BILLIONAIRE (Part 7) (5 page)

After
a few minutes, she continued.  “He used to lock me up.  So he could … so
whatever he wanted.  To use as he wanted, when he wanted.  So I couldn’t
escape.  Every night, after my mother passed out on the couch, he would come to
me.  That sound, of the key … the lock … it reminds me of all those
nightmares.”  Her tears were streaming freely now as she spoke again, those big
pooling green eyes looking at me.  “I just had to get out.”

“You
locked her up.”  It was a statement not a question, as though all had suddenly
become clear.  Jake’s disgust was palpable, but he knew my history, as well as
his own.  He knew my hang-ups were a side-effect of his abuse and his
protection.

“You
didn’t know,” Lila said to me, defending me, of all things.  “You couldn’t have
known that.  I hadn’t told you that part.”

“It
doesn’t matter,” I said.  “I shouldn’t have done it.  I just wanted to … keep
you safe.”  It was fucked up.  It
sounded
fucked up, even the way I said
it, the similarities between my behavior and some monster who’d wanted to
possess her for his own pleasure and his own power.  To keep her for his very own. 
Exactly as I had.  I’d
become
one of the very monsters I’d been so
determined to protect her
from
.

“It’s
not the same, Alexander,” Lila said, as though reading my thoughts.  “Not at
all.  Not even close.  But it scared me.  I can’t handle it.  I just couldn’t
see straight, or think, or do anything.  I just had to get out of there.”

I
wanted to apologize again, but the words seemed too small, too inadequate to
express how much I loved her.

“Jake
found me.”

“She
was a little out of it,” Jake said.  “She fainted, and I brought her back
here.”  I didn’t have to ask why he didn’t call me as soon as he’d found her. 
I remembered what Claude had said. 
She begged me not to.
  I could
hardly blame her.  Even so, as I held her hand and contemplated the glory that
was her face, I knew I wouldn’t give up trying to win her back, to convince her
to forgive me if it took me the rest of my life.  “She was out cold and
freezing, so I got her out of her wet clothes and put the robe on her.  And
convinced her that we needed to let you know where she was.”

I’ll
admit it, and it’s fairly obvious by the chain of events that brings us to this
point that I can be an overbearing, volatile, hot-headed asshole from time to
time.  This turned out to be one of those times.  Jake had found Lila, given
her shelter and talked her into allowing me back into her life.  All those
things registered as the acts of a loyal, conscientious brother, which I’d
later thank him for.  But the only detail I could concentrate on, however, at
that moment in time was one: 
I got her out of her wet clothes and put the
robe on her.

He’d
stripped her, as she lay unconscious.  He’d seen her naked, and I had no doubt
he’d enjoyed every minute of his oh-so-righteous act.  My nerves were shot
twelve times over by this stage, and as much as I might have tried to cling to
the last vestiges of my self-control, it was a lost cause.  Very carefully, I
eased my clasp from Lila’s hand.  I stood up.  And I lunged at my brother.

It
wasn’t the first time I’d taken my frustrations out on my brother and probably
wouldn’t be the last.  He used me as his therapeutic punching bag on a regular
basis, too, and had since he’d grown to almost my height.  I still outweighed
him, though.  This time, he’d been expecting retribution, I could tell.  He
knew
he was guilty.  He knew he’d enjoyed salivating all over
my
naked
girlfriend, whatever the circumstances might have been.  He fell as I landed on
top of him and I got a good left hook in before he punched me in the stomach. 
We rolled and growled and punched and knocked over a table.  I got in a few
more solid hits but Jake’s a scrappy fighter and we’re evenly matched.  And he
was as amped-up tonight as I was.  We might have killed each other if it wasn’t
for Lila.  As soon as I felt her hand touching my shoulder, I froze, breathing
hard.  Jake did, too.  She was too close to risk any more violence. 
She
couldn’t be harmed.

“Stop
it right now, the two of you,” she said sternly, her face heart-breakingly
serious and mind-numbingly beautiful.  Like an angel, crouched there, scolding
us.  “Alexander, you leave him alone.  He’s been only kind to me.  And good.  He
found me, and he helped me.  He’s done nothing wrong.”

