcome and foreboding.
 

If the mere brush of fingers on her hip could produce such intensity, what would his mouth between her legs
feel like
?
A shudder of anticipation ran through her as his mouth made the delectable journey down the path of her torso, tongue leaving a lazy trail that made her breath hitch, air flow coming in fits and starts as he went down, down, down...leaving no question she was about to learn the answer to what she had just wondered.
 

Her hands plunged into his thick waves, the soft crush of hair in what became clenched fists maddening against the thin skin between her fingers. The texture of him, of his hair, his neck, the nuances of skin and beard and the nape of his neck, so masculine and yet so tender, made her yearn for this. For more. For all of it, as if she couldn’t grasp enough in the inadequate time they had to touch.

“Oh, there,” she murmured, feeling a smile spread his lips as he parted hers.
So many words bounced in her addled head, jumbled and incoherent as his tongue found the pulsing center of her sex. Gratitude. Mercy. Delight. Ecstasy. Joy. Abandon.
 

Home.

“God, you’re so...” she whispered as he tended to her with such care, like a vir
t
uoso of a woman’s body, playing her as if she were a fine instrument only a handful of masters could manage.

“
Mmmm,” he murmured against her, one hand cupping her ass and driving under her, up over her hip and onto her belly, lounging there as if it were waiting for something that it knew was coming. “You’re the one who is a goddess,” he said against her thigh, the wisps of air against her vulnerable, exposed flesh making her quiver. “A luscious, beautiful, amazing gift,” he continued, his words arousing her as much as his ministrations to her flesh.
 

One hand on her belly, one hand in her, and then a third hand cupped the soft flesh of her ass, a fourth on her breast, tweaking the nipple where his mouth had just been.

And—wait.

Four
hands?

A new mouth kissed her, tasting like wine and spices, different from the earlier man, who’d carried a
distinct
minty flavor. Her body flushed and her eyes searched the dark room, seeking answers.

“We adore you,”
said
a new voice, deep and filled with a sensual growl that made her entire body
shiver
, the epicenter of this tectonic shift between her legs.
Her hand groped to find the body attached to that voice, encountering hard, rigid muscle, arms with veins that stood out like a rope, like a lifeline she must grab and hold on to for dear life.
 

A
nd just as her eyes found a shaft of light that illuminated the room just enough to see their faces, to focus on the very man (men?) who gave her so much pleasure, she woke up to a cold, empty room, her heart racing, pulse flying like a supersonic jet, a cold sheen of sweat soaking her breasts, her cleft, her soul.

“No!” she cried out.

Not again.
Pounding her fists on the unsympathetic mattress, she hit two, three, four times, her thin cotton nightgown stuck to her loose breasts, her hair flying with the force of her anger.
 

Again.

These dreams invaded her mind most nights, slinking in like a snake, like a mist that moved and permeated, filling in the cracks of her subconscious. Heart pounding, clit throbbing, she burst into furious tears, starting an ugly cry that made her ribs ache, her throat hurt so much she thought she was choking, the sound of weeping as intimate as the touch of those warm hands from her dream.

But not nearly as satisfying.

The glow of the red numbers from her alarm clock infiltrated her brain.
4
:44 a.m. It was nearly the same time every night, like clockwork (ha ha).
A
s she took in a shaky breath and her neck stopped spasming, she rubbed her eyes over and over, as if she could massage into them some sort of message that could permeate her brain.

What that message was, though, she didn’t know. Something. Anything. Indistinct and uncertain, it was
a
message. The universe was trying to tell her something, and it involved two men, two mouths, four hands, and a
lot
of need.

Sighing, she pulled the tangled sheets off her legs and looked down, pink painted toenails chipped, her feet wiggling with restlessness. A cup of chamomile
tea
would be her nighttime companion, it seemed.

And not those two men.

Two. It started out as one, a guy who resembled her ex...boyfriend? Ex-cheater? Ex...
something
. Ryan had been the guy she’d dated, the guy she thought she would have a future with, the guy who turned out to be married.

Already
married.

So was
he
a cheater, or was
she
? When he broke up with her he’d flung his marriage in her face, telling her it was her fault she had been with him, that she had made him stray, that she had been at fault for his infidelity.
I
n the warped way that she allowed the world to work sometimes, she’d actually believed him for a short while. She’d apologized. She’d begged him to forgive her.

And even after her best friend, Josie, had spent a long weekend de-programming her and making her see what a manipulative asshole Ryan had been, she’d dreamed about him.

What a slippery animal the unconscious can be. It’s your best friend, your worst enemy, your confidante and your nemesis.
The unconscious keeps you going at night and shapes your social instincts during the day.
 

And deep in the dark hours of the middle of the night, it arouses you to no end with dreams of a love life that would make anyone blush.

That cup of chamomile wasn’t going to make itself. Heaving herself off the bed, she took a few steps on shaking legs, thighs running together under the thin cotton of her nightgown. The throbbing between those thighs only intensified, a deeply irritating feeling that wasn’t going to abate.

Laura made a mental note to replace the batteries on her vibrator—it had stalled out on her the other night, sputtering to a dead halt just when she’d needed it most, making her cry out with a hoarse sound she’d last made during sex with Ryan, when he’d finished first and rolled over.