DOM DIARIES : THE CHASE: A Billionaire searches for love.

by Jax Hart

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I shut my journal and gazed up to the sky. The muggy air and city lights made it damn near impossible to spot anything in the sky. But I knew my Mama was there. I felt her.

  In the fall, when the air cools, the stars come back to the Manhattan skyline and are closer to me from my balcony high above the city.

  I opened the door and walked in on bare feet. My pajama pants hung low on my hips. My abs were rock solid, and my bank account as thick as my ten-inch dick.

  I was the perfect package.

  I was even half-Hispanic.

  She was the one thing that wasn’t coming easy, but I vowed—she would come plenty. Just as I was getting a drink of water before bed, my phone buzzed on the counter. I had hoped it was my fiery Latina, unable to stop herself from responding.

  But it wasn’t her.

  It was him.

  Finally, my son found some sense. I bet that model fits a man like a glove. Don’t be seen with that girl from Queens again. I was miserable with your mother; you’d be wise not to repeat my mistakes.

  I was so angry. I picked up my phone, ready to smash the screen on my granite counter. He basically came right out and admitted that I was a mistake, while insulting my angel of a mother.

  It also became very clear that she did send Selina to me. Especially if something about her caused such a negative visceral response from him.

  The notion was further cemented in my soul the following morning. I found my mother’s recipe for papusa when I was sorting through some financial papers in my desk. I couldn’t bear to sell this place, so I moved in a few months after Mama passed and couldn’t bear throwing her old journals and recipes away. I kept most of her furniture, watered her beloved plants and sat at her desk where she used to drink tea and write long letters back to her family in El Salvador.

  Maybe that's why I sat there late at night and wrote letters to her. Letters that will never be sent. But somehow, I knew she received my words anyway.

  I tucked her recipe for papusa into my briefcase. I’d take it to work tomorrow and have my PA order the items I’d need.

  Selina wouldn’t be able to resist me showing up at her door with my mother’s signature dish made by me.

  I bet no man has ever cooked for her, especially a billionaire playboy with a bad rep. With a new plan to weaken her defenses, I spent my Sunday working out, reading financials and the papers.

  When Monday came, I was ready for the new week to start. I felt like the Prince of Manhattan again when I stepped out into the early morning sun in a flawless light gray, Tom Ford suit, and dark Ray Bans. I exuded confidence as I swaggered past the paparazzi snapping photos of me while firing questions that asked if Talia and I were on.

  “No. She was just a placeholder for someone else,” I smirked, then stepped into the back of my SUV.

  My smirk lasted the entire morning.

  My publicist freaked out and quit.

  My father hit the roof.

  My bad boy rep was back. Only this time I was dubbed #Mr.Womanizer. Dozens of women online lashed into me. Talia’s agency made a statement to the press. Tish even gave a new interview to TMZ.

  I snorted, not in the least bit feeling bad. Each of them should send thank you notes since I just made them even more famous than they had been five minutes ago.

  I was back on top of my game. I swiveled my office chair to face the windows behind me. My eyes took in the city below while I was on top of the world. I was the press’s prince again, but I didn’t want to rule alone. I’d get my reluctant princess—drag her kicking and screaming to my castle and lock her ass in.

  My heart raced at the thought of putting chains on her. Chains that attached to my bed. My penthouse would be the tower she’d be trapped in. I’d place a silk blindfold over her eyes, feed her grapes and figs and lick the juices as they dribbled down her soft skin.

  Fuck.

  My dick was ready to fuck her into the next world.

  I closed my eyes, trying to regain control. I had a conference call in ten minutes. I groaned, remembering how her ass looked in her denim shorts, how she tasted as we kissed.

  I didn’t want some skinny, cold bitch to sink balls deep into.

  I wanted a fiery, curvy, hot-blooded temptress.

  I called my PI. “Where is she?”