Jake
turned to me.  “I
didn’t
do anything,” he said.  “I
wanted
to,
but I wouldn’t do that to you, brother.  I
wouldn’t
.  Not after
everything.  I was keeping her safe for you.  She’s for you.  She’s good for
you.  You deserve her.”

My
brother, as close as we’ve been over the years, was not especially
sentimental.  He keeps his emotions, generally speaking, close to his chest.  It’s
sort of a defence mechanism of his, I’ve learned.  This was the most emotional
thing I’d ever heard him say.

And
I believed him.  I believed him so much it hurt.

Then
he turned to Lila and said, “You should forgive him.  He saved me, and it
wasn’t easy.  That’s why he acts the way he does: he had to.  He had to be a
mother and a father and a brother and a provider.  I was a fucked-up kid who
needed help.  And he helped me.  Every day.  Every single fucking day of my
miserable fucked-up life.  He never gave up on me.  He still hasn’t given up on
me, and that’s saying something.  He can help you, too, Lila.  He’s the most
generous person I know and you should forgive him.  He didn’t mean to hurt
you.”

With
that, Lila kissed Jake’s cheek.  “Thank you,” she said to him.  “Thank you for
saving me tonight.”  Then she turned to me, and I noticed she wasn’t crying
anymore.  “Alexander, I’d like to go home now,” she said.

Lila

Alexander
gently picked me up and carried me into the elevator, holding me against his
chest and his sheltering heat like I weighed no more than a child.  His
distinctive scent provided a divine blend, both comforting and erotic.  He
smelled like sweat and love and money.  I turned my face up to his and curled
my arms around his neck as the elevator door closed.  I weaved my fingers
through the coarse black locks of his hair as I contemplated him.  The flexed
muscles of his shoulders and his neck.  The bruise that was forming around his
eye.  The disheveled, wild look of him, beneath the relieved, almost somber
expression. 
God, how I’ve missed his face.  His hair.  I’m never, ever leaving
him again,
I thought. 
I can’t.  I need this too much.

“I
love you,” I whispered, looking into the depths of his midnight-black eyes.  “I
love you so much.”

“I’m
so sorry I scared you,” he said, his voice rasped with emotion.  Could any man
be more perfect than this one?  Forget that he was gorgeous beyond belief, the
sight of him and all his rugged, swarthy masculinity scalding my senses,
overwhelming me with relief and happiness and hunger.  It was the dedication,
the remorse and the total devotion that got me most of all.  His eyes were
reddened from the rawness of his relief.  That he’d found me.  That I might
forgive him.

It
was enough.  I
did
forgive him, with my whole soul.

I
pulled his face to mine and kissed his lips tenderly.  So softly.  Just tasting
him, reveling in the fact that he was here with me.  He groaned, as if my kiss
was breaking his heart.

“You
know what I want to do with you?” he asked, that dark husk in his voice
unfurling something in me.  “After we’ve worked out your schedule and got you
acclimatized at
Skyscraper
, I want to take you out on my yacht.  Just
you and me.”  He paused, then added.  “If you want to.”

I
couldn’t help smiling. 
This
was the Alexander I’d fallen in love with. 
The one who’d asked me
if I was game
before taking control of every
detail of my well-being.  The one who’d charmed me and fixed me, on my own
terms, and on his.  Equally.  “I want to,” I said, kissing him again, more
deeply.  Touching my tongue to his parted lips.

He
was breathing more heavily but his grip tightened.  The elevator pinged and the
doors slid open.  I didn’t care about anything or anyone but Alexander.  With
my arms still wrapped around his neck, my hands entwined in his hair I kissed
his stubble-roughened jaw as he carried me into the foyer.  I was vaguely aware
that the doorman opened the door for us, that the limousine driver he had
called from Jake’s apartment was already there, opening another door.  But all
my focus was on Alexander’s face.  On his taste, his scent, the feel of his
body under his shirt.  He said something to the driver before the door was
closed behind us, sealing us back into Alexander’s plush world.  He settled me
onto his lap with his arms wrapped around me.

