Sexy Billionaires

by Carol Marinelli

  Stretching out on the long sofa, she lay staring at the ceiling, almost weeping with frustration at the unfairness of it all. Even the movie channel held no attraction now. What was the point? The real thing had been in this very room only moments before!

  It was only a few seconds later when she realised she’d left her bag down at the party.

  Rolling on to her side, she battled with the urge to go and retrieve it—battled with the urge to return to the party and a chance of glimpsing Zavier again. It would look stupid, she reasoned. He would surely realise the motive behind it. But her reasoning, however logical, however sensible, was no match for her desire—her need to somehow finish whatever dangerous game had been started, to put him right, to draw a conclusion or open Pandora’s box.

  She simply couldn’t just leave it there.

  Opening the door, Tabitha made her way along the thickly carpeted corridor, her heart beating loudly, her pulse rapid and out of time with the music pounding below.

  The dark, shadowy figure making its way towards her was so broad, so tall, it could only belong to one person.

  A couple more steps and his face came into focus, his eyes glittering and dark, a curious look of triumph on his face.

  ‘Looking for this?’ He held up her bag, the splash of feminine colour an enticing contrast against such a masculine backdrop. ‘I was back down at the party and I saw it lying under the table.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She accepted the bag but didn’t turn back, unable to tear her eyes away from his penetrating gaze.

  ‘Fancy a nightcap?’

  Even as Tabitha nodded her acceptance she knew he didn’t intend to take her back down to the bar, and for that moment at least she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  His room was amazingly tidy. A few heavy bottles and brushes adorned the dresser, and a half-drunk glass of whisky was on the coffee table. Tabitha noticed the ice-cubes undissolved; he hadn’t gone straight back down to the wedding after he’d left her.

  His eyes followed hers to the glass; his steady voice answered the unasked question.

  ‘I was trying to figure out a legitimate excuse to see you again tonight. Contrary to the lecture I’ll be delivering to Aiden in the morning, sometimes the answer does come in a bottle.’ He looked at her bemused expression. ‘I was sitting here thinking about you, wondering if I could risk ringing you, then it dawned on me you didn’t have your bag…’

  ‘Why did you need an excuse? I mean, why did you want to see me again? Haven’t you quite finished lecturing me?’

  ‘Lectures over.’

  Could this be happening to her? Had Zavier Chambers sat nursing his whisky filled with the same trembling desire that had overcome her as she lay on the sofa? Surely it wasn’t possible? ‘So why did you come looking for me?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious?’

  She had stared at the glass long enough. Dragging her eyes up to his, she was shocked and strangely excited to see the same blatant desire emanating from them that had turned her to liquid on the dance floor. ‘I thought you hated me.’

  He shook his head slowly, deliberately. ‘It’s a rather more basic feeling you evoke in me at the moment.’

  How could this be happening to her? How could someone as charismatic and overtly sexual as Zavier possibly be interested in her, possibly want her? He could have any woman he wanted. He held her gaze, pinning her with his eyes. Everything about tonight seemed surreal, as if she were caught up in some strange erotic dream.

  ‘Come here.’ His voice was low, his request direct.

  Tabitha knew that she should have left right there and then—picked up her bag, thanked him for his help and got the hell out of there.

  But she didn’t.

  Tentatively she stepped towards him, drawn by an overwhelming longing that transcended all else.

  She was completely out of her depth, overcome with desire. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined acting so boldly, yet Zavier imbued in her a feeling of wantonness—desires so basic, feelings so overwhelming that for now she couldn’t even begin to deal with the consequences, couldn’t contemplate anything other than what was happening right here and now. One look into his dark brooding eyes and a whole lifetime of scruples needed rewriting.

  ‘Dance.’

  Mesmerised, she nodded, her hand reaching out for him, desperate to feel him again, to revisit the magic they had created on the dance floor. But Zavier had other ideas. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head.

  ‘No. Dance for me.’

  His eyes left hers for the briefest impatient moment, his fingers working a remote control and the room filling with the low sensual throb of bass, the straining tears of a violin. And though it moved her, though the music fuelled her, it didn’t even come close to the rush of desire that flooded her as his gaze returned.

