Undisclosed Desire: An Alpha Billionaire Romance: + bonus novel (13 page)

"I want you to do something for me," he says, his voice strong and deep, allowing no objections.

I love that voice, and I love that face. And my body is not shy of showing it. I tense up, looking at him with big, expectant eyes while my heart skips beats just at the thought of what might follow.

"Yes, Sir," I say to show my awareness of the turn we have taken.

I can see the hint of a smirk fleeing across his face in reaction to my words. So I am sensing this right. We will play again.

We are about to act out the specific dynamic that this relationship is defined by.

And we are. But not in the way I expected.

Evan

"I want you to write something down until the next time we see each other," I tell her.

She looks at me, tilting her pretty face to the side and arching her eyebrows quizzically, as drops of soapy water are running down her face at the side.

"What?" she asks in her usual straightforward manner.

"Two things," I continue. "One: I want you to think about what it really is that makes you write. What do you want to achieve with it? Do you think you could make a living from it? If so, how and –"

"Listen," she interrupts me. "I know you mean well, but I don't need another college counselor who tells me that I just need to find myself and realize what my priorities are –"

"I am not your counselor," I say. "I am your Dom. And if you want to be mine as you said you do, I would want you to let me help you the way I can and the way I want to."

"But –"

"No but, Nicky," I insist, casting her a smile. "It is part of being mine. I told you I like to take care of you. And this is one way for me to do it."

She looks at am, cocking her eyebrows with suspicion again. "You are very... stubborn. And possessive."

I nod. The words are familiar, and the last time I’ve heard them, they were followed by heart ache.

"Yes. I have heard that before,” I say, avoiding eye contact. I don’t want her to look at me the same way Sheila did in the end. There’s a good chance that Nicky will make the same decision as she did at some point, but I’m not ready to face that possibility. Not yet.

"Sheila?" I hear Nicky say.

I look back at her, wondering for a moment if I’ve said anything out loud. She looks concerned.

"Is that why she left you?" she asks. "Because she couldn –"

"Two," I interrupt her, completely ignoring the question. "I want you to come up with a story. It doesn't have to be long or well thought through. Just an idea, a scene, a certain setting with one or two characters."

She looks at me, narrowing her eyes.

"Okay," she says. "I will do what you asked me to."

"What do I want you to reply when I tell you to do something?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl."

I reach for her below the mountains of foam that are still surrounding us. Embracing her slim waist, I pull her closer and plant a kiss on her forehead.

"I will ask you again, you know," she whispers. "About Sheila."

"I know you will," I say. "You are stubborn, too."

We are leaving the hotel together this time, but not in the same car. I ordered a car for Nicky to bring her home, while I head to the charity event. I know I’m late, but I couldn’t care less. Despite Roy’s insistence that I had to be on time, I’m well aware that no one in particular is waiting for me over there. I just have to show my face, it’s not important for how long or at what time I do it.

Of course, Nicky insists that she can take the bus. It’s cute how much she insists on doing things her way, but I won’t have it. She’s safer in car with one of my drivers than in a bus with a bunch of scabby strangers.

"Oh, no, you're not taking the bus. I called you a car,” I tell her while we’re getting ready to go out.

"But I –"

"I should spank you for every 'but' that leaves your lips," I say, glancing at her with a stern face.

She smirks.

"All right," she pipes. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you for calling me a car."

"That's better," I say, coming closer to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Good girl."

I notice something on her neck and tilt her head to the side with one finger, observing her throat.

"You should probably cover that up," I say.

She lifts her hand and places it on the spot I just looked at. One of the spots where I had bitten her before. She flinches when she touches the dark bruise my actions left on her sensitive skin.

She turns around rushes over to the big mirror next to the door of the room. There are hickeys on both sides of her neck. Nicky stretches and turns, audibly sighing when she sees the spots on her neck.

“My skin is so damn sensitive,” she complaints. “But they’re rather low on my neckline. I could wear a scarf or something to cover them up.”

She turns around, looking at me. “If I had a scarf, that is…”

I smile at her. “Too bad. Now the whole world will see that you are mine.”

She blushes and lowers her eyes as a shy smile appears on her face. It’s the most beautiful sight and I’m relieved to see that she doesn’t freak out about me leaving visible marks on her.

It’s a good sign.

I approach her, placing my hands on her shoulders as I’m standing behind her. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and both of our faces display that same, silly face of infatuation.

"We have to go," I say, killing the moment before it drives me to do or say stupid things. "Our cars are waiting for us."

