LAWSON (A Standalone Billionaire Romance Novel)

by Kristina Weaver

  “Thank you, Miss Newman, that will be all for today,” he says, dismissing me with a smile.

  I make it out of the office and lean back onto the door with a huff.

  “That bad, huh?” Taz asks, and I shake my head with a groan.

  “No, he was really nice, I’m just glad I got out of there without making a fool of myself.”

  “Here’s your water. I was going to bring it in, but I didn’t want to interrupt,” she says, handing me a glass of ice cold water.

  I drink deeply and straighten, throwing her a smile as I leave.

  “Lucky bitch.”

  “Don’t I know it. Have a good day, Han!”

  I make my way downstairs, feeling better about this situation than I have a right to. The phone is ringing off the hook by the time I sit down, and I answer, hoping Jordan hasn’t decided to go against his usual practice and is calling to make sure everything’s okay.

  It isn’t Jordan.

  “You have to come get her, Hannah! She’s been running off my staff, and she stripped down to her underwear yesterday and refused to get dressed! The customers were horrified!”

  Yeah, all three of them, I bet.

  I glare at the dress I’ve steamed and brought back to work with me, wondering if my theft hasn’t swung that thing called karma back at me.

  “I’m sorry, Amber, but I can’t do it. I’m swamped at the moment and I have to work this weekend,” I lie.

  It sounds horrible, but I am not spending my weekend with my crazy ass grandmother while Amber flits around enjoying her life. It’s about time she does something instead of just leaving me to juggle a million things. She’s my sister, and as such she has just as much responsibility in this as I do.

  I’ve spent years paying for and visiting and herding Nana. It’s about damn time someone else took up the reins.

  “But I have plans!” she wails, and I bite my lip to stop the I-don’t-care speech that’s hovering on my lips.

  “So do I. I’m going away for the weekend,” I lie, crossing my fingers.

  “But, didn’t you say you have to work—”

  “You can handle Nana for a few days while you find another nursing home, Amber. It’s not the end of the world, you know. I did it, so can you.”

  “Hannah, please, I—”

  “She’s your grandmother too. Surely you can handle caring for her without your life coming to an end. Let her hang out in the kitchen for God’s sake, she loves baking and could probably teach you a thing or two.”

  “Fine, but if she strips down again I’m going to be on your doorstep,” she warns.

  “Just keep her in the kitchen on Thursdays and you’ll be fine.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Naked Thursdays are her thing.”

  I put the phone down before her whining and wailing can start, and lean back in my chair to bask in the glow of another small but satisfying victory.

  If I could afford to I would take Nana home with me and hire a helper to keep an eye on her and maybe take her for walks and keep her company. She’s a handful and probably going a little senile, but I love her and want her to be happy.

  In a perfect world I could do that and not have to guilt my sister into helping out at all. Unfortunately, the world is not perfect, and right now I can’t afford to focus on anything but my job. If I let her, Amber will have Nana back with me, and there’s no chance she’ll come anywhere near us again.

  “You’re deep in thought today, darlin’.”

  I jump and sit straight up as Gregory comes ambling in, his charcoal gray suit doing great things for his tousled honey blonde good looks.

  “Well, I’m a deep girl, Mr Lucas. What can I do for you today?”

  Be cool, be cool. He’s just a man, I remind myself, steadying my suddenly shallow breathing.

  “How did the meeting go with Yates?”

  “Fine. Good,” I answer, knowing he probably already knows.

  “I saw your presentation. It’s good,” he says, and pleasure unfurls at the compliment.

  I know he’d never compliment me if he didn’t like it, so the fact that he is makes me feel good about all the work I put into it.

  “Thanks,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  He’s around a lot for a guy who runs his own company and shouldn’t be here unless the agency’s pitching something.

  “Dinner. Tonight. My place,” he says, leaning down to plant a swift, hard kiss on my lips.

