Taming The Billionaire

by Darcia Cobbler

  She walked back into the room to find Brent sitting on the couch and staring at his hands. A tinge of pink in his cheeks.

  “And you don’t have to feel embarrassed either,” she said. “From what I saw, the other guy came out much worse.”

  She sat next to him opened the rubbing alcohol and began dabbing a cotton swab into it.

  “That’s part of the reason I’m embarrassed,” Brent said. “No matter what you’ve heard about me, I…I don’t really like fighting.”

  “Yeah, I figured that. Hold still. This’ll sting.”

  He gave her a quizzical look before wincing at the alcohol she’d put on his cheek.

  “I warned you,” she said with a slight chuckle.

  “It’s true, you did,” he admitted. “But, how did you figure it out?”

  “Figure what out?”

  “That I wasn’t much of a fighter? I’ve been trying to play up my macho bad boy side all week with you.”

  Leah gave a little smirk as her silent suspicions were confirmed.

  “I noticed that too,” she said. “But, most fighters wouldn’t put up with their brother telling them what not to say.”

  A pink blush came into his cheeks again.

  “I told you why I did that,” he said

  “I know you did,” Leah answered. “But, someone who liked to fight would still push back against something like that. No matter who was pulling the strings.”

  Leah’s eyes glanced from Brent’s cut over to his face, hoping to gauge his reaction to what she’d said. To her surprise, he was giving her that flirty smile that made her stomach flip.

  “So, you think I’m more of a lover than a fighter, huh?” he asked moving his hand up to touch hers as she continued to dab at his cheek. Now it was her turn to give him a flirty smile.

  “I’d say you’ve definitely proven that this week,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t mind being able to prove it again,” he whispered his lips, once more just above hers.

  “I guess I wouldn’t mind either,” she said. The words had barely left her mouth before Brent leaned down and moved his lips gently over hers.

  This kiss was soft and slow. Very different from the desperate, passionate kisses they’d shared at the country club.

  He moved her hand away from his cheek and gently pushed her down onto the sofa so that his body was covering hers.

  She felt the warmth of his body as she moved her hands against his back. It wasn’t until she reached beneath his untucked shirt and felt the warmth of his skin against her hands that she realized, despite all their fumbling, fast and passionate moments together, she had never felt his body fully against hers.

  “You know,” Brent said, lifting his lips from her collar bone, “I just realized, I’ve never seen you fully naked.”

  “I was thinking the same about you.”

  “Well,” he said, his hands moving to the straps of her shimmering evening gown. “Don’t you think we should change that?”

  Before she could answer, he pulled the straps of her dress down and off her shoulders, revealing the top of her breasts which he kissed gently in turn.

  She lifted her body to allow him to continue slipping her dress down and off her body. Soon, she was left on the couch in nothing but her matching, strapless bra and her underwear.

  “God, Leah, you’re so gorgeous,” he whispered as he reached behind her to unhook her bra. “I’ve been dreaming of seeing you like this since the first night I met you.”

  Leah felt a reply on her lips. Something about the feeling being entirely mutual. Before she could voice it, however, she let out a gasp as the cold air of the room hit her bare breast and was almost immediately replaced by Brent’s warm mouth.

  The heat of his tongue paid homage to one nipple and then the other as her hands moved from his back to nestle in his thick dark hair.

  When he had finished with her breasts, his lips moved down her stomach, his hands roaming the sides of her bare legs. Leah felt a surge rush through her body when she imagined the place that beautiful mouth of his would go next.

  Brent stopped just above her underwear. Through lidded eyes, she saw him give her a sensual smile before hooking his fingers in her panties and pulling them down around her ankles.

  “Oh fuck!”

  She cried out to the room as his mouth licked at her desire. Her hands became fists in his hair, pulling at it as she urged him deeper into her pussy. She writhed and twisted as his tongue expertly lapped her juices, playing her body like a virtuoso playing his instrument.

  She arched her back as she gave one final cry into the room. When she did, he lifted his head and looked at her with a cocky smile on his lips. Determined to wipe that smug expression off, she grabbed his neck and pulled him down for a desperate, passionate kiss.

  As his tongue, still filled with the juices from her release swirled inside her mouth, her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt.

  “My turn now,” she whispered into his ear as she pushed herself up from her position lying down on the couch. Her hands began unbuttoning his shirt, kissing each new patch of smooth, muscled, tan skin that she revealed.

  Brent finally shrugged out of his shirt and Leah pressed herself against his bare chest wrapping her arms around him. The feel of his warm, strong body against her bare skin was better than any quick, dirty hand job she could ever have imagined.

  Lips still pressed together, the two of them soon made quick work of his slacks and boxers. Before she knew it, Brent was pressing her against the couch, his tan, muscled legs tangled with hers. His hands fisting in her hair. Nothing between them. No clothes, no interview and no slick-talking agent.

  Everything had been laid bare. There were no secrets now.

