The Billionaire's Wife (22 page)

Nothing happened.

Of course. He probably didn't even have it hooked up. Like Anton
Waters had time to watch Dancing with the Stars or whatever. He was too busy
fucking his wife.

Running back to the closet, I grabbed one of Anton's perfectly
fitted cashmere sweaters from where it sat folded neatly on a shelf before
reclaiming a pair of jeans I'd left strewn on the floor two nights ago. Dressed
semi-decently, I ran back out to the bedroom and skipped down the stairs to the
fourth floor where Anton kept his office, a cozy room full of mahogany
furniture and even more books than he stored in his bedroom. The dark green and
cream walls made the place look like a gilded-age smoking room where the
gentlemen would retire after dinner to discuss things while the women
complained about how bad their husbands were in bed over cocktails.

Anton's desktop computer—a sleek, overpowered thing that
intimidated me with its sci-fi aesthetic—sat placidly on his desk. Wiggling the
mouse, I put the password in, though the shaking of my hands meant I had to
retype it three times, and opened a browser window.

Google stared back at me and I put my fingers on the keyboard.
Then I paused. Perhaps I should wait for Sadie like she told me? Certainly she
would have said something about Anton being dead... right?

So this is something else. Something really bad that needs a
friend to intervene. A buffer.

Hoo boy.

For once in my life, I decided to listen to Sadie. She was
usually right about things, and I wanted to trust her. Restlessly, I wandered
out of the office and downstairs to make myself some coffee, a nervous, aimless
task, but at least it gave me something to do with my hands. Just as I switched
the coffee maker on, the doorbell rang.

I jogged to the front door and peered out, then heaved a sigh of
relief. Sadie stood there. I opened the door.

"Hey Sa—" I began.

"Okay!" she shouted, pushing past me and into the
house. Under her arm was a stack of garishly-colored tabloids. "Don't
freak out!"

This was not good.

The shaking in my hands returned, and my breathing picked up.
Sadie grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a firm rattle, the tabloids
spilling to the fine marble floor of the entryway. "No!" she
commanded. "I said don't freak out!"

"How can I not freak out when you're yelling at me!" I
cried. My eyes fell to the technicolor mess on the creamy marble. It looked
like a pile of vomit. Trashy vomit. "What's with the tabloids?"

In answer, Sadie enveloped me in a fierce hug. "It's going
to be okay," she said.

Okay, I thought, now I know this is really bad. On trembling legs
I lowered myself to the floor, and Sadie took a step back to allow me to do so,
almost as though she were giving me a respectful space to mourn my dead. With
numb fingers I reached out and grabbed a National Enquirer.

WATERS AND WIFE'S DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS screamed the headline. And
there, beneath it, was a blurry night-vision picture of me sprawled over
Anton's lap, my bare ass in the air, as he spanked me in the back garden.

I knew it, I thought. I knew we couldn't get away with it.
Another picture of us as we got in a car, my face clear as day, hovered in the
lower corner of the front page, just in case no one knew exactly who I was.

The blood drained from my head and I sat heavily on the floor,
swaying. Numbly I picked up a copy of the Star. That one was even worse. A shot
of Anton and I on the balcony, a collar around my neck, the leash in Anton's
hand as he plowed me from behind. That had only been a few days ago.

"Oh my god," I breathed.

Sadie stood next to me, clearly feeling awkward.
"Well," she said at last, "at least your tits look good."

I gave a weak laugh. "They're blurred out."

"Yeah. But firm as hell. I mean... damn girl."

I shook my head. "This is... this is not good."

Sadie sat down next to me. "I don't know," she said.
"Look how a sex tape launched Paris Hilton's career."

"What career?"

"Oh, you know. Stuff. And you actually have talent!
Everyone's going to want a piece of sculpture from the billionaire mogul's sex
slave."

"Sadie!" I covered my face with my hands. Fucking
Anton. Fucking Anton and his stupid need to get off in public. This was the
worst.

