Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name

by S. Ann Cole

  “Glad that I came or glad that you came?” I joked, pushing against him suggestively.

  He pushed back, circling his hips. “Glad that you came so that both of us came.”

  “The next time we’ll be doing any more quick-fixing, I’d like to see some evidence that you are clean, please,” I said, sliding my butt off the desk. “I don’t do the condom thing. It annoys me. I’ll show you my records, too. And for pregnancy worries, I’m on the injection. Good?”

  He raised a brow. “Sure this is not a ploy to get knocked up in order to trap a young, hot billionaire?”

  I gave him a disgusted look and scoffed. “I’m not even gonna bother telling you to ‘get over yourself’ this time. Just look at me and tell me if I look like a woman who gives a shit about pissing out annoying brats. Gotta be kidding me.”

  He frowned in thought for a second, then shrugged. “Clean records. No condom. No problem.”

  “See you around, Pretty Boy,” I sang as I sashayed to the door.

  But he couldn’t let me leave before catching up to me and giving me another long, lingering kiss. “May thoughts of me keep you grinning all day,” he said, spanking my ass as I opened the door.

  When I was halfway out, I poked my head back around the door and said in a sweet voice, “And oh, Mr. CEO?”

  Lovello jerked around. “Hmm?”

  “Clean up your damn desk!” I yelled and slammed the door. I could hear his deep chuckling as I walked away.

  As the elevator descended with me, I thought about how content Lovello made me. If I enjoyed being around him this much, why was I so reluctant to enter a relationship with him? At times I wondered if I was truly over Zane or not. And if he was the reason why I tried to stay available. Was my father right?

  Lovello was what I craved for, what I was addicted to, yet I was still reluctant. A sudden desire to please him surged through me, nevertheless, and I concluded my ‘thinking about it’ in less than five minutes …

  For Love, I’ll try.

  XII

  Saturday night was a quiet and rewarding night of relaxation from a hectic day. I was curled up on my couch watching a muted television, sunken deep in thought after an hour-long telephone conversation with Zane. He’d babbled on in convincing tones about how much we were ‘meant for each other’ and that the idea needed to be put into action because he ‘loved me forever’ and whatnot. A few weeks ago I might have been glad to hear those words and jump into action on anything he offered. But the entire time throughout our conversation, my mind was on one person only: Pretty Boy Nelson. Such had caused me to hear only a fraction of Zane’s hour-long rambling. The scent of Lovello was still in my nostrils, the sensation of his touch was still there on my skin, the taste of his tongue was still in my mouth. And here was Zane, a little bit too late.

  I’d already been claimed.

  My intercom receiver rang, dragging me from my sweet reveries, and I lethargically rose from the sofa and trudged over to the wall by the front door to answer it. The disembodied voice of Bill, security of the gated community I reside in, came over the receiver. “Miss Blacksille, there’s a Lovello Nelson here who says you’re expecting him. Should I let him through?” Bill sounded annoyed, and I could hear Lovello grumbling his own annoyance in the background about being restricted entrance to his own brother’s complex.

  How Lovello knew where I lived I couldn’t tell, for he hadn’t asked me. But to direct another ‘how did you know’ question at Lovello Nelson would sound inane. Since our ‘quick fix’ in his office yesterday, I hadn’t seen or heard from him. But I’d figured he was still laboring on revamping his social network and told myself that whenever he needed me, he’d come to me. And that he did. “Yes, Bill. He’s safe. Let him through.”

  “Okay, Miss Blacksille. Have a good night.”

  I opened the front door and leaned against its frame to wait for him. The cold night air swept across my bare legs, causing me to shiver and tighten the strings of my pink silk robe. Beneath it I had on tiger-print Victoria Secret boy-shorts and sleep tank. I’d showered about a hour and half ago and moisturized my skin, so I didn’t need to run to the bathroom to primp or anything. My hair was piled in a stringy heap atop my head and I was make-up-free, but I wouldn’t have the time to rush to the powder room even if I wanted to.

