Wicked Paradise: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Tia Lewis

  Dawson

  I didn’t see her again until Saturday morning. It was for the best that we take a couple days off from each other after that kiss. I didn’t think I could play it cool again—it had taken a lot of self-control to end things and walk away. My cock had pretty much ached the rest of the night, until I went home and jerked off in the shower while I thought about her.

  She was so ready for it, too. That made it even harder not to push things farther. She was practically begging for it. I wondered how long she had been alone for. Only a woman who hadn’t gotten laid in months reacted the way she did. Every time I remembered the way she whimpered, I started to get hard. I had to stop thinking about her or else risk getting charges brought on me. Indecency or lewdness or something.

  Shana came in for breakfast with the kids that morning and gave me a big hug. We had never been as close as I was with Craig and Amanda, but she and Jake had been part of the bigger crowd we were friends with.

  “How are you guys doing?” I asked the kids. The two older ones, the ten- and thirteen-year-old boys, sat on one side of the booth while the six-year-old girl sat next to her mom. It still blew my mind sometimes, the thought that there were people I was friends with in school who had kids that age. The teenager looked just like his father did at that age. I couldn’t imagine having kids that old, even though I knew I was out of high school by the time my dad was thirty-eight. “Where’s your dad today?”

  “He had to cover another shift at the hospital this morning,” the oldest explained. He sounded very proud of himself, being able to give an adult answer to an adult question. I remembered how that felt when I was his age.

  Shana had a smile for me, too, but it was a different kind than the ones the kids wore. “So,” she said, “how are things going with our friend?”

  “Just fine,” I said, still smiling. She wouldn’t get more personal than that with the kids around. Or would she?

  Her eyes practically twinkled. “Fine, huh? I haven’t gotten the chance to catch up with her yet, but I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I’m sure you are.” She winked and turned her attention to the menu and the questions of the kids at the table. Yes, they could have hot chocolate. Yes, they could have whipped cream on it. I laughed to myself as I went to the register to ring up a check and remembered the time Shana was so drunk she climbed up the ladder to the water tower and flashed the town. Not like anybody could see when she was that far off the ground, but still. What would her kids think about that story? Sometimes I thought about threatening to share it whenever she put me on the spot like that.

  I wondered why everybody thought that just because Amanda was in town, we were fucking like deranged rabbits. Did I want to? Yeah. I wanted to fuck her senseless in every way imaginable—and I had imagined a lot since we made out. But I was also a grown up and liked to think I had a little bit of discipline. I didn’t have to give in to every impulse. So my showers were a lot colder than usual. No big deal.

  Until she walked into the diner that morning and smiled at me and made me forget why it wouldn't be a good idea for us to sleep together again.

  Shana had grabbed her before I got the chance. I could hear the squeals from the two of them over all the other noise from the customers, the kitchen, the plates and forks and cups. There was something about the pitch of a woman’s squeal that managed to override all other noise.

  “You need a table?” Debbie asked Amanda when Shana finally let her go.

  “Oh, she can sit with us!” Shana insisted. She pulled her over to the booth with the kids. “Melanie, scoot over and sit with your brothers.” The little girl switched sides and gave Amanda room to sit. I told myself I shouldn’t care, but I couldn’t help looking over when I pretended I was looking somewhere else.

  Amanda handed the menu back. “Just coffee for now, please.” She turned her attention back to Shana and the kids, who all got introductions. She smiled at them and shook their hands, and she sounded just as surprised as I sometimes felt that her friends had a son who just started high school that year. I wondered why she never had kids of her own—she had never talked about them, so I assumed they didn’t exist. No serious relationship, no kids. What was the story there? She was beautiful. Not to mention smart and funny and warm. Was she one of those career women who never had time for the other things in life?

  Not like I had any room to talk. I doubted there was a woman alive who would put up with a schedule as hectic as mine.

  I turned my attention back to work, though I made it a point to deliver the food to Shana’s family. “Let’s see,” I said as I picked up the plates. “I bet the omelet is for Mom. Right?” She nodded and took it from me. I handed out three orders of pancakes after that, then made sure nobody needed anything else.

  I looked down at Amanda after that. “You’re sure I can’t bring you anything?” I asked.

  She smiled angelically up at me. “I was hoping you would join me for breakfast, actually. Once things quiet down a little.”

  I could just about hear Shana’s excitement building as she watched us. I tried to ignore her. “Things don’t really quiet down around here on a Saturday until at least early afternoon,” I explained.

  “Oh, right. It’s already Saturday. It’s so easy to lose track of time when you’re not working,” she said with a chuckle. “Well, I need a break from cleaning and boxing, and I have a book in my purse, so I can hang out at the counter with my coffee until you’re free.”

  She was determined. I wasn’t about to make a big deal of discouraging her while Shana was practically salivating. “Okay. We’ll talk later.” I wondered if she would really hang out that long. We were talking three, maybe four hours.

