The Boss and the Brat: A Billionaire Romance

by Frost, Sosie

  I stared at him, doing my best to pick apart his strings like a knotted ball of yarn. “You felt nothing on the bottom of the ocean?”

  “At the time?” He hesitated. “I suppose I was vindicated. Cost a shit ton of money to get there, and we spent half of forever planning it. Plus we suffered from half a dozen delays as a result of bad seas and storms.”

  No pride in his words.

  No amazement in his accomplishments.

  Not even a heightened sense of purpose.

  It was like exploring the Mariana’s Trench was as mundane to him as swimming laps at the local YMCA.

  “What about Everest?” I said. “What did it look like on top of the world?”

  “Like any other mountain.”

  “But it’s Everest. It must’ve been different.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “It was cold.”

  “Everest was cold.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what else?”

  “Christ, I don’t know. Cold and tall.”

  “Have you climbed any other mountain since then?”

  He snorted. “What’s the point? Dumped my gear. Haven’t looked back.”

  My heart sunk. “What if I ask you about space?”

  “It’s surprisingly cramped on the station.”

  And that was all he offered.

  I wouldn’t ask if he even enjoyed his adventures.

  I already knew the answer.

  “You know…your biography made it sound a hell of a lot more romantic,” I said.

  Cameron smirked. “Didn’t write my biography. Just bought the best ghostwriter available and told them to make me sound dashing.”

  “And that is what makes you fascinating.” I cautiously approached him. “You spend all that time training, waste all the money on preparations for these feats that normal, everyday people can only dream of accomplishing…and it’s nothing to you. You don’t even care.”

  Cameron stared at me. The frustration lining his face hidden by the encroaching shadows. “What do you expect? I set my goals, work hard, and accomplish them. Nothing left to do once you’ve been above and below the planet.”

  “Does it make you sad?”

  “No.”

  “Does it make you happy?”

  He nearly answered, but his lips pressed thin just before revealing the truth.

  “They’re goals, Kenza. I set them. I hit them. I move on.”

  “Ever wonder what happens when you run out of goals?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m bound to find something that holds my interest by then.”

  “…And if you don’t?”

  Cameron reached for me, tugging me against his chest. “What if I’ve already found it?”

  I stilled as his hand brushed my cheek.

  Maybe I should’ve leapt from the damned roof.

  This was not at all what I’d wanted to discuss. Hell, it was the reason I’d snuck away to eat my dinner alone and isolated, avoiding the man for as long as I could as we worked late on the end-of-the-month reports for the Board.

  Nothing good came from being alone with Cameron.

  Not the kisses.

  Not the secret touches.

  Not the blinding pleasure in his arms.

  All of this was getting too serious, too fast, but Cameron was the type of daredevil to fly without a parachute, drive without brakes, and fuck all night without fearing what the daylight might reveal.

  I wasn’t that person.

  I’d never taken a major risk in my life.

  And yet, because of Cameron, I’d experienced my fair share of adventures.

  Maybe I hadn’t been to space, but I’d felt worlds collide.

  Maybe I’d never sunk to the bottom of the ocean, but in his arms, we were miles from anyone else.

  Maybe I’d couldn’t climb mountains, but every exhilarating orgasm was like peeking over the summit to the oblivion below.

  “You know why you fascinate me?” Cameron’s lips brushed against mine, stealing my whimper with a gentle kiss. “For as much as you say you loathe me, here you are—in my arms, begging for my touch. And yet, you still deny what you really feel for me.”

  “I haven’t denied myself much of anything since meeting you,” I whispered.

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Depends—how bad of a man are you?”

  “You’ve read my biography.”

  “Guessing there’s not much truth to it.”

  “So, tell me what you really think of me then—what you’re too afraid to say.”

  What a terrible idea for the both of us. “Why?”

  “Because there’s not a place on Earth I haven’t traveled, not a challenge I can’t conquer, and not a woman I haven’t charmed…except you.”

  Yet.

  And we both knew it.

  Which made slipping into his arms even more dangerous.

  I parted my mouth, flicking my tongue over his in a moment of weakness. His hands parted the jacket, slipping beneath to caress my soft curves. Already familiar. He’d learned quickly which touches I liked and which sensitive spots would melt me with desire.

  The time to retreat had passed.

  And the few precious heartbeats I had to protect myself from him pounded far too quickly.

  “Are you sure you want to charm me?” I asked.

  “My greatest challenge yet? A man would be foolish to let a girl like you slip through his fingers.”

  His hands tightened over my hips.

  I squirmed, pressing my thighs together. A good shiver heated my core, and I gripped Cameron’s arms to remain standing.

  “Why not let me stay a challenge?” My words trembled. He kissed them away. “What if capturing me isn’t as fun as the chase?”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Why? You said it yourself—the ocean is wet, the mountains are cold, and space is cramped. What if I’m just…” I sucked in a breath. “A good fuck?”

  “You’re more than that, Kenza.”

  “How do you know?” I held his gaze, sinking into the dark mysteries with no good answers but infinite possibilities. “What happens when you catch me? What happens if I say I’m yours, belong only to you, and surrender to your every desire?”