  I know that if I say yes and allow him to get me into his territory I will not be going home without being thoroughly taken. Gregory Lucas has displayed a surprising amount of patience thus far, and now he’s telling me that my time is up. Give in or move over, his eyes say, and I find myself nodding, not willing to move anywhere until I know first-hand what he is capable of.

  That one night in his car had trapped me as surely as a fly in a web, and now I want to meet the spider.

  “What should I wear?” I ask in answer, taking in the bright, sensual grin.

  “Nothing at all, if I had my way, but as you need to get there without being arrested, something casual and comfortable. You won’t be wearing it for long anyhow. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and Hannah, darlin’?” he asks, stopping at the elevator to spear me with a wicked glance. “Do not wear panties this time.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You cannot wear that on a date,” Chrissie gasps in horror as she takes in my knee length sweats and old NYU t-shirt with a sneer. What? He’d said casual and comfortable. This is what I wear on quiet nights at home.

  “We’re having dinner at his place. He said I should be comfortable,” I defend, watching her rip into my closet with a shriek of impatience.

  Her hair has a few new highlights I hadn’t noticed when she’d blown in, demanding a girls’ night. I love girls’ nights with her, but sex nights have her trumped, and I’ve told her so.

  “You look like you’re ready to scrub toilets. Why is your closet so empty? God, is that a pair of cargo pants?” she accuses, and I cringe with embarrassment.

  No woman under the age of fifty should own a pair, and I know it. I just like them so much.

  “Don’t make tonight into such a big deal. I’ve exfoliated, shaved and buffed, and I even spritzed perfume in my hair. It’s fine.”

  “You’re having sex tonight. I know, it’s your third date. I will not let you wear that on your first sex night with that man candy. You should be ashamed, Hannah,” she mutters, and I nod in agreement.

  My choice of attire is not so much about comfort as it is my need to prove to myself that I don’t care what Gregory Lucas thinks. The fact that my crotch is currently a pantie-free zone tells me how much I am lying to myself.

  “Fine then, find me something casual and sex-worthy. If you can,” I dare with a smirk.

  Nothing in my closet will ever fit that description, and I know it. I hear her growling with every inspection, until finally she comes out with a white knee length skirt with tiny pink flowers embroidered at the hem and a soft pink t-shirt that’s just a shade lighter.

  “Here, this will have to do.”

  I change in the bathroom, glaringly conscious that I am naked beneath the skirt, and come out to see her wielding my curling iron.

  “Sit.”

  She doesn’t go full Monty on my hair, but adds a few soft curls at the end that give me a very girl-next-door kind of look and smears a swipe of gloss over my lips.

  “There.”

  “Oh, gosh.”

  “Yeah. See what a little effort can do?” she asks as I follow her to the door, only to open it to Gregory…

  “Well, hello there.”

  I can’t blame her for the slightly breathless quality her voice has discovered; I’m breathless too as I take in the worn jeans that sit on his hips just so and a red t-shirt that…wow, his suits really do not do his physique justice.

  Gregory Lucas obvious
ly works out. A lot.

  “Hi. Han, you ready to go?” he asks, grinning when Chrissie gives me the thumbs up, blatantly checks out his ass, and skips into her apartment with an airy ‘lucky bitch’.

  “That’s Chrissie, my neighbor,” I say, grabbing my door and closing it behind me.

  He takes my keys and locks up, something I’ve never seen outside of movies, and I feel something frighteningly close to actual like as he enfolds my hand and pulls me along.

  It’s only when we’re in the car — this time driven by the man himself — that I feel steady enough to speak.

  “Sooo, where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  “I know that. Where?”

  “I have a house in Garden City. It’s been in the family for a while, and it needed some TLC. I revamped it, and it’s home now.”

  Okay, wow. I could work an entire lifetime and not afford a house there. Anyone who lives there makes more, way more, than the average income. But it’s weird, I had pictured Gregory living in some glitzy Upper East or West penthouse, not an actual home.

  “You don’t mind the commute?”