She reached out and patted my shoulder
awkwardly. "It'll be okay. It's not the end of the world," she said.
"And look at it this way: you guys are married. Who cares what married
people do? It's the twenty-first century. Maybe if you guys were swingers or
something that would be bad, but this is just... just..."

I sneaked a glance at her. She was
staring at the Star cover, biting her lip. She was definitely not sure what to
think about the leash and collar, but she rallied well. "This is just like
something out of a Rihanna video. Yeah, it'll get banned in some places, but
everyone's going to be sinfully envious of you. Waters is hot. You got to marry
him. And you guys have a sex life like some crazy Eyes Wide Shut shit."

Despite myself, I started to feel a
little better. "Maybe I should go talk to Anton," I said.

Sadie nodded wisely, clearly relieved
to be wrapping up the topic. "I think that's a good idea. Oh! But I found
a great caterer. How do you feel about Ethiopian food?"

I smiled. "Sadie..." I began.

She grinned at me. "More
importantly, how do you think your mother will feel about Ethiopian food?"

That made me grin back. “I don't know
what I'd do without you,” I said.

*

Two hours later I was walking into
Empire Capital's headquarters. I was a familiar enough face that I didn't have
to check in any more, simply go to the elevator and head up to the top floor.

I glanced at Katy, manning the front desk, and gave her a smile.

She looked away immediately.

Oh, I thought.

The sick feeling in my stomach returned. What was my mother going
to say when she found out? What was my father going to do? He'd never shown any
sort of fatherly inclinations to keep me pure and untouched, but when his
little girl was splashed across the tabloids in compromising positions he might
have a different reaction.

Nerves singing, I mashed the elevator button and waited for it to
descend.

People passed me. No one looked me in the eye. I felt my cheeks
begin to burn.

The elevator dinged and I leaped inside it, pushing the button
for the top floor. Outside the door, a small gaggle of businesspeople waited,
each and every one looking anywhere but at me.

There's room, I wanted to say, but I didn't. The doors closed
with a hiss and I ascended.

I forced myself to breath slowly and deeply. Anton would know
what to do. Anton knew everything there was to know about being a rich and
famous schmuck
targeted by paparazzi.

So why didn't he think twice about
fucking me where we could be photographed? Come to think of it, why didn't I
think twice about it?

But I already knew the answer. I had
thought about it. I'd thought about it each time it happened, but in the heat
of the moment, tangled and twisted up with arousal, I hadn't been able to voice
my concerns. I'd only had one thing on my mind: Anton.

The elevator slowed to a stop and I
exited. Arthur, Anton's personal assistant, sat at his desk. He met my eyes and
smiled. Was it my imagination, or was that smile a little false, a little
plastic?

"He's in his office, Mrs.
Waters," Arthur told me. "Go on in."

Licking my lips, I nodded and skirted
around him, entering one of the doors leading to the small, spare foyer. My
hands shook as I opened the door to Anton's office.

Anton sat at his desk , serenely typing away at his computer. He
glanced up as I edged my way in.

"Hey," I said.

He gave me his signature faint smile. "Is there something I
can do for you?" he asked me. "I missed out on a lot of work this
morning."

I winced. I knew my mother's insistence on his attendance at the
wedding planning was definitely eating into his time, but he acquiesced to her
demands out of... I guess out of concern for me. Funny, I'd been writing it off
as through the goodness of his heart, but I realized, as he stared at me from
the tranquility of his office—full of zen fountains and running water—that he
was much happier here, working. He probably wouldn't endure my mother out of
some misplaced sense of kindness. I frowned as I stared at him.

"Felicia?" he said.

I started. "Um." Opening my purse, I dug the tabloids
out of the depths. "I have something you should probably look at."

He raised a brow, but beckoned me closer. I walked the length of
the room—an endless length, it seemed like—and presented the tabloids to him
with trembling hands.

What was he going to think? Was he going to somehow blame me for
this? Would this negatively impact his business? I worried my lip between my
teeth as he laid the tabloids down on the desk and studied them. Then he looked
back to me.

