Bad Breakup: Billionaire’s Club Book 2

by Elise Faber

  She nodded. “I’m fine. I just . . . I had some stuff come up.”

  His brows pulled together. “Do you need me to—?”

  “I’m all right.” CeCe put enough emphasis on the words that Jordan stopped talking and studied her. “If you say so,” he said after a moment.

  Her lids narrowed. “I do say so.”

  One half of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Okay then. Enjoy your travels, and I’ll try to make sure Abby doesn’t bug you too much—”

  “Hey!” Abby protested.

  “Be safe and don’t hesitate to call. Oh! My sister will be in Germany next week. She wanted to see about possibly getting together if the dates work out.”

  Jordan’s sister, Heather, was another part of their raucous, romance-reading, ridiculously-expensive-pajama-loving quintet. She was also a true ball-buster and really fun to hang out with.

  “That would be great. I’ll text her.”

  “Awesome. Enjoy yourself, CeCe.” He shifted slightly to the right so Cecilia could see Abby on the screen again. “Say goodbye, sweetheart.”

  “Wait!” Abby said. “I didn’t get to ask if you finished reading the book. Chapter Sixteen has that scene with the—”

  Jordan sighed and waved to CeCe. “Bye.” Then he bent to kiss Abby again, pressing the button to disconnect the call.

  All of the noise cut off in a split second, and she sighed into the silence, surprised at how much she missed her friends, Hunter’s sweet face, and even Carter’s little squishy toddler legs.

  They were her family and she was homesick for them.

  Funny how she’d never felt homesick before but that her little motley crew of kids and adults had become more of a real family to her than her own blood.

  They were her anchor in the way she’d once hoped Colin would be.

  Her breath caught because Colin.

  As in she’d forgotten he was in the room with her.

  CeCe sat up from the bed and whirled around. He was on the couch, a book in his hand. Her heart was pounding for some reason. No, not for some reason. She felt like she’d accidentally shown the table her hand in poker. Okay, that was a terrible analogy, but him overhearing the conversation was almost as though she’d stripped off too many layers of skin and now was a throbbing and vulnerable and homesick mess.

  Colin looked up from the book. “Your friends seem nice.”

  The breath she’d been holding slid free. “They’re the absolute best.”

  “You’re the best.” His lips tipped up.

  She crossed over to the sitting space and picked up a glass of whiskey—his, hers, she didn’t know at this point—and had just lifted it to her lips for a sip when she recognized what he was reading.

  What. He. Was. Reading.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  He turned the page. “She said chapter sixteen right?” A tilt of his head. “Oh. Oh.”

  “Colin!” She tried to grab the book from his hands.

  “He puts his . . . what?”—Colin’s eyes went wide—“where?”

  “Oh. My. God,” she muttered. “This is not happening.”

  “And his tongue? Holy . . .” He trailed off and looked up at her. “You read this?”

  Cecilia’s cheeks were burning. “Seriously, just stop. Oh, my God,” she groaned again when he kept the book out of her reach and still managed to turn another page.

  This book was dirtier than the last. A contemporary romance about a boss and his best friend’s sister. He was a sex god and really, really adventurous in bed. Which was hot when reading it by herself or reflecting on it with her little Energizer Bunny of a vibrator.

  It was also critically embarrassing when was Colin reading it and then giving her incredulous looks.

  “And then he—” Colin dropped the book low enough for her to rip it out of his grip and launch it across the room. She barely heard the plunk as it smacked against the floor. Instead, she was suddenly aware of his body beneath hers, of his hard Scottish broadsword—to steal a surprisingly fitting term from her historical novels—pressed against her thigh. She was draped over him like a blanket and when he looked at her with heat in his gaze, she couldn’t possibly be held responsible for her reaction. “You read that?”

  “I’m not innocent any longer.”

  His eyes heated further, his hands slipped to her waist.

  She lost the battle with herself.

  Her hands went from his chest to his head and she yanked his mouth down to hers.

  And she kissed him with all the pent-up heat and emotion and yearning from the last eight years.

  Twenty-Five

  Colin, present day

  * * *

  The woman could kiss.

  Her mouth was urgent and yet soft, hurried but somehow giving him the sense that she still was savoring every second.

  Colin didn’t realize he’d been sitting there frozen, lost in feeling CeCe in exactly the place she most belonged—his arms—and not actively participating until his woman pulled back and glared at him. “Kiss me, dammit.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice.

  He wrapped his arms around CeCe’s waist, yanked her atop him, and leaned back against the couch cushions.

  Curves beneath his fingertips, breasts pressed against his chest, and then skin . . . And fuck, yes. Her skin was like velvet, silky smooth, and flushed pink from the blood rushing beneath the surface.

  Not that his blood was calm and hanging out below his skin . . . or at least not all of his skin. It had shifted so that it was in a very specific, very hard and aching location.

  CeCe shoved at the T-shirt he’d shrugged on when her phone had rung, not wanting to be half-naked and scarring a child if he happened to get caught on the screen.

