The Penthouse Secrets: A NYC Billionaire Romance Trilogy Boxed Set

by Amanda Horton

  So Rory’s gesture, at once caring and masculine, overwhelmed me.

  “Hey,” said Rory gently. “What’s this?” He swiped an errant tear from my cheek.

  “Nothing,” I said as I sat on the soft leather seat. I buckled in with a too fierce tug on the belt.

  “Yeah. I bet you cry all the time when two rock stars beat each other.” Rory gave me a rueful smile and shut the door.

  I gave a half laugh, but in truth, I didn’t deserve even that small enjoyment. I felt like a bad daughter because I hadn’t seen my father all day. I worked all day getting the promos for the concert cranking, though I talked to him on the phone. And in a rush like a drenching New York rain, the weight of bearing the company on my shoulders and my father’s mini brush with death swept me. I’m glad I’m sitting because my body physically gave way to a bout of weakness that could have been the emotional strain, or a lack of food, or both.

  Fiddling with the small, red strappy purse the ever detailed, Rose, my stylist, paired with this outfit, I pulled out the sunglasses she thought appropriate. They were a leopard print frame to match the leopard print open-toed mules I wore. Rose left photos of what I was supposed to wear with what, and the picture showed the model wearing the sunglasses on top of her head. It pulled together the look, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Just wearing the cherry red duster when I’m used to New York black was daring enough.

  And I am a PR maestro in LA? Without warning, the sense that I was an imposter in my own life collided with my usually rock solid self-confidence.

  Engaged in my self-absorption, I didn’t notice that Rory gained the freeway, and I could see we were in for a long drive. The typical rush hour traffic clogged the roadway, but Rory proved to be a master of advanced lane changing. He used the engine power of the Ferrari to slice into openings between cars. The fading sun caught his ginger hair and the reddish stubble on his chin clenched in concentration infusing both with a sexy glow. The muscles of his arm flexed as his hand worked the stick shift and I could easily imagine that hand working me.

  What the hell is wrong with me? First, randy thoughts about Tobias, an aborted hand job from Cole and to top it off with cunnilingus with Jersey? All thoroughly tantalizing but ultimately unfulfilling.

  I needed to get laid.

  But not with one of my clients.

  But the thrum of the stop/start of the Ferrari’s powerful engine as Rory navigated the treacherous lanes of LA traffic reverberated through me like a siren’s song. No wonder it is considered a sexy machine. It was sex on four wheels.

  My panties are soaked, damn it, and I squirmed, swimming in the evidence of my arousal.

  With relief, I spotted the exit to Hollywood Park, and I waved my hand to tell Rory to take it, but he merely nodded and zoomed off the freeway in the right direction.

  My father’s house is at the edge of Griffith Park but technically a Hollywood Park address. He bought it after the market crash for pennies on the dollar because he is as brilliant with money as he is with clients. A modest home by Starland standards, the facade is unassumingly and unimpressive 1950’s plain red clapboard and boring rectangular windows. But that was my father. He believed in substance, not flash. I remember moving into it in my senior year of high school thinking it was a dump. I didn’t understand his penny-pinching ways until I accidentally ran across a bill for the private school he sent me to. That man put all his money into me. So I grew to appreciate this house because it represented my father’s love.

  It’s most stunning feature however was not in the house, it was the thoroughly unobstructed view of the famous Hollywood sign from the back deck that jutted out over the slope the house perched on. My father sits out here at night, with his laptop and drink in hand. He says it reminded him of what was at stake for his clients if he screwed up.

  He never screwed up.

  Wanita, our housekeeper, opened the door and started in surprise to see me. She appeared to be heading out, and she held a couple of plastic containers of food.

  “Oh, Miss Jacine, I was just on my way to see your father.”

  “Are you? And what’s this?”

  “He said his missed my cooking and—”

  “Let me see,” I said. Reluctantly she held up one container of steak fajitas and another of chicken.

