The Billionaire’s Desires Vol. 1 (3 page)

“Is everything okay? You usually don't call me after midnight!”

“Oscar's decided at six months old that he's big enough to party all night long. And I just had an argument with Alex, he's stormed out slamming the door behind him. I need to talk to someone.”

It feels like deja-vu. I've already heard this one before. Amandine, the compassionate sucker at your service!

“Camille, I'm sorry to hear about what happened, but I'm exhausted and I need to go to bed. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“You could at least give me five minutes! I guess this is what happens when you hang around with snobs, they're rubbing off on you!”

“I'm not hanging around with snobs, I'm spending time with exciting billionaires, of course it's going to change me a little. Good night, kiss my nephew for me.”

This time you didn't get me, my dear!

Lately our relationship has been tense. My sister has a hard time accepting that our paths in life have gone in such different directions. For twenty years, she was my role model. Now the roles have reversed: she wants to have my life, my freedom, my carefree existence. She's been trying to bring me down, constantly badgering me with annoying phone calls so she can complain and criticise my choices and my lifestyle. Tonight she didn't get the last word in, and I don't want her to ruin an evening that was so...special.

I decide to ignore her furious text messages and slide into my deliciously soft and comfortable bed. Turning off the light, I start to get flashbacks of my face to face encounter with Gabriel. Gabriel. I already called him by his sweet, first name. In my mind, at least, because I would never be so bold as to do it in real life. He doesn't even know my name and, a priori, that's the least of his worries. I don't get a chance to replay the scene over in my mind, I fall asleep before getting to his remark about my tongue being “certainly exquisite but much too loose for my tastes.”

I wake up with the roosters at seven-thirty am. When I realise where I am, a large smile spreads over my face. I slept like a baby, I feel fantastic, ready for the day, ready to see him again, to devour him with my eyes. I slowly stretch and pull myself out of my royal bed, then jump up and down like a little kid. I've never been much of a morning person, but today I'm overjoyed, impatient. I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, untangle my hair, put on a little bit of makeup. Coming back into the room I slide on my nicest pair of jeans, a pale pink scalloped sweater and my flat ankle boots. No sense in wearing any jewellery at this hour, I don't think I'm going to run into too many people at breakfast.

Before going down to the large veranda and drinking half a gallon of black coffee, I decide to send Emilie an email confirming that I received the return train ticket. I hope I get a chance to interview Gabriel Diamonds before I leave. I don't know exactly when we could get a chance to do it, but I intend to listen to him carefully and grill him on his favourite wines. After all, that's what I'm here for, and Eric would kill me if I came back empty-handed.

There, it's done. I'm starting to feel the lack of caffeine in my system, it's time for me to go down to breakfast. I hope I run into him on the way to the immense veranda; it's large glass panels offer a stunning view over the countryside. Well, maybe it's a little too early. A billionaire has other things to do than wake up at 8 am on a Sunday morning, especially after a night of drinking. He probably eats his breakfast in a more secluded fashion, in his own flat. Maybe he's sitting across from a gorgeous young woman wearing a silk bathrobe, or completely naked, having just stepped out of her relaxing bath to recover from a wild night...

Easy there, overactive imagination, easy now!

Once again I am blown away by the beauty of my surroundings. The glass veranda overlooking the dazzling, colourful park stretches out for yards and yards. Dozens of tables, elegantly laid and dressed with lovely white and blue porcelain crockery, welcome guests to sit down and savour a scrumptious variety of dishes. A smiling, polite waiter seats me immediately and announces that he's at my service. In less than a minute, Nicolas returns with a mug of Nicaraguan coffee. The aroma is divine. I burn my lips slightly while tasting it, but the temptation is too strong and the black liquid warms me right up. Which is just as well, because I feel that I came dressed for warmer weather.

I order a second cup and some scrambled eggs with diced tomatoes and Emmental cheese. I don't know what's going to happen this morning, but something tells me I should get my strength up! Waiting for my food, I watch the people around me. Some of them say hello as our gazes meet, I return their greetings. Then suddenly I see him, on the other side of the veranda. He hasn't seen me, he's too busy to notice me. Three women straight out of a fashion magazine are sitting at his table, competing for his attention.

