HIS (A Billionaire Romance Novel) (3 page)

He offered me a thin smile. “Miss Hartwick. It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” I agreed, watching as Lucas stalked out of the room. Once he was gone, I let out a breath of relief. Tyler must have noticed, because he laughed.

“I’m sorry if Lurch there scared you,” he said. “Although I do wonder why you’re here.” He pursed his lips, taking a step closer with his hands in the pockets of his robe, his hard gaze analyzing every inch of me. “Let me guess. The board sent you, didn’t they? They’re hoping to lure me out with a pretty blonde. I’ll bet they even threatened your job.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to reveal that to him. Not yet, at least. If I did, he’d never come around.

But what he’d said had also given me pause.
Pretty blonde?
Was that how he saw me? Maybe there was something to my half-baked plan, after all.

“Was Mitchell in on it?” he asked, so close now that I could feel his breath on me. For a man who had no interest in getting dressed in the mornings, he’d obviously brushed his teeth. I could smell the spearmint on him as he circled me like an animal prowling around its prey. “I bet the stock drop is making him nervous.”

“No,” I said quickly. I hated having to lie, but it was the only way Tyler would listen to me. “I came here on my own. Well, Mitchell told me where you were. He had to. This place is very… out of the way. But he didn’t send me.”

Tyler stopped in front of me. He cocked his head to the side. “And why would you come to visit me, Miss Hartwick? I’m sure you have plenty of work to do back at the office. Are you sure you have time for a day off?”

“You’re my boss,” I said, my brows cinching together in a tight frown. “And I’m worried about you. Maybe we aren’t friends, but you’ve been gone for a long time and nobody seems to know why.”

And then, a little more heatedly, I added, “And I
would
have work to do if you bothered to assign me any, but since you’re never around, I’m picking up the scraps of tasks the other girls don’t want to do. So no, Mr. Cross—no one will miss me.”

Tyler raised his eyebrows. There was a look on his face like he’d never considered the possibility before. I thought I saw just a hint of shame in his eyes.

“I suppose you have a point,” he admitted slowly. “I have been gone a while. Unfortunately for you and your workload, I won’t be coming back.”

I was about to argue when Lucas returned to the foyer through a set of French doors to my right. “There’s tea in the drawing room,” he said, casting his icy gaze on me once again before retreating. I tried not to shudder as Mr. Cross gestured for me to enter the room first. I did as I was bidden, hoping the tea would calm my nerves.

At least he hasn’t ended the conversation,
I thought, counting it as a win.
Not yet, anyway.

We sat across from each other on a pair of matching sofas. They were plush and teal with tufted backs, but I could tell from the claw feet and the ornate style that both were reupholstered antiques. The originals must have been early 1900s pieces, at the very least. I wondered why a young man like Mr. Cross kept so many old things.

There was a silver tray on the coffee table between us. Lucas had poured us both a cupful of tea. I lifted mine, studying the floral china. Victorian, with a gilt rim. It had to be an heirloom. Maybe his mother’s?

“Why?” I said after taking a sip of my tea. It was sweet. I tasted oranges and honey and a hint of sugar. “Why aren’t you coming back?”

Tyler stared at me over his rim. “Why do you want to know?”

This was where I had to tread carefully. Any misstep and Tyler would dismiss me immediately, sending me back to Cumberland & Cross with my tail between my legs. I might even lose my job. I certainly wouldn’t get the quarter mil that Mitchell had promised me.

Whatever was keeping Tyler from the office wasn’t medical. He was healthy, as far as I could tell. And it wasn’t business-related, either. If it was, the board would have known about it and stock prices wouldn’t be slipping. No, this was personal. Tyler had a secret, something he felt he couldn’t possibly tell anyone else. Most people did, but this one was so big he couldn’t even leave his house.

It was cruel, but I decided on my course of action. I had to make him believe that I cared.

“It matters because this isn’t normal for you, Mr. Cross,” I said, taking care to chew my words before I spat them out. “You’re a very powerful man. You are always in control. And you may want me to think that this is your choice—that you are exercising your power to choose to stay locked away in your manor far from where anyone else can see you. But I’m not buying it. And I have a theory.”