  Car lights peeped around the corner, then turned straight into my driveway. The bright, bluish headlights shone directly on me in the doorway, and I raised my hand to shade my eyes from being blinded, signaling for him to turn the damn headlights off. But he didn’t, and, though I couldn’t see him, I knew, without a doubt, that he was sitting in his car with a cocky smirk on his face.

  So, with a smirk of my own, I pulled the ties of my robe and held it wide open, displaying my body in just skimpy boy-shorts and sleep tank. With a honk of his car horn, the headlights went on high beam, blinding me further. In defeat, I rolled my eyes and closed my robe. There was no winning with him. A few annoying moments passed before he killed the engine of his Bugatti and stepped out, all six foot three of him, lean and formidable as he made lazy strides towards me. The car lights flashed with a beep behind him to signal its automatic locking.

  It was when he got near to me that I noticed the weariness in his eyes. His hair was messier than normal and the usual spark his face had was absent. His suit jacket was missing, his tie was undone and I deduced he came here straight from work.

  He stopped in front of me, twirling his car keys around his finger with a laggard smile. “Crissida Cove, huh? You know this is my brother’s complex, right?”

  “Don’t I must? I bought the damn house, didn’t I?”

  “Let’s see, all your electronic equipment are of a Nelson brand. The complex you live on is owned by a Nelson. And you’re quick-fixing a Nelson. You are quite involved with the Nelsons, Miss Blacksille.”

  “It’s hard not to be, when the three Nelson demons are everywhere and all up in everything.”

  He laughed. “I missed you.”

  “Well, now you’re here. Come in. It’s cold.”

  I moved aside to let him enter, and as soon as the door was closed, he had me up against it, his tongue delving into my mouth, kissing me with voracious need as if he couldn’t get enough. Drowning in my own need for him, I threw my hands around his neck and returned his kiss with the same hunger. Stroke for stroke. I missed him, too.

  “You are so … sexy. So … sweet. You feel so … damn good,” he mumbled in between kisses.

  Kudos to him for having breath sufficient to speak; mine was snatched away from my lungs by his desperate kisses. Lovello broke the kiss and dropped his forehead to mine, panting heavily, looking immensely tired and sleep-deprived.

  “You look beat, Love. Have you slept? Are you hungry? I can fix you something.”

  “Just hungry for you.”

  “Lovello, be serious.”

  “I am being serious.” He gave a small shake of his head and pushed away, taking my hand and leading me to my own family room. Oh, so he knows the layout, too. “The reconstruction concept I’ve been working on is finished. I’ve tossed it over to the team. So now I can rest.” He plopped down on my red leather sofa, dragging me down with him.

  An object was digging into my side and I twisted to remove the television remote from between us. “So you’ve eaten, then? You don’t want a cup of hot chocolate or something? I’m not used to you looking so … dreary.”

  Lovello tilted his head to regard me, a contented smile spanning across his handsome face, his slate-gray eyes holding some unfathomable emotion. His hand went up to the top of my head and loosened the stringy mass of hair, causing it to tumble down my face and on his chest. Bundling my hair in one big palm, he pulled it away from my face and channeled it down my back, then pressed his lips against my forehead and whispered, “Just this.”

  Trouble. Trouble. Trouble lies ahead …

  This man and his tenderness were doing something to me. Something wa
s changing inside me and I knew it could only mean trouble. Not wanting him to see that he was having a profound effect on me at this very moment, I averted my eyes and silently laid my head on his chest, wrapping myself around him. This felt good, he felt good, I felt good. And I wanted this feeling to stay with me. I wanted it to last. I wanted him. I wanted the ‘more’.

  Lovello heaved a weary sigh and picked up the remote, nuzzling his nose in my hair as he switched the channel to CNBC. As he listened to boring dribble about the economy, I closed my eyes and listened to the constant beat of his heart. Scarcely five minutes had passed before his heart slowed to ponderous beats and his breathing evened out. I opened my eyes and peeked up at him. Pretty Boy Nelson was sound asleep, his long lashes fanned his cheeks, his mouth hung lax.

  I stealthily snuck the remote from his hand, switched off the television and snuggled deeper in his arms. There was no way I was leaving his arms tonight. If at all.