I
kissed him again.  His feel and the taste of his lips against mine was
luscious, drugging, insanely seductive.  I touched my tongue to his, playing
him, drawing his tongue delicately into my mouth.  He exhaled with a low,
savage sound, but he pulled back.  “You’re tired, sweetheart.  I don’t want to
push you tonight.  You’ve been through the ringer.  I want you to rest.”

I
loved the genuine concern in his voice.  I’d scared him today and he was taking
no chances with me.  He’d promised to be careful, to make amends for his
mistake.  And he was right: I
had
been through a ringer of sorts today,
one that had left me emotionally raw and also insanely thankful.  That I had
him.  That he was mine, flaws, obsessions and all.

I
wanted to show him how glad I was to see him.  I wanted to prove to him that
I’d forgiven him, and that I trusted him.  “I don’t want to rest yet,” I said. 
“Alexander, make love to me.  Right now.  I want you so much.”

“You
don’t have to prove anything, Lila,” he said, tuning into my wavelength. 
Understanding
me.  “Let me take you home.  I’ll run you a hot bath in the Jacuzzi.  I’ll
pamper you and feed you.  Let me do that for you tonight.  I don’t want you to
wear yourself out.  You need rest.”

“All
right,” I said, loving him a thousand times more than ever, kissing the corner
of his mouth, his cheek, nibbling on his earlobe.  I knew he’d relent even
though he hadn’t yet given in to me in his own mind.  He could protest all he
wanted but I knew what he liked.  And I knew what I liked.  He wanted to pamper
me and I would let him.  “Lay me down, Alexander,” I said softly into his ear,
touching little butterfly kisses along his jaw to his lips.  “I want you to lay
me back onto the seat so I can rest.”

He
obliged immediately, setting me carefully down into a reclining position, his
eyes full of anguished, almost manic concern.

“I’m
warm,” I told him.  “Too warm.  Untie my robe so I can cool off a little.”

He
did, parting the robe, holding his palm to my forehead.  “Maybe you have a
fever.  I should take you to a doctor.”

“No,”
I said.  “I don’t need a doctor.  I feel cooler already.”

His
eyes were on my face and his fingers gently smoothed my hair.  I slid my arms
from the robe so I was laying on it, completely naked.  Alexander, for the
first time since I’d known him, didn’t seem to notice this.  He was too
preoccupied with my health.  I found this funny and also ridiculously
endearing.  And I planned to remedy the situation immediately.

“I’m
warm but my skin feels cool, and tingly,” I said.  “After being outside in the
ice-cold rain.”

A
ripple of tortured rage flashed behind his eyes at the thought of me, cold and
alone.  “I wish you had just come to me –”

I
touched my finger to his lips and he quieted instantly.  “Would you warm me
with your hands?  It would feel so good if you would touch me.  Just gently. 
Like this.”

Taking
his hand, I placed his palm on my arm, rubbing it softly against my skin.

I
closed my eyes and relaxed my hold, letting him continue as my arms fell to my
sides.  He caressed my arms, massaging gently with both hands.  “Mmm,” I sighed. 
“That feels so good.  Do my legs, too.”  My eyes opened and our gazes met.  “If
you don’t mind, that is.”

His
mouth quirked at the corner.  Not quite a smile.  This was our thing: this
dance.  Allowing options.  Not forcing.  Not running.  Trusting.  Meeting
halfway.  This was what we were learning how to do, despite our individual
difficulties with it.  “I don’t mind,” he said quietly, moving to my feet,
which he massaged with deliberation, pressing into the arch of my foot with his
thumb until I exhaled with pleasure.  After the long walk in high-heeled boots,
his careful manipulations felt downright heavenly.  I wasn’t sure if he
intended his touch to be erotic, but I responded nonetheless.  I couldn’t help
myself.  The gentle-strong strokes of his fingers reminded me of other places
he’d caressed me.  I let my legs part, keeping my eyes closed, so he could see
me.  Every inch of me.  I was his and I wanted him to be reminded of that.  My
sex was moistening with each glide of his fingers.  I could feel the gentle
swell and pulse begin to plump me under his watch.  I wanted him to watch as I
grew increasingly turned on.  His hands had moved to my calves now, gliding
higher.