  ‘I can’t.’ Her tongue flicked over dry lips. ‘I can’t,’ she said again when he didn’t answer. ‘You’ll laugh at me.’

  Again he shook his head. ‘I’m not laughing, Tabitha; I want to see you dance. Dance for me like you do when you’re alone.’

  He knew! Like a child caught singing into a hairbrush, she felt the sting of embarrassment. It was as if he had an open ticket to her mind, her dreams—as if he had seen her pushing back the coffee table at home, pulling the curtains and dancing as she would have if only her ambitions had been fulfilled.

  It was the most ridiculous of requests, one that under absolutely any other circumstance would have been laughable. But there was no mirth in his voice, not even a note of challenge, just the thick throb of lust and a million fantasies that needed to be fulfilled, imbuing her with the confidence of a woman who could fulfil them, the empowering realisation that though it was Zavier calling the shots it was she, Tabitha, fulfilling them.

  The straps on her sandals were fiddly, her hair falling forward as her shaking hands worked the tiny buckles. She was incredulous that she was even contemplating obliging him, but as the music filled the room it overtook her awkwardness, the throbbing sensual rhythm fuelling her. Slowly she slid her toes up the long length of her calf, the wraparound dress falling apart to reveal taut flexed muscles. Instinctively tightening her stomach, she felt the imaginary string that pulled dancers taller snap taut. She let the music take over, washing over her body as, like liquid silk, she moved to the beat, swaying, turning, dancing the most private of dances for the most captive of audiences. And when the music slowed, when, breathless, her body glimmering, she dared to look at him, the blaze of desire emanating from his expressive eyes took the last of her breath away.

  ‘Come here.’

  It was the second time he had beckoned her, the second time he had summoned her, and Tabitha knew the interlude was over—knew this time when she went to him exactly how the scene would end.

  Tabitha had never been promiscuous; to date her relationships had always been taken seriously. She wasn’t a woman who could be bought with meals and flowers, her heart wasn’t something to be given away lightly, but as she crossed the room, as she took that tentative step off the cliff-edge and into areas unknown, her mind was whirring, her love-life passing before her eyes in those fateful final moments before passion completely took over.

  With blinding realisation she knew why she was doing this—or, more importantly, why she wanted to do this. Meals, flowers—they all made her feel wanted, feminine, sexy. Zavier Chambers had done in a few hours what most men took months to achieve. He had made her feel completely a woman.

  He stood absolutely still as she crossed the room, drawing her towards him with an animal magnetism, but as she drew nearer his arms shot up, pulling her close, dragging her from her cliff-edge as if one split second was too long to be apart.

  The weight of his lips on hers was explosive, hungry. She almost cried out at the impact of him against her, her lips parting as he probed her with his tongue. She could taste the lingering traces of whisky, the sharp scent of his maleness filling her senses.<
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  His hair was thick and silken under her fingers, his thighs hard and solid as he pulled her nearer, and she could feel his arousal, urgent and solid. Pulling at her hairclips, he threw them almost angrily to the floor, his fingers spilling her Titian curls, coaxing them around her face. Pushing her head back, he let his lips explore her neck, scratching the soft skin with his chin as his sensual mouth located the flickering pulse there.

  He pulled away. ‘Are you sure?’

  His voice was thick, rasping, and the question was thoughtful. But she was beyond any rationale. The whys and wherefores would have to wait; for now only the moment mattered. She stood quivering, only his arms holding her up. The only thing she was sure about was that if he stopped kissing her now, stopped ravishing her, adoring her with his body, she would die with frustration. Her voice came out gasping, unsteady. ‘Please,’ she urged, ‘don’t stop.’

  For the first time since their lips had met she opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his pupils dilated, desire burning in every facet of his being.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she urged again.

  It was all the affirmation he needed to continue and, swooping her into his embrace, Zavier carried her towards the bedroom. Ripping back the smooth counter-pane, he laid her on the huge bed.

