The Dangerous Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  “Van.…” His name was a murmur against his mouth. “Oh my God…”

  “That good for you? You like that?”

  “Yes…” Her hips angled further as if searching for something. “Please … more.”

  Oh, he could give her more. He definitely could.

  Van reached for her hand and brought it down between them, guiding her own fingers on her slippery flesh. Her eyes went even wider as he pressed her finger down on her clit. “Touch yourself, pretty. Ride my cock and make yourself come. I want to watch.”

  Something lit in her face, that wildness he found impossible to resist, and he could feel her hand move beneath his, stroking her clit as he shoved into her, lifting her hips, chasing the pleasure, letting him see everything.

  He saw the moment she went over the edge, a high, wild cry tearing from her throat, her body arching up in his arms like she was trying to take off and fly. Watching the pleasure explode inside her was like seeing the northern lights. Rare. Precious. Beautiful. A gift.

  He tightened his grip on her, ecstasy beginning to sink its teeth into him as well, his rhythm getting wilder, out of control. Her arms came around him, her legs closed like a vice around his waist, and she turned her face into his shoulder, her mouth against his skin. And just before the orgasm tore him into shreds, he had the oddest feeling that he wasn’t holding her, that she was holding him. Keeping him from breaking into tiny little pieces.

  He roared when it hit, driving himself hard into her before pressing his mouth to her exposed neck and biting, tasting salt and Chloe, hardly conscious of what he was doing, the pleasure pretty much annihilating every single thought process he had.

  It was her hands on his skin, slowly stroking up and down his spine, that brought him back. A gentle, soothing touch that astonished him with how much he liked it. People normally touched him for two reasons only: because they wanted to have sex with him or because they wanted to kill him. There were no other reasons. Certainly no one had ever touched him the way Chloe was right now, caressing him almost absently, as if she was simply enjoying the physical contact. She did a lot of that, or so it seemed, and he had to say, it was a revelation.

  He let himself have it for a while, then he eased himself out of her, moving away to deal with the condom in the kitchen wastebasket before coming back and winding one arm around her waist to hold her against him. “Holy shit, pretty. You’re killing me, you know that?”

  She smiled, leaning into him, her body warm and supple against his. “So much for being an ultra-tough SEAL. How the hell did you survive all those years on deployment?”

  “Fuck knows.” He shifted, lifting his hand and pushing a strand of black hair that had gotten stuck to her forehead behind her ear. “Sometimes the only thing that gets you through is luck.”

  That gorgeous smile played around her mouth, her gaze searching his. “Not just luck, though. You don’t get to be where you are without being good at what you do.”

  Yeah and he was very good. At killing people.

  Not so much at protecting people.

  Van smoothed more of her hair back from her forehead, concentrating instead on the feel of her damp skin against his and not on the voice in his head. Jesus, he could get used to touching her. Very used to it. “This is true,” he said noncommittally. “Being good at what we do is pretty much the definition of a Navy SEAL.”

  “You enjoy it, don’t you?” She was looking at him like she was trying to puzzle something out. “I mean, that’s why you want to go back to the military, isn’t it?”

  There was no reason not to tell her. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “So what do you like about it? Is it the danger? Or is protecting your country the big thing?”

  Okay, this was starting to edge into territory he wasn’t all that comfortable with. “Why do you want to know?” He hoped it didn’t sound as belligerent as he was afraid it did.

  Her lashes fluttered and she glanced down, one of her hands shifting to trace a pattern on his chest. “I’d just like to know. You were away for a long time and…” She broke off all of a sudden.

  But he didn’t need her to finish. He knew why she was asking, and the vulnerability of the question, what it revealed, reached inside him, wrapping long fingers around his heart.

  You need to tell her about Sofia.

  He didn’t want to, because he hated telling that story. Hated reliving that failure, especially given the fact he was now protecting Chloe. She needed to be able to trust him, but how could she do that once she knew about how he’d let a woman on his watch die?

  No, not the lie you keep telling yourself. The real truth. The one you can’t even bring yourself to think about.

  Cold shot through him, the urge to pull away and put some distance between them almost overwhelming. But she was still tracing patterns on his chest and the echo of that vulnerable little statement was resounding inside him, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when it would hurt her—and God knew hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.

  She had to know that the reason he’d stayed away from the ranch wasn’t because of anything she’d done, though.

  Shoving the cold feeling away, he caught her beneath the chin, tilting her head back so he had her attention. “It wasn’t you,” he said quietly. “You know that, right? I didn’t stay away because of anything you did.”

  Her gaze flickered away from his. “I know that.”

  “Do you? Do you really?”

  She let out a breath. Her mouth had gone soft, and it was very obvious she didn’t want to look at him. “Well … sometimes…” she began hesitantly, “I used to wonder if maybe … I’d done something. Said something. You know…”

  His chest constricted, like he was doing that fucking drown-proofing test again. As part of his SEAL training, he’d had his hands tied together and been thrown into a pool. The test here is wrong. The water had pressed insistently against his chest, the weight of it reminding him of how close his own death was. It felt like that now, a weight pushing down on him, except it wasn’t the possibility of death that was crushing him this time but something else—and getting away from it wasn’t a simple matter of escaping the ties that bound his hands and pushing up to the surface.

