It dinged an endless moment later just as she heard her name shouted. “Kylie?”
Fuck. The doors opened and an elderly couple stood there, blinking at her. She must look like a sight, breasts jiggling from a lack of a bra, shirt stained, hair a bedhead nest. Cheeks burning, she quickly punched the Door Close button over and over again.
As they began to slide shut, Cade’s door opened and he sprinted out into the hall, holding an unbuttoned pair of slacks at his waist. Her eyes met his as the doors closed, and she mouthed a quick Sorry.
But they didn’t close fast enough for her not to see the flare of anger in his eyes.
Then, it was shut and the elevator was heading down. She punched the lobby button and took a deep, shuddering breath, determined not to cry.
Cade would eventually figure out this was better for both of them. He really would. Right now he was just dazzled by easy sex. He’d come to his senses and then they could talk sensibly about an annulment and no one would be the wiser.
Once the elevator hit the lobby, Kylie sprinted for the doors. She was terrified at the thought of seeing a half-dressed Cade coming down the stairs and got into the first cab she saw out front. “Drive,” she bellowed. “Please, just drive.”
Click went the meter, and then she’d escaped. She was home free. With a sigh, Kylie looked in the rearview window, but there was no Cade waiting on the sidewalk, watching her leave. That was good, she told herself. She gave the driver the address to her hotel and tried to fix her appearance with a comb and a bit of makeup during the ride back.
Then she was at her hotel. She paid the driver, headed in, and went up to her floor. She kept her head ducked, avoiding eye contact in case she saw someone she knew.
She’d almost made it inside and was at the door to her room, fumbling for her key in her oversized purse when the door next to hers opened. Ginger stepped out, wheeling her small carry-on suitcase behind her.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Ginger slowly shook her head. “Walk of shame, Kylie?”
“Of course not,” Kylie lied, hoping that her lip gloss covered her swollen mouth and her hair would hide the worst of the hickeys.
“Then where’s your bra?”
Kylie had no immediate response for that. She remained silent, and Ginger shook her head. “You are playing with fire, girl. Your ass is going to get canned if you’re not careful.”
“I’ll be careful,” Kylie said.
But Ginger just snorted, clearly not believing Kylie’s protest, and wheeled her suitcase down the hall.
—
Just when Kylie couldn’t get any lower, her phone rang that afternoon. She winced at the caller ID, but answered it anyhow. “Hi, Nana.”
“Kylie Daniels,” the old woman’s shaky voice sounded pissy, even over the line. “Where are you?”
Her head ached and she rubbed her temples. “Busy.”
“Don’t you sass me, young woman. Do you know where I am right now?”
Uh-oh. “The nursing home?” Please? She desperately hoped her grandmother hadn’t escaped again.
“That’s right! I hate this place. I told you that already. But you keep shoving me here because you’re mad at me. Isn’t that right?”
Old, familiar pangs of hurt rippled through Kylie. “I don’t have you there because I’m angry, Nana. You’re there because they can give you the best care possible. You need someone to look after you 24/7.”
“Lies. You come get me right now.”
“I can’t, Nana. I’m on tour right now.”
“Touring? Why?”
Her grandmother always forgot what Kylie did for a living. “I do makeup for singers on tour, Nana. Remember? It pays the bills.”
“Don’t you remind me about paying bills, young woman. I’ve worked two jobs for the past ten years to keep you fed. And are you grateful? No! You just keep eating. I swear you’re fatter than a little pig. It’s a wonder I can keep a roof over our heads. Your grandfather would roll over in his grave if he knew what a burden you were.” The elderly woman’s voice shook. “Don’t you try and lecture me about responsibility. I know all about it.”
There was that word: burden. Her grandmother always tossed it in Kylie’s face. It hurt worse than any other insult. “Well, now I’m working and taking care of you, Nana. Just like I should. How are you feeling?”
“I hate this place.” Her voice wobbled. “Come and get me. Right now.”