  “Not far from you. She’s walking at least five dogs and heading to the park around the Kingdom Apartment Complex.”

  I glanced at my wristwatch. I had one hour before my meeting and there was a deli by that park. I could drop in, with the excuse of getting a late lunch, and maybe get lucky and collide with her again while still making my conference call if I did it on my cell.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Shit...shit. Shit!”

  I was trying to save time and socialize some of my dogs so, I had the bright idea of trying to walk Mr. Pickles in a pack with Gruber, Jenks, Nemo, and Pepper. The three tiny dogs kept biting the ankles of the other two, causing them to whip around and bark and in the process, their leashes ended up wrapped around my legs. Before I knew what was happening, I fell to the hot pavement, scrapping my palm as the two big dogs saw a squirrel and ran. I yanked as hard as I could, and they stopped short of dragging me.

  I turned my head in relief, just in time to see Mr. Pickles taking a dump inches from my face.

  “Hello, princess. Need some help?”

  He towered above me in another flawless suit, looking expensive and totally fuckable.

  “Are you stalking me? That’s it, right? You are some rich, perverted stalker, who gets his rocks off by torturing women like me?”

  He patted the two big dogs on the head, bent down and uncurled my fist from their leashes, wrapping them around his wrist. Then he grabbed the tiny dogs’ collars and unclipped their leashes so I could untangle myself.

  His lips against my ear, “You have no idea, princess...just how often I dream about torturing you.”

  Goosebumps broke out despite the ninety-plus degree day.

  A tingle ran up and down my spine and settled low in my belly where it spread like wildfire.

  I was so fucked, and he hadn’t even touched me yet.

  Ignoring his outstretched hand, I stood and held my injured palm to me as I clipped the leashes back on. Rafael took the leashes from my hand. “Show it to me.” He demanded.

  “Why? Are you going to put a band aid on it and blow?”

  “Maybe,” he grinned.

  The tension left me, but I still needed to give him shit. “So, Mr. Womanizer? I liked your other hashtag better.”

  “Me too. You know what would sound even better? Mr. Taken.”

  I rolled my eyes, forgetting the throbbing scrapes on my palm. “Call Tish or Talia.”

  He shrugged. “They’re too easy. I like the chase.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m a fast runner.” I moved to take the dogs back from him, but he grabbed me by the wrist and tugged me close. I gasped as my body was jerked flush to his.

  He was hard.

  Everywhere.

  I was wet and we both knew it.

  My nipples throbbed.

  Damn the man. Damn myself. Why did my body have to want him so much?

  “Now, let me see that hand.” Despite his low tone, it was a sharp command. I held up my palm for him to inspect. I could’ve fooled myself and said I had heat stroke or that I hit my head on the pavement, but the truth was, he was mesmerizing. I was under his spell and didn’t know how to break it.

  But Mr. Pickles did.

  He decided his bladder was full from over drinking at the doggie fountain and relieved himself.

  Rafael had to jump back to escape the hot stream. Mr. Pickles cocked his head, as if asking if what he was doing was wrong.

  Rafael glanced at his expensive wristwatch. “I have to go, but this is far from over.”

  After he left, it took ten minutes for my heart to calm down to a normal beat. My cheeks were flushed from more than t
he summer heat. “Thanks for the rescue.” I murmured to the dog.

  Mr. Pickles was a real pain in the ass, but he was cute when he wanted to be, just like somebody else I know.

  “Something smells good.” I commented, after tossing my purse down onto the futon we use as a couch. Christine is a shit cook so it must be delivery.

  “Yo! I’m home and you’re finally back from your fuck fest! I want details, bitch! How big was he? Did he have good stamina?”

  I turned the corner, past the small dividing wall and entered the tiny kitchen area.

  My face was on fire.

  Raphael was standing in my kitchen, still dressed in his work clothes. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up and he was wearing a damn apron. The man looked like a sex god, even in the kitchen. He was busy, as he took the spatula and spooned out heaping mounds of deliciousness onto two plates.