  “No,” I said shaking my head. “Not the steak.”

  “But—”

  “And make sure he gets a half portion. And tomorrow morning we will talk about his diet. He’s on restrictions during his recovery. He did have a heart attack.”

  “Oh,” she said with her eyes wide. “Mr. Alexander said it was just stress.”

  My father, the liar. What did I expect from the premier spin-doctor of LA? I see I have more to manage than my father’s business.

  “And you believed him? Wanita, I’m surprised.”

  “Sorry, Jacine. I should have known better.”

  “I’ll take that steak container.”

  “There is more in the refrigerator for you with the rest of the fixings. It’s good to have you home.”

  “Thank you, Wanita.”

  She gave a passing glance to Rory. “Mr. Holmes,” Wanita said as she walked by him.

  “Good to see you again, Wanita. You do make the best fajitas in LA.”

  She smiled.

  “There should be enough for two,” she said.

  Oh brother. Now I have to invite him in.

  “Come along,” I said.

  “I’ve always liked your house,” he said. “It’s not pretentious like so many LA homes.”

  “Thanks. So you’ve been here before?”

  “You don’t remember? Your MBA grad party, before Banshee, broke up?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes. Of course.”

  I pulled out Wanita’s homemade ice tea, fajita wraps, salsa, and black beans and rice from the refrigerator, and heated the food separately in the microwave. Using that appliance was my one culinary accomplishment.

  “Can I help?” he said.

  “The plates and cups are in that cupboard.”

  “Where do you want them?”

  “The kitchen island is fine,” I said. I turned to set the rice on the island when Rory collided with me with plates in hand. The bowl flew out of my hand and glanced off my foot.

  “Damn-it!” I said hopping as pain shot through me.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said.

  “Not your fault.”

  “Here sit down, let me look at it.”

  I sat at one of the kitchen stools because the darn foot hurt like a bitch. And my one thought was I couldn’t wear spiked heels to the office for quite a while.

  Rory gently pulled the mule from my injured foot.

  “Ooh,” he said with sympathy. “It hit the side but missed the toes. You’re lucky. But you should put it up, so it doesn’t swell too badly. You need some ice too.”

  “I’ll just sit here. I’ll be fine.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “Can you flex your foot, or should we take you to the hospital for x-rays?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine.”

  “You keep saying that, but you’re injured. Don’t take things lightly as your father does, or you will end up in trouble too. And we need you too badly for that to happen.”

  “You do?”

  “Here,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. Rory slipped one arm under my arm and another under my knees and lifted me effortlessly.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to the living room so you can put your feet up. And yes, we do need you. My idiot friends only behave when you are around.”

  “They didn’t today.”

  “Trust me. That was mild compared to other things I’ve seen. And what happened in Angelo’s? The usual nonsense, only this time it was public.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  With a few steps, he took me to the living room faced with floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the pool, the extended deck
and the Hollywood hills beyond. Rory set me down gently.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he said.

  “Don’t worry.”

  He disappeared back into the kitchen and brought back ice wrapped in a kitchen towel, a plate of food and a glass of ice tea.

  “Here,” he said as he placed the food and drink on the table. He sat at the end of the sofa and lifted my foot.

  “You might not need that ice after all. Is it still tender?”

  “Not like it was.”

  “I think your shoes saved you from the worst of it. Here.”

  Gently, slowly, he stroked my sore foot between his strong hands.

  “How does that feel?” he said.

  “Good,” I admit.

  He massaged not just the injured foot but the other too, spreading calm throughout my body. And I had to admit, my feet between his thighs sent effervescent sensations through me. My head fell back as I imagined this gentle giant messaging other things as well. In my illicit imaginings, Rory massaged my thighs and worked upward. A groan escaped my lips.

  “You okay?”

  “You’re good at this.”

  “Shiatsu massage. I have it done after shows. Reduces the stress of touring.”

