The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) (22 page)

I’m tipsy and warm as I lie against his body on the blanket – but I think of what’s coming tomorrow, and a wave of sorrow suddenly engulfs me.

“I don’t want to leave…” I murmur.

“It’s just for a little while,” he whispers back.

“I know, I just… I don’t want to leave.”

He smiles at me. “A deal’s a deal.”

I draw myself up on my forearms so I can look into his eyes.

“Then give me everything you promised me,” I whisper as I kiss him.

He leads me by the hand into the glass-enclosed penthouse, which is as dark as the roof outside. We pass by shapes in the darkness – luxurious leather sofas and chairs and tables – until we reach a bedroom with a king-size bed.

Grant pulls me inside the room and shuts the door. I let him kiss me everywhere on my body as his fingers loosen pieces of my clothing, one by one.

Before I know it, I am standing naked in front of him, while he still wears his pants and shirt. I feel an erotic charge in the imbalance; I feel vulnerable yet sexy, an object of desire, nude in front of this man I desire so much.

He pulls back the sheets and then lifts me onto the bed. As I lie there on my back, he parts my legs and begins kissing my belly… then my thighs… then the spot where my legs meet my body. I sigh and close my eyes and grip my fingers in his hair, urging him to go where I want to feel him most – but he resists.

I playfully force him towards my pussy – but he refuses to kiss me. I can feel his breath on my lips, tickling my skin, making me ache with anticipation –

And then suddenly I feel his mouth envelop me, hot and wet and lustful. After a minute of licking and playing with my lips, he pauses long enough to slick down one finger with his mouth, then slowly inserts it inside me.

I moan as he begins softly stroking inside me. At the same time, he licks my clit in a hypnotic rhythm. His other hand drifts across my belly, soft as a feather. The combination of gentle touches outside me, tender caresses inside me, and delicious sucking on my most sensitive parts pushes me slowly but inexorably toward orgasm.

Gentle contractions spread through my body, slow and long and sweet. I luxuriate in the feeling, which reaches a plateau of pleasure and stays there for minutes on end. Not overwhelming, just intoxicating. I murmur and moan with each new pulse of my muscles, each new contraction of my core.

After my orgasm subsides, Grant steps back from the bed and undresses. I watch as he reveals the parts of his body I love so much, one by one: his sculpted chest. His washboard abs. Those powerful shoulders. His bulging biceps. Then the pants come off, and I get to see his massive thighs… and something else massive, bulging in his boxers. Then those come off, too, and I get to see his cock, long and thick, bobbing lustily upright as his underwear falls to the ground.

He crawls across the bed towards me and I loop my arms around his neck as he enters me. I moan and purr with pleasure as he slowly eases inside me, inch by luscious inch. He goes so slow that I’m able to keep my eyes open the entire time. When he finally hits bottom, his pelvis firmly against me, we stay like that for a long moment, just staring into each other’s eyes.

Then he begins to move, slowly, gently, rocking back and forth inside me. We never lose eye contact unless we kiss – and we kiss often. His tongue gently caresses mine, like a counterpoint to his manhood deep inside me. He’s so hard, but he moves so gently… and I bask in how feminine he makes me feel, how sexy I feel with such elemental masculinity surrounding me, embracing me, filling me.

We stay like that for a very long time, him not moving too fast, me not urging him forward – just lost and drunk in each other’s eyes, enjoying the pleasure of our bodies riding the plateau before orgasm.

Gradually, though, he begins to move faster, and I can hear his breathing growing shallower. It turns me on, and I kiss him harder, deeper. He shifts my legs up so that my knees are bent over his shoulders, and suddenly everything feels different. I’ve grown accustomed to him being inside me in one position; with this new angle, he’s deeper now, the velvet skin of his cock stroking different spots. Growing excitement starts mounting inside me. Before I know it, the stream of pleasure has turned into a giant cascade, and I’m screaming his name as I rake my fingers across his back.

“Look me in the eyes – look me in the eyes when you come,” he commands, and I do my best to keep my eyelids open as ecstasy slams through my body like a hurricane.

He lets loose a howl of animal lust, and I can feel him bursting inside me with spasm after spasm. The sensation – and the sound he makes – doubles my own pleasure, both psychological and physical, and I come in an uncontrolled jumble of screams and orgasmic contractions. We end up like that, me whimpering, him grunting, our bodies still joined, as we stare into one another’s eyes and kiss once more.

I open my eyes.

It’s morning.

I don’t remember falling asleep. Not that anybody ever remembers falling asleep – but I don’t remember anything leading up to it, other than Grant being inside me.

The memory immediately makes me a little horny.

I turn over in bed. I’m still in the glass-enclosed bedroom, and sunlight is streaming through the window.

There he is beside me.

I just lie there and drink in his beautiful face, as handsome as any sculptor’s masterpiece.

His eyelids slowly open.

“…hey, you,” he says sleepily.

“Hey, you,” I say, and smile – but a wave of sadness washes over me. This might be the last time I ever wake up with him for a very long while.

Actually… this might be the last time I wake up with him,
ever.

He can see the shift of emotion in my face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just… I’m worried.”

He reaches out and caresses my cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.”

He leans across the bed and kisses me.

I feel the warmth of his body under the sheets, and I wrap my arms around him, drawing him closer.

He lets his weight settle down on me, and we wrap each other in our arms and kisses.

He’s not hard – yet. But I can feel him between my legs, getting larger and firmer, the heat slowly intensifying along with our kisses.

I roll him over – actually, I prod him and he goes along with it, since I couldn’t physically overpower him if I tried – and lie on top of him.

He brushes the hair out of my eyes as we stare at each other.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeats.

“I know,” I lie.

We kiss some more, and eventually make love.