Did the gentleman order the 'harem' special for breakfast?

I stare at him eagerly, unaware that I'm doing so. I can't turn my eyes away from his gorgeous face, the proud and victorious way he holds his head. He's wearing a navy blue V-neck sweater with camel patches on the elbows. Rather tight-fitting, the shirt shows off his body. A few minutes later, he catches me in the act of spying on him. I read the surprise in his eyes, then the amusement. I blush instantly, without really knowing why.

Breathe, Amandine, breathe.

Nicolas flies to my rescue, bringing a plate of scrambled eggs, but I've already lost my appetite. I force myself to swallow a few mouthfuls, trying not to look towards the billionaire. It's a tough challenge, my neurons are firing wildly, but I resist as best as I can.

Don't think I'm one of those little poodles, I don't want to be mistaken for a groupie!

Suddenly I feel his presence behind me. Turning my head in his direction, I find myself face to face with him. Leaning forward, he whispers a few words in my ear, making me shiver.

“Don't catch cold, Little Miss Sassy. Coffee can warm you up, but it's never enough.”

His scent and his warmth intoxicate me. His breath smells of coffee, my favourite aroma. I want to say something in response, but before I get the chance he's already turned around and left. He was watching me, surely, otherwise how would he know what I drank? I sit there, speechless. How could a man get me into such a state? He destabilizes me, fascinates me, makes me feel new emotions, inexplicable. Delicious. Unbearable.

He's toying with me, nothing more! Why am I getting so carried away?

A few minutes later, Nicolas heads towards my table carrying a package on a silver tray.

“For you, Miss Baumann, from Mr. Diamonds.”

Astonished, I take what he's holding out to me and glance inside the package to see what it's inside. Gabriel Diamonds just sent me his navy blue sweater. The one he was wearing a few moments earlier.

Oh my god...what does this mean?

Two possibilities: either I refuse to play his game and ignore this chivalrous, but kind of strange gesture, or I opt for the more practical solution, which is to wear the sweater so I don't feel so cold. I opt for the second option; clothes are made to be worn after all! Once I'm wearing the navy blue sweater, the scent of this mysterious man envelopes me. A musky, woody, incredibly manly odour.

Before completely losing my mind, dazed by the sweet smell emanating from this divine yet slightly perverse cashmere, I try to regain a shred of my dignity. As I leave the veranda, I thank Nicolas for going through so much trouble for me. I climb the immense marble steps leading to the chateau, cross the large hall and take the winding corridor that leads to my room. My arms are crossed, my palms caress the delicate navy blue fabric, rather than the tanned skin of its owner.

Overactive imagination, Act II.

I almost trip when I see his silhouette standing in a corner two steps away from the door to my room. Leaning against the wall, he stares at me directly. His expression is first serious, strained, then gradually softens as I mechanically move in his direction. My arms are still crossed, I try not to change anything, to remain neutral, but I have a very hard time looking into his eyes.

“It's getting late, you've certainly taken your time!”

His voice is sarcastic, I mimic his tone.

“I didn't know anyone was waiting for me. You must be confusing me with someone else. Perhaps one of your fan club? The ones who had the pleasure of spoon-feeding you this morning?

Crap, he's going to figure out I was watching him at breakfast!

“I would have happily traded you for one of them, Miss...?”

“Amande. I mean, Amandine, Amandine Baumann.”

You can't remember your own name now? So embarrassing!

He stares at me for a few seconds, his proud and intense eyes glued on me, a tiny sneer on his lips. He's not blind, he knows what sort of effect he's having, and this disturbs me greatly.

“You were waiting for me so I could give you back your sweater, I suppose? Thanks for the friendly gesture, you can have it back now.”

“Believe me, Amande, there was nothing friendly about my gesture.”

