The Billionaire Bad Boy Plan

by Michelle Love

  He’s going to kill me… he’s going to kill me and I’ll never see Sam again… oh god…

  The weight of his body was a crushing force, making it hard to breathe. Isa felt the tip of the knife run lightly across her skin and wondered, almost dispassionately, what was taking so long. The thought jolted her back into the present, and she opened her eyes. Her attacker gave a short laugh, and she started to struggle again, yanking her hands-free from his knees and trying to jam her fingers into his eyes. He cuffed her hard across the face. Her head swam and her eyes watered. He slammed his fist hard into her stomach, forcing the breath from her lungs. She doubled up, curling into a fetal position.

  Then, just as suddenly, he was gone. Isa, still breathless, couldn’t believe it. After a few seconds, she sat up, looked around her, peering into the gloom of the parking lot. She sat there, terrified, confused, waiting for him to reappear, come back to kill her. But there was nothing but the faint sounds of the traffic in the street far below. She clambered to her feet, the pain in her stomach still raw and limped to the car. Inside, she banged down the locks and sat for a while, too shocked to do anything but pant for breath and trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  Sam’s phone bleeped as it reached full charge and he switched it on. Two voicemails from Isa – to hear her voice after a day away was bliss. He quickly scanned through the rest of his messages, only half taking them in. He was about to call Isa when an email notification popped up. He opened it.

  Isa. Rather, photos of Isa – walking in the city, getting coffee, reading in a bookstore, catching an elevator in a parking lot. Sam didn’t understand – it was clear Isa had no idea she was – oh God, no - being followed. He swallowed the nausea that rose in his throat. The sender, who’d used an obviously made up name and email address, had written one sentence.

  She is beautiful.

  Sam felt the crushing weight of fear bearing down on him. Someone was following her. Yes, there was no explicit threat but… he didn’t want to scare Zoe, so he made the excuse of looking for better signal out in the yard. The phone rang twice before it was picked up. Sam frowned.

  ‘Seb? Where are you…?’

  ‘Isa’s been attacked.’ Seb’s voice was shaking, stunned. The breath was knocked from Sam’s lungs.

  ‘Jesus. Jesus. Is she okay?’ Please. Please.

  ‘She’s okay. She has some cuts and bruises, but she won’t go to the ER. We’re on our way home now. She’s pretty shaken up.’

  Sam’s heart was thumping. ‘God. Can I talk to her?’

  He heard Seb pass the phone.

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry….’

  ‘Sam….’ His heart broke as she burst into tears, ‘Sam…. he had a knife…’

  His blood ran cold.

  Isa pulled the sweater tighter around herself. She couldn’t get warm despite the heat of Zoe’s kitchen. She felt strangely disconnected from the world. When they’d gotten home, Sam was apoplectic with worry and anger; Zoe was in tears and Seb was trying to comfort her. Seeing the dried blood, cuts, scratches and bruising left by her attack, Sam had insisted on calling the local cops.

  After hours of questions, of fuss, she just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep. She wanted to forget this whole day. She listened to them all talk about her, at her, for a few more minutes then got up, went to the door. She offered them a wan smile.

  ‘I’m going to bed.’

  Sam followed her in silence, but when they got into her bedroom, as she was about to climb onto the bed, he handed her his phone, open to the email he got earlier. She flicked the images silently, a ribbon of apprehension wriggling in her stomach. She looked up at Sam confused. He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know who it’s from. There’s no message – no explicit threat but I’m concerned, Isa. Why are they taking photos of you, following you?’

  Isa suddenly felt cold in her core. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve pissed anyone else off except maybe that weird woman at the gallery the other day. Are you sure you don’t know her?’

  Sam didn’t look her in the eye. ‘I’m sure.’ A lump of sadness settled in her stomach. He’s lying. Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away from him, curling into a ball on the bed. She didn’t think he was cheating on her but how could she be sure? They’d barely discussed their lives before they met, wanting to live in the here and now. Maybe that had been a mistake.