  “What the hell are you doing in my home, uninvited? Get the hell out. NOW!”

  “And you are a dirty, dirty girl. Aren’t you?” He tsked. “And yet you pretend to be all indignant with me,” he smirked, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

  My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I passed him and opened my bare fridge to chug some water. I decided to ignore his comment and pretend I didn’t just embarrass the hell out of myself.

  “Who let you in?”

  “Your roommate. She was on her way out, with an overnight bag. She said she’d text you. She knew who I was.”

  “She does. She’s obsessed with celebrities and bad boys. Especially criminal ones. Now shoo, go. I have things to do—and you aren’t on that list.”

  He handed me my plate. “Eat. I’m going to be first on that list,” he winked.

  “You’re a cocky motherfucker, aren’t you? I’ve seen you with two different women since we’ve met. What makes you think you have a chance?”

  He shut me up by bringing a forkful of food to my lips.

  Bursts of flavor exploded in my mouth. I closed my eyes and chewed. “Yum,” I licked my lips.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. The fork fell to the floor as he pinned me against the wall. The flavorful mixed with the taste of him as his tongue slipped in to touch mine.

  He pissed me off with his bad boy player ways, but I wanted to tame the player. Reform this bad boy and make him mine.

  My hands ran up and down his back, I was pulling the devil closer. He smelled as good as he tasted. His hands ran up my shirt, where he found my breasts straining for his touch. Despite my determination not to let a moment like this happen, here we were, and I didn’t want to stop. It’d been so long since a man had touched me like this. And Rafael was just so annoyingly—everything.

  His thumbs ran over the tips of my aching buds and I moaned into his mouth.

  My hands roamed down his back, skimmed into the waist of his pants and urged him closer.

  That’s right, I am a dirty girl when I want to be.

  My legs wrapped around his waist as our kiss deepened. All of our back and forth banter was just foreplay for this. His lips moved from my mouth to the side of my neck. “Selina.” He murmured my name over and over again as his erection nudged firmly between us.

  He lifted his head, his eyes hot as he looked into mine and lifted my shirt over my head. My breasts felt full and achy. His fingers moved to my back, unclasped my bra and I moaned as his tongue ran up my nipple before he pulled the peak into his mouth.

  “Rafael,” I moaned.

  “Say it again.”

  “Rafe?”

  “Yes. Just like that. God, it sounds so fucking good to finally hear the need in your voice when you say my name.”

  He moved from one breast to the other. I hung my head, watching his tongue and mouth worship my breasts. It was hot. His silky hair tickled my skin. I needed more. I needed to come.

  But he stopped, pulled back and stared at my breasts wet from his mouth. “I want more than sex from you.”

  “Sure, you do,” I rolled my eyes.

  “I do. I have another charity thing tomorrow night. Go with me?”

  I reached down to where my shirt was on the floor. “This was a mistake. We have insane chemistry, but I just don’t hook up like you do. I don’t want to be just another girl you’re out with. I have way more pride than to accept your scraps.”

  “You’ll be the only girl I go out with. Fuck, Selina, I’m hardly a saint. No man is. I was baiting you with Talia, babe. She was nothing. Is nothing. I threw her off my lap after I snapped that pic of us. My driver dumped her at the curb. I swear, I only wanted you. I was frustrated to hell and needed them both to be you.”

  He looked so sincere as he stared at me with hot eyes and raked a hand through his hair. I shifted on my feet, deciding if I’d give him a chance. Just one.

  “Don’t fuck this up.”

  He grinned. “I won’t. I swear it.”

  “Fine. It’s a date.”

  He stayed for a bit longer, we kissed and necked like teens before he groaned, placed a finger on my lips, swollen from his kisses, saying he needed to leave before we went too far.

