Beauty in the Billionaire's Bed

by Louise Fuller

  Once they were done, and had stepped onto the tiled floor, he wrapped one of the huge plush towels around her and another round his waist, then pulled her closer, fitting her body snugly against his.

  ‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked.

  Tipping her head back, she nodded. ‘I should probably dry my hair...’

  ‘Let me.’

  He grabbed another towel and led her into the bedroom. The fire had been lit earlier, but it had died down, so he tossed another log into the gleaming orange core.

  Turning, he felt his body harden. Frankie was sitting on the end of the bed, gazing up at him, her hair curling damply over her shoulders. She had let the towel fall away from her body, exposing the slim curves of her breasts, and he watched, mesmerised, as a droplet of water trickled all the way to the tip of her right nipple.

  When she looked up at him, he reached down and began rubbing her soaked hair.

  ‘That was fun.’ She smiled. ‘I thought the sea would actually be colder.’

  ‘You’re lucky. It’s usually coldest in April.’

  Their eyes met, and there were two, maybe three beats of silence. Then she reached up and pressed her hand against the front of his towel.

  ‘That’s not the only reason I’m lucky,’ she said softly.

  Abruptly, his body redirected the flow of his blood with such force that he had to put his hand against her shoulder to steady himself. His mouth dried and he was suddenly conscious of the hammering of his heart as she peeled the towel away from his body and let it slip onto the rug.

  There was another beat of silence and then she wrapped one hand around his hard length, cradling him underneath with the other. Without releasing her grip, she pushed him back onto the bed, slipping between his legs as he shifted backwards. He breathed in sharply as she began stroking the taut, silken skin, moving his hand to grip her hair as she flicked her tongue over the blunted head of his erection.

  Her hands found his thighs, her fingers splaying against the muscle, and he groaned with helpless pleasure as she took him deeper into her mouth, then deeper still, so that he was powerless to move.

  Only he wanted to taste her too. To give her pleasure. Not out of obligation, or a need to prove his virility, but because her pleasure was essential to his enjoyment.

  Tugging on her shoulders, he pushed her gently backwards and sat up, his mouth finding hers. He’d lost count of how many times they had kissed before, but as he felt her hands touch his face his heart began to race.

  Her fingers were so light, so gentle. So loving.

  Gritting his teeth, he fought against the sudden tenderness and, tearing his mouth away, pulled at her hips, kissing her stomach as he turned her body so that she was above his face.

  His head was swimming. Breathing in her scent, he parted her damp flesh, dipping inside her, seeking the tight bud of her clitoris. Teasing her with his tongue, he felt her quiver, and she arched against his mouth, moaning.

  ‘No, no—’

  He felt her jerk backwards.

  ‘I need you inside me.’

  The hoarseness of her voice made him move more than the words she’d said.

  Lifting her gently, he tried to pull her round to face him, only his leg got in the way. It would have been awkward if it had happened the first time, but they had nothing to prove now, he realised, and when she started to laugh it was the most natural thing in the world to bury his face in her hair and laugh too.

  She sat up. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.’

  ‘You haven’t.’

  She was straddling him, with his erection pressing against the slick heat between her thighs, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling such an ache of longing. It went beyond want. This was need. A vast, untapped seam of need that was infinitely more powerful than desire.

  His stomach tightened and, reaching up, he cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing the nipples. ‘I don’t think anything could do that,’ he said slowly. ‘I want you all the time, Frankie.’

  His hunger was like a burn, or an itch beneath the skin that no amount of scratching could satisfy. Her touch did something to him...made him want more and more.

  ‘I want you too. I want you so much.’ She sucked in a breath, her voice suddenly scratchy with emotion. ‘I want—’

  ‘Shh, Frankie, shh...’ He placed his finger against her lips. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ he said soothingly.

  But, her eyes were so blue, so clear—too clear. He felt as if he could see into her soul, feel what she was feeling vibrating in his chest.

  Only the fact that he was feeling anything other than desire was wrong. He didn’t do feelings. That was why he couldn’t offer her a real relationship—why this could only ever be about sex.

  Heart hammering, unable to face the emotion in her eyes, he raised himself onto his elbows and kissed her desperately, passionately, fiercely, needing to wipe out the emotion churning inside him.

  Pulse throbbing, he cupped her buttocks, taking her weight in his hands as she lowered herself onto him.

  He gripped her hips and began to move slowly, wanting to take his time, to give her pleasure that would eclipse any he’d ever given her before.

  His hands found her nipples and he tugged them gently, squeezing the taut tips, feeling a hot rush of satisfaction as a sound that quivered with pure sexual need broke from her lips.

  Dropping his hands to her belly, he stroked the smooth skin and then, as she started to rock against him, slid his fingers between her thighs.

  Her hands caught his wrists and, looking up at her face, he felt his body tighten so swiftly and strongly that he was afraid he would come there and then.

  His body shuddered. Yes. This was what he wanted: heat and frenzy and release.

