MY FAIR BILLIONAIRE (12 page)

When he stepped out of his boxers, he was full and ready for her. Ava caught her breath at the sight of him, so confident, so commanding, so very, very male. He lay alongside her and draped an arm over her waist, then lowered his head to hers, pushed back the netting on her hat, and kissed her deeply. She curled her fingers around his neck and pulled him closer, vying momentarily for possession of the kiss before giving herself over to him completely. He covered her breast with one hand, kneading gently. Then he followed the lace of her bra until he found the front closure, unsnapping it easily. After that, his bare hand was on her bare flesh, warm and insistent, his skin exquisitely rough.

He moved his mouth from hers, dragging kisses over her cheek, across her forehead, along her jaw. Then lower still, along her neck and collarbone, between her breasts. Then on her breast, tracing the tip of his tongue along the lower curve before opening wide over the sensitive peak. As he drew her into his mouth, he flattened his tongue against her nipple, tasting her there as intimately as he had everywhere else. Those little coils began to tighten inside her again, eliciting a groan of need.

Peyton seemed to understand, because he levered himself above her and returned his mouth to hers. As he kissed her, he entered her, long and hard and deep. Ava sighed at the feeling of completion that came over her. Never had she felt fuller or more whole. She opened her legs wider to accommodate him and he gave her a moment to adjust. Then he withdrew and bucked his hips forward again. Ava cried out at the second thrust, so perfect was the joining of their bodies. When Peyton braced himself on his forearms, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he propelled himself forward again. She lifted her hips to meet him, and together they set a rhythm that started off leisurely before building to a forceful crescendo.

They came together, both crying out at the fierceness of their release. Peyton rolled onto his back, bringing Ava with him so that she was the one on top, gazing down at him. His breathing was as rapid and ragged as her own, his skin as slick and hot with perspiration. But he smiled as he looked at her, moving a hand to the back of her head to unpin her hat and free her hair until it tumbled around them both.

He was so beautiful. So intoxicating. Such a generous, powerful lover. She’d been thinking she would be able to handle him better as an adult. She’d thought her hormones had calmed down to the point where she would be in control of herself this time. She’d thought she would be immune to the adolescent repercussions of her first time with Peyton.

Wrong. She had been so wrong. He was more potent now than he had ever been, and she was even more susceptible to him. Her control had evaporated the moment he covered her mouth with his. The repercussions this time would be nothing short of cataclysmic. Because where she had responded to Peyton before as a girl who knew nothing of love and little of the workings of her own body, now she responded to him as a woman who understood those things too well. But it wasn’t the physical consequences she might worry about in a situation like this—he had slipped on a condom before entering her. It was her heart. A part of her that was considerably more fragile.

And a part that was far more prone to breaking.

Nine

T
he second time Peyton awoke in Ava’s bedroom, he was just as disoriented as he’d been the first time. Only this time it wasn’t due to overindulgence in alcohol. This time, it was due to overindulgence in Ava.

Like that first time, he lay facedown, but today he was under the sheet instead of on top of it. And today he was sharing Ava’s pillow, because his, he vaguely recalled, had been thrust under her hips during a particularly passionate moment, only to be cast blindly aside when he turned her over. Her face was barely an inch from his, and her eyes were closed in slumber, one of them obscured by a wayward strand of dark auburn. She was lying on her side, the sheet down around her waist, her arm folded over her naked breasts, her hands burrowed under the pillow. She looked tumbled and voluptuous and sexy as hell, and he swelled to life, just looking at her.

Probably shouldn’t bother her with that again, though. Yet. A body did need some kind of refueling before it undertook those kinds of gymnastics a second—third? Fourth? They all got so jumbled together—time.

As carefully as he could, he climbed out of bed, halting before going anywhere to make sure he hadn’t woken her up. Coffee. He needed coffee. She doubtless would, too, once she was conscious. He located his boxers and trousers and pulled both on, shrugged into his shirt without buttoning it, then made his way to the kitchen. He still couldn’t get over the smallness of this place and wondered again where Ava’s main residence was. Wondered again, too, why she was so determined that he not find out where it was. Maybe she would take him home with her, to her real home, now that the two of them had—

He halted the thought right there. There was no reason for him to think today would be any different from yesterday, especially considering the history the two of them shared. The last time he and Ava had spontaneously combusted like that, not a single thing had changed from the day before to the day after. They’d both gone right back to their own worlds and returned to their full-blown antagonism. Nothing had been different. Except that they’d both known just how explosive—and how amazing—things could be between them. Physically, anyway.

Which, now that he thought about it, might have been why they had both been so determined to return to business as usual. It had scared the crap out of him when he was a teenager, the way he and Ava came together that night. Not just because he hadn’t understood why it had happened or how it could have been so unbelievably good, but because of how much he’d wanted it to happen again. That had probably scared him most of all. Somehow he’d known he would never have enough of Ava. And talk about forbidden fruit. He’d had to work even harder after that night to make sure he stayed at arm’s length.