  “Nah, I stay in the city when my schedule’s crammed, but I like to go home and stay for long periods. I’m planning to move there permanently once the ad campaign is squared away.”

  It takes a little over thirty minutes to reach the well-heeled residential area, and when he hits a remote for a large, wrought iron gate and slowly creeps up the drive, I am left speechless.

  It’s not a mansion like the kind you see on those Beverly Hills shows, but the place is breath-taking. A Spanish style home sits nestled among bright green lawns I’m dying to roll across, and I’d bet next month’s salary there’s a pool.

  “Good God, it’s beautiful. You must have spent a fortune revamping.”

  “Thanks. Come on.”

  The interior is even better. It’s spacious and homey and everything you could ask for in a home.

  “Stop gawking and come to the kitchen. We’re eating in there.”

  I follow as he leads the way and take the chair he’s holding out for me.

  “It’s nothing special. Just cold turkey and salad. I thought you’d like that instead of the mac and cheese Rose usually makes on a Friday when I’m home.”

  “That’s great.”

  I am nervous and tense while we eat because I know that this time is the only concession he’s going to make. Once dinner is done he’ll be done waiting.

  “Stop fidgeting, Hannah. I don’t bite,” he chides, and I look up from my plate to see him staring implacably.

  “Sorry, I’m a little nervous, if you want the truth.”

  “Why? You knew what would happen when you accepted my invitation.”

  Yeah, but wanting something and actually doing it are worlds apart. I’m not shy or anything, just uncertain and…okay I’m feeling somewhat shy.

  Gregory is so…built, and while I take care of myself, I’m not exactly a supermodel.

  “Can I help with the dishes?” I ask, not wanting to admit my sudden uncertainty, and I see a dark smile bloom on his face.

  “Come here, Hannah,” he says, pushing everything to the side to clear the area in front of him.

  I blink, and he pats the table firmly.

  “Come here, Hannah.”

  My legs tremble when I stand and skirt the table, coming to a stop to his right. He grabs me by the hips and lifts me, sitting me down so that he is at eyelevel with my chest.

  “Did you listen this time, darlin’?”

  He hasn’t even touched me, and yet I feel myself clench, wanting him, needing him to do something. I nod wordlessly and hold my breath when his hands slide up my thighs, gathering my skirt and pushing up as his rough fingers glide over my flesh. By the time my skirt is bunched at my hips, I’m breathing hard and twitchy.

  “Good girl, darlin’,” he coos approvingly. “Open for me.”

  I do, and am rewarded when he sucks in a breath before lowering his head, his lips ghosting over my inner things and then settling at the top of my cleft.

  “I’ve been thinking about this since that night. It wasn’t enough. I need to know if you taste as good as I remember.”

  I cry out and arch, pushing closer when his hot mouth settles on my clit and starts sucking in a steady rhythm that has pleasure clenching deep inside my sex.

  I’ve never been this turned on with nothing more than a look and the touch of a man’s mouth, and yet, as he flicks his tongue over me and rubs, I feel my orgasm hurtling at me with a speed that robs me of breath.

  He groans, the reverberation intensifying my pleasure, and growls when I pull his head closer and throw my head back, so consumed by the sensations I can’t help the gasping, mewling sounds that echo around us.

  “Take it, Hannah. Come,” he orders, and I obey him, exploding in a series of waves that leave me gasping for breath.

  He laps until he’s wrung every shudder from me and then stands, swinging me up and into his arms. We’re moving, climbing, and then we’re in his room, a huge space dominated by a California king draped in white and blue sheets.

  “Undress for me,” he whispers into my hair, releasing my legs to slide me to my feet.

  It takes but seconds to release the zipper on my skirt and pull my shirt up and over my bra-less breasts. When I’m done, he’s as naked as I am, and I take a minute to stop and stare at his beauty. He’s muscled, but not overly so, and I especially like the way his hips are cut to form an enticing vee down to his cock.

  “On the bed, darlin’,” he growls, cutting my perusal short.

