Billionaire Games

by Maddox, Sylvia

  She wanted a family, children, and that couldn’t happen if she was stuck on him. But if she did this, she could finally break the hold, move on from the memories that had held her for all this time.

  She lifted her eyes to his, her blue clashing with the deep brown of his.

  “You have a deal,” she said.

  That triumphant look only intensified, and then deepened into something different, something predatory, something that had her squirming where she stood.

  “I knew you’d see reason, rich girl.”

  He reached into his suit jacket pocket and retrieved an envelope. “From my doctor. You’ll visit him tomorrow and get yours as well,” he said.

  She looked down at the envelope she now held and then quickly read the paper. When she finished reading the results, she glanced up at him again. “Wait, so you mean no—”

  “That’s right, rich girl. There’s not going to be anything between us,” he said.

  Her traitorous body tightened and her sex clenched at the idea of Simeon inside her, with nothing between them, yet she resisted. That barrier was something she needed, was perhaps one of the only ways she’d be able to keep herself distant.

  “How do I know they’re current?” she asked.

  Simeon smiled. “They are,” he replied.

  “I’m supposed to take your word for it? These are from eight weeks ago. You could have done whatever with whoever,” she said, waving her hand.

  He smiled deeper, moved closer. “No. I haven’t been with anyone. I’ve been saving myself for you, rich girl, and I have a lot to give you,” he said on a deep whisper that rang with promise.

  His hand on her cheek, caressing her, made her look at him again, and quickly, an imagine of Simeon sliding his thick bare cock into her, the sensation of his hot cum filling her, made her flush.

  “I can see you like the idea,” he said, tracing a hand down her cheek.

  His fingertips were still rough, his hands not soft and pampered, but strong, commanding, hands that would demand her pleasure and not relent until she gave it.

  She couldn’t stop herself from shivering, the tension of his strong fingers against her skin making it impossible for her not to. Then he dropped his hand lower, down the front of her chest and into the simple white blouse she had changed into.

  He kept moving lower until his hand rested on the edge of her bra, his fingers just skimming the tops of her breasts.

  Her nipples pulled tight with the desire for him to touch them but instead he lifted his hand and removed it from her shirt.

  A moment’s worth of disappointment filled her, but it was chased away by the heavy weight of his hand against her skirt-clad leg.

  It was a simple garment, one of the heavy khaki skirts that she favored when she wasn’t working, but with his hand at top it, the skirt felt like nothing, his palm nearly searing her skin with the heat of it.

  He came closer, hand still latched on her thigh, and then he dropped it and began to roll the skirt up her legs from the hem.

  The cool air that hit her thighs and then crept closer to the heat between her legs was what she focused on.

  She didn’t look at him, couldn’t, and as shameful as it was, she just focused on his movement, the slow, methodical way he lifted her skirt only amplifying her need.

  The moment seemed to drag, but it was only a few seconds later that he had the skirt hoisted around her waist, her panties bared to the air and to his eyes.

  All of a sudden a little shock of embarrassment hit her.

  Simeon had seen her, all of her, repeatedly, but there had been years since then, and her chubby body had only become more so with the years and pounds she had added.

  It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. She should hate him for what he was doing, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought, wonder what he saw when he looked her.

  And then she couldn’t wonder because all of her energy, her attention, was forced between her thighs as he moved his fingers up and then settled them at the seat of her plain cotton panties.

  He pressed against her, and the dampness that had pooled in her panties was pushed against her sex, making her shiver. Simeon’s low chuckle proved that he could sense it as well, and he stroked his fingers against her and then used his thumb to press against her protruding clit. The moan that fell from her lips made a denial impossible.

  “You do like the idea. I can feel your pussy is hot and wet for me. You still want me, rich girl?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, but what she’d intended as a strong rebuke instead came out as a needy whisper.

  “What should I call you instead?” he asked casually as if he wasn’t using his fingers to drive her to the edge of insanity.

  She was on the brink of something; the intensity of his hand between her thighs and his fingers touching her was driving her up, but the barrier of her panties kept her from reaching the climax that burned at the edges of her consciousness, the lightness of the touch only making her crave more, a craving Simeon seemed in no hurry to fill.

  “Claire. Call me Claire,” she said, voice still breathy, but Claire somehow managing to put weight behind the words.

  He chuckled again. “I think I’ll call you rich girl,” he said.

  She lifted her eyes to him then, and for a moment her lungs squeezed in her chest. His dark eyes were deep, passionate and, to her surprise, almost soft. If he wasn’t wearing a suit, wasn’t in the process of trying to destroy her, she could almost believe he was the man she had loved those years ago.

  Reason must have fled because before she could stop herself, she lifted her hand and reached for his cheek. His jaw was warm, rough from stubble, and then he was gone.

  He jumped away from her as if burned by fire and dropped his hand. His eyes, so light only a moment ago, flattened, and he turned back into the stone-cold, impenetrable person she had met earlier in the day.