  Christine finally came home. I grilled her on her fuck-fest while we went through her closet to find something suitable for me to wear on my date with Rafael. We found a slinky black dress and matching Louboutin pumps she had scored at a secondhand boutique. We texted Kimmy, who was friends with a stylist and made arrangements for me to have my hair and makeup done.

  Tomorrow night, I’d look like a Latina princess on the arm of my playboy prince. I texted the so-called prince, just as I laid on my mattress to listen to the night sounds of the city.

  I meant what I said earlier. Don’t fuck this up. I’m giving you one chance.

  I’m bringing my A game.

  I fell asleep and dreamed about babies. Dark-haired, light mocha-skinned babies who raised their tiny fists up and demanded milk and binkies in a mixture of Spanish and English.

  I woke up sweaty and horny… with exploding ovaries.

  My damn babymaker wanted to press fast forward.

  My hormones raged.

  The woman in me wanted to procreate like mad.

  I needed to check myself. It was only a first date, and I was still on the fence if there would even be a second. Rafael showed me his playful side, but he still had his reputation for coming on hard and leaving women cold.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You look stunning.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed the back, then turned my hand over. His open mouth met the inside of my wrist while his eyes burned hot with a promise of things yet to come between us.

  I shifted my legs, feeling the need between them.

  But I wouldn’t.

  I couldn’t let myself free fall into him. I needed to make him wait. It’s the only way to know if he’s sincere about me.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked, as we sat in the back of his car with our hands intertwined.

  “No.”

  “I love that about you. Nothing scares you, does it?”

  My heart hammered in my chest.

  He was wrong.

  Love.

  Love scares me.

  Because it never stays. Never lasts. At least not for me.

  But it was too early for love. So why was I fucking terrified and desperately trying to hide it?

  The car slowed to a stop and the driver got out to open the door. Cameras flashed, Rafael’s name was shouted out, and as soon as people realized he was holding my hand, all chaos erupted!

  “It’s her! The mystery girl from last week!”

  “Selina! Over here!”

  “What’s your status!”

  Rafael ignored them all, but he made a statement when he halted, lifted our linked hands to his lips, and once again gave me bedroom eyes.

  I practically heard the women swooning behind me. And just like that, the last piece of ice protecting my heart cracked and melted into a puddle at this playboy’s feet.

  He never let m
e go.

  With my hand tucked firmly in his, he plucked a flute of champagne from a tray and handed one to me while taking one for himself. We chatted and mingled for hours. Rafael introduced me to everyone. He treated me like an equal, instead of a girl who slept on a mattress on a floor in Queens and picked up poop for a living.

  I kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “Be right back.”

  “Don’t be gone long.” He teased.

  When our hands reluctantly parted, it felt as we were being torn apart. I felt the loss of him even though we were only a few feet apart. All I wanted to do was hurry up and pee so I could get back to him.

  “Selina.”

  I froze. No, it couldn’t be. But I knew it was. I used to find his English accent cute.

  “Preston.” I turned around to face my ex, another Wall Street player with an Ivy league background, a house in the Hamptons and a bank account full of cash.

  “Gold digging again, I see.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not me. Never was, never will be. Asshole.” I muttered, turning away.

  But he grabbed my elbow, leaning down close. His chest was pressed against my back, his hands were in my hair. “Remember this, baby? You loved it when I took you from behind.”

  I clenched my eyes, still feeling the pain that scarred my soul from the lashing he gave it two years ago.

  I was a stupid girl, believing his lies, believing I was his one and only. Until I surprised him one time and caught him with some skinny blonde still in her heels as he fucked her from behind.

  I was devastated. He laughed at my tears and asked—what did I expect? I was nothing but a side dish and would never be a man’s main course. He called me a trashy whore. A dirty little Latina slut. Then said I was only good for a hair pulling—doggie style.

  His words stayed with me for a long time. I avoided men like him or any man in a suit. I dated a few poets, a few singers, like me. They were just as self-absorbed, but with their art instead of their dicks.