The entire time, I feel a struggle inside me, a battle between sadness and joy.

Joy that I have him here with me now…

Sadness that the moment will never last.

When I come, I start to cry.

He kisses away my tears, but he can’t kiss away the pain.

Going back to Marcel’s restaurant is basically the most brutal return to reality
ever.

As we return to the restaurant hideaway, it hits me square in the face: this is really happening. I’m leaving. And I don’t know if I’ll ever see Grant again.

I am on the verge of tears the rest of the morning.

JP and Dominique are moving to the new safe house ahead of Grant. He will drop me off with the smuggler first, but after that, he’ll join his friends… without me.

I don’t have anything to pack, so I just concentrate on tying up what few loose ends I can. At Grant’s request, I transfer three million to an offshore account for Marcel. Then I set up a string of smaller accounts that Grant can access – or give access to – in order to pay anyone who might help him.

I back up the laptop to a secret server – all the bank account information, plus the GPS tracking program I wrote. It’s someplace Epicurus will never find, and even if he could, any attempt to hack the files will cause them to overwrite and be lost forever.

Once that is done, I dilly-dally. I don’t want to leave, so I do the computer hacker version of surfing the web.

The last place I go is the forum where Mailin and I talked the other night.

There is a message for me:

Duplass agreed to your terms, no strings attached. You can come back with us to the United States. PLEASE CONTACT ME.

My heart rises up in my throat. I don’t want to believe him… after all, he lied to me before.

But…

I hit the button in the forum that will signal him.

A few seconds later, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice erupts from the speakers:
“Hi honey, how are you?”

Cut the shit, Mailin,
I type.
I’m not in the mood.

I guess I fucked up yesterday, huh?

Yeah, you could say that.

But I’m determined to make up for it. I badgered Duplass, and he finally agreed to take you back with us to the U.S.

In exchange for what? Me having to testify against Grant?

I don’t think so. But they’ll probably want some information.

That’s not all they’ll want. I don’t trust that guy AT ALL.

So does that mean you’re not coming back with us?

No. I’m doing my own thing.

Oh.

I don’t know when I’ll be in contact again, so… this is basically me saying goodbye.

For how long?

I don’t know.

I’m sorry, Eve. I really tried. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but I did. But in the end, I have to do what they say. They still own me for another 14 months and 5 days.

Wow – you’re keeping track down to the day, huh?

Of course I am. I hate it here, Eve. I hate being their whipping boy. I know it sounds fucked up, considering how much danger you’re in… but I’m really jealous of you. I know you’re afraid, but you’re LIVING. You’re out there dancing on the edge of the cliff, and me… I’m in a fucking prison cell.

‘Dancing on the edge of the cliff.’

I think back to my dinner the night before with Grant. How I really
had
felt alive.

At least you get out in 14 more months,
I type.

14 months, 4 days, and a glorious arising.

I smile.
Good luck. And thanks for trying to help me, Mailin.

You’re welcome. Eve?

Yeah?

There’s something I want to tell you.

I wince. No – please, not now –

But the words appear anyway:

I love you.

Damn it.

I’ve always wanted to tell you, but… well, I’m telling you now. I love you.

I feel awful as I type,
You’re a really good friend, Mailin.

There’s no answer for a long time.

Then,
Is that all I am to you?

Mailin… you’re like my brother. I really care for you, but –

I get it. I understand. If I were you, Grant Carlson is the kind of guy I’d want to be with, too.

Except I’m not going to get to be with him.

Good luck, Eve. I hope it works out.

Goodbye, Mailin.

Goodbye, Eve.

And that was the end.

I walk out of the bedroom, laptop in hand. I want to talk to Grant about a few issues with his offshore accounts, the ones he’s planning to use to pay any future co-conspirators.

I’m about to head down the stairs when I hear his voice coming from the next room over.

It’s the bedroom Dominique shares with JP.

I’m about to knock on the slightly ajar door when Dominique speaks.

She’s talking in French, so there’s no way I can understand what she’s saying, but I can interpret her tone of voice just fine. She sounds tender… comforting…

Seductive.

Grant says something back in French. He sounds depressed. Anguished.

Shit!

I curse my high school Spanish. Super helpful in Los Angeles, but basically useless the last 48 hours.

I could
interrupt them, but Grant and Dominique won’t tell me the truth about their conversation anyway. There’s no way to find out what they’re saying unless JP hears them and translates for me. But JP’s not around, so he
can’t
hear them –

Unless I record them.

I feel slightly dirty as I bring up the soundboard program, the one with Al Pacino’s voice clips, and press RECORD.

I remind myself that I’m spying on an international fugitive, that I’m a hacker who has broken dozens of laws in the last 24 hours alone, and that I’m now wanted by the FBI. Electronic eavesdropping? Pffft. Minor league.

That doesn’t make me feel any better.

They continue talking for almost a full minute. Listening is like torture – her voice is so velvety, so alluring… and he’s giving in. I can hear it. Whatever she’s saying, it’s working.

Then there’s silence, and I hear the unmistakable sound of a kiss. That brief, sharp
mwah
of lips breaking contact with skin.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I push open the door.

They’re sitting on the bed. Grant’s back is towards me; Dominique faces his side. As soon as she sees the door move, she jerks back from his face like his skin is a hot stove.

I stand there staring at her. She straightens up rebelliously and stares me down like
I don’t give a damn WHAT you saw
.

Grant turns around, looking guilty as hell.

I want to scream, I want to run –

But then I notice the lip-shaped outline of lipstick on his cheek, not his lips.

He wasn’t kissing her.
She
was kissing him – and on the side of his face.

That makes me feel marginally better… the way that breaking one leg feels better than breaking both of them.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Grant says.