“I can’t, Nana. I wish I could. I have to work.”
“Then put your mother on the phone, Kylie. I know she’ll come get me. She’s not ungrateful. Not like you. You get that from your father’s side.”
Kylie’s head throbbed. She hated these conversations. If she told her grandmother that her daughter was dead, she’d just get confused—or worse, cry. “She’s in the bathroom, Nana. I’ll have her call you back.”
“You do that. I have to go to work now.”
“All right, Nana. Talk to you later.” Kylie’s throat felt like a dry knot when she hung up. A call from her nana always made her feel like dirt. Unloved, ungrateful dirt.
Count on the burden of family to kick you while you were down.
TWELVE
By the time Daphne went on stage for her second Vegas show, Kylie had mostly relaxed.
Mostly.
She’d showered and fixed her hair into an elaborate set of sausage-curls and clips that would show off her newly redyed bright red ends. She’d taken care of her roots, and her makeup was carefully done as well. All of this was to hide the fact that she had rings under her eyes and a hangover pallor to her skin. If she looked put together, no one would ask questions. She wore a cute swishy navy dress with a striped top and fluffy skirt hemmed with red, and wore red and navy sandals with it. Today, she supposed she’d look the part of Fat Marilyn. And if the rest of her was a bit glammed up, maybe no one would ask why she was wearing rings on every finger, or why the one on her ring-finger was turned inward, the stones hidden unless she opened her palm.
But no one asked, and as Kylie prepped Daphne, she began to feel better about things. Cade would understand once he had a few hours to digest things, she told herself. He’d come to his senses and they’d talk things through like normal consenting adults that just needed to step away from the alcohol for a bit. Lots of people made mistakes in Vegas, she told herself as she packed away the stage makeup kit and began to take out the palettes she used for Daphne’s postshow interview makeup.
And as Daphne began to perform and the music swelled through the backstage area, Kylie sat in her chair and rubbed her aching forehead. She could almost believe that things were normal. Almost. Except when she rubbed her head, it provided her with a good look at the huge red-and-yellow wedding ring she had turned inward. The ring that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard she tried.
That, and her phone was missing. She’d left it in her mad dash to get away from Cade. That was okay, though. She’d get a replacement phone when she got her next check.
Ginger wasn’t speaking to her, either. Every time she saw Kylie, she pursed her lips in a disapproving look and left the room. She took Snoopy on smoke breaks with her instead of Kylie, and Kylie tensed every time she saw Ginger talk to Daphne. But Daphne never freaked out and her mood was rather mellow, so Kylie had to assume that Ginger wasn’t saying anything.
So. Almost normal.
She twisted the wedding ring absently, staring in the mirror, and wondered what Cade was doing tonight. Heading back out to Botswana? More medical conferences? Or had he gone back home to New York? Maybe he was at a law office requesting an annulment even now. She ignored the guilty feeling that gave her, and the vague unhappiness.
It wasn’t meant to be. She needed to remember her priorities. She should call her nana, see if she was lucid again. Check with her caretakers to make sure Kylie’s account was up to date and everything was going well. See if Nana was screaming at everyone still. See if she still considered Kylie
her “burden.”
But of course she didn’t have her phone. Cade did.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, the door to the greenroom opened and Cade Archer stepped in, looking inhumanly gorgeous and supremely pissed. Kylie froze in the director’s chair at the makeup stand, and she cringed in place as his furious gaze scanned the room and then locked squarely onto her.
—
Kylie didn’t want to play fair?
He’d fucking show her how dirty he could play, then.
For the first time in a very long time, Cade was so angry he could hardly think straight. He didn’t get mad when a business copied one of his patents illegally, selling poorly made equipment to customers who thought they were getting legitimate products. He simply sent his lawyers after them. He didn’t get mad when a massive donation of medical supplies to a war-torn country was stolen by local insurgents. He resent the supplies and had his organization send along trained guards to protect the goods and make sure they got to the people that needed them. He didn’t even get mad when he found out Daphne was using again. He was just disappointed.