  But instead of being caught in flagrante delicto, he’d been captivated by the voices coming out of her phone. Jealous of the easy familiarity between her and her former employer. Touched by how good she’d been with Hunter. She loved those people.

  He was glad.

  But it also made him ache.

  Because he wanted her more.

  He wanted this kiss to be about the future more than the past.

  He wanted this moment to be the beginning of some magical happily ever after, like in one of her books.

  “Colin,” she said, tearing her mouth away, her breath coming in short gasps, her hands on his chest, his abs . . . teasing lower. “Your brain is working too hard.” She grinned. “And not this one,” she added with a punctuating pat on his cock.

  His hips shot up at the touch and he groaned. “God, sweetheart. I love your hands on me. But—ah—I feel like we should finish the conversation—”

  Her hand reached into his boxer briefs and squeezed. Hard. “Fuck now. Talk later.”

  Considering that Colin’s eyes were rolling into the back of his skull, he couldn’t argue.

  Instead, he gathered his wits, pulled her hand from his pants and flipped their positions. Her robe spread open, breasts bare and gorgeous, and her nipples were hard points, demanding his mouth.

  He obliged, sucking one deeply while teasing the other with his free hand.

  “Col—” She broke off as he switched sides.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, releasing her and kissing a path down her body. He stopped to nibble at one hip, to trace the path of freckles along her waist with his tongue. But those were mere distractions, side trips from what he really wanted.

  Which was Cecilia’s wet pussy pressed firmly against his mouth.

  And it was wet. He could see it glistening, smell that musky scent even though he was still six inches from the motherland.

  Her hips shifted, tilting slightly, legs spreading as he came closer.

  “Mmm,” he said. “You want my mouth, sweetheart?”

  “Get your tongue inside me, Colin,” she demanded, head dropping back to the cushion and her legs spreading further. “God I’ve dreamed about your mo
uth on me for so long.”

  “You and me both,” he said and then put them both out of their misery.

  One lick sent his arousal sky-high. It threatened to burn him to ash, to snap his last semblance of control. Truly, the only thing that was keeping him focused was how strongly he wanted this to be about Cecilia. He needed to make it perfect for her. He needed to show her how good it could be between them.

  The next touch of his tongue shattered something within her.

  She gripped his head, pressing it more firmly against her center and ground her hips against his mouth.

  “More tongue,” she ordered and who was he to deny her anything? “Oh fuck. Yes. God, Colin. Like that.”

  “Mmm,” he murmured, loving the way the sound made her buck and grip his hair tighter. He firmed his tongue, found her clit and unleashed every trick he’d learned over the years.

  “No,” she said when he circled instead of flicking his tongue. “The other was be—better. Mmmm,” she moaned.

  Goddamn, but there was something unbelievably sexy about a woman knowing what she wanted in bed.

  “Like that.” Her breath caught. Her hips jerked and every muscle in her body went granite hard. “Oh, God. Yes. I’m so—mmm—I’m so close, Colin. Please—”

  He slid a finger deep, curling it up and forward.

  And she shattered.

  Feeling her clench around his finger, her hands in his hair, her legs over his shoulders was fucking incredible.

  But what was even better was her tugging his head up and kissing him before staring deep into his eyes. “Thank you.” A whisper, but accompanied by a confident smirk that made him want to drop right back down between her thighs and repeat the process from the beginning.

  She must have read the intent in his gaze because she grabbed his shoulders then reached behind her into that tote bag of hers.

  Out came a string of condoms.

  “Any interest in helping me use these?”

  Twenty-Six

  Cecilia, present day

  * * *

  Colin’s lips curving into a grin was just about the sexiest thing CeCe had ever witnessed.

  Okay, fine. That was a lie. Even sexier was what happened next.

  Namely, Colin sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her over to the bed beneath the glass roof.

  Her robe landed on the floor with a soft plop, but her naked body was pressed against his bare chest so there wasn’t any room for embarrassment or insecurity. Hell, he’d had his mouth between her thighs mere minutes ago.

  But this did feel a little different.

  More intimate.

  Especially when he set her gently on the mattress and stood beside the bed for a moment, staring down at her.

  She shifted to her side, lifting a hand up to rest on his flat stomach. “I like the way you look at me,” she said quietly.

  There was that grin again.

  “I definitely like the look of you, lass.”

  “Not that again,” she said, all drama as she flopped onto her back. “You’ll transform me into a puddle of goo at this rate, I swear, McGregor.”

  “So long as you let me watch your diddies jiggle like that,” he said, his use of Scottish slang for boobs making her crack up.

  “Oh, my God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter. “You’re terrible.”

  “And you have the most incredible breasts I’ve ever seen.”

  The intensity in his eyes made her breath catch, but she just tore a condom from the strip and waved it at him. “Enough pretty words. If you truly believe that, then prove it to me.”

  She didn’t need to ask twice.

  In a heartbeat, he’d shed his boxer briefs and was on the bed, pulling her close and kissing her with all the pent-up passion of a man on the edge. And unlike their other time together, CeCe wasn’t a passive participant.