  “But—”

  “Now, Hannah, darlin’. I’m hanging on by a thread.”

  I lie back, forcing my arms to my sides as he stops at the foot of the bed and crawls up to me.

  “You protected, darlin’?”

  What? No. I shake my head and see his disappointment as he leans over and reaches into the nightstand. The tear of foil echoes around us, and I close my eyes, wishing I’d thought of this. I am never so irresponsible that protection doesn’t even cross my mind.

  Gregory leans down and kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth in quick jabs that prove his desire. We kiss for minutes, long enough that a tight knot of tension forms low in my belly, and I know I will soon be desperate for him.

  “Guide me in, darlin’,” he groans, pushing my hand down over our bellies until I wrap my fingers around his girth.

  He’s hot and pulsing when I lodge him at my entrance, and I want to play a little more, explore him, but he drags my hand up and into the one pinning my other wrist above my head, and fills me in one hard thrust.

  I moan from the pinch as my tight sheath accepts him and push back, wanting him harder. He obliges, setting a strong, steady rhythm that would have me sliding up the bed but for his hold on me.

  “Oh, oh yes. Please.”

  I have no idea what I’m begging for, but I let my pleasure out in a series of breathless moans as he fucks me to orgasm and sends me over. I explode as before, but this time the feeling is so much deeper, stronger.

  “That’s it, darlin’, come for me,” he hisses, thrusting twice more before hitting deep and stilling, his body shuddering so fiercely I feel it inside. He lets me go and drops to the bed, his face buried in the pillows as we pant for air.

  I feel blissed out and achy in a good way, so ready to snuggle down into the pillows and take a nap. He rolls over and sighs before rising and grabbing his pants.

  “I’ll go get you some water while you dress.”

  My mind blanks for a second before mortification hits me. That is a dismissal if ever I’ve heard one — which, by the way I haven’t — and I realize that now that he’s had his fill, he expects to take me back home and…

  I feel cheaper than the day my ex walked out of court crowing about alimony. Thank God he’d ‘fallen in love’ last year and remarried, or I would have had a mental breakdown from the payments.

  B
ut all that aside, I am being dismissed, cruelly and with no regard to my pride. Like a goddamned hooker. I’m speechless and don’t quite know how to respond as I lie there and take it in.

  I hear a sound somewhere in the house and jump to my feet, throwing my clothes on and ducking into the bathroom. By the time Gregory returns with the water I am back to rights and sitting on the bed — which I’ve remade — as composed as I can be right now.

  If I feel like crying and running away in shame and mortification, I hide it and force myself not to react the way another woman probably would.

  Screw Gregory Lucas. Oh right, I’ve already done that.

  Bastard.

  “Here you go, darlin’,” he says, handing me a glass of icy water.

  “Thank you.”

  I am proud that my voice doesn’t so much as waver, and I drink the water quickly before handing the glass back and rising.

  “I just need to find my purse and shoes,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way to the stairs and down to the kitchen.

  I find my purse on the counter where I left it and crawl beneath the table to retrieve my shoes, slipping them on and rising gracelessly to my feet.

  When I turn he’s standing in the doorway, a strange expression on his handsome face.

  “What?”

  “You’re taking this really well,” he says slowly, and I resist the urge to slap his smug face.

  Well? He thinks I’m taking this well? I have never been this insulted in my entire life, and that’s saying something, considering my divorce fiasco. But what the hell else does he expect? I will not give him a show and start sobbing, or even revile him for this.

  No, I don’t expect a goddamned relationship, but being treated like a hooker…I want to laugh when I realize I’m worse off. All I got for his pleasure was dinner and a five second stay at his house.

  “Look, Greg.” I stress his name with relish and cock my head. “If you don’t mind, I can still make it home on time to go on a girls' night with Chrissie.”

  His face hardens, and I smile cheerily, ignoring the deep wound of shame that’s tearing at my insides.

  Well, let this be a lesson, Hannah Newman. When your mind tells you to run, fucking run.