  “That’s enough for now, rich girl,” he said. “Doctor’s appointment is at twelve. A car will come to retrieve you at seven in the evening Friday. Bring nothing.”

  “When will I get to come back?” she asked.

  He looked at her, looked her over from head to toe and then back again, making her feel ridiculous, her skirt hiked up, heart pounding from a few of his touches.

  “When I’m done with you,” he said.

  And then, walking as though he wasn’t affected at all, he left.

  6

  “Take me to the penthouse,” Simeon said to his driver once he reached the car.

  Then he lifted the vehicle’s privacy screen and settled into the backseat. He’d managed to keep it together in front of Claire, but now that he was alone, he allowed himself to relax just a little and stop fighting the adrenaline that pulsed through him.

  Simeon had spent years and countless hours plotting his and Claire’s eventual reunion. His move, her countermove, every potential outcome considered and then considered again. And all of that planning had been in anticipation of the minutes that had just unfolded, the very second she gave in.

  It had gone exactly as he’d planned.

  He’d known she wouldn’t fold immediately; his rich girl was a stubborn, prideful creature, something that her soft exterior made it easy to overlook. But Simeon hadn’t made that mistake, which was why he’d spent eighteen months procuring the architectural firm in absolute secrecy. He’d paid a premium, one that would have been forfeit if word of the acquisition had leaked out.

  As he’d negotiated the purchase of the firm, taking time from his schedule to personally oversee every aspect, something that had raised the curiosity of his staff and others, he’d made it quite forcefully known that Claire Winsome was off-limits and that anyone who employed her would be on his personal blacklist.

  When she’d left this afternoon, he hadn’t reacted immediately. Instead, he’d waited, allowed her to get comfortable. Claire was stubborn, but she was also an optimist, a quality that her overprot
ective parents and their money had allowed her to retain. Simeon, on the other hand, had had anything resembling optimism beaten from him before he’d even processed what being hopeful even was.

  He’d known she’d be down for a bit and he’d bet a million dollars that she’d spent no small amount of time cleaning her house, her old go-to method of stress relief. But she’d come back, and by nightfall, he’d known she would have convinced herself that she’d figure something out.

  Which was why he’d made sure her father got the phone call right around the time they’d be finishing their family dinner, and he’d been at her house, waiting for her to come back, knowing that she would.

  He’d been correct, and as he’d stood in her small, tidy home, he’d seen when she’d made the decision, seen the moment when she’d committed, just as he’d planned.

  But what he hadn’t expected, what he hadn’t planned for or anticipated, was his reaction to her response. As much as he hated her for what she’d done to him, he’d memorized her reactions and still knew her, so he recognized her desire.

  He just hadn’t counted on his own.

  Yeah, he’d known he was going to enjoy fucking her again, but to his mind, that would only have been a secondary benefit, the icing on the cake that was his justice. His body disagreed.

  His cock had been solid steel since he’d entered her home, and he wanted to go back, bury it inside of her, and fuck her until neither of them could move.

  He wanted to but didn’t. He was more disciplined now, wasn’t controlled by desire, or emotion. He’d come close to losing it, especially when he’d touched her body. He hadn’t planned to do that, but the temptation was too much too resist. And when she had reached for him and touched him, the feel of her fingers against his cheek was so like the dreams of her he liked to pretend didn’t exist that his resolve had been pushed even further.

  It was only his control, the discipline and self-awareness that he had nurtured in the years after she had betrayed him that had rescued him. Over the time since he’d seen her last, he’d used it to build his fortune and power, and to ultimately put him in the position where he could pay her back, but she had tested him. Gathering the threads of that control had been the only thing that had allowed him to break away.

  He would have her; there was no doubt, but it was going to happen his way, under his rules, and he wouldn’t let her or the intense desire for her that only seemed to grow stronger with each passing second change his plans.

  Of course, his certainty did nothing to calm the raging hard-on that throbbed against his thigh. For a moment, Simeon considered taking care of it himself. He was close, close enough that if he closed his eyes and pretended his hand was Claire’s, he’d go off like a rocket in no time.

  Tempting, and he’d already lifted his hand, was so close to the edge that it would be easy to get some relief. He dropped his hands, though.

  Anything he did now would only be a temporary measure, one that would do nothing but remind him of how much he wanted Claire and make him that much more frustrated.

  Fortunately for him and his cock, in two days’ time, she would be his.

  7

  Claire checked her watch for what felt like the hundredth time in the last minute.

  She stood, swiped her damn palms down the sides of her simple black skirt, and began pacing her tidy living room. She’d gone on a cleaning spree and the place was immaculate. She didn’t know when she’d be back, and when she did return she wanted her home to feel like an oasis, a refuge from whatever Simeon had in store for her.

  But now she waited, pacing her living room after having showered and dressed more than two hours before she was supposed to leave.

  And now time seemed to be at a standstill, and the anticipation that burned inside her grew and grew until she thought she might shatter from the tension of it.

  How she wished her anticipation was only out of fear and out of anger, but Claire knew that wasn’t true.