  “I’m going to call you Mr. Magic Hands.”

  “Oh, so you think that is good?”

  He lowered my feet. My mind protested the loss of his hands.

  “Sit up.”

  In my relaxed state, I almost couldn’t, but he helped me and then settled behind me. Without a sound he started working my shoulders, loosening them with his skillful touch. His fingers wandered up my neck.

  “You are tight. It’s a wonder you don’t have headaches.”

  Rory’s ministrations made me light and floaty. I relaxed into him. So much so, that it wasn’t until he shifted that I felt his hard cock pressing into my back.

  He drew in a sharp breath.

  “You are so sexy,” he whispered into my ear.

  I am going to Hell because I can’t stop thinking sexy thoughts about my clients. All they have to do is manhandle me a little bit, and I’m ready to go all the way. But right now, the front of the red duster pooled on either side and Rory is kneading my breasts with his hand. His touch is divine, and I’m in heaven. Both hands now command my nipples, and I arch my back in response. Can you come from a breast massage? I just might.

  The place between my legs throbs against my too tight jeans and I thrust my hips forward seeking friction. Rory’s hands kicked up the simmering sexual frustration of the past few days, and dear Lord I need it. Now. I want a man’s cock between my legs, and damn it, if Rory Holmes will give me his, I’m going to take it. I twist my head toward his offering my lips, and he lowered his head.

  The doorbell sounds, startling both of us.

  “What the hell,” I roared. “What is it now?”

  “Don’t answer,” said Rory.

  And at first I’m tempted, but then someone pounds on the door with the force of a battering ram.

  “I’ll make whoever it is go away,” I said. Pushing away from the couch, I stalked to the front door and peeked at the security screen there.

  What the? Cole Kane pounded on the door, and shockingly, Jersey Dys gets out of a black Jaguar, and then lastly, Tobias steps out of his gray Aston Martin Vanquish.

  “Holmes, you bastard,” said Cole. “Get the hell out here.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Tobias

  I dropped off Kane who promptly got into his vehicle and tore out of his garage like a man possessed. If he were going after Dys, this would not end well. All of Jacine’s hard work would burn away into the smog-filled LA air, leaving Alexander and Wells the laughing stock of LA.

  I heard what my friend at the company who books the Bowl act said. The whole thing at Angelo’s made for interesting press, but the only people who benefited were the newspapers. Rock stars were known to be volatile, and a certain amount of mischief was considered colorful. But playing the public at large at risk? That made any band a bad bet.

  And Jacine had three of them on her hands.

  Something wasn’t right, though. Kane wasn’t heading to Dys's house. And as we traveled the torturous curves of the roads of the Hollywood Hills, I finally realized where we were headed.

  Jacine’s.

  This was outrageous. What did he hope to accomplish there? I notice him standing too close to Jacine, but then again, she was just that beautiful.

  But the fight with Dys was over-the-top. And now he was headed into more trouble.

  I swear. If he does anything to upset Jacine, I’ll pound him into the ground.

  But even more incredible is the fact that another car sits in the driveway, a god damn red Ferrari, the one that Rory Holmes drove. What the hell was Rory doing here?

  Stepping out of my car, I hear Kane knocking on the door and shouting for Holmes to come out of the house. Dys stood to the side looking equal parts amused and pissed, though I don’t know why.

  The door jerked open, and an incredulous Jacine stood framed in the doorway, and Kane stepped forward. She was one woman facing two guys not known for their emotional stability and my long-buried protective instincts surged, and I tore down that driveway to the two men.

  I skidded forward on the white gravel when I heard her.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Holmes,” called Kane.

  “Cole! Stop this.”

  “Don’t be like this, baby. You don’t know this snake like I do. Did he pull the massaging the feet thing on you?”

  “Baby?” sputtered Dys.

  Kane glanced over his shoulder.

  “Sure. In case you haven’t noticed this woman is fine.”

