Undisclosed Desire: An Alpha Billionaire Romance: + bonus novel (32 page)

LANA

It was nothing more than a short post-sex nap, but when I open my eyes, squinting around the room in confusion, I feel not only disoriented but weirdly rested.

"I was starting to worry."

His soft voice greets me from the side, and I just now realize that I'm lying in his arms, my hand resting on his muscular chest. The very same chest I was so desperate to touch and kiss a few weeks ago.

"That was good," I whisper

He chuckles and squeezes me closer. "Glad to hear it."

"Sorry," I add. "I didn't mean to say that-"

"I know what you meant, Lana."

He turns to me, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Are you hungry? Because I am."

I nod. "I could eat."

I haven't had dinner yet and he wore me out quite a bit. My backside is still hurting from the belt. He whipped me with a belt, hard, and I liked it. I still can't get over that. I quiver at the thought of it.

I want more.

It was such a cathartic experience. I've never been hit like this before, especially not during sex. It hurt, but it felt so right at the same time. I know that some people get off on pain, but I never thought myself to be one of them. Then again, I don't think it was just the pain that drove me that wild. It was everything. His control, his care, his way of taking me, making me feel safe and so desperately wanted by a man who couldn't be further out of my league.

He orders us some food and has it sent up to the room. Because I didn't give him a clear answer as to what I'd like to eat, his order goes a little out of hand, leaving us with so much food that the dining table inside the living room can barely hold all of it.

I sit across from him, wrapped in a soft robe provided by the hotel and dig in to the best steak I've ever had.

He casts me an amused smile. "Good?"

"Very," I reply, still chewing.

"So, while you were avoiding me," he says. "Did you happen to think about that homework a little more?"

I wash the last bite of my steak down with champagne, relishing the decadence of it. In fact, I did more than just think about it. While I knew I didn't want to face him for a while, I still planned to take some time for  figuring out exactly what I wanted to do with the idea he planted in me. As it turns out, thinking about it and using the knowledge from his class actually led to me having a first sketch for a business plan that could bring one of my ideas for apps to life.

I wipe the corner of my mouth with a heavy cloth napkin to buy myself some time so that I could find the right words to explain it to him.

"I have," I say. "I actually started working on something... I think."

"You think?" He asks, looking at me with an amused smile as he leans back in his chair. He's wearing the same white hotel robe that I am, looking incredibly delicious with his dark ruffled hair.

"Let me hear about it," he says, waving his hand.

I clear my throat. The app I decided to follow up on is an idea I had when I first started college and realized how hard it was to socialize outside club activities.

"What I think would be really nice to have is an app that helps you find people close to who are interested in similar things, like playing a certain game or sharing a hobby, and you could search for others to do it with via app."

"Like a dating app for socializing?" He asks, seemingly trying to grasp what it is that I’m picturing in my mind.

"Yes, and not only to socialize," I reply. "Like say, you need a certain tool for home repair, but you don't have it and can't or don't want to buy it. So, you want to know if any of your neighbors might have one that you could borrow."

"Interesting," he says. "Go on."

I continue to tell him more about the details of certain functions, while he listens, his eyebrows furling at some points, while he's enthusiastically nodding at others. I haven't thought out all the details yet, but as I talk to him, more and more ideas come flying to me, and I'm having trouble keeping them in order.

"Can you code?" He asks eventually, interrupting my speech.

I pauses for a moment, shaking my head. "Not really, I learned a little, but had to stop, because it didn't fit my schedule."

"Things like that need to always fit into your schedule," he argues, figuratively punching me in the stomach. "So, what you’re saying is, you'd have to hire someone to write the app for you?"

"Yes, I think I'd have to," I admit.

"That's not a problem, you don't have to write it yourself," he says. "You just need to be aware of the cost for what you'll need to make it happen."

"I know."

"Do you think you could come up with a proper business plan within the next couple weeks?" He asks, startling me.

"I don't know," I say. "I mean, I probably could. I've already done quite a bit of research, and-"

"The reason I'm asking is this," he interrupts, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table as his eyes fixate on mine. "Remember how I told you about me being an angel?"

I grin at him. Somehow, the fact that he refers to himself as an angel is funny to me, especially considering what kind of man he is in bed. But I know what he's talking about.

"Yes, sure."

"I've recently become part of a collaboration of investors, who provide a platform for young entrepreneurs to present their ideas and get them supported by us," he says. "Financially and with advice.”