The muscle in Tyler’s jaw twitched. He swallowed his mouthful of tea and said, very slowly, “And that is?”

I narrowed my eyes. “That you’ve been hurt, Mr. Cross. That something—or someone—has dug into you deep, and now you’re bleeding and you don’t want anyone to know. It’s easier for you to be the man who feels nothing than the human being with a soft, chewy center like the rest of us. You act like this is your choice, but you reek of desperation, Mr. Cross, and it doesn’t become you.”

Other than the sharp breath Tyler took through his nose, the only other noise in the room was the steady ticking of the cuckoo clock on the wall, its pendulum swinging out of sync with the pounding of my heart. I had to remain calm. I had to seem cool and confident. Mr. Cross needed a rock, and I needed to come off as stable enough for him to hold onto.

I set my teacup down on the tray and reached over to touch his hand. “Let me help you—”

Tyler stood so quickly and violently that the tray upended, spewing the china and tea onto the Persian rug below. “D-don’t touch m-m-m…” His face contorted and he grit his teeth before he finished. “…me…!”

I stared at him and my jaw sagged. All at once he’d gone from perfectly composed to wild with fear. He wove his hands hard through his hair, clenching tufts of it between his fingers until his knuckles turned white. His breath came quick and his neck was red. Had he been stuttering?

I didn’t understand. Had I really hit so close to home?

“I’m sorry,” I began, but Tyler cut me off again.

“No,” he said. The words came out very firmly, dripping with determination. He smoothed his hair down just as Lucas entered the room from the kitchen. “Don’t apologize.” He looked me over, appraising me before he added, “Come upstairs.”

I blinked. “What?”

But Tyler was already headed toward the door. He turned back over his shoulder at me, his square, strong jaw set so tight that he spoke only through his teeth. “If you are really here to help me, Miss Hartwick, then come upstairs.” When I didn’t move, his eyes thinned. “Or did I stutter?”

I stood very slowly, glancing hesitantly in Lucas’ direction and noting the grim expression on his face before following Tyler out the door and up the stairs. I didn’t want to tell him that yes, he had.

“What you will see behind this door may shock you. Even scare you.” He paused dramatically before he added, “But if you are really here to help me, then you’ll stay all the same.”

Breathless, I nodded. I hadn’t anticipated this. I’d wagered that Mr. Cross had some deep, dark secret, certainly. But I never expected he’d show it to me. Not here, anyway. Not like this.

My mind reeled through the unpleasant possibilities. Was there a body in there? No, that couldn’t be. Tyler had skeletons in his closet, sure, but real ones? That didn’t seem likely.

Or maybe it
was
a body, but a live one. I’d read somewhere that billionaires and CEOs were exponentially more likely to be psychopaths as compared to the rest of the population. Maybe he’d taken it too far with some unsuspecting girl, or even a hooker, and he wanted me to help him make it all go away.

But then why wouldn’t he have confided in Mitchell or one of the other board members? They were closer to him than I was, and I wouldn’t have put it past any of them to choose money over morality any day. Something like that would be right up their alley. So what was he hiding from them that he was willing to show me?

Tyler turned the handle. He opened the door. “Walk,” he said, jerking his head toward the set of spiraling stairs.

I slowly moved past him. I was sure that at any moment, he was going to grab me and hold a rag soaked with chloroform over my face. The intensity in his eyes frightened me, and yet made them look even more gorgeous and wild all at the same time.

Lucifer was the most beautiful of all the angels,
I reminded myself as I ascended toward the unknown.
Even after he fell.

Climbing in heels was not my favorite thing to do, and the staircase was a lot taller than I’d thought it would be. The single chandelier high above us cast only a dim glimmer to light the way, and both our bodies threw eerie shadows as we steadily climbed.

We were in the tower I’d seen outside. We had to be. It was the only explanation for how far up we were going. As if Tyler’s room—hell, his entire mansion—wasn’t private enough, he had yet another area in which to seal himself away from the rest of the world.

And anyone else stupid enough to go with him, too.

I banished the thought as we finally reached the landing. I looked down over the metal rail to see how far we’d come. From here, I could just barely make out the floor below us. Most of it was engulfed in shadow, save for a soft amber glow right in the center where the chandelier penetrated the murk.