  Consciousness visited as the morning sun’s rays poked at my eyelids, the faint sound of Timo’s whining tickling my ear. My body contorted in stretches as I opened my eyes and reached out my hand to Timo who began sniffing and licking at it, whining like the bitch that he wasn’t. He was hungry and he wanted me to know.

  I’d had a dead sleep. A blank one. For it took me a while to remember that I’d fallen asleep with Lovello on this couch, and awoken on it alone. Sitting up while pulling a squirming Timo onto my lap, I glanced around the room, wondering if Lovello was still here. He wouldn’t just leave without a word, would he?

  I got to my feet and caught sight of his shirt and necktie strewn across the edge of the sofa, while his socks and shoes were tossed in the most unconventional way about the area. On my walk into the kitchen, I spotted his Richard Mille wristwatch, platinum ring and wallet on the kitchen island. Jeez, the man was a walking mess. There must be a live-in housemaid at his house if he’s this messy.

  Just to amuse myself, I drifted my eyes to the ceiling, wondering if I’d see his pants dangling from the chandelier. No such luck, I smiled to myself. The said pants were found a second later, however, lying limply in the hallway. I couldn’t help laughing as I picked them up. Where was he?

  I checked my bedroom but he wasn’t there. Not in Timo’s lair either. After dunking dog food into a bowl to quell a whiny and miserable Timo, I went upstairs to check the guest bedroom but halted outside the door when I heard mumbling coming from inside the room. It was barely after seven in the morning: who could he be talking to this early on a Sunday?

  Then I remembered who this man was: Lovello Nelson. Of course he wasn’t seeing me alone. He had his other girls to keep in touch with, and he was keeping in touch with them in my guest bedroom. He’d made it abundantly clear that he couldn’t tolerate sharing me with anyone else, but I hadn’t made any such demands on my behalf. And I wasn’t about to. That would make me look desperate or, worse yet, like I’m falling for him. Therefore, he had the liberty do whatever he wanted with whomever. Men like Lovello Nelson had to have their cake and eat it, too. Just not in my house.

  Turning on my heels, I headed back downstairs to my en suite bathroom to freshen up, finding that Lovello had helped himself to a new toothbrush — the ripped packet tossed on the vanity, even though the waste bin was just a hand’s throw away. A used razor was there also which meant he’d shaved, and my fluffy purple robe was missing. I’d sure as hell love to see how that was fitting him.

  Once I was done cleaning myself up — and the bathroom — I dallied back to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

  It was a good twenty minutes when I was just about done preparing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, waffles, sausage, with blueberries, strawberries and Greek yogurt, that Mr. Nelson came sauntering into the kitchen, making a show of sniffing and rubbing his stomach over the puffy purple robe. Ridiculous is too lame a word to describe how he looked in that robe. I desperately wanted to laugh but forced myself to hold it in because I was secretly vexed with him.

  “Morning, beauts,” he sexily said as he grabbed me and spun me to face him.

  I didn’t get a chance to reply because his mouth was on mine in the same second, his tongue tasting of my favorite Aquafresh toothpaste. I was supposed to be upset with him, but I could never help it when he touched me: what was new?

  I arched into him and locked my hands around his neck, pulling him down to kiss me deeper, surprising myself at how much I hungered for him. Last night I’d really wanted him; I was excited when he came. But his exhaustion had sent my libido to the back of the waiting line. Now he was fresh and rejuvenated, and I no longer wanted him, but needed him. The kettle chose that moment to start whistling, knocking us apart.

  “Morning to you, too.” Extricating myself from his arms, I went to the stove and removed the kettle. “You drink tea?”

  Lovello made a face that made me laugh. “Heck, no.”

  “Well you’re screwed, because I don’t drink coffee, so I don’t have even a coffee-maker.”

  He rounded the island and sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar, giving me an odd look. What’s he thinking? “That’s okay. OJ will be fine.”

  I placed a full plate before him, then belatedly asked, “You like your eggs scrambled, right?”

  “Scrambled or perfectly fried, yes. Boiled or as omelette, no.”

  As I poured him a glass of orange juice I thought out loud, “What’s wrong with boiled eggs? I absolutely love boiled eggs. It’s the healthiest way to eat them.”