  He didn’t know how the fuck he was going to get out of this one.

  Instead he gripped her a bit tighter. “Look at me.”

  She wanted to resist—he could feel the tension in her neck—but after a second she did as she was told, her deep brown eyes gazing back at him with a wary look.

  “Why would you think it was you?” he demanded softly. “Did you seriously believe it was something you did?”

  Her throat moved, the aching vulnerability that he knew was at the core of her suddenly laid bare for him to see. “I don’t know. You were around every time you were on leave, and then one day you weren’t. And you didn’t come back for eight years. I thought…” She hesitated. “I thought it was because you somehow knew I had a crush on you.”

  He wanted to smile at that because it was so far from the truth it wasn’t even funny. But he didn’t. She’d gone fiery red, the confession obviously difficult for her, and he wasn’t going to belittle it.

  “No.” He kept his tone gentle. “That wasn’t why I stayed away. I had no idea you had a crush on me.”

  She went even redder. “Okay. Well. Good.”

  He could feel her trying to turn away from him yet again, so he kept a firm grip on her chin, keeping her right there where he could see her face. “It would have taken a shitload more than a teenage crush to frighten me away. Surely you must have known that?”

  Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow, a vulnerable look flickering over her expressive features. “I’m … a lot to handle sometimes.”

  Van frowned, staring at her. “What do you mean you’re a lot to handle?”

  She gave a small shake of her head, her lashes falling again. “Don’t worry about it. Forget I said anything.
”

  Oh no, she wasn’t doing that again. Not this time.

  “Hey.” He stroked that stubborn little chin of hers, her skin smooth and warm beneath his thumb. “Don’t do that. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t want to know. Tell me. Who told you that you were a lot to handle?”

  She was silent a long moment. Then she said, “No one. Maybe it was something I just picked up on, I don’t know. It was only that Dad was never around. He was always going away to New York or L.A. or down to Houston. I used to wonder why he never liked coming home and why he never seemed all that pleased to see me when he did. He certainly didn’t like me hugging him or peppering him with questions about what he’d been doing.” She let out a breath. “He used to go straight to his office for at least an hour or so whenever he got back, and I wondered if it was because he was avoiding me. I think I overwhelmed him.”

  Her lashes stayed down, veiling her gaze, and she remained quiet for a moment. “I had no one,” she said after what seemed a long time. “You guys were away at boarding school, then you were all in the military, and I had no one but the housekeeper here to talk to, no friends but the tutors Dad hired for me. I got … kind of lonely. And when Dad came home, all I wanted to do was be with someone who cared about me.” She gave an odd little laugh. “He used to promise me he’d take me to New York, show me the city, but … he never did. There was always a reason I couldn’t go.”

  Van could hear how she was trying to make it sound like it was no big deal. Hiding the pain beneath a light, casual tone. But there was pain, he could almost feel the sharp edges of it himself.

  Christ, he’d had no idea. Chloe, brought up on the ranch by a series of housekeepers and tutors. No friends, no one to talk to except the father she saw only sporadically. A father who couldn’t handle the emotional needs of one small girl.

  “You know it wasn’t you, right?” Van lifted his other hand, cupped her beautiful face between his palms. “None of it was you. You only wanted what every kid wants from their parents, a little attention. He was the one who couldn’t handle it, not you.”

  Her eyes were very dark as they stared up into his. “You really think so?”

  “He was a shitty father to me too, it wasn’t just you. Dad didn’t know how to deal with us. Hell, I don’t even think he knew how to be a proper father, period.”

  Chloe leaned into him, shifting her hands to his chest and spreading them out, pressing lightly as if she needed the contact. “You know, it wasn’t even visiting the city that was important. It was spending time with him. I used to get so excited about it, but then he’d tell me it wasn’t safe or that he was too busy—always some excuse.” She half-turned, reaching for something behind her. A snow globe of all things. He hadn’t even noticed it.

  “The last time he promised me he’d take me to New York, I was almost ready to go but then one of his flunkeys turned up at the ranch with a package and a message from Dad.” She shook the globe, the snow inside it swirling. “Apparently it was too dangerous to bring me to New York yet again, but hey, have this snow globe instead.”

  Ah Christ. Fucking Noah.

  Van experienced a sudden and violent need to punch his father in the face.

  “Dad shouldn’t have done that,” he said, flat and hard with certainty, so she knew. “He should have been there for you, Chloe.”

  He should have been there for all of them and he hadn’t.

  “Noah was a shitty father, and that’s not your fault.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chloe held the snow globe in her hands as she looked up into Van’s intense, hazel stare. There was something fierce in it, something that warmed a place inside her she hadn’t realized was cold.

