LOVE AND HATE (A Billionaire Romance) (13 page)

“We have about five minutes. Go get dressed. And remember, no underwear.”

“I can get dressed in three minutes.” I winked at him.

Scott sighed dramatically. “You’re pretty bossy for a submissive.”

“I think they call it, ‘power bottom?’” Obviously, Scott was dominant in our relationship in and out of the sack, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t offer suggestions.

“Panties off. Then lie down on your back.”

I did, trembling with excitement. The underwear dropped to the floor by his jeans. I lay on the chaise, feeling the sun on my winter-pale skin, and stared up at the beautiful blue sky.

Scott checked his watch again, smiled at me, and lowered his face to my pussy. After a few licks, he lay down next to me. His fingers pushed into me. Oh! All of them. Gentle pressure, slippery and hot with my juices.

“I’ll stop if it hurts.”

I shook my head. It didn’t hurt. He moved slowly, and my relaxed, sun-drenched body eased open to let him inside. I’d never felt anything like it. My heart pounded, and my stretched muscles fluttered around him. I looked into his eyes, happy to surrender to him. His to be used.

We were going to be late meeting the Halls.

Oh, there, ouch—too much. I squeaked, and he stopped. I was so close. I wanted him so badly, but we needed to work our way up to the whole fist. He pulled himself free and returned with three fingers.

At first I was disappointed, but a thumb on my clit and his pinky up my ass pushed the disappointment out of my mind. He thrust into me, stroking with the pads of his fingers, and I had so much pent-up sexual craziness that I came on his hand almost immediately. He massaged my G-spot as I came. After my orgasm subsided, he slapped my ass and told me to hurry it up. I lay on my back in the sun, catching my breath, while he headed into the room to change.

What a day. Now I had to pretend to be wifey for him. I could do that. Without panties.

# # #

It didn’t take long to throw a dress on. Scott checked to make sure I’d been true to my word, delighted to find I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“When we get back here,” he promised, “I’m going to destroy you.”

“Please,” I whispered back.

We looked all sorts of prim and proper when we walked out to the bar. It overlooked the sparsely populated, guests-only beach. A few kids played in the surf, and some adults sunbathed.

Percival and Anne sat at a table for six, each staring at their smart phones. Anne set hers down and welcomed us warmly. Percival glanced up, nodded, and returned to whatever he was looking at. We ordered drinks and exchanged the normal small talk about the flight down, the weather, etc. They pointed out the
Nomisma
, moored a few hundred yards offshore.

The boat was nothing like I’d imagined. For whatever reason, when I thought yacht I thought sailboat. This was… not that. The thing was probably the size of six RVs piled in a triangle – a white, sleek thing that stank of money. Holy crap.

Percival began paying attention when we talked about the yacht. I’d seen expressions like the one he wore on particularly proud parents. I didn’t recall that expression around his daughter at her art show, but gazing at the
Nomisma
thrilled him. “That’s my baby girl.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“She. All boats are female.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Where exactly are you from, Mackenzie?”

“Iowa,” I said.

“What does your father do?”

Of course the question would make sense in this kind of a context, but I couldn’t help the blush coming to my cheeks. Scott stepped in on my behalf.

“Take it easy on her. She’s new to all this.”

“I just asked what her father did. I didn’t ask for her credit score.” Percival and Anne laughed. I was in for a long few days.

“If you really want to know, my father runs a feed store.”

“Feed?”

“Like cows, pigs, horses. Farm stuff.”

“I suppose that makes sense for Iowa,” Anne said.

I had killed the conversation. Scott squeezed my hand under the table. He interjected, talking about baseball, which was starting soon, and distracted Percival from me.

I gazed around the bar as they spoke. The roof was thatched cabana-style, and a fresh ocean breeze blew in around us. The drinks were strong and good, all made with top-shelf liquor because they probably didn’t have bottom-shelf stuff here. Everyone in the bar was beautiful, and about half the women wore bikinis and varying degrees of cover-ups. The other half, myself and Anne included, wore summery cocktail dresses. Anne’s was a bit stuffier than most, but mine was a light pink halter top with a flouncy skirt. I felt like I fit in until I opened my mouth about Iowa and my dad, who managed to work eighty hours a week and still qualified for food stamps. Percival didn’t need to know that little nugget of information.

I spotted a familiar man at the bar, engrossed in his phone. I tried to remember where I knew him from, why he looked familiar, and it hit me. Isaac Cornell. Pop star. He’d won two Grammys last year for his songs “Lady in the Water” and “Drinks and Dance All Night.”

I tapped Scott’s leg and tried to subtly point. His smile straddled the line between cute and condescending. I decided it was leaning towards cute, but he froze and tensed beside me. Giuliana PostvanderBerg walked around the bar and draped herself over Isaac. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and shifted so he could see the screen of his phone better.

“No way,” I murmured.

Percival’s welcoming smile preemptively announced the couple would be joining us. Scott sunk into his chair.

“Scott, baby!” A glass in one hand, she swooped in to give him a hug, leaning over and giving him—and me because of where I was sitting—an epic view of her fake breasts and sheer, lacy bra. She transitioned to me, wrapping skinny arms around me. I caught a whiff of her drink and realized it wasn’t a glass of water like I’d thought. Isaac slumped into a chair, not looking up from his phone.

“I’m so sorry,” she cooed. “I don’t remember your first name.”

I really had to remember that jab. So simple, so effective. I smiled my prettiest smile and told her my name.

“Giuliana and her friend are coming with us,” Anne announced.

Scott seemed to sink lower in his seat. I shifted in my chair and sipped my mojito. I didn’t know the story between Scott and Giuliana but was reminded of seeing Monica bouncing on top of Lucas.