  I should’ve known better than to doubt her. She was as stubborn as an old mule, like my mom used to say whenever we’d get in a fight. That Amanda is as stubborn as an old mule when she puts her mind to it. Not much had changed when it came to that. It was around one-thirty when things started to slow down and there she was, sitting at the counter with coffee and a glass of water, flipping through an old paperback. I checked out the cover.

  “Michael Crichton,” I read aloud. “What’s that one about?”

  “Time travel,” Amanda said. “It seems like Craig was a big fan of his. He had all his books.”

  “Sure. A doctor who wrote best-selling novels. What’s not to love? Is it any good?”

  She nodded. “Good thing, too, since I’ve been sitting here with it all this time.”

  “You didn’t have to,” I reminded her.

  “Sure, I did. I had to meet you somewhere I knew no funny business would go on.” She smirked, eyes half-closed.

  “You’re not wearing a tight sweater today like you did the other night,” I observed. “I think you’re safe.”

  “It wasn’t all that tight,” she murmured. Her cheeks started to flush.

  I hoped I wouldn’t regret what I was about to say as I leaned closer, elbows on the counter. “Listen,” I whispered. “Why pretend we’re not attracted to each other? We’re not kids anymore. We don’t have to write notes with things like ‘Do you like me, circle yes or no’ on them.”

  She took a deep breath. No way she knew how sexy she was when she was flustered like that. She’d never believe it. “You’re right. I just don’t see the point in talking about it.” She looked away, and I wondered if there was something she wasn’t telling me. Or maybe, just maybe, she never forgave me for breaking up with her.

  Time to change the subject. “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about? And while we’re at it, are you ever gonna eat anything today?”

  She sighed. “Oh, God, I hope so. I’m starving.”

  The back booth had just emptied out, so she went back there while I put in an order for a Reuben sandwich for her and a burger for me. I was impressed with her choice—it got tiring, watching women eat nothing but salad and pretend they were satisfied with it when anybody with eyes could tell they weren�
�t.

  “So? What’s up?” I was glad to take a seat for the first time in hours.

  “First, I wanted to let you know that the funeral has been set for Tuesday morning.”

  “Oh.” That took the wind out of me.

  “I’m still trying to figure out what to do in terms of a luncheon or something for the people who come out. The house just isn’t big enough.”

  “And most of the town will come out for it, I bet.” I did some quick thinking. “Okay. We’ll have it here.”

  “Here?” Her eyes went wide. “You sure about that? I mean, what about your customers?”

  “They’re my customers, right? If they’re not here, the place is empty and we’re not making money.” I winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t overcharge you. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t charge anything at all.”

  “Who owns this place now, anyway?”

  “It got bought up years ago by some guy in Richmond. He was passing through on his way from point A to point B and liked it, so he bought it on the spot from Ken.”

  “Oh, I forgot all about Ken! He was always talking about how he would retire to a cabin in the woods one day and fish all the time.”

  “That’s what he did, too. As far as I know, that’s what he’s still doing now. I like having a mostly silent boss. I send him reports at the end of the month, and he’s always happy with them, and we do fine together.”

  “That’s great. I can’t imagine you would do well with somebody micromanaging you.”

  “You’re right about that.” The food came, so it gave us a break in the conversation. I changed the subject again. “What was Shana talking with you about?”

  She laughed. “She wants us to come to her oldest’s basketball game tonight. She specifically said we should go together.”

  I rolled my eyes, even though I had to laugh a little. “She’s pretty transparent, isn’t she?”

  “That’s a nice word for it. I was thinking more along the lines of obvious.”

  I watched her as she ate. “Do you wanna go?”

  She froze with a mouthful of corned beef. “Um…sure?” she answered over her food.

  “Good. We have a decent team this year.” I was willing to bet she was used to doing way more exciting things on a Saturday night, but I bit my tongue to hold that observation back. Besides, the way she smiled when we made plans told me she was genuinely glad to go. Wonders never ceased. Another of Mom’s old sayings.

  Amanda

  I thought about that Michael Crichton book I read at the diner as I got ready for the basketball game. Maybe time travel was possible, after all. I was getting ready for a high school basketball game in my hometown, and I was attending the game with my high school sweetheart. Twenty years disappeared in the blink of an eye. I kept waiting for a nasty zit to announce its presence in the middle of my forehead.

  At least my hair was better than it was back then. No poodle perm. I curled it into soft waves that hung down long enough to almost cover my breasts. I’d always thought my hair was my best feature, though men usually felt my breasts were the best thing I had going on. Knowing that Dawson had been checking me out in that sweater I wore a few nights back was gratifying. It was a far cry from my professional life, when I felt like I had to cover up from throat to knees to be taken seriously by my colleagues. It was still a man’s world out there.

  He was right at the diner, naturally, and I was willing to admit it to him and myself. We were adults. We didn’t have to play games anymore. He was the most handsome, sexiest man I had ever known. Like a barely dormant volcano, he could blow at any moment. Everything was bubbling just under the surface. And that was extremely hot, the thought that I might be there when he blew.

  I chewed my bottom lip at the thought, then gave my reflection a wicked smile.