  She felt the bed shift as he lay down beside her and, as he slid his arms around her, she couldn’t help sinking into then, turning to face him as he pulled her closer. He stroked her hair away from her face, placed his cool fingertips against the bruise forming on her cheekbone.

  ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,’ he whispered.

  ‘You can’t be there all the time. It’s okay, really. These things happen all the time. Do you know how many women are attacked, verbally, physically, every second? I would like just to forget it.’

  Sam frowned. ‘You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, not when you take the photos into consideration. I’ll get some protection arranged, someone to watch over you when I can’t.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Isa placed a hand on his, her eyes alarmed. Why was he acting like this? ‘I don’t think we need to go that far. Whoever attacked me… he could have raped me, killed me. But he didn’t, he just wanted to scare me. If he is the one following me, maybe it’s just some asshole who gets off on scaring women. Well, you know what? Fuck him, Sam; he doesn’t get to win. I’m not changing my life for him. No bodyguards.’

  Sam said nothing and she saw the concern, the worry in his eyes and there was something else too, something she’d never seen, never expected to see – real fear. She sighed, unease settling inside of her. Hired protection? For the first time, she felt the gulf between their two worlds; to Sam, throw enough money at a problem, it would go away.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted then felt his lips press gently against hers. Her body relaxed and she sunk into the kiss, needing that release.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said softly, but she hushed him with her kiss, pushing him onto his back. Sam’s eyes were still worried as she pulled his shirt open.

  ‘Really? Are you sure you’re up to it?’

  For the first time in what seemed hours, Isa smiled, unzipping his pants, reaching in to free his cock. She ran her fingertips gently up and down the long shaft, feel it shiver and stiffen.

  ‘You appear to be,’ she joked and was rewarded with his smile.

  Soon they were naked, kissing, touching and feeling. Sam winced when he saw the burgeoning bruise on her stomach but seeing this, she bent her head and took his cock into her mouth, trying to make him forget. She ran her tongue along the pulsing vein to the tip, flicking around it, sucking on him as he grew harder, harder. She grazed his cock gently with her teeth and felt him jerk, groan with pleasure, a pearl of liquid forming at the tip. She knew he was close by the way his entire body stiffened; usually, he would pull out now and plunged himself into her, beautiful cunt but tonight, she wouldn’t let him, and he came in her mouth, gasping as his semen pumped onto her tongue.

  ‘God… God... Isa…’

  She loved hearing him say her name, loved for once being the one in control. His penis was quivering as he pulled her up the bed and clamped his mouth onto her nipple. He was hard again when he pushed into her, gathering her to him in his huge arms as they moved together.

  Everything, everyone else in the world disappeared for them, and Isa lost herself in the pleasure of being fucked by him, this man she loved with all her heart. Her vagina pulsed and ached from the size of him, his confident, virulent thrusts. She loved the way he would look her in the eye, look deep into her soul as they screwed – made love; she amended in her head. No, fuck it – screwed. She loved the carnal woman he had awakened in her - the sexy, confident, potty-mouthed woman. One who liked to fuck and be fucked, one who wasn’t afraid to
tell this wonderful, astonishing man that she loved him. One who wasn’t afraid to trust.

  Breathless now, she gave into the shuddering orgasm that made her entire body vibrate, her limbs weaken and her head swim deliriously. She opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her.

  ‘I want to spend my life with you,’ he said, kissing her gently and the love in his voice made her heart swell.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ she whispered, ‘but for tonight, let’s just make the world go away…’

  Isa considered out loud the two possibilities. She could get ready for her debut show the very next day, checking the final placement of her work or she could throw up, scream, and go sob in the corner like a little pussy. She offered these two options to a sniggering Sam as they sat at her tiny breakfast counter.

  ‘Now I’m not saying those are my only two choices but, y’know.’ She chomped down on a piece of toast, wrinkling her nose. It had gone cold.

  Sam shook his head. ‘Actually I have a third option.’

  Isa grinned wickedly. ‘We did that already.’

  Sam sighed dramatically. ‘Will you get your mind out of the gutter, woman?’