But with Kylie?
He was livid.
Why couldn’t she accept that they were married? Sure, it had happened when they were drunk, but he was starting to think that these drunken interludes were some of the best things that had happened to him. The first night had brought him Kylie. The second had given him Kylie in marriage. Neither one he saw as a problem. He didn’t understand Kylie’s panic, either. Was she worried that Daphne would fire her? He’d handle Daphne. Was she worried that he would be upset with her? She couldn’t be, not the way she’d touched him and devoured him with soft, needy eyes that morning.
So he didn’t fucking get her. And when she’d run away like a coward? He really fucking didn’t get her. Running out midsex with both of them aching with need? Her taste still on his lips? Just so she could avoid having to lose an argument with him?
It was beyond frustrating.
He’d called Jerome again that afternoon. “I need more tickets to Daphne’s Vegas show tonight. Backstage passes, too.”
“Uh, everything okay, boss?” Jerome had asked. “You need to talk about it?”
Even though he and Jerome were more friends than employer-and-employee, he didn’t want to talk about it, no. “Just get the tickets for me. I’ll explain when I’m in a better mood.”
“All right, but I’m probably going to have to butter up some scalpers with some huge money. That concert’s been sold out for weeks.”
“I don’t care how much it takes,” Cade told him. “Just call me back when you’ve got the will-call details.”
“Got it.”
Jerome had called back a half hour later, told him the exorbitant amount the tickets had cost, and given him the details. And Cade showered, tried to get rid of his anger doing some remote work, failed, dressed for the show, found Kylie’s phone, got pissed all over again, and then eventually headed to the enormous music hall that was housing Daphne Petty’s big concert. Fans were everywhere, and the limo had to crawl its way to the entrance, which only irritated Cade even more. By the time he got his tickets and slung his backstage pass around his neck, he was in a foul mood, which was pretty unusual for him as he was considered the level-headed peacemaker of his group of friends.
But Kylie had pushed him past the limits of his patience. If she wouldn’t listen to what he wanted, then he was going to make her listen, damn it.
He stalked his way backstage, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark blue sports jacket. His own ring was still on his finger, and it was going to stay there, damn it. Kylie would see that it could be a good thing to be married to him, damn it. He was already enjoying the thought of being married to her. Waking up next to her every morning? Getting to fuck that sweet, gorgeous body of hers every night? Hearing her laugh whenever and wherever? He liked the thought of that more than he should.
When he got to the greenroom, he scanned it for two faces in particular—Daphne, so he could avoid her, and Kylie, so he could pounce on her. Music reverberated in the room and when he heard the strains of Daphne’s voice, he realized it wouldn’t be necessary to avoid her just yet. Well, there was one obstacle down. His gaze moved to the cosmetics table normally set up in a corner of the room, and then he saw her.
Kylie.
She looked good, her makeup perfection on her face. Her buxom figure was shown off in a tight striped white-and-navy shirt that seemed to accentuate her generous breasts and the taper of her waist, and her skirt was a full blue circle that went to her knees. She wore bright sandals and a lot of jewelry and looked stunning and not nearly as wrecked as he felt . . . which made him just as frustrated and angry as before.
Wasn’t she affected the way he was? Or was she somehow able to just shake off this insane need they felt for each other and go on about her day? He sure as shit couldn’t.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she grabbed one of her shabby makeup cases and clutched it to her chest, then put her head down and began to walk away, through one of the doors marked STAFF ONLY.
Oh no, she was not about to get away from him.
He hurried after her, grabbing her arm just as she opened the door to slip away.
“Leave me alone,” she hissed, shooting him a furious look. “Seriously, Cade!”
Leave her alone? She was his goddamn wife, whether she wanted to be or not. And he was not about to leave her alone. He released her arm, but when she pushed through the door, he followed her. A pair of security guards were guarding a door nearby, obviously to Daphne’s private room apart from the lounge area. They eyed him as he followed Kylie.