  One important thing had changed in the last few days—no, two things. First, I had made out with Dawson. Talk about time travel. The second was just as major: Life was short. Too short. I was surrounded by reminders of this as I packed up the remnants of Craig’s life. What was wrong with having a little fun with somebody familiar? I couldn’t keep reminding myself of past hurts and pushing him away because of that.

  Even though he hurt you and you never came back partly because of him. My smile faded as I worked on my eye makeup. I watched my face fall. Was I kidding myself? There was too much between us for things to ever be casual. I was rationalizing our attraction because I wanted him so much. I had never stopped wanting him. But instead of putting on sweats and flipping on the TV and forgetting all about our would-be date, I continued with my makeup. And I reminded myself to be smart.

  I was within walking distance of the school, so I told him I would meet him there. How many times had Craig and I walked there in the morning, or to his house from school in the afternoon? I could’ve done it in my sleep, no question. Nothing had changed, either. It was all the same. Same homes, practically the same cars, even. I was willing to bet the same families, too. Just older.

  I wondered what would’ve happened if I had come back after college. If Dawson still wanted me. I would’ve come back, too. I would’ve done anything to be with him back then. He was the most real thing in my life. The only thing I had ever been completely sure of. I hadn’t even been that sure about Michael, and we were together for years.

  That was what I had tried to get him to understand the night he pulled the rug out from under me. I had felt so stupid, thinking I would graduate and come home and get married when that wasn’t what he wanted. Yes, it was still important to me that I go to college—I had worked my ass off for four years to build my transcripts—but he was the single biggest dream in my life. I wanted us. He didn’t, and he wouldn’t tell me what had changed. Only that I needed to forget him.

  I waved to Mrs. McGovern, who used to babysit me during the summer while Mom worked—at least until I was eight and deemed old enough to take care of myself. They couldn’t afford a babysitter in the first place, so as soon as I was tall enough to work the stove and reach the sink, I was in charge of the house. Still, she used to check in at least once a day. She always felt funny knowing I was on my own, or so she used to tell me.

  Funny thing, memories. One of them could bring up so many others. As I walked, I remembered what it felt like to know I didn’t have the same sort of life the rest of the kids had. I was a pretty mature kid—that came from raising myself, or maybe I raised myself because I was mature. Either way, I figured it out pretty early on that my parents weren’t like other parents. None of the kids in town had it made, of course. We were all on the lower side of middle class, with a few exceptions. Only most of the other kids had two parents, and those who didn’t at least felt like the parent they had cared about them. I never felt that way—maybe it was because Mom was always so tired. The woman had worked two or three jobs for as long as I could remember. Maybe it was because she was so sad. She had lost so many babies. She had a husband who couldn’t be bothered to act like one. He couldn’t be bothered to be a father, either. That sort of life would’ve made anybody sad. I couldn’t even blame her.

  I remembered meeting Craig in the third grade. He was sick a lot when he was very little—asthma, weak lungs. His mom had homeschooled him back when homeschooled kids were considered weirdos, until the doctor decided he was strong enough to go to school with other kids. I didn’t think he was a weirdo. I thought the sensitive, bright, compassionate boy who shared his apple slices with me at lunch that first day was the nicest boy I had ever met. Even nicer than Dawson, who I had known since kindergarten. I introduced them in the schoolyard on the first day, and that was it. The rest was history.

  I used to wonder if it was that early childhood illness that drew Craig to medicine. He had especially loved working with kids. His explanation was that they never argued his diagnoses and very, very rarely had anything to do with their illness or injury. Sure, he’d get the tomboy or rough houser who had bounced off the bed or fallen out of a tree a
nd broken something. But he didn’t meet the chronic smokers and drinkers who had done everything in their power to kill themselves. It wasn’t their fault. He could identify with the really sick ones, too. He never told me that part, but I knew him well enough to know he saw himself in them.

  I shivered and noticed the way my breath hung in the air. It had been a fairly warm day for November, but once the sun set the air had turned cold. I pulled up the collar of my coat and walked a little faster. I couldn’t walk fast enough to escape the incessant pull of my past. It was like semi-set concrete, making my legs feel like lead as I strode purposefully toward the school. The lights were blazing, and there were a handful of people standing around the doors to the gym. I saw the little glowing dots of their cigarettes, saw the cloud of smoke hanging over their heads. There were a lot of smokers still living there, I’d noticed. I remembered how cool I’d felt as a kid, smoking outside of school when the teachers weren’t watching. Even when it made me feel sick, I’d do it anyway.

  I walked the length of the chain link fence separating the sidewalk from the outdoor basketball court, then the parking lot, and finally came to the entrance. It was dark and getting darker all the time, but there was no missing Dawson in the crowd. He was a head taller than the rest of the men and had maybe fifty pounds of muscle on all of them, too. He was laughing over something with Jake, who scooped me up in a big hug as soon as he saw me coming.

  “Girl, I was just tellin’ Shana today how good it would be to see you!” He put me on my feet and took two steps back, then looked me up and down. “Damn, honey; New York’s been good to you.”

  I smacked his arm with a disapproving smirk. “I hope you say sweet things like that to your wife, Jake Jackson.”