It hadn’t made any sense. He’d still disliked her, even after the two of them made love...ah, he meant had sex. Hadn’t he? He’d still thought she was vain, shallow and snotty. Hadn’t he? And she’d made clear she still didn’t like him, either. Hadn’t she? So why had he, every day during the rest of his senior year, fantasized about being with her again? Sometimes he’d even fantasized about being with her in ways that had nothing to do with sex—taking in a midnight showing of
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
at the Patio Theater or sledding in Dan Ryan Woods. Hell, he’d even entertained a brief, lunatic idea about inviting her to the Emerson senior prom.

Sex,
he told himself now, just as he’d told himself then. He’d been consumed by thoughts of Ava after that night because he associated her with sex after that night. He hadn’t been a virgin then, but he hadn’t seen nearly as much action as his reputation at Emerson had made others believe. Adolescent boys in the throes of testosterone overload weren’t exactly picky when it came to sex with a willing participant. They didn’t have to like the person they hooked up with. They only had to like the physical equipment that person had. Hell, even grown men weren’t all that discriminating.

In high school, with Ava, it had just been one of those weird chemical reactions between two people who had nothing in common otherwise. Who would never have anything in common otherwise. Great sex. Bad rapport. There was no reason to think last night had changed that. Yeah, the two of them got along better these days than they had in high school—usually. But that was only because they’d matured and developed skills for dealing with people they didn’t want to deal with. Sure, they could burn up the sheets in a sexual arena. But in polite society? Probably still best to stay at arm’s length.

Yeah. That had to be why they’d ended up in bed together last night. So it made sense to conclude that today’s morning after wouldn’t be any different from their morning after sixteen years ago. Except that he and Ava probably wouldn’t yell at each other the way they had then, and he was reasonably certain he wouldn’t have to climb out the bedroom window to avoid being seen. He was likewise certain that Ava would agree.

A sound behind him made him spin around, and he saw her standing in the doorway looking like a femme fatale from a fabulous ’40s film. She was wrapped in a robe made of some flimsy, silky-looking fabric covered with big red flowers, and her hair spilled over her forehead and danced around her shoulders.

“You’re still here,” she said, sounding surprised.

“Where else would I be?”

She lifted one shoulder and let it drop, a gesture that made the neck of the robe open wider, revealing a deep V of creamy skin. It was with no small effort that Peyton drew his gaze back up to her face.

“I don’t know,” she said. “When I woke up and you weren’t there, I just thought...”

When she didn’t finish, he said, “You thought I climbed out your bedroom window and down the rainspout, and that you’d see me at school on Monday?”

He had meant to make her smile. Instead, her brows knitted downward. “Kind of.”

In other words, Ava was thinking last night was a repeat of the one sixteen years ago, too. That, once again, nothing had changed between the two of them. That this morning it was indeed back to business as usual. Otherwise, she wouldn’t look as somber as she did. Otherwise, the room would have been filled with warmth and relief instead of tension and anxiety. Otherwise, they would both be happy.

“Coffee?” he asked, to change the subject. Then he remembered he hadn’t fixed any yet. “I mean, I was going to make coffee, but I don’t know where it is.”

“In the cabinet to your right.”

He opened it and discovered not just coffee, but an assortment of other groceries, as well. He remembered from his previous visit how well stocked the bathroom was, too. Just how often did Ava use this place, anyway?

Neither of them said a word as he went about the motions of setting up the coffeemaker and switching it on. With each passing moment, the silence grew more awkward.

“So,” Peyton said, “what’s on the agenda for today? It’s Saturday. That should leave things wide open.”

For a moment, Ava didn’t reply. But she looked as if she were thinking very hard about something. “Actually, I’m thinking maybe it’s time to make a dry run,” she finally said.

The comment confused him. Wasn’t that what they’d done last night? And look how it had turned out. All awkward and uncertain this morning. “What do you mean?” he asked, just to be sure.

She hesitated again before speaking. “I mean maybe it’s time we launched you into society to see how things go.”

He felt strangely panicked. “But you said we still had a lot of stuff to go over.”

“No, you said that.”

“Oh, yeah. But that’s because there is.”

Once again she hesitated. “Maybe. But that’s another reason to go ahead and wade into the waters of society. To see where there might still be trouble spots that need improvement. Who knows? You might feel right at home and won’t need any more instruction.”

He doubted that. As much as he’d learned in the last couple of weeks, he wasn’t sure he would ever feel comfortable in Ava’s world, even if they spent the next ten years studying for it. And why did she sound kind of hopeful about him not needing any more instruction? It was almost as though she wanted to get rid of him.

Oh, right. After last night, she probably did. But then, he wanted to get rid of her, too, right? So why was he digging in?

