Start Again Series: A Billionaire Romance Box Set

by J. Saman

It’s in this moment that I truly understand just how lucky I am. I have these people, and they’re so much better than any biologically related family could ever be. They love me. They have my back. They go above and beyond to make me happy. My father didn’t even call me today. It’s like if I don’t submit to his dominance over my life, I don’t exist. Asshole.

  “I have something for you too,” Kyle says quietly, leaning over into my chair so I can hear him better. “It’s at my place, though. Do you mind if when we leave later, we make a detour there first?”

  I look at him, soaking in the way the fire dances against his dark-blond hair, the way it sparkles against his hazel eyes. “Of course.” I grin, reaching out to touch his cheek before I can even think about what I’m doing. “Thanks, Kyle. You really didn’t have to get me anything. I already had the best weekend with you.”

  “Who are you taking with you to Portland?” he asks, taking a sip of his water. Kyle has only had one beer and that was with his dinner. He really takes the whole designated driver thing seriously. It’s adorable.

  “I don’t know,” I say, leaning back in my seat and sipping my bourbon that is filling me with a delicious tingly warmth. “You interested? If not, I guess I can ask Maren, but she’s not a huge fan. I know for a fact that those four over there won’t want to come with.”

  “Not even Kate?”

  “Nah,” I say, looking over at her quickly and then back to Kyle. “She won’t travel now that she’s so far along with the twins. Ivy will never be able to get the time off. Ryan, as you know, doesn’t go anywhere without Kate, and I really can’t picture going alone with Luke,” I laugh, just thinking about how that would go. He’s my close friend and we love each other in a purely platonic sibling-like way, but still, it would be weird.

  “I’ll go with you,” Kyle offers, a small smile pulling up the corner of his lips. “How could I ever turn down a weekend in Portland with you?”

  He says it lightly, like it’s meant to be teasing, but the look in his eyes is anything but. God, the way this man looks at me sometimes. It’s like he has secret access to some magical switch inside of me. It’s amazing how much I’ve fallen for him. How I couldn’t fight it off.

  “I’d love that.” And then I yell at myself to shut up. I yell at myself because I never should have invited him to go with me in the first place. I yell at myself for being the biggest, cold-hearted, selfish bitch in the world.

  “What’s wrong,” he asks, sensing the stir in me. “I don’t have to come with you, Claire.”

  “No.” I give him my brightest smile, hoping he doesn’t see how forced it is. “I want you to come with me. I just . . .” I just what? I just suck at life? I can never be with you despite how badly I want it? “I’d love to go with you, Kyle. You’re one of my best friends.”

  His expression doesn’t alter, but his eyes shift, and I can’t quite determine what that means.

  “Right. Best friends is awesome. Wouldn’t want it any other way.” Is that sarcasm? That might be some good sarcasm layered under a genuine smile.

  Our eyes lock, and for a moment, there is nothing else except us. Maybe the fire, too, because that sort of seems to be playing up this moment. But those other four? Yeah, not even on my radar.

  It’s just Kyle and those magnetic eyes pulling me.

  Making me lean forward.

  Making me lick my lips and stare at his to see if they’re just as interested as mine are. God, are they ever. Kyle draws in the smallest fraction of an inch. He’s testing me. Testing my resistance and restraint. Right now, I really don’t have much left.

  I’m buzzed. I know I am. I’m two mojitos and about two fingers of bourbon deep.

  So, this warm tingly sensation I’m feeling right now, I’m sure has everything to do with that and nothing to do with Kyle. Kyle who’s inching closer. Kyle who’s staring deeply into my eyes as he moves. Kyle who I’d trade the children I’ll never have for a kiss.

  “Kyle?” Luke calls out, and even though Kyle’s eyes slam shut with regret, I’m breathing out the biggest sigh of relief.

  Thank you, Luke. Thank you for saving me from myself. No sarcasm included this time.