A strange, almost threatening glow flashes through his eyes. I end up losing the game of who can stare at the other the longest. This man makes me feel so small, but I try to fight his desire to dominate me, to make me his puppet. He's not pulling my strings, but he has got on my nerves.

“I only accept presents from friends. Please know I can get dressed by myself, sir. I enjoy the freedom to do so every day.”

“Freedom is a very broad concept, Amande, merely an illusion for most mortals. To be free means to dominate, and that is precisely my speciality.”

“In your case, freedom comes with arrogance, judging from what I've heard. My freedom is simple. It doesn't exist to the detriment of others.”

Amandine, two points. Mr. Egomaniac, zero.

“Your confused babblings don't hurt me, Amande. I'm far too busy admiring the lips that are talking to me.”

My heart starts to beat faster. This mister know-it-all and his penetrating gaze exasperate me, but he's getting a rise out of me, too. When he mentions my lips, my entire body tenses up.

React, Amandine, don't let him reel you in!

“I'd better go now, sir, I have better things to do than philosophise with you. Here's your sweater, thank you for your concern, despite it being a bit paternalistic and condescend - ”

I don't have the chance to finish my sentence and take off his fiendish cashmere. His body is already pressed against mine. In one tenth of a second he's taken my two arms, pulled them up over my head and dominated me with all of his superb, wild sensuality. I am totally at his mercy. I feel his warm breath against my face, his intense, now dilated pupils swim into mine and paralyse me. I could fight, move, struggle, but my body decides to submit. He moves the tip of his fine and aquiline nose over my cheeks, I feel his heavy, staccato breath against my skin. His contact electrifies me, I'm in another state, I've never felt this before. In a tender and languid surge, he brings his lips close to mine, opens them, moistens them and finally, when I am about to beg him, he plunges in. He doesn't need to force anything, I welcome this carnal assault without any resistance. He growls, I moan. For several seconds, our tongues intertwine, seek each other out, dance away from each other, in a divine and terribly erotic waltz. I feel hot, I want more, I lean into him further so that no space comes between us. I feel all of his body tighten, he becomes more eager, more zealous. His hot, starving lips press harder against mine, his tongue explores the depths of my mouth, I moan again, despite myself. And then everything stops. Our mouths aren't touching anymore, he's moved backwards, without letting go of my wrists, which are still prisoners of his large hands. As he looks at me, I read something unusual in his expression: he is upset, almost devastated. But his inner control freak quickly takes charge. As he talks to me, his voice is astonishingly calm, serious, as if that epic kiss never happened.

“Careful, Amande, don't get too greedy. Meet me in my flat at noon, I'll have a little time to spend on you.”

I'm shocked, knocked out, liquified and he's talking about work? His coldness makes me freeze, I feel like I want to cry.

“And please do me the favour of bringing back my sweater. With some exceptions, I'm not the type to lend or share what belongs to me. I'm very possessive, Amande, especially when I really like something.”

I furtively slip back into my room and pause, leaning back against the door for several moments. The same door I just closed on this surreal episode. Arms twitching, eyes closed, head spinning, lips parted and still wet from that amazing kiss. I don't dare close my mouth for fear of erasing the divine sensation I can still taste a little. Try to breathe. There you go. Open your eyes. Look at something, anything, just stop staring into space.

“Alright, my dear, pull yourself together. It's not the first time you've ever kissed someone.”

“But not like that! That was completely different! What's wrong with me? What did he do to me?”

“It works, whatever it was!”

“Who am I talking to?”

“Yourself. I mean, yourself at fifteen and a half years old, giddy after your first kiss.”

“Right, it's all in my mind. That's great, just great.”

“A-man-di-ne! Amandine Baumann, you're head's got stuck in the clouds!”

At that point I catch myself mentally trying on the combination of “Amandine Diamonds”, and I collapse onto the bed, burying my head in the pillows, trying to stop this hysterical and grotesque spiral. I don't know whether to laugh or cry, and I figure I better call someone immediately. That way I can prevent myself from losing my head completely and talking to myself, for example. Lying on my stomach, I call my last contact without even checking to see who it was, and I wait nervously as the phone rings.