“I’m going to show Mackenzie the ruins at Tulum this evening. We haven’t had a proper honeymoon yet, so I thought we’d take tonight and do a romantic dinner and outing.”

“You can’t screw her at a historical site,” Giuliana bleated over the rim of her glass. Percival chuckled.

“Let them be. I’m surprised they’d want to spend time with us at all,” Anne said.

“Well, anchors aweigh at 0800 hours exactly. Not a minute later!”

“We’ll be there, don’t you worry.” Scott stood and practically dragged me away from the table, my unfinished (and quite delicious) mojito left behind. I almost asked about Giuliana but decided not to.

The date was everything I could have dreamed of. The ruins were amazing, and dinner delicious. We ate overlooking a beach and an ancient pyramid. I’d never been around something so old, so sacred. Scott was sweet and kind, and the evening felt like an honest-to-goodness first date. We talked about our families, about things we were into. I even opened up about comics a little. How many of them I read, how I loved the stories but when I was finished, I scoured each panel, scrutinizing the art and the composition.

When we got back to the room, we were too tired for sex. I know, I know, I didn’t think it was possible either. We stepped out on the balcony and dropped onto adjacent chaise lounges. He reached for my hand, and I took it. With the lights in the suite off, a million stars glowed over the ocean.

His shopper bought me a few things to sleep in, but I had one of my old college t-shirts, which barely covered my butt. I thought I looked cute, my legs long and bare, the fabric on my nipples keeping them at attention. Too tired for sex, but not too tired to want to look sexy.

Everything was perfect, except one thing bothered me. Common sense told me not to ask. I was of two minds. If what Scott and I had wasn’t a real thing, if it was merely transactional, I had no right to know. But today hadn’t felt like that. Today felt like I had a husband… maybe like a brand-new but weirdly serious boyfriend. I thought of the sex we’d had, the things I’d let him do, trusting him implicitly.

I thought Scott had fallen asleep. I said his name.

“Huh?” Not asleep, just lying in quiet, companionable silence.

I had an idea of the answer before I asked. “What’s the deal with you and Giuliana?” The energy flowing between our clasped hands changed, and I pulled mine away.

“Kenz, don’t.”

His tone confirmed everything I’d dreaded. I tried to be real with myself. I knew he was a man-whore, a total playboy. He was on the gossip sites regularly for hooking up with some Victoria’s Secret Angel, female athlete, actress, or Playboy Bunny. I’d seen how Giuliana looked at him. They’d been together before, I knew that. She was gorgeous, if a little artificial and anorexic. Why wouldn’t he want her? But it seemed like something more.

“I just want to know.”

“We’ve hooked up a few times.”

I nodded, though I hated hearing it. This wasn’t real, I reminded myself. I had no claim on this man. I was helping him make a bunch of money, and he was paying me handsomely for my time. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Kenz?”

“What?”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. I wished I was fine. I really did. But I kept seeing her skinny, vodka stinking face. “Is that it? Just hooked up?”

“Please, babe, let’s not dig up old demons.”

“I’m going to be stuck on a boat with her for a week or more. I think I deserve to know about the history there.”

He sighed, long and low. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the lounge. He clasped his hands between his knees and let his head hang.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Why does she look at you like you’re meat and she’s starving?”

“More like I’m vodka and she hasn’t had a drink in twenty minutes.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“But true.” He was quiet for a moment. I focused on the stars and picked at a loose thread on the edge of the lounge cushion. I didn’t want to hear this and should tell him to never mind. I could kiss him and go to bed. But the reality couldn’t be as bad as what lurked in my imagination. I thought of the things he did to me, the way he dominated me and made me his toy. Had he done the same to her? We sat in silence, and I almost let it go. Willed my body to stand up and go inside. To forget this.

“Scott?”

He sighed again, a bigger one than last time, if such a thing was possible. “I’m going to be honest with you. Completely honest. And I bet I’m going to regret it.”
Then don’t say it
. “You know how Hall wants me married?”

“Yeah.” Oh, maybe this was worse than I thought. Maybe I didn’t want to hear this. No, I knew I didn’t want to hear this at all.

“I’d talked to her about getting married.”

“You were engaged?” I couldn’t keep the shock and outrage out of my voice.

“No. Not really. We talked about getting married because the arrangement would be mutually beneficial. I never loved her, and she never loved me.”

“But you were going to marry her!”

“And then I met you, and we got drunk. I found out you were planning to dick me over, and even that seemed preferable to marrying Giuliana.”

My mouth dried, and I could feel myself withdrawing. I guess that had been a compliment? I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. My palms were sweaty. Once again—why should this bother me? This was business.

“I’m not going to get some Giuliana/Isaac Cornell venereal disease, am I?” The words were snottier than I meant—no, strike that. My statement came out just as snotty as I’d intended, which was pretty snotty.

“This isn’t going to get us anywhere. I thought we were going to take the week and—”

“No.”

He lifted his head and looked at me. “No?”

“I can’t just pretend. I mean, today was great, but I’m still your whore. Your second choice whore, apparently.”

“Kenz—”

“Don’t.”

“We’re both tired. Let’s just go to bed before we say shit we regret.”

I knew he was right, but I didn’t like the icy warning creeping into his tone. I didn’t like being spoken to like that. I stood up and got a flash of breeze where I should have been wearing underwear.

“Why do you keep trying to sugarcoat it? You know I’m basically your whore.”

“Mackenzie.”
Jesus, I wanted him to stop saying my name
. “You came to Las Vegas to lose me almost a hundred million dollars. You get that, right? I know when we get up into millions and billions it all seems to turn into pretend money, but my business—my family—isn’t going to stay viable without this merger. The entire reason we’re together, the reason you dumped your drink on me to meet me, was to ruin that.”