  “What’s up?” Kyle calls back, his eyes still shut before he rights his body and looks around me at Luke, completely unaffected.

  The two of them start talking about a million different things. About statute of limitations on restraining orders for Ivy’s ex. About protecting the rights to some code that Ryan and Luke have been working on for the new software they’re developing. About a contract with a company based in Taiwan.

  I get up, needing a few quiet moments to think, to collect myself.

  The kitchen is empty, because everyone is still outside, so I do something really stupid. Something that in my current state of borderline drunk, feels smart. I close my eyes and imagine I can have it all.

  Imagine that Kyle Grant can be mine.

  20

  Kyle

  * * *

  “We don’t have to do this now,” I tell Claire, who is leaning up against the passenger door of my car, her eyes closed. “I can just take you home.”

  She shakes her head, a small closed mouth grin on her lips. “Nope. I want to see my present.”

  Claire is buzzed. At least, I think she is. It’s sort of hard to tell, if I’m being honest. She’s not slurring her words. She didn’t stumble or stagger when we walked out to my car. It’s more of a vibe she’s letting off.

  It’s late now. Well past one in the morning. I really should take her home.

  But I really don’t want to.

  I nearly kissed Claire for what feels like the millionth time. Only tonight, I was about to do it in front of everyone. I didn’t care. I wanted her. I still want her. I want her every minute of every day, and sometimes in between. But it’s the longing that’s starting to get to me. It’s the desire for her to be mine that’s wearing me down.

  That’s making me careless and reckless when it comes to our perfect friendship.

  And isn’t this that old cliché? Men and women cannot ever truly be friends.

  At least not when they’re both single and attracted to the other. Then it becomes a game. A battle of wills to see who will fall first. Who will cave in and be the one to breach that chasm.

  I will happily be the one to forfeit if it means she’s mine, but I don’t think that’s how our game ends. Which is why I have yet to fall on my sword and admit defeat. Because I simply cannot picture my life without her in it. She’s a part of me on a very deep and fundamental level, and though I’d crawl through the fiery depths of hell and back for one night with her, it’s the after that scares me. It’s the what happens next that gives me pause.

  Do I lose her then?

  Can I accept that?

  No.

  I love her too much for that.

  I think there is a cliché in there somewhere too. We step into the elevator from the parking garage, her head resting on my arm as we ascend.

  “I had a really good birthday,” she says quietly. “I think this might be the best one ever.” She rolls her head until she’s looking up at me through her long dark lashes. “I hate my birthday,” she tells me again. “I’ve always hated it. But I realized something tonight.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, running my fingers across her cheek under the pretense of moving hair out of her face.

  “The manufactured family I have in all of you is infinitely better than anything else. You guys make me feel loved, and that’s not something I got a whole lot of growing up.”

  “We do love you,” I tell her, looking deeply into her eyes. “I love you.” Then I pause.

  Waiting.

  Watching.

  Because she could take those three words in so many different ways. And all of them are true.

  Claire gives me a devastatingly sad smile. The sort that could drop a man to his knees instantly. The kind that rocks you to your core. The elevator dings, and then
the doors open, and she exits without even waiting for me.

  That didn’t go so well.

  “Where’s this—” Claire starts and then stops mid-sentence when she notices her birthday gift prominently displayed in the far corner of my great room. “No way,” she whispers, walking slowly in that direction like she’s afraid the large black baby grand piano is an apparition. A figment of that wild imagination of hers.

  “Do you like it?” I ask, standing a few feet back and watching as she addresses it, running her fingers gracefully across the smooth painted wood.

  “Like it?” she snorts like that’s the most ridiculous thing ever. “God, Kyle,” she shakes her head, “I am in love.”

  Claire swivels her head to me, her eyes positively alive, her lips spread into an all-encompassing smile that shows every single one of her white teeth. “I cannot believe you did this. It’s too much.” Another headshake. “And it’s not like I can move it to my apartment. So, it’s going to be stuck here, which means you’re stuck with me coming here to play it.” She says this like a warning. Like I hadn’t thought all of that through. Like it wasn’t all part of my master plan to get her and keep her here.