“Yeah,” she whispers, casting another look at the bruises on her neck. “I have to admit, now I’m glad that you called a car for me. That would have been an awkward bus ride.”

I lean down and plant soft kisses on each of her dark marks. She flinches at first, but leans into my soft kisses with a sigh once she realizes that I’m not about to add another bite to her tortured skin.

“I don’t think I’ll get bored with you too soon,” she whispers.

“Why thank you,” I reply, pinching her at the side before I let go of her.

We finish getting ready and walk out the door. Nicky keeps casting me looks from the side as we walk down the hall way.

"So unfair," she comments as we reach the elevator. "You turned me into a freaking mess, while you're still looking like
this
!"

I scan her from head to toe and can’t see anything wrong with her appearance. She looks exhausted with her messy hair and her smeared make-up, but all I can see is a beautiful and well fucked girl.
My
girl.

"You look perfect," I say. "You have no idea how beautiful you look to me right now. If I could, I would take you right back to the room and show you how beautiful you are."

The doors open and we enter the elevator. As soon as the doors close, I have her pinned against the wall again, claiming her with another kiss while I hold her hands in place above her head.

She moans, pushing her lower body against mine as our tongues intertwine in wild, yearning motions. These kisses. These desperate attempts to become one, to eat each other up. I have missed this feeling, this yearning for a woman. It feels as if my hunger for Nicky could never be stilled.

I let go of her just in time before we reach the first floor and the doors open to invite us into the hotel's lobby.

"Convinced?" I ask

"Mhm," she makes, looking up at me through radiant eyes, her cheeks flushed with lively red. I feel the same heat on my cheeks.

I take her hand as I rush out of the elevator. We pace through the lobby as if we are being chased. She has trouble keeping up with my wide steps and bumps into me when I suddenly stop mid motion.

I let go of her hand and yank it away. It’s not a conscious move but an instinctive reaction to what I see ahead of us.

“Evan, what is –"

"Fuck," I interrupt.

My eyes are locked to the entrance of the hotel. There’s a horde of people gathered in front of the glassy entrance door.

Photographers. Paparazzi.

My heart almost stops when they see us and instantly raise their cameras to take pictures.

"Are they waiting for you?" Nicky gasps behind me. "How come you haven't told me –"

"I had no idea," I say truthfully. What the hell are those motherfuckers doing here? How did anyone know I was here? Why didn’t Roy tell me about this? I expected a crowd like this at the charity event but not fucking here at the hotel.

"Just go to your car as quickly as possible. Don't look at them and don't talk to them. Your car is the one on the right there – just get inside as quickly as possible."

"Um, okay, but –"

"And you might want to cover your neck with your hair as much as you can," I add. I distance myself from her but still hold my arm in front of her, as if I was trying to protect her from the wild horde outside. I wish I could.

Nicky brushes most of her hair to the front and desperately tries to cover her neck, but her efforts are futile.

"I'll go first," I say. "You follow and then rush to your car. Don't linger, don't look back."

I take a step forward and notice that she is not following. I turn around and look at her as she raises her eyebrows. "Isn't this a little –"

"Go!" I say, rushing forward.

I hear her sigh, but this time she follows behind me.

As soon as we step out the door, the group of photographers – a lot more than I realized before – close in on me.

Nicky freezes next to me for a split second before the frenzy of camera flashes starts and chases her away.

I glance over to her just to make sure that she makes it to the car all right and without being stopped by the intrusive crowd. As soon as she jumps into the car, I hurry over to mine without bestowing any consideration to the flashes around me.

I’m dialing Roy’s number as soon as I’m inside the car, safely shielded from their cameras.

Nicky

"Damn!"

Damn indeed. Yuka has always been good at summarizing even the most outrageous or weird things that happen to either her or others. Of course, she was right there waiting for me when I returned home that night.

She greeted me with a mischievous smile the moment I walked into our apartment, ready to squeeze out every little detail of my meeting with Evan – and noticing the hickeys right away. It was just the kind of welcome I had expected.

Two days have passed since then.

I am recapping the evening in my mind while I absentmindedly wipe tables at the burger restaurant that currently provides my main income. This week will be tough for many reasons, and one of them is the fact that I am swamped with a bunch of really inconvenient shifts here. I have been working less the week before and not at all during the weekend – the shifts with the best pay. I have to catch up if I want to be able to pay my rent this month.

It is still early and rather quiet, giving me way too much time to think about the events of two days ago.