  “Why would that worry you? I thought you wanted me to hate you?” Cameron’s fingers aimed for the hem of my skirt, tugging the material up and over my thighs. “You made me swear we’d keep fighting, that our nights meant nothing, and that the sex was just sex. Unless…you’re afraid it’s something more.”

  “I’m only afraid you aren’t a man of your word.”

  Cameron growled as his fingers brushed against my panties. “I usually am.”

  “Not always?”

  “Not if I find a promise worth breaking.”

  “And what if it’s a heart that breaks?”

  “Whose heart, Kenza?” The swirl of his finger blinded me with intensity. “Yours or mine?”

  I nearly collapsed against him, but the insultingly shrill squeal of metal on metal tore us apart. The door opened with a new cackle—a metallic screech of interruption.

  The light from the stairwell flooded the rooftop, but I doubted Charlie could squint through his glaucoma to notice me fluttering my skirt down and tearing away from Cameron’s arms.

  “Mackenza?” Charlie’s hoarse voice warbled in chastisement. “You’ve gotta me more careful. Getting stuck on the roof. Who knows what might’ve happened to you.”

  Unfortunately, I already knew those dangers. And, despite my best efforts to avoid disaster, the impending catastrophe would be an unavoidable pleasure.

  I slipped out of Cameron’s jacket and raced to the door without glancing back, shouting my gratitude from the stairwell. I rushed through the office to gather my purse and files and escaped before getting lost within Cameron’s embrace once more.

  I rushed home in a blaze of pani
c. Locked the confusion of feelings behind me as if the deadbolt would protect me from my own desires. Drenched myself in a cold shower to deny the heat remaining from his touch.

  But Cameron knocked on my door at midnight.

  And, in the shadows and stillness of our unspoken truce, I welcomed him into my home.

  And my bed.

  What use was there in denying our attraction? As long as we didn’t talk, didn’t reveal what clouded our thoughts and fluttered our hearts, we’d be safe. It was just sex. Toe-curling, sheet-wrinkling, perfect sex.

  We promised each other that these nights meant nothing.

  So what was the worst that could happen?

  10

  Mackenza

  I never thought I’d experience any torture as grueling as waiting for a ten-minute pregnancy test…

  Until I took that same ten-minute test twelve different times.

  Now, I wasn’t just tormented.

  I was massively dehydrated.

  But show me a girl who could trust her entire future with a ten-cent strip of plastic, and I’d show you someone who couldn’t comprehend the failure rate of a test that had probably sat on a store shelf for months.

  So I reserved my freak out until I’d taken a sufficient quantity to overcome the false-positives.

  All of the false-positives.

  Four different brands from three different stores.

  Taken over the duration of an entire sleepless night.

  All the more reason I’d downed another liter of water and prepared myself for unlucky number thirteen.

  The whole pregnancy test thing was silly. Just because I was three weeks late didn’t mean anything. A skipped period could’ve been caused by anything.

  Like stress.

  And I’d certainly been stressed as I planned my presentation for the board—the potential launch of a new classic line. Silvered Seniority: Shapewear so luxurious your golden years turn platinum.

  I’d spent the night on the bathroom floor where I’d gotten nauseous, taken an obsessive amount of pregnancy tests, and prepared my note cards for tomorrow’s presentation. If nothing else, my circumstance allowed me to be quite the multi-tasker, making a good use of a bad time.

  Plus, the tile was nice and cool. Living in a penthouse granted me certain luxuries—like the ability to stretch out between the toilet and the bathtub and double vanity with enough room for my test, a cool rag, along with my laptop and hand-written notes.

  I probably could’ve fit an entire whiteboard in with me as well, but it wasn’t like I’d invite the board around my porcelain podium for a presentation.

  I’d have to get off the floor sometime.

  Maybe even crawl back into bed.

  …My own bed for once.

  What the hell had I been doing?

  I’d spent the last week in Cameron’s penthouse—a comfortable, soft, and thoroughly entertaining place, I’d admit, but one terrible for my wardrobe and self-esteem.

  Cameron wasn’t so much a Panty King as he was an underwear blackhole, sucking everything into his darkness.

  A girl’s undergarments.

  Her respectability.

  Her uterus.

  A knock rattled my front door.

  My stomach jittered with it.

  Why the hell did I have to live in a penthouse sixteen miles long? I’d only just summited the sink to brush my teeth. Now I had to let the maid in?

  While I had thanked Daddy for his generous gift of both the apartment and a cleaning service, I had no idea where he’d found the money to buy both. The only answer I’d received from him was that, without a maid, he’d be paying for my funeral once the towers of unorganized fabrics finally tumbled on my head.

  Fair enough.

  As long as the maid didn’t report back to Daddy that I hadn’t been staying in the penthouse at night, we’d be fine.

  The knocking continued.

  Then, the shout.

  “Kenza!” Cameron’s deep rumble called my name, and every nerve in my body shocked itself to life. “Open up.”

  I jolted upright.

  No, no, no.

  Today was not the morning to face Cameron Mitchell.