  “Good,” I say simply.

  An excited bubble of a giggle bursts forth from her mouth, and then she jumps up and down before launching herself at me. Her arms wrap around my neck and her legs wrap around my waist. She’s hugging me with everything she has.

  “Kyle Grant,” she laughs, “where the hell have you been all my life? You might just be the greatest thing in the world,” she pulls back to look at me, “other than my piano, of course.” I get a wink, and then she hops out of my arms. “Can I play it?”

  “Go for it,” I say, taking her hand and leading her to the bench. “I was informed that my apartment is soundproof and the floor is double insulated. Play your heart out, baby.”

  That earns me a squeal as she lowers herself down, lovingly running her fingers over the black and white keys like she’s introducing herself to them. Getting acquainted with her new instrument.

  And then she starts to play. I really don’t know much about classical music. In fact, it’s something I never listen to, so I couldn’t tell you what she’s playing. I couldn’t tell you if she’s improvising a song or drawing from her memory of a particular piece. But it’s hauntingly beautiful. Her fingers fly across the keys as her feet press the pedals, her body rocking and swaying with her effort.

  It’s erotic. Sensual. Seductive.

  And I’m utterly hypnotized.

  “Come sit with me.”

  “You play beautifully,” I tell her as I take her up on her offer. Our thighs and hips touch as I crouch in on her. The bench is small, after all.

  “A lot of lessons, my friend. A lot of lessons. But I loved them, so they weren’t exactly a hardship.”

  “How come you didn’t want to be a musician?”

  Claire throws me a dubious look. “Um, probably because I don’t rock starving artist all that well. I also love what I do, and I make an absurd amount of money for it. And I get to play for fun without all of the pressure and other bullshit that comes with trying to make a living at it.”

  “I think you’re amazing,” I tell her, watching her fingers move in rapid succession. “I have no real talent. At least not one like this.” Claire laughs at that like I’m crazy, but I’m not, so I stop her. “Do you remember in school when they’d ask you to say something interesting about yourself. Something you were good at?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was always that kid with no answer.” She laughs again, thinking I’m kidding. “I’m totally serious. I never had anything to say other than I had cancer, which obviously isn’t a talent or something you’re good at. Though, many considered it interesting. But after my hair came back, it was never something I wanted to share. With anyone.”

  “You don’t have a hobby? Something you like to do?”

  “Not really,” I admit, focusing on her hands so I don’t have to look at her face. “I work and exercise, but that’s it. I don’t cook or play an instrument. I can’t tell a joke to save my life. I’m not a hacker, and I can’t write code. I don’t heal the sick, and I’m not really all that great with people.”

  “I learned how to play music to escape my life,” she says casually, even though those words are anything but. “To escape my parents. My mother was not what you’d call loving or supportive. She was generally unimpressed with me. And my father, well . . . He doesn’t care for me all that much. Never did. My parents met and fucked, and I was the result. Their relationship only lasted a few years, and then they bounced me back and forth between the two of them because neither actually wanted the responsibility of a child. So, I played music. Any instrument I could get my hands on. It was an escape. A necessary one, otherwise, I would have been that teenage girl with the eating disorder who cut herself to make it all feel better.”

  “Shit,” I laugh. “We’re just a fucked-up pair, aren’t we?”

  “Maybe,” she muses, letting her fingers finally come to a rest on the keys in front of her. “Maybe we are.” She turns to look at me, her face full of a desperation I know all too well. “But is that so bad? Sometimes I wouldn’t mind being that if it meant I could be that with you.”

  My head dips to hers without a thought. Without any conscious decision. My actions are driven on pure need. I need to kiss Claire. I need to make all her pain go away. I need to show her that it’s okay to let go and trust someone. To trust me.