  She was still sitting on the table completely naked, while he stood in front of her with his shirt open and his pants half unzipped, his dog tags hanging against that mesmerizing chest of his. And maybe she should have felt uncomfortable about it, especially after she’d just laid bare her soul, telling him things she’d never told anyone. Things she’d only half-realized herself in many ways.

  But she didn’t feel uncomfortable. Instead, she felt like she’d gotten rid of something that had been weighing her down for a very long time. And instead of feeling exposed and vulnerable, she felt understood in a way she hadn’t before.

  There was quiet inside her, the hungry, needy thing that kept eating away at her soul suddenly sated.

  She wanted to sit here with Van, right in this moment, forever. With his palms on her cheeks and the hard warmth of his body only inches from hers. With that intense look on his beautiful, powerful features. Staring at her as if he knew exactly how she felt. She’d never had that before, not with anyone.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “He was a shitty father, wasn’t he?”

  “You better believe it.” His thumbs moved caressingly over her skin. “At the very least he should have brought you here to visit, not sent you a crappy snow globe as a substitute. Why did you keep it?”

  “To remind myself to not believe him whenever he promised me things. To not want anything too badly.”

  Sympathy and understanding warmed his gaze, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Well, feel free to want me badly, pretty thing. I have no problem with that at all.”

  God, when he looked at her that way she felt like a cat basking in a ray of sunlight, soaking up all the heat and attention.

  She almost reached up and dragged his head down for another kiss, but the globe in her hands was an unpleasant reminder of her father, of his empty promises, and of the reason she was in New York in the first place.

  De Santis.

  Your real father.

  The warm feelings began to ebb away, and she pulled back slightly. Van’s warm palms slipped from her cheeks. The loss of that heat made her feel cold, but she ignored the sensation, putting the snow globe down on the table beside her.

  “What’s up?” His hands settled on her bare hips instead, just resting there. “You don’t like the idea of wanting me?”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m thinking about de Santis.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. There are better things to be thinking about.” Heat had entered his voice, whispering over her skin and making her shiver.

  No prizes for guessing what kind of things he meant, and quite frankly that’s exactly what she would rather have been thinking about herself. But sex wasn’t going to solve the issue.

  “What are we going to do, Van?” Chloe raised her hands to his chest once more, putting her palms flat on it because she loved touching him and the time for hiding it was over. “I don’t want to be used as an ultimatum.”

  “And I’m not going to let him use you as one.”

  “So, what then? You’re going to call his bluff on the takeover?”

  Van lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, it doesn’t look like he’s got a controlling share.”

  “But you don’t know that for certain. And it still doesn’t solve the problem of the threat to me anyway.” She spread her fingers out on his skin, his warmth soaking into her. “I can’t stay away from the ranch forever, and you have to get back to base eventually.”

  “Hmmm.” Van shifted his hands, putting them on the table on either side of her hips, leaning forward on them, his dog tags swinging. “I’ve got my management team investigating the last stock buy-up, but even so, we’re pretty sure he can’t do a damn thing. Besides, the company is a distraction. What he wants is you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. He made it very clear that he wanted to see his daughter.”

  That hit her in a strange place, a pang of that vulnerability echoing through her. “Why? What does he want from me?”

  His black brows drew down. “I don’t know. But you can bet it’s not simply to catch up for old time’s sake.”

  That little pang echoed again, almost like hurt. “Maybe,” she said slowly, an idea beginning to occur to her,
“we need to see what he really wants.”

  “It’s revenge, pretty. Revenge is what he really wants.”

  “But we don’t know that for certain.” Chloe smoothed her thumbs over Van’s hot skin. “Perhaps I could ask him? He might tell me.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I mean, if he wants me, maybe we should let him have me.”

  A sharp green light glinted in Van’s eyes. “Over my dead fucking body.”

  “I could talk to him, find out exactly what he wants. I’m his daughter, after all.”

  “No.” The word was hard and flat with command, his expression turning to granite.

  Chloe pressed a little harder against his chest. “Van, listen. What’s the alternative? You call his bluff over the company, which still leaves the threat to me hanging over my head or … what? Unless you have another idea?”

  “Of course I have an idea. Blow his goddamn brains out.”

  “How? When? You can’t do that and you know it.”

  “I’m not risking you, Chloe. I’m just not.”

  She took a breath, her own heartbeat beginning to race at the thought of what she was suggesting. “Look, we need to know what he wants before we can do anything to stop him. Otherwise we’re just reacting and not taking control. You of all people should understand that.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw and that hard green light in his eyes gleamed, a glimpse of the dangerous predator he was underneath the warm, sympathetic man he’d been the moment before. “Don’t you worry. Lucas is a sniper, the best in the business. And if worse came to the worst, we can take control with a well-placed bullet.”

  “That’s your answer? A bullet?” She looked up at him, meeting him stare for stare. “Even Dad wasn’t that cold-blooded. Anyway, just think about it a moment. He won’t hurt me and hell, even if that’s his plan, we could set up the meeting in a public place. Somewhere with lots of people around.”

  His expression didn’t soften one bit. “And if he has someone hidden somewhere to take you out? What about that?”

  “He won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”