  But he was delighted that she seemed more like her old self. A week since the attack and there had been no more texts, no more emails, no more threats to her safety. He thought he was probably more relieved than she was. She’d persuaded him not to hire protection and he’d not broken his promise – as such. Just beefed up his existing security – he reasoned that didn’t count.

  Looking at her now, her face glowing, excitement in her eyes despite her protestation of nerves, she had never looked more beautiful to him, more alive.

  ‘What’s your third boring non-sex option then?’

  He blinked. ‘Oh yeah. You know how tomorrow the critics are going to arrive a little earlier?’

  She nodded, not really listening and he smiled to himself.

  ‘Thing is they’re not coming, not tomorrow.’

  She shrugged, still pulling her toast to pieces and slathering them with peanut butter. ‘Okay.’

  ‘They’re coming in an hour.’ Then he waited.

  Isa stopped chewing and stared at him. ‘You’re kidding.’

  He very calmly took a sip of his coffee. ‘Nope.’

  He’d never seen anyone move so fast.

  An hour later, to his surprise, Isa was almost serene, chatting happily with the local art critics and dealers that Sam had invited.

  He had been right – well, he and Zoe. They’d planned the surprise viewing so that Isa didn’t have time to talk herself into a state of nervous introversion that made her unable to talk to anyone. The adrenaline that coursed through her after he told about the surprise viewing had made her outgoing, receptive. He could tell the critics were utterly charmed by her, whatever their views on her work. Cal and Seb were keeping their drinks refreshed and passing around food. Keep ‘em drunk and fed always worked, in his book.

  He managed to steal her away for a few moments, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her into a darkened corner. She grinned up at him, and he bent his head, pressing his lips against hers.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ He kissed her again and felt her laugh.

  ‘I’ll think about it. Seems to be going well, huh?’

  ‘Never in any doubt.’

  She glanced back into the viewing room. ‘You know all these people?’

  ‘Mostly. Some are newbies. How do you feel?’

  She nodded. ‘Good, actually. Hopeful.’

  He slid his hands into her hair on either side of her face. ‘I love you, you know?’

  She nodded and kissed him. ‘I do know. As I love you. Thank you for this, for all of it.’

  He smiled. ‘You’re welcome. Now get back in there and hustle.’

  She walked past him, back the milling crowd and he breathed in her scent, the perfume she left in her wake. It was thrilling being here, so near to her and hearing her talk in that gentle voice. She looked beautiful too, a simple white dress which showed off the rich gold of her skin.

  See me.

  She glanced in his direction as if he’d spoken out loud and their eyes met. She nodded, smiling. I love you. I love you.

  The jerk in his groin was almost painful. That smile. He almost couldn’t wait for that smile to turn to pain, to understanding she was dying and he was the one killing her. He imagined going to her now, in front of all these people, in front of her bastard lover, and stabbing her, plunging his knife into her belly, watching the blood bloom across the white dress. Hearing people scream their horror. To see her confusion as she bled to death.

  Soon, my darling. Soon.

  It was after midnight before the last of the critics had faded away. Isa and Sam banished Zoe to bed, while Cal bore Seb off to the city, already best friends. Isa was gathering up empty glasses, plates, discarded flyers and information leaflets. Finally, Sam bore her up to her apartment, snagging the last bottle of champagne. Inside, he shook the bottle and nodded at her.

  ‘Take your clothes off.’

  She dropped the dress to the floor, grinning, guessing his plan. He popped the cork and sprayed her entire body with the champagne. Tugging his own clothes off, he swept a furiously giggling and soaking wet Isa into bed and proceeded to lick every drop from her skin. She moaned and writhed under his touch, completely at his mercy.

  It was three forty-five a.m. before they finally broke apart. Isa reluctantly rolled from the bed. ‘Must pee,’ she grinned, blowing him a kiss on the way to the bathroom. Sam watched her with pleasure, the way her hips swayed as she walked, her hair clouding around her. Goddess. He couldn’t imagine life without her now. Sam sighed and got up, tugging his jeans on.