  My lips press to hers, and for a moment, Claire freezes. She doesn’t pull away, but she’s not exactly returning my kiss. I’m filled with fear for approximately three seconds before her lips mold to mine and she’s practically climbing into my lap on this stupid piano bench.

  My hands grasp her hips as a shuddered groan leaves my lips. Oh fucking hell do I want this.

  “Claire,” I moan against her lips. My hands glide up her sides and then back to her hips, unable to resist touching her, yet afraid she’s going to stop me if I try for too much.

  She doesn’t say anything, but I don’t need her to. I’ve got her consent rocking against my painfully hard cock. I adjust us, partially standing with her still tucked into my lap, and then I kick this stupid bench back, lifting Claire fully into my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist, and we both groan.

  Fuck, this is so good.

  Claire is like electricity, sending a current straight through me, lighting me up from within. I couldn’t turn her off, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. I want to roll around in the sweet, torturous tension that is pulling back and forth between us. I want her so frenzied with need for me that no other man has ever or will ever exist to her again. Fuck other men, I plan to annihilate any memory of them from her brain.

  “I want to take this slow,” I tell her, walking through my dark apartment, down the long hallway to my bedroom with her wrapped around me like a vine, “but all I can think about right now is fucking you senseless in my big-ass bed.”

  She moans against my lips, rocking her hips forward against the waist of my jeans. I inch up her skirt, and her panties are damp against my touch. My heart rate is through the roof. My stomach twists as lust hums through my blood.

  “I’m good with whatever you’re offering,” she breathes out, her voice thick with anticipation. My eyes flare as she looks at me, her pupils dilating at my gaze.

  I can’t take this another second. My mouth crashes into hers. Those perfect lips are full and soft, yet her kiss is demanding and needy. My hands find their way into her bun before I yank it free from the elastic. She groans into my mouth, her gorgeous hair tumbling around us like a red curtain.

  I lower her onto my bed, and fuck it, I can’t help but stare at her. Soak in every feature on this perfect woman. Of the woman I plan on spending the rest of my life inside of. Her heart. Her mind. Her body. They’re all mine.

  I cover her with my body. Her supple soft curves mold to mine.r />
  My hands grab at her face, cupping her cheeks and driving my body closer to hers until we’re flush.

  I can’t get enough.

  “Closer,” she pants.

  Shit.

  I need more, and judging by the way she’s grabbing at me and the amazing moan emanating from her throat, she’s right there with me.

  I’ve only had this with her.

  This excessive need for a woman. This all-consuming, ravenous desire that pulses through me. I want to brand her. Mark her. Fuck her so crazy that she feels me for days after.

  “Claire, open your eyes for me, baby.”

  She does, but her lids are heavy with desire. My fingers glide against the thin satin of her panties.

  “You’re so fucking wet for me,” I growl. “I need you. I need to taste you while you come, and then I need to feel you do it again when I’m inside of you.”

  Her back arches as I continue to rub her, her lips parted as she moans.

  Clothes are ripped from our bodies, hers alternating with mine, and we roll around, naked and entangled on the bed. My mouth is everywhere. All over her heated, aching body. I explore her.

  Kiss her.

  Taste her.

  Torture her.

  She loves it.

  She can’t get enough. But I want her to beg for me.

  I lick her sweet pussy, nipping on her swollen clit before sucking it into my mouth just as I slide two fingers inside her. Her hips buck up against my face, searching for more.

  “You like that, huh?” I ask with a satisfied grin I can’t seem to stifle. She nods fervently before grabbing my head and pushing it back into her heat so my mouth can finish her off. My tongue flicks her as my fingers continue to slide in and out, her wetness coating my hand. I curve my finger, finding that magic spot inside and she grabs at my hair, yanking on the strands.

  “Oh god, Kyle. Don’t stop. Please,” she moans, and her begging pushes me over the edge. I’m going to make this girl scream until my windows rattle. I pump my fingers harder, faster, feasting on her pussy and clit like the starving man I am. There is no enough.