He pauses and looks at me, observing my reaction. Is he going where I think he's going with this?

"You think I could...?"

"Why not," he says. "It'd be a good opportunity for you to gauge whether or not this could work for you."

"A couple of weeks you said?"

"Close to three, to be exact," he confirms.

I gulp. "That's tough."

He smiles at me and takes my hand, softly stroking the back of it with his thumb when he says: "I'll help you along the way, as much as I can."

My eyes widen with appreciation. "You'd do that?"

He nods. "Of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Portland."

"Jackson," he says. "I think there's no harm in you calling me that when we're alone."

His words feels like a warm embrace, so intimate and loving. I get up from my chair and walk around the table, forcing myself on his lap to hug and kiss him.

"Thank you," I whisper, my face close to his. "Jackson."

He wraps one arm around me while placing the other on my thigh, slowly traveling along my skin, beneath the robe, while his eyes fixate mine.

"Why?" I hear myself ask, as I stare at him with wonder.

"Why what?"He asks in a whisper.

"Why do you want to help me?"

"Because I want to," he says. "And because I can."

"You don't have to, just because we're sleeping with each other."

He chuckles, while his hand moves to the inside of my thigh, dangerously close to my center. I willingly open my legs to grant him more leeway, and he moves his hand further, until he's touching my warm entrance.

"Sleeping together," he says, while parting my lips. "You're so cute."

I inhale noisily. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," he agrees. "But rest assured, I'm not helping you because your cunt tastes so fucking delicious."

Oh God, he and his filthy mouth. I blush, while my core starts throbbing with desire as he starts circling my clit with his skillful fingers.

"I'm helping you, because I believe in you," he continues. "You are a smart girl, there's no doubt about that. The only thing that has kept you from success on a road less traveled is your fear and your oppressive environment."

He pauses, his expression changing into a contemplative state.

"Sometimes you need a push in the right direction," he adds. "And a person who pushes you there."

He plants a kiss on my cheek. "I hope to be that person for you."

As if he wants to keep me from replying, he slides a finger inside of me, bending it and pushing at that sweet spot while his thumb continues to caress my clit. I moan, my fingers clawing into his shoulder.

"You're too good," I breathe. "Too good for me."

His gaze darkens for a split second, before a mischievous smirk appears.

"I'm just right for you," he says.

His grip around me tightens and I am silenced as he brings me to another climax.

LANA

I don't think I've ever been this nervous in my entire life. I haven't slept in days. I lay awake at night and stare at the ceiling, alternating between counting the remaining hours for me to stay in bed until I had to get up for class and mentally testing new ideas on how I could improve my project, and moreover its presentation.

Jackson has helped me as much as he could, providing me not only with market insight and his expert knowledge, but also with the emotional support I wouldn't get anywhere else, especially not from my family. They still don't know anything about this. As far as they are concerned, I'm working on my master's thesis, getting ready for the next level of my education and talking to different professor for potential PhD advisers.

I feel horrible about lying to them, but right now I don't see any other way. I couldn't handle their pressure and expectations while finishing up my degree while still trying my best to make this alternative option work out for me.

When the morning of my presentation in front of the investor committee finally arrives, I find myself up and awake at 5am. Celia has been a total sweetheart these past few weeks, not only keeping my relationship with Jackson a secret, but also supporting my idea of trying to do this start-up thing. I don't want to wake her up, knowing that she stayed out late again.

But my nerves get the better of me and causes me to clumsily bump against my night stand, which leads to my lamp falling to the ground with a loud crash.

"Fuck," I hiss, startled and in pain, because I stubbed my toe pretty badly in the process. I'm holding my foot, trying to process the pain as quietly as possible, but it's too late. Celia turns in her bed and groans.

"Just turn the fucking light on, girl," she mumbles from beneath her covers.

"I'm sorry," I whisper in the dark. "I didn't want to-"

I'm interrupted by the sudden transition from dark to light as Celia turns the light on her night stand on. She rubs her eyes and yawns dramatically.

"Whatever," she says. "Just do your stuff, and get ready. This is a big day for you."

She squints at me through narrow eyes and winks. "Let me know if I can be of any help."

I cast her a grateful smile and shake my head. "I’ll be quick."

"Mhm," she murmurs, wrapping herself in her covers before she turns around, her face to the wall. Moments later, I hear her faint snore resonating through the room.