  He plucked a blueberry in his mouth and shrugged. “I don’t care if it’s healthy, boiled eggs taste disgusting.”

  I laughed and I dunked a tea bag of Yogi green tea in my mug. Men are so weird. “I’m with you on the omelette, though. It’s scrambled, poached or boiled for me.”

  “Poached?” Lovello scrunched his face in disgust, pausing mid-chew. “That’s worse than boiled eggs.”

  I went to sit beside him with my plate, laughing. “Healthy, Pretty Boy, healthy.”

  “What’s that?”

  Halting the mug midway to my mouth, I raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s what?”

  He flicked his finger at the note dangling alongside my mug while biting into a strawberry.

  “Oh. These tea bags come with little notes. Kinda like a thought for the day.”

  Taking the dangling note between his fingers, he read, “The heart sees deeper than the eye.” He raised a brow at me.

  “What? It’s not my words, it’s the tea bag’s.”

  “Just think it’s an interesting thought for the day, is all.”

  Tossing my eyes to the heavens, I sipped at my tea, watching him grinning an odd grin at me. It was good to see that his face had regained its usual spark and brightness. Last night he’d looked horrible.

  I stared back at him now, thinking about how much I actually liked this man. And then my smile died. The word ‘jealous’ has never been of frequent use in my vocabulary, if at all. Neither was it an emotion I was familiar with. I never had to use it because I never had to be jealous of anyone. With the types of relationships I engaged in, I had control of what my ‘sub’ did. Not even when Zane broke up with me for Tatiana did I ever feel jealous of her. I was just angry at him.

  But it wasn’t like that with Lovello. He was his own recalcitrant person and I couldn’t tell him what to do. Neither did I feel the compulsion to do so. Especially while I was insisting I wanted nothing more than sex with him. That would be unfair to him. But I couldn’t ignore the sharp sting of jealously I felt when I heard him in the guest room earlier.

  “What is it, Axia?” Lovello asked when he noticed I’d grown quiet.

  “What’s what?”

  “You’ve gone quiet on me.”

  I forked a mouthful of egg in my mouth and mumbled, “Nothing.”

  Lovello peered at me over the rim of his glass as he took a sip of his orange juice. “You’re bullshitting. Tell me, what is it?”

  Setting my fork down, I tur
ned to face him dead on and gave him an austere stare. “Mr. Nelson, you’re free to do whatever you want and whomever you want. But whenever you’re here, please don’t be sneaking into rooms to call your … women. I’m sure you can wait until after you leave to do that.”

  Pretty Boy Nelson shifted on the stool, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at me in thought, double lines forming between his brows. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Oh dear God! Please, I’m so not doing this with you: some stupid argument where I confront you and you lie about it as if we’re some lame-ass married couple where I’m a jealous and paranoid wife and you’re a pathological liar!” I shot up from my stool and grabbed my plate of half-eaten food.

  Why the hell am I so angry? What the hell is going on with me? Yet, though this behavior’s nowhere near my true character, I couldn’t seem to control myself. “This is why I don’t do this shit. I don’t care, Lovello, so there’s no need for you to lie about a stupid phone call. All I’m saying is, have a little respect when you’re here, or don’t freakin’ come around. That’s all.”

  Having a sudden loss of appetite — and self-control — I dunked the food from my plate in the bin, then tossed the dish in the sink.

  Lovello was staring at me as if I were a crazy woman, shocked, no doubt, at my uncharacteristic outburst. “Axia, forgive me, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t see how I could’ve called anyone when I don’t even know where my phone is. I think I left it in the car.” He mused the latter.

  I folded my arms and shook my head. Did he have a sufferance of extreme short-term memory or was he trying to make me seem like an imbecile? “Lovello Pretty Boy Nelson,” I began in a patient, slow-paced tone. “Where were you and what were you doing within the last half-hour before you came to the kitchen?”

  “I was upstairs in your guestroo —” he stopped mid-sentence and slapped a palm to his forehead, laughing and wagging his head. “Ah, you must’ve heard me praying and thought … At seven in the morning, Axia? Really?”