  Especially when I’d strewn the wreckage of my virtue across my home in the form of pee-stick debris.

  I jumped to my feet.

  My stomach didn’t come with me.

  It lurched. I groaned.

  And I instantly regretted my time spent on the floor as the pins-and-needles attacked my yet-sleeping feet. I kicked, hoping to restore some blood flow to my numb foot.

  Bad idea.

  I accidentally punted the container of my specimen.

  …Into the air.

  It flipped in a glorious spray of golden droplets then showered my meticulously constructed note cards in a torrent of, apparently, incredibly pregnant pee.

  Today was most definitely a day defined by accidents—in every conceivable sense.

  However…

  Not a bad idea for a new product.

  Absorbable undergarments—perfect for the matron on the go who has really got to go.

  “Kenza, answer the door.”

  Cameron was a man who had never taken no for an answer…until he met me. He still hated the word, but I delighted in offering it to him. Again and again.

  Not that it packed the same punch after I’d been naked and writhing in his bed.

  I pitched my sodden note cards into the bathtub and washed my hands with as much apple-cinnamon scented soap as my queasy stomach could handle. No sense getting nauseous again. Had a feeling I’d be dealing with it enough in the next nine months.

  “Kenza.”

  I rushed through the bathroom, gathering three of the thirteen tests. The rest I had tossed about my living room, searching for the best lighting in the penthouse to determine if the double lines were really double, or if the ink had blended outwards and played a trick on my eyes.

  “Go away!” I shouted at the door as I scampered for the tests.

  One on the sewing table. Another on the kitchen counter.

  “I have something for you,” Cameron said.

  I muttered to myself. “Oh, you’ve given me enough.”

  One on the windowsill overlooking the town. I’d left it in direct sunlight, figuring maybe the wording would change with a little extra heat. What was that? Five? Six tests?

  The door opened.

  The idiot actually entered the dragon’s lair.

  Had I really been stupid enough to leave it unlocked?

  Of course. We’d been rushing back and forth between the penthouses all damned week, sneaking toiletries and clothes between the apartments so we wouldn’t have to leave the bed except to head to the office. Once there, I’d deliberately forgotten his touches, ignored his innuendos, and denied myself every stolen kiss in his office lest it lead to yet another mounting on his desk.

  “Oh sure…” I scowled. “Barge right in.”

  I feigned irritation and dunked the nearest pregnancy test into the untouched pot of soup on my stove. The lid slammed down, and I spun, diving for the other tests. I had nowhere else to hide them, so I did what any woman who’d slept for only an hour and a half on the bathroom floor would do.

  I shoved them down my pants.

  Seemed logical enough.

  That’s where all the trouble started in the first place.

  Cameron rounded the corner and welcomed himself into my house, arms full of garment bags and a cloth tote brimming with…

  Food.

  Oh, great.

  “Still feeling bad?” Cameron asked.

  A clatter answered for me. I flinched as one of the tests skirted my panties and dropped to the floor via my pantleg.

  I slammed a foot over it and winced.

  Was that one still wet?

  The man tossed his bags over my counter and approached me with a villainous smile.

  “Guess you’ll be asking your boss for a day off then?�
�� he said.

  Oh, he’d love that.

  “Not on your life,” I said. “I’ve been preparing for this board meeting for months. Too much is riding on today.”

  “About your presentation…”

  I interrupted him with a scowl. “It will go perfectly…as soon as I write new notes.”

  “We should talk about it.”

  I ignored him, doing my best to edge away from the counter. He turned his attention to the grocery bag, and I seized the opportunity to cast the pregnancy test under my foot into the nearest cabinet.

  One down.

  Where the hell were the other seven?

  Or was it eight?

  “I’m making you breakfast,” Cameron said.

  “No…” Just the thought of anything coated in a layer of buttery grease upset my stomach, and hurling would give this whole game away. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’re going to eat, and that’s the end of it.”

  I shivered with delight.

  Why did his voice have such an impact on me?

  It wasn’t fair.

  That undeniable rumble of pure confidence and authority slayed me every time. I could deny his touch. Avoid his gaze. Ignore his heat.

  But his voice echoed in my head then tumbled into my tummy.

  All he needed to do was command me, and I’d do all the best and worst things a girl could imagine with the greatest and most terrible man.

  I’d always known I’d sleep with him.

  I’d warned myself the instant we’d met that I’d spiral out of control.

  And yet, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t allow him to become my life’s ultimate disaster.

  Whoops.

  Served me right for not tossing the deadbolt over the door.

  I padded around the kitchen, four pregnancy tests rattling in my underwear, makeup smeared, and hair taking the chance to go frizzy while I was too exhausted and sick to style it.

  Of course, Cameron had the uncanny ability to roll out of bed thoroughly fuckable. He had no problem slipping on a pair of slacks from the crumpled pile of clothes he’d left beside his bed. Not that anyone would be staring at the wrinkles while he paraded through my kitchen, bare-chested and still glistening from his early morning workout.

  He removed a dozen eggs from the bag and searched the kitchen for a pan. I leapt before him as he reached for the pot containing my chicken-noodle-and-progesterone-soup.