I didn't tell Yuka all the details she wanted to know, but luckily, she was able to overlook that fact, because the most exciting part of my story – our departure from the hotel – was by far the most enticing aspect of it all.

"Oh my god, you're going to be famous now!" she exclaimed.

"You're saying that as if it was something good," I noted and she just laughed, continuing to make jokes about me joining the celebrity ranks, just because I have slept with the
right man
.

"
Right
man?" I asked. "
Wrong
man, I'd say."

I paused for a moment, regretting my words. Calling Evan the 'wrong man' when everything felt so right every time we were together doesn't seem to be fair.

My feelings toward him are growing stronger with every new page I turn – in both directions. The ambivalence is getting bigger; I feel drawn and pushed away at the same time.

"Well," I eventually added with a low voice. "I don't know what to think. About him being right or wrong for me..."

At that point, Yuka actually got serious for a moment and looked at me with sincere concern.

"You really like him, don't you?" she asked.

I nodded.

Yes, I do like him. I feel comfortable with him and I have never wanted to please someone as much as I want to please him. Seeing him happy has become a greater satisfaction to me than I ever anticipated.

But how could I deal with this? With all the secrecy, his growing possessiveness, while he is still more than unwilling to let me in on himself a little more. His arrogance toward my life and his own. His intrusive demands and the fact that he is giving me homework now. Homework that I have to finish before seeing him again.

Whenever that will be.

We hardly talked since that abrupt departure from the hotel. He wrote me a text right away when I was still in the car that brought me home, asking whether I was okay. And I told him I was. He apologized for what happened.

And I told him it was okay.

But was it, really? After the initial shock has passed, I actually feel ambushed, betrayed almost. Did he know that there would be paparazzi waiting outside the hotel? It didn't seem like he did. But maybe that was all show? It certainly wasn't the first time for him to run into something like this. Could he not have anticipated it?

And why did they show up in the first place? Why was there any interest in him at this point? The tabloid article was published this month, but it seems so mundane and unimportant to me. What is Evan up to right now? Did it have something to do with the appointment he 'canceled' that night?

So many questions, but very few have been directed at him, because we haven’t seen each other since then and I hate talking about these things over the phone. Besides, I know how reluctant Evan is when it comes to sharing anything about himself with me. It’s frustrating as hell, but I will have to work a little harder to get something out of him.

The only thing he wants me to believe is that he really didn't know that they would be there – and that he was just as surprised as I was.

"That teaches me to use the same hotel for too long, I guess," was one of his last messages.

Using the same hotel for what? His sexual exploits? How many women has he had there, in that same room? We never talked about being exclusive – which is nothing that would usually concern me after meeting someone just twice. But I feel very uncomfortable, thinking that I might just be one of many. Of little value for him. Disposable.

I would hate to be that kind of woman. 

Until now, he has not asked to see me again – and neither have I. I will be busy anyway, but I am also unsure of what to make of the things that happened. I met him that day to talk, to clear up some of the secrets surrounding him – and I left confronted with even more.

And with more affection for him.

"Fuck!" I cry out as I accidently drop a tray full of dirty dishes that I just collected from one of the tables.

The few customers who are eating here at this time grant me with a round of applause as the dishes shatter on the ground beneath me. I jump aside in time to save my foot from being hit by a knife – just to slip a second later, twirling my arms in the air as I gracefully plant my ass on the floor next to the shattered dishes.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I repeat, close to tears.

Fuck this! Fuck Evan for doing this to me. I could laugh about all of this and write him off as just another sexy adventure – if he hadn't captured me the way he did.

I feel manipulated.

I don't want to think about him every fucking second of the day. I don't want to do his stupid homework and I don't want to be photographed while leaving a hotel with him while he tells me to run off and hide like a dirty little secret.

Is he ashamed of me? He could have handled the situation so much better. Why did he not tell them to just fuck off, put his arm around me and protect me from their intrusive behavior.

Instead he distanced himself from me and told me to get lost as quickly as possible.

"Geez, Nicky," my coworker hisses. Stephanie, another waitress, gets down on her knees next to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I utter. "Damn this fuckin –"

"Nicky!" she silences me. "Calm down for god's sake. There's customers here."

I roll my eyes. "Sorry."

"Now, let's clean this up," she suggests and starts picking up the pieces to carefully place them on the tray I dropped.

Stephanie helps me to get rid of the little mess I created, not without casting me concerned looks again and again.