That could be trouble. Time to be ruthless. “Kylie,” he said in a low voice. “You need to find someplace quiet for us to talk—”
“No, I don’t!”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going into that next room and telling everyone that we got drunk together and ended up married. And then I’ll leave and let you sort through the fallout.”
Her jaw dropped. She cast another furtive look around, then tucked the makeup case under her arm and grabbed his sleeve with her free hand. “Come with me.”
Fine with him. As long as he got some answers.
Kylie smiled nervously at the guards and pulled her hand from his sleeve long enough to flash her badge, and then continued dragging him down the empty hall. She walked a hundred feet or so, not saying a thing, and then moved to an unlabeled door to their right. She turned the knob and opened it, and then flicked the light on and gestured for him to follow her in.
He did, and as they stepped inside, he realized it was a janitorial closet. Mops and brooms leaned in one corner, and there was a shelving unit full of different types of cleaners. Buckets were stacked neatly on the bottom shelf.
She shut the door behind them and clicked the lock, then turned back to glare at him, the makeup case still clutched against her chest like a shield. “What are you doing here, Cade?” The look on her face was guilty. “Daphne won’t be offstage for at least an hour.”
He clamped down his frustration. “We both know I’m here to see you, not Daphne.”
“Well, I don’t want to see you! I want you to leave me alone.”
“Is that why you left in the middle of sex, then? Because I seem to recall rubbing my fingers between your legs and finding you soaked with need for me.”
Her cheeks colored and she averted her gaze. “That wasn’t desire.”
Oh really? “What was it then?”
She lifted her chin. “It was a mistake.”
Cade’s tenuous control broke. “A mistake,” he repeated flatly. “Is that so?”
Her eyes went wide and she nodded.
He took a dangerous step forward, and he noticed she pressed her back against the wall. His eyes narrowed at that. What did she think he was going to do? Then again, her color was high in her cheeks . . . what did she want him to do? “A mistake,” he said again,
just to emphasize it. And he took the case of makeup from her hands and set it on top of a nearby shelf. He wanted her hands free. Cade turned back to her, and he gave her a cold, dangerous smile. Did she want him to prove her wrong? Because he would.
So he moved forward, moving so close to her that her breasts—God, those big, beautiful breasts—brushed up against the buttons of his shirt. Her eyes were wide as he cornered her against the wall, and he leaned in.
“This mistake,” he murmured. “You were wet for me, and it was a mistake?”
He watched her tongue dart out and she nervously licked her lips. She didn’t speak. He wondered if she could, or if her senses were as overwhelmed as his felt.
“Your pussy was dripping with juice,” he murmured in a husky voice, leaning in so close that his nose rubbed lightly against her own, as if he were about to kiss her. “Clenching deep inside with the need for my cock, I bet.”
Her lips parted, and he could feel her breathing speed up. Her nipples pushed against his shirt as she panted, and he was overcome with the urge to touch her. Cade’s hand went to her knee and he began to hike up that fluffy, flirty skirt of hers.
“Because,” he murmured, and his lips grazed against her own, “I seem to remember how you reached for my cock, as if you couldn’t stand not to touch me.”
A soft whimper escaped her throat.
“Your fingers wrapped around the head and slicked in my cum. Do you remember that, Kylie? Did you taste me on your fingers when you ran away?”
Her gaze was rapt on his face, and his hand went higher under her skirt. His other hand braced against the wall over her shoulder, effectively trapping her between him and the wall itself.
Not that she couldn’t leave, of course. One of her hands still rested on the door handle, and all she had to do was open it and step out. The fact that she didn’t told him volumes. The fact that she wasn’t telling him to stop? The fact that her breathing got more excited the higher his hand went under her skirt? It told him that perhaps the lady doth protest too much, as the saying went.
One Night With a Billionaire Page 14