I take a quick shower and make myself presentable, before I gather my things, making sure about a hundred times that I'm not forgetting anything. I'm wearing a navy blue ladies suit with a white blouse underneath, my hair pinned up in a lose bun, finished by delicate silver earrings. This is the only fancy getup I own, and I don't feel comfortable in it at all. I've only worn it twice before, and can't wait to get out of it tonight.

Tonight. That seems a million light years away. Tonight will be after the presentation. Everything will be different after tonight, unless I fail to convince the committee. I can't let that happen. While I feel confident about my proposal, there are a few things that Jackson and I disagreed on, and he urged me to think about his suggestions before appearing in front of the investors. He's a smart man and he knows his business, but I still insist that in some areas, my ideas outshine his. Today will be my chance to prove exactly that.

When I open the door to get on my way, I hear Celia turning in her bed again.

"Knock 'em dead," she says, raising one fist in the air.

I smile at her. "Thank you."

The way to the financial district is not very far, but complicated enough for me to opt for a cab.  I've gotten so used to the convenience of them, even though this is the first ride in ages that I'm paying for myself. I won't deny that there are definite benefits to having a boyfriend who's loaded and loves to spend his money on me, but I have no intentions of relying on his generosity for the rest of my life.

The cab ride takes less than fifteen minutes. I step out of the car, taking in the scenery before me and a deep, deep breath. My heart is racing, my entire body is tense and ready for this, and so is my mind.

There will be no special treatment from Jackson, he made that very clear. I wouldn't want it, anyway, but when I make my way toward the entrance of the modern office building with its giant windows reflecting the sun so brightly it looks as if the entire building is sparkling. I feel my confidence rise just by the knowledge of him being inside, waiting for me. He's helped me get this far and I know he'll support me in there, as much as he can without being unfair toward the other start-up newbies who are not sleeping with one of their potential “angels.”

He warned me ahead of time that there would be others who will be competing against me, but when I step out of the elevator on the eleventh floor and run right into a group of five of them, I suddenly feel scared and discouraged nonetheless.

The waiting area is crowded with people, some of them younger than me, while most appear to be around my age or older. There's so many of them already here that I fear I might be late and the last one to show up, but as I come to find out, the volume just appears so overwhelming because most of them came with support groups. The group that is standing closest to the elevator consists of five young guys, all wearing the same polo shirt with their brand clearly displayed on the back and above the heart. They're chatting excitedly, only turning their heads to me for a moment to see who's stepping out of the elevator behind them. They don't deign me more than a quick scan before they return to their conversation, turning their backs to me.

Fair enough, I'm not here to make friends. Still, I feel alone among the groups of chatting people. There are only two other applicants who seem to have showed up alone, and just like me, they're not wearing shirts with their brand on it, but suits in unobtrusive and dark colors. Both of them are guys and neither look at me or anyone else but rather, down at the floor in front of them; one sits in complete silence, while the other is whispering to himself, seemingly rehearsing his presentation one last time.

I wonder if I should do that, too? I've practiced the speech so many times, with and without the strict eyes of Jackson on me. But if he's doing it...

"Good morning everybody!" I voice tears me out of my contemplation. I turn around and spot a woman, who doesn't seem to be much older than me, standing tall in a pair of heels that would kill me, her thin and blond hair cut short, ending around her skinny jaw line. She's wearing a ladies suit similar to mine, which gives me a weird sense of affirmation.

"There's still time before we'll start with the first of you," she continues as most eyes are now on her. "But I just wanted to let you know that there are drinks - coffee and water, for you around the corner. Some of you might still have to wait for quite a while. We'll randomly select the order in which you will present your idea once everybody is here."

She pauses, casting us a friendly smile. "Until then, just try to relax and don't be too nervous."

Easier said than done. I glance around the corner that leads to a long hallway, equipped with doors left and right, wondering if Jackson is already behind one of them.

As I would learn later, he is already in the building, but I don't get to see him until about two hours later, when my name is called and I enter the room that might very well decide my future.

Just as he told me beforehand, there are five people, sitting in a row of slim white desks, one woman and four men, each with a bottle of water and some papers in front of them. Jackson is sitting at the far end and casts me an encouraging smile as I slip through the door. He looks stern but so unbelievably handsome with his hair gelled to the side and a black blazer that I've never seen on him before.