  Blood roaring in his ears, he reached up and kissed her again, his fingers tightening in her hair as he felt his muscles start to tense, his own wave of pleasure building inside him, rising up, dark and unstoppable.

  He felt her body lock around his as she cried out against his mouth, and then the wave hit him with full force, curling over him and pounding through him as he thrust into her.

  Heart raging, he wrapped his arms around her body and buried his face in her hair. ‘Frankie—’

  Breathing out, he stroked a tangle of curls away from her face. His body was aching, almost hurting from the intensity of his orgasm, but then his eyes met hers, and the depth of emotion he saw there blotted out that pain with another kind of pain that made him look away.

  His ribs felt too tight.

  He didn’t want to see that softness for him there. That was a need he couldn’t meet. He’d tried once before, and failed, and nothing had changed.

  He hadn’t changed.

  He might not be young and naive anymore, but he was still that same man. Still intense and unapproachable, uncommunicative and uncompromising. A man defined by his limits.

  He could never be full of fire and drama like his father, or vivacious and beautiful like his mother and Johnny.

  Out on the huge expanses of polar ice he was a hero. Here in the real world he felt awkward and inelegant. The idea of someone like him with a woman like Frankie was not just stupid, it was absurd. He might as well try and capture a flame in his hand.

  Only last night, for the first time in his entire life, he had felt as if he was standing in the flames with Frankie.

  He knew that it had never been like this with any other woman. Never been so easy, so intimate. So personal. But then before it had never mattered who he was with. This time it was all about Frankie.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly, seeing her faraway expression. ‘Where have you gone?’

  She smiled. ‘No, I’m here. I was just thinking...’

  He was torn, caught between the need to know more and the fear of what he might hear.

>   ‘About what?’

  ‘I was just thinking how strange time is when I’m with you. Sometimes it seems to stretch on for ever, and then other times it feels like everything has sped up.’ She bit into her lip. ‘Does that sound stupid?’

  Staring at her steadily, he shook his head. ‘When I’m with you everything feels so much sharper. Colours, sounds...’

  There was a glow to her now, like the halo of light around the sun, and it would be so easy in the post-coital haze of intimacy and tenderness to step into that light.

  He tilted her face, and the fragility of her neck and the delicate bones of her shoulders felt like a warning—a reminder of how easy it would be to hurt her by promising something he couldn’t give.

  So there would be no Perhaps if... or Maybe some day...

  But he could be honest. He wanted to be honest.

  His thumb stroked the upper bow of her mouth as he looked into her eyes. ‘It’s not been like that with other people. It’s never been like this for me before.’

  She breathed out shakily. ‘Me neither.’

  ‘But it works, doesn’t it?’

  Her expression was hazy, and then she nodded, and he knew that she was everything he wanted in the world right now.

  And then he was pulling her closer, telling himself that when the time came he would let her go without a backward glance.

  It was the only way.

  * * *

  They were eating lunch in the kitchen. Frankie was telling Constance about her dip in the sea, and he was half listening, half watching the play of emotions over her face, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

  Since that day on the beach, when Frankie had told him about the accident, he’d left it on silent, and he was all ready to ignore it until he saw the name on the screen.

  Johnny.

  ‘I’m just going to get this,’ he said and, pushing his chair back from the table, stood up and walked out into the hallway.

  ‘Arlo.’

  At the sound of Johnny’s voice he felt a rush of relief fill his chest. Like most siblings, he knew the tell-tale signs of distress in his brother, but there was no breathless note of panic.

  ‘Hey, little brother. Nice of you to get in touch.’

  Johnny groaned. ‘I know... I know. I’m useless. I really was going to call—’

  The line was so clear that if he closed his eyes it would be as if Johnny was standing beside him, and he felt a sharp stab of longing to reach out and hug his brother.

  ‘It’s just been completely mad. Honestly, Hollywood people are crazy.’

  Suddenly Johnny’s voice sounded muffled, and Arlo could almost picture him, head bent over his phone conspiratorially.

  ‘They never seem to sleep. It’s like there’s no difference between day and night. They just keep on going.’ He laughed. ‘You’d fit right in.’

  Arlo felt his heart contract with love. Hollywood was the last place on earth he’d fit in, but his brother’s partisan adoration knew no limits.

  ‘On that basis, so would about twelve million penguins.’

  Johnny laughed again. ‘True.’ There was a pause, then, ‘I’m really sorry I haven’t called.’

  ‘It’s okay. I know you’re busy—’

  ‘So are you. And that’s one of the reasons I wanted to call. To thank you for letting Frankie stay at the Hall.’

  Arlo felt his chest tighten. ‘You don’t have to thank me, Johnny, it’s your home too.’

  ‘I know. But I also know how busy you are, and you weren’t expecting her...’ He paused again, then, ‘So has it been okay?’

  ‘Of course.’ It was suddenly hard to speak. To find words that could describe how ‘okay’ it had been. ‘It was Davey and Serena’s anniversary party, so we went over to Stanhope, and she’s helped me with some of my notes. Oh, and she’s trounced me at billiards.’