"Your tits look amazing," he said.

Fucking wow. "That's it?" I asked him. "That's all
you have to say?"

An expression of genuine surprise crossed his face. "What do
you want me to say?" he asked.

I threw my hands in the air. "I don't know!" I cried.
"Something! Anything!"

"I did say something," he told me. "I said your
tits look amazing."

Never before in my life had I wanted to slap someone more.
"And that's all you have to say about it?"

He squinted down at the terrible photos
of us in our private moments. "I wish they'd got a shot of my ass,"
he said. "It's pretty great, too."

Exasperated, I stamped my foot.
"Really?"

"Well, there's nothing else to
really do about it other than make the best of it," he said.

I was feeling less and less good about
this with each thing that fell out of his mouth. "I thought you might want
to sue them or... or something."

"Why would I do that?" he
asked me. "This is free publicity. I'll be on the receiving end of many
back-slaps the next time I attend a business function."

"Yeah?" I said. "Well
Katy couldn't even look me in the eye when I came in here," I told him.
"It's different for me."

That seemed to have an effect. A frown
shadowed his eyes. "Katy?" he said. "Really?" He pursed his
lips and thought about this. "Do you want me to fire her?"

"What? No!" I'm not that
vindictive. "I just... I feel totally humiliated. You might not have any
friends or family, but I do, and the next time I see them this is all they're
going to be thinking about."

"I have a family," Anton
said. His voice faltered slightly, and I realized I'd touched a nerve. I tried
to wave it away.

"It doesn't matter. Didn't you
think about what could happen when you chose those places to fuck?"

For a long moment, Anton stared at me.
His green eyes, so startling and brilliant in his handsome face, were
thoughtful. "No," he said at last. "No, I didn't. And you're
right. I should have."

Slightly mollified, I crossed my arms.
"Yeah... well... think about it next time."

He smiled at that. To my surprise, he
pushed back from his desk and stood up. "I can't guarantee that," he
told me. He rounded his desk, his smooth, predatory gait calling to something
primal in me. I was such a sucker.

"Why can't you guarantee
that?" I asked him. He drew close, looming over me, and I was reminded of
our very first encounter here in this office, when he seduced me. He hadn't
made me come, only touched me, stoking a fire inside that was so violent and
out of control that I had to quench it myself the moment I was alone. Even now,
just thinking about it, I was turned on.

I didn't want to be. I wanted to think
rationally and calmly, but it felt like the moment Anton had entered my life
that my reason had taken a flying leap off a cliff. And I liked it. I really
didn't like how much I liked it.

I was losing myself in Anton.

Glittering green eyes stared down at me. "I'm sorry,
Felicia," he said. "I will do my best in the future to remember the
potential consequences of acting on my, ah, more exhibitionist impulses." He
extended a hand, running his fingers down my cheek. I gazed up at him,
uncertain what to say, wanting only to fall into his arms. It would be easy to
do so. A strong man is hard to resist.

He leaned down and kissed me, stealing my breath. His mouth was
hot and soft, but undemanding. Gently he nibbled and massaged my lips with his.
My body heated at the tenderness in his kiss, reveling in the feeling of his
arms as they circled around me. Large, warm hands traveled up and down my back,
cupping my ass, tracing my spine. His body met mine, soft against hard, and I
was melting against him.

He pulled away for a moment, cradling my head in his hand. His
eyes, desire-drugged, explored my face, as though looking for something there.
"You make me forget myself, Felicia," he whispered.

"Oh," I said. Inexplicably, tears stung my eyes, but he
was already kissing me again, obscuring whatever sweet, soft revelation I was
about to uncover with the magic of his touch, and I closed my eyes.

His body moved against mine and he broke away again, planting
kisses against my throat, his hands smoothing over my breasts, circling my
ribcage, as if he could hold all of me in the palms of his hands. My own
fingers tangled in his rich, dark hair, and I couldn't help but sigh as he
lowered himself to the floor, kneeling before me.