I looked at Tyler. He gestured toward the arch. “This way,” he said.

There was only darkness on the other side. Still, I’d come this far, and I doubted that I could push past Tyler and run screaming all the way back down the spiral stairs in heels. If something untoward was going on, I’d have to wait for a more opportune time to save myself.

I stepped under the arch and into the blackened room. Even when my eyes adjusted, the most I could see were shades of gray amongst the impenetrable shadows. It was deafeningly silent here, too. I didn’t even hear Tyler behind me until it was too late and his hot breath was on my nape.

“Watch your eyes,” he said before he illuminated the room.

I squinted against the pain. Light flooded the area, sending starbursts in front of my eyes. I blinked them away, trying to make out my surroundings. The hair on my arms stood on end when I did.

As the lights softened to a more ambient glow, I realized exactly where Tyler had taken me. This was a torture chamber.

Or, more accurately, a sex dungeon.

There were all manner of tools displayed on the walls: cat o’ nine tails, whips, flails, and even a long, bamboo cane that glinted in the light. The crimson damask wallpaper had a strange sheen to it, one that made the rest of the equipment seem even more sinister as my eyes trailed over it. I spotted manacles hanging from the ceiling and a table with a hole cut out for someone’s head with leather straps where the wrists and feet would be. I saw too some kind of machine with a dildo attached to it and many others nearby which seemed as though they could be changed out at a moment’s notice.

There were other things too, like cabinets and armoires I was sure were filled with similar possessions. My heart thudded in my chest. Why was Tyler showing me this?

I turned to him, but before I could begin asking, he explained.

“Dominance,” he said, “is my passion. I’ve worked hard to exert it in all areas of my life. At work. At home, with my staff. Even in my family affairs.” I felt a chill as he approached the wall and ran his fingers over the flail. “But especially, dominance is something I require in the bedroom. And submission.”

My toes curled in my heels. Tyler’s voice had become thick and husky like honey dripping from his lips. As strange and frightening as this was, that glimmer in his eyes intrigued me. I wet my lips and spoke.

“I can see that. But what does that have to do with me?”

Tyler turned. “It has everything to do with you, Miss Hartwick.
If
you want to help me.”

This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. I wasn’t a prostitute. Even if a quarter million was a lot of money, it couldn’t be worth my dignity. Tyler was handsome enough—impossibly sexy, even—but as enticing as he was, if I did things this way, he would never forget it. And neither would I.

I said, “Well, Mr. Cross, it seems to me that a man of your means could find many women to help you, if this is all you need.”

“You’d think so,” he mused, quirking a smile. “But it’s not just about that. It’s about making a connection. It’s about forging a bond. More than anything, Miss Hartwick, it’s about trust.”

He shook his head. “And you can’t trust the kind of women who hunt down billionaires. You always have to sleep with one eye open. No. They won’t do.”

My head was spinning and my throat was getting tighter by the second. All the air seemed to have left my chest. When I reminded myself to breathe, it came in short pants.

“So what you’re saying is that for you to function, you need to… dominate someone on a regular basis,” I said, trying to make sense of what he was telling me. “Someone you can trust to show up again the next day, or the next week. Someone who will allow you to do as you please when you please and how you please. Yes?”

“That’s it,” Tyler affirmed. “And someone who will perform up to my standards.”

“And what are those?” I asked. I couldn’t believe that I was actually interested.

I watched him walk over to the armoire made of a dark cherry wood and open up the doors. There were drawers inside of it, along with a dowel rod hanging from which were several articles of clothing, all of them quite see-through. He ran his fingers through them like he would a lover’s hair before he opened one of the drawers below.

“I need someone who can let go. I need someone who will trust me as much as I trust them.” He pulled something out, but I couldn’t see it. His broad shoulders were blocking my view. “I need someone discrete and who understands how much this means to me. I need someone who sees this as a sort of… therapy.”

When Tyler turned to me, I finally saw the object in his hands. It was a ball gag, bright red with black leather straps. My stomach quaked and my knees did, too. And strangely, a little fire smoldered inside of me and I felt its heat in my thighs and chest. I’d never seen a man look so hungry and so predatory in all my life, and beyond all reason, it was affecting me.