  Since Simeon had touched her, her entire body had been a live wire of need, desire that she had managed to suppress for the years that she had been apart from him. One touch, though, and he had reignited it all, left her needy, on edge, and near desperate for him.

  Probably intentional on his part, something the cool, distant person who lived in Simeon’s body would do to her just for his own amusement.

  Because the man she’d loved, the one that she had given herself to completely, would never have done such a thing. In fact, that man had so often and so wholly dedicated himself to her pleasure and her needs that she had felt more love with him than she had with anyone in her entire life.

  But that man was gone, and she now had to reckon with the one who was left.

  She flinched at the knock on her front door and then, after taking a moment to gather herself, she went to answer it. She peered through her peephole at the man who stood on the porch.

  “Mr. Hayes sent me,” the man said.

  Claire continued to watch him. He was tall, broad, almost nondescript, but Claire could see the sharp intelligence in his eyes. He didn’t look like a driver, though, more like a bodyguard.

  Something about him made her trust him, which was probably the opposite of what Simeon had intended. He’d probably sent the man in an attempt to continue to show his power, maybe make Claire scared.

  Ha. Simeon had forgotten that Claire didn’t scare easily, and she certainly wouldn’t be intimidated.

  She opened the door then and gestured that the man enter. He came into her front room and closed the door behind him, not seeming sure what to do next.

  Claire extended her hand. “Claire Winsome. Pleased to meet you,” she said.

  He smiled almost sheepishly and then extended his hands.

  “Alan Augar. Pleased to meet you as well,” he replied.

  His grip was firm, but she found it somewhat comforting.

  Claire regarded him, waiting for him to speak. Alan, clearly a professional, said nothing, and after a few moments, Claire broke a smile.

  “So how was this introduction to go?” Claire asked.

  Alan smiled reluctantly. “I’m not sure what you mean, miss,” he replied.

  “Unlikely,” Claire said. Then she smiled and tapped her finger against her chin. “Let me take a stab at it. Simeon sent you here to scare me, didn’t he?”

  Claire titled her head and examined Alan, waiting for him to speak. He broke into a full grin but still didn’t speak. Claire tried a different approach.

  “I’ve never seen you, so how was I to know you were who you said you were? What if I refused to answer?” she asked.

  Alan reached into his pocket and retrieved what looked to be a piece of paper. “Mr. Hayes thought you might ask that, so he gave me this to show you.”

  Alan held up the scrap of paper, and Claire recognized it instantly. It was a picture, one she’d thought she’d never see again. The picture was old and though it was frayed at the edges, Claire saw it was her and Simeon from a photo booth at a fair they had gone to once. Both of them were smiling, both of them looked impossibly young, impossibly happy.

  And Simeon had held on to it for all those years. She glanced at Alan again and saw that he was watching her. If Claire was on her game, she could have pushed the point and told Alan that the picture meant nothing, that he could have fabricated it. She didn’t have the energy, though. Seeing that picture had sucked the air out of her lungs, and as she continued to look at it, her chest wrenched as she thought of the painful reminder of what she and Simeon had had, the reminder of all that they had lost.

  “Okay,” she said, nodding.

  She hadn’t really needed to say anything. Speaking had simply been an explosion of energy, her attempt to do something with the emotion that seeing the picture had woken up. But Alan must have taken it as her statement that she was ready to go. He assessed her quickly, his gaze centering on the small bag that sat next to her.

  “Mr. Hayes said you were to brin
g nothing,” he said.

  “It’s just my wallet, a few personal items,” Claire responded, reaching for the bag and clutching it tight in her hand.

  Alan looked at her almost sympathetically, though he’d resumed his detached, professional demeanor.

  “He said nothing, ma’am,” Alan said.

  She sighed. “Fine. But I’m keeping my keys. I’ll need to get back inside,” she said.

  Alan nodded, satisfied, and Claire stared at him a moment longer. Her gut told him told her he was trustworthy, might almost be kind. She looked toward the door and followed Alan after he’d exited. She paused for a moment, and then, after a breath, she locked the door behind her. She wished she could bring her bag, but she decided that challenging Simeon from the very first moment was probably not the best move.

  Alan had waited at the door, and after a moment, he ushered her to the SUV and then assisted her as she got inside.

  When he shut the door, the inside of the car was loud with silence and a heavy sense of finality.

  And then they were moving, and each revolution of the tires brought Claire closer to confronting a part of her past that she’d never forgotten. And, she realized as the moments passed, this time would change her. Simeon Hayes had shaped her past, and now he would do the same to her future.

  8

  Alan drove directly toward the harbor, and Claire wasn’t surprised when he turned into one of the newest, and, Claire knew, one of the most expensive buildings in Boston. The old Simeon would have laughed and talked about the rich assholes in their pretty little glass cages, but this address seemed to fit the new person he had become.

  After he’d gone into the underground garage, Alan parked in a reserved spot, lowered the privacy screen that had separated the front and backseats, and then shifted to face her.

  “This is where I leave you, Claire. Mr. Hayes says you are to go up alone. Top floor,” Alan said.