  ‘Coffee?’ he called, as he walked into the tiny kitchen.

  ‘Nah, I’m good, thanks.’

  Sam dumped some instant coffee into a mug and put the kettle on the gas. He glanced out at the night – there was no moon tonight, and he could barely make out the shape of Zoe’s house. Then he frowned. Through the windows of the darkened gallery he could see a small glow – was someone there?

  Isa, looking adorably ruffled in his t-shirt and pair of old paint-spattered pajama pants, batted his ass as she appeared from the bathroom, pulling a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator. ‘Why the face?’ She asked, draining half the liquid in one gulp, and pulled herself up onto the counter top.

  Sam nodded towards the gallery. ‘Did we leave some lights on?

  Isa glanced out of the window. Don’t think so. I’ll go check.'

  She yanked open the door and stopped, turning to look at him with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Sam…’

  He immediately smelled it too: smoke. In an instant they were racing down the stairs, banging on Zoe’s door to wake her and then into the back door of the gallery they ran. They were assailed by the choking smoke, the raging heat. Isa darted towards the paintings that she could see and started to lift them from the walls, but Sam went towards the backroom, his hand covering his mouth and nose, to where Isa’s exhibit was. When he got there, the heat increased, the flames crawling across the walls.

  Sam could see it was all gone. Every one of her paintings, every sketch. A bunch of paint stripper soaked rags was piled up beneath the largest of them. This was deliberate.

  ‘Sam!’

  Isa was beckoning him frantically and together they escaped the inferno. Zoe, her face drawn and shocked, was already out on the street as they joined her, sucking in the fresh air, coughing, choking. Sam saw Isa was trembling and pulled her to him.

  ‘I’m sorry, baby, it’s all gone, I’m so sorry.’

  Isa, her dark eyes wide and frightened shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, Sam, it doesn’t matter. I just….’ She put a hand to her forehead, and he saw tears pouring down her face. He pulled her into his arms. With his free hand, he called the emergency services.

  Zoe was trying to console Isa, but she was sobbing now. ‘The house… your house… I d
on’t know why….’ Suddenly Sam saw how lost she looked, how devastated. He understood that she didn’t care about her own work; all she cared was that now, it looked like Zoe had lost her livelihood, possibly her home. It made him love her even more.

  Zoe tugged at his arm. ‘Sam… Sam, what happened?’

  He shook his head, not knowing what to tell her. The fire was growing more intense. Sam coughed again, spitting smoke filled saliva onto the street. His cell phone bleeped. Another photo of Isa taken about ten seconds ago.

  Will you miss her when she’s dead?

  Sam’s body went cold. He spun around and scanned the street for anyone suspicious for Casey. In the distance, he could hear sirens, but now, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, Isa was walking towards the front of the gallery, her forehead creased with confusion. He saw her bend to pick up something at the same time as a burst of fire shot towards the front door. Sam hurtled towards her, pulling her away just as the window exploded above them. The shockwave sent them both tumbling across the asphalt. Neighbors had started to gather, and a couple of them rushed to help them to their feet.

  Sam saw blood trickling down Isa’s head from a nasty gash at her hairline but as he reached for her, she pushed something into his hands, and he was shocked at the terror in her eyes. He looked down at the canvas in his hands. It took him a second to understand, to comprehend what had frightened her so much.

  He thought at first that the small canvas was one she’d managed to save. The next moment, he changed his mind; it wasn’t her style, not one of her joyful, vibrantly colored abstracts. It was a cartoon, stark colors of black, white and red in the style of Japanese Manga. When he saw it, his stomach dropped, and the breath knocked from his lungs.

  It showed a woman, a beautiful woman, long brown hair, huge soft brown eyes – quite obviously Isa - dead, lying a pool of blood. Murdered. The hilt of an over-sized knife protruded from her belly, the white dress she was wearing soaked in her blood. The expression on her lovely dead face was one of agonized terror. Next to the women, a dark haired man had sunk to his knees beside her, weeping. Even though the picture showed him only from back, Sam knew it was meant to be him. Jesus.