  Nope. This time she got in on the action.

  She stroked and squeezed. She petted. She kissed and licked and nipped.

  Until she could barely see straight from all the longing.

  “Please, Col. I need you inside me now.”

  He didn’t argue, just grabbed the little plastic square from near her head, tore it open, and rolled on the condom. He paused, knees between her open legs, cock two inches from where Cecilia needed it. But when she tried to cage him with her thighs and tug him down, he resisted. Instead of sliding home—where they both desperately wanted him to be—he stopped. Waited for her eyes to find his. Colin’s warm palm cupped her face, the pad of his thumb stroking across her cheekbone. “You sure?”

  Despite everything—the heat of him so close, her desire raging low and hot and desperate, the past, the present, the secrets she’d yet to reveal—she was sure.

  They’d been moving toward this for eight years now.

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re amazing,” he said, almost reverent as he nudged at her entrance. “I’ve dreamed about having you in a bed, making up for . . . before. Making it better. Making it everything you wished it had been.”

  CeCe wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged him down so he was pressed tightly against her chest. “You’re all I ever wished for, Col. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

  He filled her in one stroke, gentle but insistent as he buried himself deep.

  Tears blurred her vision.

  Because it felt so damned right.

  Because this was the piece she’d been missing.

  Because . . . Colin.

  His hips flexed, drawing back and out before pressing in, deeper and a little harder.

  She moaned and he repeated the movement. Then repeated it again. And again. Until the tears dried in her eyes and she was more focused on sensation than feelings.

  Until she was groaning and screaming, demanding “More” and “Faster” and “Harder.”

  Until she was flying over the precipice and Colin was trailing her, growling her name as he tumbled.

  Until her heartbeat slowed and emotion returned and she was waiting for things to go bad.

  For it to be too real for Colin.

  For him to get angry and leave.

  Except . . . he didn’t.

  Instead, he cradled her close for long moments, brushing back her bedraggled hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.

  Then, eventually, as though he were supremely reluctant to let her go for even a second, he slipped from the bed with a murmured, “Be right back.”

  His footsteps echoed down the hall to the bathroom. She listened to the sounds of the taps turning on and then off before he returned with a washcloth. He cleaned her, returned the towel to the bathroom, and came back to bed.

  There weren’t any words exchanged as he pulled her into his embrace and tucked the covers over them.

  CeCe didn’t say anything as the sky lit up with green in a breath-stealing display, though the air caught in Colin’s lungs as frequently as it did in hers.

  She didn’t speak until Colin’s breath evened out and came in slow inhalations and exhalations.

  Only when he was deeply asleep did she dare to murmur the thought that was circling her brain.

  “What have I done?”

  Twenty-Seven

  Cecilia, six years before

  * * *

  She was an idiot for coming. An absolute idiot.

  Colin was . . . well, it was complicated. He was the man who’d broken her heart. And he was also the man who’d kept sending her friend requests on Facebook until she finally accepted, who’d then penned long letters of apology that she hadn’t replied to, then followed that up with funny gifs of pugs and memes about pumpkin spice, black leggings, and infinity scarves—her favorite dog breed, plus the “basic white girl” trends she couldn’t live without and didn’t care if the world knew.

  He’d sent flowers to the hospital when she’d been injured, research papers on experimental shoulder rehabilitation procedures when her surgery had failed
.

  Eventually, he’d been the man who’d Skyped once a week, then every night. The voice she’d fallen asleep to. His calm confidence that everything would be all right what she’d held tightly on to.

  Of course it wasn’t all right.

  Her shoulder was fucked.

  There would be no more swimming, no full ride, no future in the sport.

  She was left with a mounting stack of hospital bills and . . . uncertainty.

  So Colin’s suggestion that she come visit was a timely one. One she’d rejected of course. She couldn’t go traipsing halfway around the world when her life was in shambles.

  But then the prepaid ticket had arrived.

  And coaxing, no cajoling, had commenced.

  She “needed a holiday,” he’d said. “A break before finding your fresh start.”

  CeCe had hemmed and hawed, but ultimately the truth was that she didn’t have anything waiting for her in the States. No scholarship. Her parents wouldn’t let her in the front door—sad fact was that she’d tried to visit, wanting to see a familiar face or maybe get a comforting hug, and they had literally slammed the door in her face.

  She should have known better.

  Comfort wasn’t her parents.

  She was alone and without prospects. Why not take the chance to spend some time with Colin? Rooms in hostels were cheap, and she knew how to stretch her meals. The breeze bouncing off the cliffs and the scent of the ocean called to her, even from her memories. The hills, the heather, the castles. She had one more shot to see them before her life had to move forward.

  Bills. A dead-end job. Working her way through her degree. That was her future.

  So why not enjoy the now?

  And so she’d packed up her two suitcases of belongings, hugged her coach and thanked him for the use of his couch, then boarded a plane to Scotland.

  She’d promised to keep in touch but knew that she probably wouldn’t.

  It was too painful.