  “Oh, I noticed, asshole. So stay away.”

  “Me? I’m here first.”

  Jacine stared at both of them in disbelief and raked her silky hair with her hands.

  “What the fuck?” said Holmes as he came to stand behind Jacine.

  “You!” said Kane shaking his finger at Holmes. “Get the fuck out here and keep your hands off her.”

  Holmes's eyes blazed with anger. “And who are you to say anything about it?”

  A sick feeling swirls in my gut as I realize that Jacine is in the middle of a dangerous situation. These dickheads go off before the starting gun. And the stakes for Jacine were very high. The whole focus of her plan to rehabilitate the PR of these guys was to get them to co-operate on one project. In a town where one misstep meant millions in lost revenue, her failure would take a big chunk of the armor and cachet of Alexander and Wells.

  Franklin would be furious. And that was the last thing my health challenged friend or his overextended daughter needed.

  I consider my moves, because as volatile as this situation is, I could make it worse by stepping in. Working with creatives I learned that the stress of having to perform 24-7, to present an image that might not match the inner man lends volatility to the public persona. Only Jersey, by his father’s long association with the PR firm, knows that I mean no harm.

  But before I can decide anything, Jacine pulls up her five foot, seven-inch frame and fire flashes through her eyes.

  “All of you, get off my property now!”

  I groan because this is not the way to treat three impetuous rock stars. She knows this, but I see the stress in her eyes too, and for the first time in my life I see Jacine Alexander unravel.

  “But, sweetheart,” said Dys.

  “Sweetheart?” protested Kane.

  “Yeah, sweetheart. Want to make something of it?”

  “Who the fuck cares!” snapped Jacine.

  Holmes put his hands on Jacine’s shoulders, which was a mistake.

  “Get your hands off me!” yelled Jacine. And though the scrub and trees of the hills usually sop up sounds, her high voice reverberated against the walls of the slopes of the Santa Monica Mountains.

  I groan. There is a reason why you usually ca
n hear a pin drop in the Hollywood Hills. It’s because the neighbors, sensitive to the star-studded antics of LA, keep things eerie quiet. You might hear traffic on the road, or the occasional barking of a dog, but otherwise you would think you were in the middle of the country, which we were not.

  It was suburbia. Oh, decidedly upscale, but Mr. And Mrs. America, just the same. Stars live here on sufferance.

  But do Kane, Dys, and Holmes recognize that? No. And before I know it Holmes pushes past Jacine and shoves Kane, who falls into Dys, who pushes him back into Holmes.

  And that’s when the fight starts.

  “Stop!” screamed Jacine, but that only made things worse. Giving lie to reports that LA police are slow, on this day within five minutes a police car pulls into the driveway flashing its lights.

  It didn’t take long for our worse fears to manifest and the Terrible Trio, bruised, sweaty, and dirty were hauled off to the local lock-up.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jacine

  Hell.

  I watched Cole, Jersey, and Rory cuffed and placed into police cruisers, and I watch my career drive away with them. Level-headed, Tobias put his arm around my shoulder.

  “We’ll fix this.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. Never before in my life did I taste a defeat as bitter as this.

  “Jacy,” he said. “If anyone could, you can.”

  “This is all my fault,” I groan.

  “How’s that?” he said gently. Tobias guided me back into the house, and it was good to have a sturdy shoulder I could lean against. I needed this calm, reliability, stability. Everything Tobias had to offer.

  “They. I. Oh, I don’t know.” How can I explain that I crossed the line with not just one but all three of my clients? Sure, shenanigans like this were commonplace in Star land, but not at Alexander and Wells.

  “Are you trying to tell me you think you led them on?”

  Leave it to Tobias to get to the heart of the matter. I swallowed hard, not able to think a clear path out of this mess.

  “Sweetheart,” he said. “These guys are used to getting whatever woman they want at the drop of a hat. The problem is, as I see it, no one got anything they wanted.”