  What Tabitha had expected she had no idea—for him to tear at her clothes, for her to rip at his shirt? But the animal passion that had gripped them in the lounge suite dimmed a notch, replaced instead by a sensual hum, an almost reverent admiration as he slowly pulled down her zipper, savouring each first glimpse of her exposed flesh.

  Planting slow, deep kisses on her shoulders, he pulled down her straps, exploring her clavicle with his tongue. She heard his sharp intake of breath as the chiffon slipped over her breasts. Her pink nipples begged for the coolness of his tongue, flicking each taut nipple until it was swollen and aching, dancing to his probing attendance. Down ever down, he moved, across the white hollow of her stomach to the glistening silken Titian curls hiding her amber treasure box, which he opened with wonder, his tongue working its magic again, making her gasp as he brought her ever nearer to the brink of oblivion. Then, abating slightly, leaving her hovering on the brink, on the edge of the universe, he worked slowly on the delicately freckled expanse of flesh that spilled out over her sheer stockings.

  With cat-like grace he stood up, his eyes never leaving hers as he undid his shirt, and though the music had stopped long ago his hips gyrated slowly to a beat of their own. Only his eyes were still, watching her reaction at the first glimpse of the ebony mat of hair on his chest, inking down over his flat stomach. She heard his zipper slide down, followed the plane of ebony as his trousers slid down his solid thighs, revealing the first heady glimpse of his manhood, trapped and writhing in his underwear. She reached towards him, her trembling hand aching, desperate to touch him, but Zavier shook his head, taunting her a while longer as he slowly took off the last remnants of clothing.

  It was the most sensual thing she had ever witnessed, a teasing ritual that whetted her appetite. What she had expected from his lovemaking she hadn’t dared even imagine. A cool aloofness, perhaps, a distance despite their closeness? Not this teasing disrobing for her benefit, this naked display of sensuality, this sheer, delicious decadence. He pushed her gently back onto the bed, the rough hair on his thighs scratching through the silk of her stockings as he parted her legs, diving into her with such precision and force that she cried out in abandonment, her legs coiling around his waist, whilst her coral-painted nails dug into his taut buttocks.

  And finally the only dance left was the dance of lovers entwined, their bodies making music of their own, dancing to a private rhythm, a jazz of harmonic idioms in tune with each other, improvising as they went. The rhythm filled them, fuelled them, spurring them on, finding out what worked, what mixed—and it all did. Every last cell in their bodies seemed to be sated with desire until she could hold back no longer. Every pulse in her body had aligned, focusing towards her very epicentre as he exploded within her. Gasping, her body throbbing, she opened her eyes. She needed to see him at this moment—see the man who had brought her to this magical place. For he was the perfection she craved, he was the ultimate fantasy, and she was living it, loving it.

  To close her eyes now would only taint the dream.

  ‘What about Aiden?’

  His question filtered through the haze, unwelcome and unexpected, the harshness in his voice such a stark contrast to the husky endearments of only moments before.

  ‘Tabitha?’

  She heard the impatient note, the summons for an explanation. Pulling up the heavy white sheet, she tucked it around her, her eyes darting to his, reeling with shock at the contempt so visible, stunned at the change in his demeanour.

  Sitting up, she pulled the sheet closer, covering her breasts while knowing it was way too late for false modesty, bemused at the sudden change in him. ‘I can explain…’ she started, running a hand through the riot of curls, searching her mind for an answer. But she didn’t have one. Telling the truth to Zavier might redeem her somewhat, but at what price? Betraying her dearest friend simply wasn’t an option; Aiden’s secret wasn’t hers to share.

  He turned his head then, just a fraction, enough for his eyes to burn into her shoulder, to see her stiffen as he carried on. ‘If you love him then tell me, Tabitha, just what are you doing in bed with me? I mean, surely even you can see that this is stretching the boundaries of decency. I guess anyone can make a mistake in the heat of passion, but surely you would have put up a bit of a fight if you truly loved Aiden? I thought I’d at least have to try a bit harder to get you into my room.’

  It took a moment to gather her thoughts, to take in all he was saying, but suddenly with vile realisation she saw what he had done. He might have been attracted to her, he might have wanted her, but going through with it—inviting her to his room, seducing her—had all been a test. A test to see if she truly loved his brother, if she could fight the attraction of another man.