  He heard his brother chuckle. ‘Yeah, she’s pretty good, isn’t she?’ There was another pause. Then, ‘I’m glad she’s had some fun. That’s actually the other reason I’m calling.’

  Arlo frowned. ‘What is?’

  ‘I wanted to do something to make up for letting her down, so I’ve bought her a ticket to LA.’

  His head felt as if it was not connected to his body. ‘A ticket?’ he asked slowly.

  ‘Yeah, for Saturday. It’s a surprise. I thought she could do with a few days in the sun and I think she’ll adore LA. It’s got everything she loves. Sandy beaches, shopping malls. And celebrities! I mean, Frankie was made for this place.’

  No, she wasn’t, he thought, his forehead creasing into a frown. Frankie was made for family brunches and swimming in the sea.

  Arlo stared across the beautiful empty hallway, listening to his brother’s voice, feeling a dark, heavy cloud swelling inside his chest.

  What was it he’d said earlier to Frankie about their ‘arrangement’?

  It works, doesn’t it?

  He felt his whole body tense with fury and disgust. What the hell had he been thinking? Did he really think that was all she deserved? Some open-ended affair with a man who could essentially offer nothing more than sex and his own shortcomings?

  She needed sunshine and cocktails and people her own age—like Johnny.

  He cleared his throat, making his voice level. ‘It sounds like you want her to stay for more than a few days.’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’ Johnny hesitated. ‘She could really make a go of it out here, Arlo. She’s got something about her... I think everyone is going to love her.’

  Of course they would, Arlo thought, his fingers tightening around the phone.

  The anonymous ache in his chest was no longer nameless. Only it had taken the thought of losing her for him to understand what it was. To understand that it was love.

  His heart felt as if it would burst.

  He loved her.

  And he knew that Frankie loved him. She was too scared to say it out loud, but earlier, upstairs in the bedroom, he had felt it in every touch and kiss.

  So what was he waiting for?

  Hang up the phone. Go and tell her.

  He felt euphoric, adrift with love. The need to find her and declare his feelings rose up inside him and he half turned, his body filling with lightness.

  And then he stopped.

  He couldn’t do it.

  He couldn’t do that to Frankie—not if he loved her.

  Suddenly he was terrified, almost breathless with the fear that he would give in. Terrified of what would happen if he did.

  Because he knew what would happen.

  He knew Frankie.

  She would leap wholeheartedly, loving him, trusting him to catch her...

  But her trust would be misplaced. He couldn’t trust himself not to fail, and if he failed he would hurt her more than he was already going to have to hurt her. And he was going to hurt her. It was the only way, even though the thought of doing so tore his heart in two.

  * * *

  ‘Would you like another cup of coffee?’

  Glancing up at Constance, Frankie shook her head. ‘I’m fine. But could you leave the pot?’

  Arlo would want one. When he returned. She glanced over at the doorway, wondering who had called him. Not work. He would have ignored it.

  He had ignored it—for her.

  Her heart squeezed. He had put his life on hold for her and showed her how to live again. He had held her and comforted her and filled her with his strength—metaphorically and literally.

  Look at this morning. Arlo had still been inside her, his arms anchoring her to his body, and her love for him had been so complete, so devastating, that the room had started to spin and she hadn’t been able to see him clearly.

  Not that it mattered. He was so familiar to her now that even if she closed her eyes she
could see every minute detail of his appearance.

  Her fingers trembled against the handle of her coffee cup. He was so beautiful, and the lines on his face and the scars all over his body didn’t diminish that beauty—they just made his beauty unique. More than unique. It was essential. He was essential to her now. She needed him more than she needed her next breath. He was everything. Her always and her for ever.

  Only she couldn’t tell Arlo that.

  That wasn’t what he’d signed up for and no alteration in her feelings could change that. She was already out of her depth, but at least there was still a way back to shore. She couldn’t allow herself to get in any deeper. She couldn’t let herself care even more for Arlo than she did. Not when she knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved. She couldn’t go through that again.

  Her pulse skipped. And she didn’t need to. He had acknowledged that what they shared was different...special.

  ‘It’s never been like this for me before.’

  Those had been his exact words, and right now that was enough.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll talk to you soon.’

  She glanced up. It was Arlo. He was still on the phone, and as she looked at him, he pointed at it.

  ‘Yes, I’ll hand you over to her now.’ He held out his phone. ‘It’s Johnny. He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Johnny—oh, my goodness! How’s it going? I can’t believe you’re actually going to be in a film!’ she gushed.

  Johnny laughed. ‘Don’t blink or you’ll miss me. I think one of the palm trees is on screen longer than I am.’

  It was strange, hearing his laugh. A week ago it would have left her feeling weak. Now, though, she felt nothing except a kind of sisterly affection.

  ‘Are there really palm trees?’ she asked quickly.

  She didn’t care if there were or not, but she could feel Arlo’s eyes on her face and felt suddenly self-conscious.

  ‘Loads. Would you like to see them?’

  ‘Of course.’ She was momentarily distracted as, smiling stiffly, Arlo got up and walked over to the window.