Nothing in the way he looks at me suggests that we know each other a lot better than anyone else in this room. I blush at the memory of just a few days ago, when he tied me to his desk on campus, unleashing fiery blows with his belt on my behind, because I left a little note on one of my recent essays to tease him. I know he checks them before he hands them over to his assistant, but he still thought that I was playing a risky game and needed to be reminded of the risk we're taking. Especially now that I'm going to present of this group of investors, him being one of them, we need to be even more careful than we already are because of the environment in which we first met.

I greet the committee and take my place up front behind another desk that provides room to place my notes.

We were asked to send in our PowerPoint presentations a few days ahead of time and the first slide of mine is already lit up against a white canvas next to me. There's no one in the room except for me and the five potential investors. They each introduce themselves shortly, and my heart stops for a second when the last one, Jackson, raises his voice to greet me. He introduces himself as CEO of PortCon, the name of his main communication empire that made him rich. Since it's no secret that we do know each other from school, he also mentions his position at my University that is about to end as soon as the next semester begins in February. He turns to the other four investors, seated to his left, when he mentions that I was one of the students in his class, nothing else.

They reply with an indifferent nod and look at either me or the notes in front of them. My heart is racing and I feel my hands shaking at my sides, cold sweat running down my spine. This is it.

"Ready when you are, Miss Harlington," Jackson says, his expression all professional and serious.

I suggest a nod in his direction and take a deep breath before I start with my introductory words.

The speech itself does not cause me any problems. I've memorized it well and the cue cards with notes and starting points help me along the way. Most of the time, I don't even need them, allowing me to keep eye contact with members of the committee instead. I try to avoid Jackson as much as possible, fearing that even looking at each other could suggest too much intimacy between us. Also, I'm afraid that if he doesn't like what he's seeing he might make it obvious with the expression on his face. When I get to the part we disagreed on the most, I demonstratively turn away from him and only eye the other four members sitting next to him. Reading their faces is close to impossible for me. There are a few moments where one of them might regard me with a supporting nod or a smile of some sort, but most of the time, they just sit there, listening to me with a completely straight face.

By the time I'm done with my presentation, I'm drenched in sweat, my hands not shaking anymore, but pressure pulsating behind my forehead. I'm going to need a lot of aspirin once this is over.

The committee doesn't applaud or show any kind of appreciation. Instead, all five of them are taking notes, while I wait for them to ask their questions.

Finally, the man at the far right breaks the silence, thanking me for my presentation and shortly concluding the he likes my idea a lot. He goes on to list the specific factors and points that interested him the most, gives a few hints here and there on how I could improve my project and concludes with a friendly smile, saying that he'd like for my idea to become a reality.

I know there will be no final decision right after the presentation, just a first assessment that will give me an idea of how much a chance I stand - and they sure as hell keep up the suspense. As each member of the committee leaves me with their opinion one by one, I'm faced with two positive and two rather negative reviews by the time it's Jackson's turn to speak.

I should feel safe, after all, he knows my project, he helped me develop it and he knew pretty much all of it before today. Unlike the others, he hasn't heard my proposal for the first time today.

But his face worries me. His face is so grim when he looks at his notes. He clears his throat and looks at me.

"I see a lot of potential in your proposal, Miss Harlington," he begins, and my heart jumps - just to drop even lower once he continues to speak.

"But I don't think I could support it in the form it's been presented here today."

I try to keep my countenance, looking at him with a blank face as he continues to list all the things he didn't like about my idea.

He mentions one thing that I knew of beforehand, because we talked about it while we were discussing it in his office. While I want to limit my approach on people and communities for now, he feels strongly that I should include local business from the start. I explain why I don't like the idea a thousand times and stick to the point that this could lead to my app becoming just another platform for advertising, which I would like to prevent from happening.

When I make a move to object to his submission, he raises his hand to
tell
me to remain quiet until he's finished. I bite my lip, angry at his interjection and this rude gesture to shut me up. Why can't he leave his alpha attitude in the bedroom?

"We don't have time to discuss this further," he concludes, casting me a warning look as he sees me boiling with fury. "You'll hear from us."

I swallow hard and gather my things as quickly as possible to get out of the room. His negative review of my project means I have three negative against two positive responses. Everybody knows what this will mean for the success - or lack thereof - of my project. I have little to no chance of getting this funded if I don't have the majority of the committee in my favor.