  And she had failed, dismally failed.

  ‘You set me up?’ Her lips were white, her voice shaking.

  Zavier laughed. ‘Possibly, though I didn’t sense much resistance.’

  ‘You set me up,’ she repeated, angry now, shocked and hurt at what he had done. ‘You were testing me, trying to see how far I’d go.’ With a whimper of horror she recalled Aiden’s words. ‘He’d crush you in the palm of his hand.’

  Zavier Chambers had done just that. He was as inscrutable as he was dangerous, and she had only herself to blame for playing right into his hands.

  Grabbing the sheet around her, Tabitha leapt out of bed. Retrieving her flimsy dress and underwear from the floor, she ran into the bathroom. Slamming the door, she grappled with the lock—but he was too quick for her. Forcing the bathroom door open, he strode in. His nudity embarrassed her now, hurt her, a shocking reminder of what she had done. Averting her eyes, she pulled tighter at the sheet. Her eyes sparkled with tears and she squeezed them shut.

  Mercifully, he reacted to her embarrassment and tucked a towel around himself before firmly taking hold of her arm and turning her to face him.

  ‘Stay away from Aiden,’ he hissed, his face menacingly close.

  ‘Get your hands off me.’ Her voice was amazingly calm—authoritative, even; her shock had been replaced now with a burning anger. ‘You don’t know all the facts. The truth of the matter is that I’m actually doing your damn family a favour by being here.’

  ‘By making sure we don’t find out Aiden’s gay?’ His sneering reply simultaneously shocked and confused her.

  ‘You already know?’

  ‘Of course I know, and if I hadn’t been sure tonight only confirmed it!’

  ‘Why?’ Her mind was reeling, shocked by the revelation, wondering what Aiden’s reaction would be.

  He let her go then, but Tabitha didn’t move. Her eyes searched his face, demanding an answer, and when it came it was barely
audible, his voice a throaty low whisper that she had to strain to catch. ‘Any other man would have been proud to have you on his arm.’

  Tabitha let out a nervous giggle that was completely out of place given the animosity between them. ‘I’m hardly Amy Dellier.’

  ‘You’re ten of Amy Dellier,’ Zavier spat. ‘And if Aiden had an ounce of testosterone in him just what the hell was he doing holding his whisky glass instead of you?’

  ‘If you know he’s gay then I don’t see why you’re so angry. Surely you know I can’t be after him for his money…’

  ‘Oh, spare me the speeches,’ Zavier spat. ‘Do you really think yours would be the first marriage of convenience? And I’m not talking about the general population either. The whole Chambers family tree is littered with rotten apples—sweet little things on the outside, rotten greedy gold-diggers on the inside.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Her voice was rising now, her shame at having slept with him wrestling with her anger at the way she was being treated and, worst of all, her cringing embarrassment at how easily she had let him in, at the side of her she had so readily exposed.

  ‘Take this wedding, my cousin Simone…’ He threw his hands up in the air in a wildly exaggerated gesture. ‘Love’s young dream, my foot.’ He looked at her bemused face. ‘You want an example closer to home? My parents, then.’

  ‘But—but they seem so happy,’ Tabitha stammered.

  ‘Happy, yes. Married, yes. But happily married is another thing entirely. And if you think I’m going to let you get your claws into Aiden you can think again.’

  ‘He was joking,’ Tabitha pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.

  ‘No, he wasn’t, Tabitha,’ Zavier said darkly. ‘For all his arty ways, for all the alternative lifestyle you and Aiden insist on living, you’re both as shallow as it comes. You can buck the system all you want but you still like your bills paid, you still like your little luxuries—and what a luxurious life it would be,’ he sneered. ‘How respectable Mrs Tabitha Chambers would be once her gambling debts were paid off. I can see you now at bridge parties, or at the Melbourne Cup. Far less sordid than the places you probably frequent now. The only problem with that little scenario is you’re a hot little thing.’ He moved closer now, his breath warm on her already scorching cheeks. ‘The gambling tables aren’t the only place you get your kicks, are they?’