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“There’s a fund-raiser for La Rabida Children’s Hospital at the Palmer House tonight. It will be perfect. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. It’s invitation only, but I’m sure if news got around that Peyton Moss, almost billionaire, was in town, you could finagle one.”

“Why can’t I just be your guest?” No sooner did he ask the question than did it occur to him that she might already be taking someone else. His panic multiplied.

Her gaze skittered away from his. “Because I wasn’t invited.”

His mouth dropped open at that. Ava Brenner hadn’t been invited to an event where everyone who was anyone would be making an appearance?

“Why not?” he asked.

She said nothing for a moment, only pulled the sides of her robe closed and cinched the belt tight. She continued to avoid his gaze when she replied. “I, um...I had kind of a falling-out with the woman who organized it. Since then, I tend not to show up on any guest list she’s associated with.” Before he could ask for more details, she hurried on, “But a word in the right ear will put you on the guest list with no problem.”

Wow. It took a brave soul—or someone with a death wish—to exclude the queen bee of Chicago’s most ruthless rich-kid high school from a major social event. Whoever organized this thing must have come to Chicago recently and didn’t realize what kind of danger she was courting, ignoring Ava.

“Then who’s going to put that word into the right ear?” he asked.

“A friend of mine who’s attending owes me a favor. I’ll have her contact the coordinator this morning. You should get a call by this afternoon.”

Of course. No doubt Ava had lots of friends attending this thing who owed her favors that could get done at a moment’s notice. Favors to pay her back for not walking all over them at Emerson and grinding them into dust.

“But...”

“But what?” she asked. “Either you’re ready or you’re not. If we can find that out tonight, all the better.”

Right. Because if he was ready, then the two of them could part ways sooner rather than later. And that would be for the best. He knew it. Ava knew it. They didn’t belong together now any more than they had sixteen years ago.

“Will you come, too?” he asked.

“I told you. I wasn’t invited.”

“But—”

“You’ll be fine going solo.”

“But—”

“You can report back to me tomorrow.”

“But—”

“But
what?
”

This time, it was Peyton’s turn to hesitate. “Couldn’t you come with me as my guest or something?”

He’d thought she would jump at the chance. Wouldn’t it be the perfect opportunity to stick it to whoever had kept her off the guest list, showing up anyway? Invited, nonetheless, even if by default? She could swoop in with all that imperiousness that was second nature to her and be the center of everything, the same way she’d been in high school. Peyton even found himself kind of looking forward to seeing the old Ava in action.

But she didn’t look or sound anything like the old Ava when she replied, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Then I’m not going.”

She drove her gaze back to his, and for an infinitesimal moment, he did indeed see a hint of the old Ava. The flash of her eyes, the ramrod posture and the haughty set to her mouth. But as quickly as she surfaced, the old Ava disappeared.

“Fine,” she said wearily. “I’ll go. But only as an observer, Peyton. You’ll be on your own when it comes to mingling.”

“Mingling?” he repeated distastefully. That sounded about as much fun as
taking tea.

“And anything else that comes up.”

He wanted to argue, but backed down. For now. It was enough that he’d convinced her to come with him to this thing. Okay, to
come,
even if it wasn’t technically
with him.
They could work on that part later. What was weird was that Peyton discovered he actually did kind of want to work on that part. He wanted to work on that part very much. Which was totally different from how he’d felt on that morning after sixteen years ago. In a word,
hmm...

So now that he had the
who,
the
when
and the
what,
all he had to do was figure out the
why.
And, most confounding of all, the
how.

* * *

Ava studied her reflection in the mirror of a fitting room at Talk of the Town, feeling the way her clients must. Mostly, she was wondering if she would be able to fool others into thinking this was her dress, not a rental, and that she was rich and glamorous and refined like everyone else at the party, not some poser who was struggling to make payments on the business loan that had bumped her up—barely—to middle class.

That was why most women came to Talk of the Town. To look wealthier and more important than they really were. Sometimes they wanted to impress a potential employer. Sometimes it was for a school reunion where they wanted to show friends and acquaintances—and prom queens and bullies—that they were flourishing. Others simply wanted to move in a level of society they’d never moved in before, even if for one night, to see what it was like.

Fantasies. That was really what they rented at Talk of the Town. And a fantasy was what Ava was trying to create for herself tonight. Because only in a fantasy would she be welcomed in the society where she had once held dominion. And only in a fantasy would she and Peyton walk comfortably in that world together. Sixteen years ago, that would have been because no one moving in her circle wanted to include him at the party. Today, Peyton was welcome, but she wasn’t.

Before Peyton’s return to Chicago, Ava hadn’t given a fig about moving in that world again. But since his arrival two weeks ago—and making love with him last night—she’d begun to feel differently. Not about wanting to rule society again. But about at least being welcome there. Because that was Peyton’s world now. And she wanted to be where he was.