"Are you okay?" she asks eventually, when we are alone behind the counter. "Did something happen? You've been out of it all day."

"No, it's nothing," I try to assure her. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired."

She smirks at me. "New guy, huh?"

I turn around and look at her, alarmed. "Why would you –"

She nods toward my bruised neck. I am wearing a light scarf and tried to cover up the marks with make-up as well as I could. Even when I left the house, I knew they were still visible, but I was hoping that it would go unnoticed, because one would have to take a really close look at me to recognize them for what they were.

Apparently, Stephanie has taken that close look.

I fix my scarf and clear my throat.

"Well, yeah," I utter. "But it has nothing to do with that."

"Sure," Stephanie says, winking at me. "It never has."

"It really hasn't!" I insist. But who am I kidding, I sound anything but convincing, even to myself.

"Must be intense," Stephanie adds. "It looks like he's been trying to eat you alive."

I blush and instinctively touch my neck, while she casts me a knowing grin, very similar to the one I received from Yuka when I got home that night.

"Whatever," I try to dismiss the conversation.

A new order is ready and saves me from yet another situation I would like to escape.

"Yours," Stephanie says, glancing at the two dishes that have been placed in the service hatch.

I grab the plates and make my way over to the table, where two women are waiting for their food. They are about ten to fifteen years my senior and don't count among our regulars. At least I have never seen them here before.

One thing I notice while I am approaching their table is the tabloid magazine that is lying on the table next to one of them. I mentally roll my eyes, even though I am sure Evan – and Yuka – would scold me for being so judgmental again.

"One cheeseburger and er –" I say, checking the other plate. "One bacon special?"

"I'm the cheeseburger," one of them says, raising her hand.

"Okay, here you go," I say as I place the cheeseburger in front of her.

I put on my service smile and turn around to the other woman – just to see her giving me a weird stare. She has dark long locks and is wearing very thick glasses that make her stare even more intense than it already was.

What is up with her? She looks at me as if she's seen a ghost.

I try to ignore it, while I place her order in front of her. "And... here's your bacon special."

Her eyes don't leave me for a second, but her expression turns from that almost shocked stare into a skeptical frown.

I straighten up, ready to leave the table. "Okay, enjoy your meal ladies! Let me know if there's anything I can –"

"Holy shit," the spectacle wearing woman exclaims. "Aren't you the girl who's been with Evan Beckhart this weekend?"

My heart stops. I stare down at her, completely in shock about what she just said. My face must have lost all its color within a mere second.

How on earth did she...

"What?" the other woman now says. "A
waitress
?"

She casts me a look that displays nothing but disgust and disbelief. While I frown at her for the way she just called me a
waitress
. That derogatory tone. As if I was the most despicable person alive.

"Yeah," the woman with the glasses says, now finally averting her eyes from me – to grab the magazine next to her. She hastily browses through the pages until she finds what she is looking for.

I try to see what she is pointing at as she turns the magazine around and shows it to her friend. They both look back and forth between the article and me.

"Damn, you're right!" the other woman yells, now facing me again with that devaluing expression.

I ignore her and try to get a better glimpse of the article. My heart is racing as I see the headlines. Pink, giant letters, underpinned with a questionable number of exclamation marks that read:
Evan Beckhart skipping charity event for HER
!?!

My jaw drops as I see the photos that the short article is plastered with. Very unflattering pictures of me running out that damn hotel's entrance, with my hair flying all over the place, giving away the hickeys on my neck all too well.

I am sweating and shaking, overwhelmed with fear – and rage. Those damn women are still staring at me, exchanging words that I can barely hear, because my ears are ringing while my vision blurs with tears.

I turn around, feeling the women's eyes stabbing at my back while I run off into hiding. Completely ignoring Stephanie's concerned look, I run past her and off to the bathroom, where I lock myself in.

I take out my cell phone with shaking hands and dial his number.

It rings once, twice, five times before his mail box answers.

Of course.

What did I expect? The way he has been acting in regard to this damn paparazzi craziness, it was only to be expected that he wouldn't answer my call.

I try it again. And again.

Tears are running down my face. I feel so ashamed, so manipulated and exposed.

A
waitress
. How do they dare call me a
waitress
like that.

How does anyone dare to publish pictures of me? How does Evan dare not to warn me? Not to talk to me even?

I feel so desperately alone with all of this. And it shouldn't be this way. No one should be allowed to make feel like this. No one.

"We need to talk!" I cry when his mail box answers for the fourth time.

"We
really
need to fucking talk!"