“Could you do that for me, Miss Hartwick?” he asked, and this time I detected a touch of desperation in his voice. It wasn’t the kind that put me off. It wasn’t pitiful and weak. This was need. Desire so great he just couldn’t contain it anymore. This was Tyler Cross baring a secret portion of his heart.

“It’s not about the sex?” I asked him. What was I thinking? Surely, I couldn’t be considering this.

“No,” he said. “And sometimes, yes. But it doesn’t have to be. Not if you don’t want it.”

I was surprised he’d given me the choice. But he
had
said this was about trust—the mutual kind. Still, he was a stranger to me. Could I really let him use these implements, any of them, on me?

I would be making myself vulnerable to a very powerful, obviously fucked up man. And in return, he’d be vulnerable to me.

No sex,
I’d said to Mitchell. And at the time, I’d meant it. But this was a way for me to get closer to Tyler and maybe even bring him back into the fold. And even though Tyler could have chosen any woman in the world for this task, I seemed to truly be his weak spot.

A quarter of a million dollars…

I took my hair down from the high bun it sat in and let it wash over my shoulders and blouse. I tucked the bobby pins into the waistband of my skirt and said, before I could stop myself, “All right. How do we begin?”

“Undress,” Tyler commanded. That spark in his eyes had burgeoned into a full-on flame. “Slowly, and for my approval.”

I started with my shoes. My feet were aching anyway, and that made them easy to take off. My blouse was next, and that proved a little harder. My fingers trembled as I worked the buttons and Tyler set his hawkish gaze on me, studying my every move. He made me nervous. But he made me curious, too.

And hot. Oh, so hot. Hotter than I wanted to admit to. Hotter than I could bear. And by the time I was slipping the blouse down my arms and revealing my creamy flesh, the channel between my thighs was wet and scorching.

You’re insane,
I told myself.
You know that, don’t you?

But I couldn’t think now. If I had any thoughts at all, I would stop. I would turn away from Tyler and run and never look back. And that wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all me.

I dragged the zipper on my pencil skirt down, then peeled it off my hips where it crumpled to the floor at my feet. I was in my stockings and panties and bra, and when I hesitated, considering which to take off next, Tyler told me:

“The stockings. Then your panties. And last, your bra.”

I did as he said, my knees quivering so hard I was sure they’d knock together. I trailed the gossamer fabric down my thighs and calves and off my feet, and when that was done, I finally started on my panties. I could hear my own pulse in my ears as I pulled them away from my cunt, and my face flushed sanguine when a long, translucent strand of my nectar clung to the material and my nether lips at the same time, stretching out enough that I knew Tyler could see it before it broke off.

It didn’t matter anyway. My panties had already given me away. They were utterly soaked, and so was I.

He said nothing, though, as I stepped out of them and unclasped my bra. I let out a shaky sigh as my breasts fell free, relieving the pressure on my chest that had made my breathing so much more labored than it had to be. My pink nipples stiffened in the cool air and I resisted the urge to shield myself with my hands as Tyler inspected me from head to toe.

I wondered briefly if he would find me lacking. After all, a man of his status was sure to have slept with some supermodels. I was no Victoria’s Secret Angel. I couldn’t hope to compare.

Yet there was nothing but a smirk of satisfaction on his face as he raked his gaze over my naked form. “There’s a safeword,” he told me. “You’ll say it when it gets to be too much for you. You’ll say, ‘stardust.’ Agreed?”

“Yes,” I said. My voice rasped, the product of my sweltering breath sticking in my throat.

He approached me with the ball gag. He lifted it, fitting the straps over my face. “And you’ll address me as ‘Sir.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I answered. And then quickly added, “Sir,” just before he slipped the ball into my mouth. It was uncomfortable and I immediately felt myself drooling all over it. I tried to hold it in as Tyler continued.

“With this gag in, you won’t be able to say your safeword. Instead, you’ll make the sign for three on your hand—the German way, not the American,” he specified, holding up his fingers to show me. I recognized it as the sign for “okay,” thumb and forefinger touching with the pinky, middle, and ring fingers extended upward. Easy enough to remember. So why did I feel so nervous?