  Tonight, Brent kissed her gently before sliding inside of her. Tonight, it felt different. Like it was the first time it had happened. Leah supposed it was the first time their lovemaking had felt real.

  There was no rush for either of them and it seemed to last forever and only moments at the same time. When she finally released her last cry to the room, mingling with his sighs that came just after, a sense of freedom filled her.

  Brent rolled over and gathered her into his strong, warm arms as Leah tried, as best she could, to get her breathing under control. They stayed spooned together for a long while. Not speaking and hardly breathing at all.

  Finally, Brent broke the silence.

  “So, do you think this part will make it into your article?” he asked.

  Leah couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh. Less at the idea of their night together being tossed all over the paper, and more at the feeling of relief she finally felt.

  “I think this part’ll be off the record,” she said.

  “I can give you one final quote for the record if you want,” he said. Curious, she turned around in his arms and faced him.

  “What quote is that?” she asked.

  “You can say that I’ll be spending a lot more time in St. Augustine from now on,” he said mischievously.

  “And why is that?” she asked. She knew what she wanted the answer to be and dreaded it at the same time. His blue eyes looked into hers with all the sincerity she had seen on the first night she met him. He lifted one hand to push a stray hand of hair behind her ear.

  “Because I’m in love with a woman who lives here,” he said gently. Leah felt her heart speed up while a wide grin spread across her face.

  “Well then,” she said. “For the record, that woman loves you too.”

  As he leaned in to kiss her again, Leah couldn’t help but feel that the record had never been so satisfying.

  THE END

  In Hiding

  Chapter 1

  Travis Smith was awake before his phone’s first ring had even come to an end. The clock by his bed read 3:17 am. Picking up his phone from the bedside table, Travis was already pulling a pair of jeans out of his closet by the time he answered. “Yes?” he asked. The caller display
had read “Tony’s Pizzeria” and that meant only one thing - his boss was calling. And if his boss was calling at three in the morning that meant that something was wrong.

  “You have to get out. Now. Meet me at Maud’s.” And, with those cryptic instructions, his boss hung up.

  But the instructions were all too clear to Travis. He tossed the phone onto his bed, yanked on the jeans and stuffed his feet into a pair of red Converse sneakers. As he was grabbing a black backpack from the top shelf of his closet, he heard the lock of his apartment’s front door quietly clicking open. Silently, Travis swung the backpack over his shoulders and picked up his phone. Turning it to silent – nothing was more embarrassing than having an ill-timed phone call give away your hiding place – he slid it into his back pocket. He could hear the stealthy footsteps of three, no, four, men as they crossed the kitchen, making their way to his bedroom.

  Quietly opening the door to the large en suite bathroom, Travis slipped through just as the first assassin turned the corner into his bedroom. He was a huge man, tall and heavy set, with a slight stoop in his shoulders and a thick curl of orangey red hair hanging out of the bottom his balaclava.

  “He’s getting away!” the masked man shouted. A volley of machine gun fire followed his warning and Travis threw himself to the floor as bullets battered the reinforced bathroom door.

  Another machine gun joined the first and Travis knew the door wouldn’t last much longer, reinforcements or no reinforcements. Keeping low and pulling himself along by his arms, Travis wiggled his way to the full-length mirror next to the sink. Gripping the edge of the mirror, he pulled it toward himself and it swung back to reveal a narrow metal shaft that headed almost straight down. Glancing back at the rattling door, Travis threw himself feet first down the tunnel, tugging the mirror shut behind him as he went. Whoever those men were, he didn’t want them following him down his escape route. Just as gravity took over and he began to slide down the shaft, he heard the bathroom door finally give way, and the armed men come bursting into the bathroom. As he fell, Travis smiled to think of their confused faces.

  The shaft soon joined the garbage shoot and a moment later Travis found himself in a dumpster in the alley behind his apartment building. Making a face, Travis pulled himself out of the bags of trash and up over the edge of the dumpster. Landing gracefully on his feet, he ran for the street. Quickly checking to make sure no one was watching the alley, Travis pulled a set of car keys from the side pocket of his backpack and made a beeline for a nondescript Toyota station wagon parked on the other side of the street.

  Unlocking the driver’s door, he slid in, tossing his backpack into the passenger seat as he let the engine warm up. After a few tense minutes of idling, the car groaned to life and Travis shot down the deserted street, heading for Maud’s. Maud’s was one of his organization’s safe houses, so named for the old lady that lived there. He took a circuitous route, constantly checking to make sure he wasn’t being followed. But, after twenty minutes of detours and doubling back, Travis was satisfied that he’d left his attackers back at the apartment and headed to the safe house. Parking couple of streets away, Travis snuck through a few blocks of backyards, zigzagging around swing sets, sandboxes, and forgotten toys until he reached Maud’s back garden.

  This particular safe house was in a quiet suburban neighborhood, in a house that supposedly belonged to a harmless, aging lady with a penchant for cats. Though this might seem like an odd choice for an international spy ring’s safe house, the old lady, Maud, was actually one of the agency’s top weapons specialists, although she was retired now. And she did, in fact, actually quite like cats. As he approached the safe house from behind, he saw there was a light on in the kitchen. A large, white Persian was sitting on the back step, eyeing him reproachfully. Travis reached down to pet it, only to have it hiss angrily in response.

  “Okay, okay, have it your way,” he whispered, taking his hand back quickly before it got scratched.

  Maud, as if she had somehow heard the cat, opened the back door. Silhouetted against the warm light of the hall, Maud looked even smaller and frailer than Travis remembered. Mind you, he told himself, she must be in her eighties by now at least. She’d already been old when he’d been recruited. “We were worried you hadn’t made it,” she told Travis, interrupting his thoughts.

  “I took the long way here,” he told her. “Better safe than sorry.”

  Maud nodded, her blue eyes magnified behind her thick, tortoise shell glasses. “Very true. Bruce is in the kitchen. Would you like some tea?” she asked as she led him into the kitchen.

  “Err, I’m more of a coffee man myself,” Travis admitted. “But thanks, Maud.”

  “Eh,” Maud replied grumpily, that one sound making her opinions on coffee very clear.

  “Travis,” Bruce, their boss, stood, coming forward to grip Travis by the arm. Bruce was a big man, even compared to Travis, who stood several inches over six feet himself, and his iron-like grip made Travis wince a little. “God, I’m glad to see you. I’m afraid you’re the only one who’s made it out.”

  “What?” Travis gaped at the older man. “What happened?” Picking up the tabby that was occupying the nearest chair, Travis deposited the cat on the floor and sat down. The tabby glared malevolently up at him before stalking away huffily when Travis continued to ignore it.

  “My best guess at the moment is that Nabokov is out for revenge,” Bruce said, sitting back down as well. The chair creaked under his weight.

  “Coffee,” Maud interrupted, banging a tray down onto the table between Bruce and Travis. “Bruce doesn’t drink tea either.”

  “Oh, you didn’t need to bother, Maud,” said Travis.

  “You’ve got a long drive coming up, young man,” Maud told him, sitting down on the third chair, drawing the Siamese that had been sitting there onto her lap. “So do as you’re told and drink your coffee. And have a cookie while you’re at it.”

  Travis nodded meekly and poured himself a coffee, grabbing a few chocolate chip cookies off the plate. “Thanks, Maud,” he said.

  “Eh,” said Maud again, pouring herself a cup of tea from the floral patterned teapot she’d already had on the table. “Pass the milk.”

  As Travis passed the milk, Bruce resumed his story. “You remember Nabokov, don’t you?”

  Travis nodded. “It wasn’t one of my jobs, but I remember him. Russian arms dealer who was selling to a White Supremacist group in South Carolina and we brought down the whole racket. Wendy got shot in the leg during that, didn’t she?”

  “Well, now she’s been shot somewhere a lot more fatal, I’m sorry to say,” said Maud, stirring milk into her tea. “I liked Wendy. Had a way with the cats, she did.”

  Bruce nodded, running a hand through his close-cropped gray hair. “I’m afraid Maud’s right. Someone’s hacked into our network and decoded everything. All our agents’ true identities, addresses, weapons caches – the whole shebang. The only reason Maud wasn’t hit is because she’s not in our database anymore.”

  “Really?” Travis said, turning back to Maud. “Why not?”

  “Because I retired last year, that’s why,” Maud replied. “I never trusted all these online shenanigans anyway. ‘Oh, it’s all encrypted, Maud,’ they said to me down in IT. Well, encryptions are like rules, I always told them: made to be broken. I had them take me off the registry the minute I left active service. And a good thing I did too,” she said primly, re-adjusting her blue and white quilted housecoat.

  “Unfortunately, Maud’s right. Every other safe house has been compromised,” Bruce told Travis.

  “But surely Nabokov didn’t have the connections for this kind of coup,” Travis protested. “I mean, his operation was more or less wiped out after we had finished with him. Last I heard, he was hiding somewhere in Botswana.”

  His boss nodded. “That’s what we thought too. But he always was a tricky one.”

  “Personally, my money’s on Miyazaki, that Yakuza
drug lord that Sara and Miguel took down last year. They said there was no way he could have gotten off that yacht before it sunk, but you know what we always say: unless you see the body…” Maud shook her head, leaving her sentence hanging.

  “Or there’s Matthews, from that human trafficking ring we busted in Indiana. Him and a few of his top guys escaped from police custody the night the FBI cracked down on their warehouses,” Travis pointed out. “And I’m sure he didn’t appreciate us shutting down his Serbian suppliers either.”

  Bruce sighed. “Let’s be honest. It could be anyone. All we know right know is that tonight someone hit just about every agent we had. Quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Luckily I was having drinks with an old college buddy instead of lying asleep in my bed. Miguel called me right as they gunned him down or I’d have gone home to a bullet between the eyes as well.”