One Night With the Billionaire (Men of the Zodiac)

by Sarah Ballance

  The night before had been Ryder losing control; the morning after, clearly an exercise in him regaining it. This was him toying with her, collecting the nuances of her body over the course of a breathless night, only to use the knowledge against her. It was his erection nudging her thigh, teasing her. It was the gentleness that sparked an inferno, that made every deviant ache that had settled into her muscles from the night before flee, leaving her begging for more. And as she squirmed against him, soaking his finger with her need, it was him, kissing her stomach, her breasts, and finally her mouth, the rhythm of his tongue setting the pace for the utter devastation that exploded between her thighs when he deepened the strokes until they pounded, the punishing pace a welcomed relief.

  But the pleasure that washed over her was heavy ended. Never had something so beautiful had such a dark side. Such dark, ominous clouds. A storm closing in.

  He could crave her. Own her. Fuck her. But he couldn’t make love to her. Not like this.

  She’d never get over this.

  Fuck.

  Ryder rested his head against the shower wall, his thoughts pounding mercilessly under a blistering hot spray. Cold showers were useless…he needed the burn. He didn’t regret what happened between him and Zoe, but now he had to figure out what to do next. The reckless side of him said screw it, chase this thing they had. Then common sense popped in with a reminder that they’d pretty much just met, that knowing where she lived as a kid didn’t count for knowing her. What did he know, really? She was an attorney born to one asshole with derailed plans to marry another. He wasn’t sure how she felt about that or anything else in her so-called real world. He only knew her in his world, in this brief window where their paths crossed and the sheets burned and he needed her. Christ, how he needed her. But to give up everything for which he’d worked? Her father and that stupid contract…it couldn’t be enforceable. No judge in his right mind would allow a grown-ass man—an attorney, no less—to turn the screws on a kid like that. But Ryder wasn’t a kid anymore, and whether he liked it or not, Zoe’s father had done him a favor. To deny that would be to deny how far Ryder had come. He hadn’t fought for nothing, nor had he once in his life fought for love.

  He’d never known it.

  That she fit so perfectly into his life and his bed meant nothing. That she could so thoroughly wreck his world should have meant everything. Everything. But it didn’t. Because under the pounding deluge of a scalding shower, he made a decision.

  He needed to get the hell off the island.

  And he knew just where to go. If they only had a short amount of time, he’d at least make it worthwhile.

  Chapter Twelve

  A few minutes later, Ryder found Zoe in her bedroom, where he immediately had all kinds of second thoughts about his plans for the day. Her bed lay unused, impeccably made, and damned if he didn’t want to mess it up.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “How would you like to go shopping?”

  She gave a look that suggested he might be stupid. Maybe. Or probably. “Is there a mall on the other side of the island?” she asked dryly.

  “No, but there’s one in Saint Lucia. You brought your passport, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, but her jaw dropped. “Saint Lucia? You want to fly to Saint Lucia to go shopping? What about this risk you’re taking? The one that makes it illegal for you to be around me?”

  He took in her beautiful, narrowed eyes and his heart twisted. “It’s not… Okay, it’s not the best idea. But we both agree we’re temporary, so what do we have to lose?”

  “I don’t know,” she said wryly. “It’s apparently illegal for you to tell me. Hanging out on your island is one thing. Going public—and Saint Lucia is very public—is another.”

  “We’ll keep it low key.” He shrugged, though her point got through and made him wonder why he wanted so badly to convince her. “Public means crowded. Just don’t stand next to any tabloids with your picture on them and I bet no one will notice you.” He laughed when she shot him a classic look that could kill. “Come on, I’ll buy you a hat and sunglasses. We only have a few days left, and you do need a dress suitable for a ball.”

  “That is true,” she admitted.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s brutal,” he said, biting back a laugh, “but you do have a gala to attend.”

  “I thought I was supposed to talk to Aggie about the dress.” Her tone was wary, her gaze judgmental even as a smile toyed with her lips.

  “You still have that option, but I thought you might be getting a little stir crazy here. It’s a long way from the city. Figured it might do us some good to get out.” He left off the rest. Like how he looked in the mirror and expected to see hearts circling his head when he thought of her. The solitude of the island had never bothered him before, but when he started turning into Pepe Le Pew, it was past time to make a break for civilization. The part where he felt compelled to take Zoe was something better left unexamined. Besides, the woman actually did need a gown.

  She stared him down, an opposing attorney worth her salt. “Let me get this straight. You, confirmed bachelor that you are, want to cross the ocean so you can watch me try on dresses?”

  “It’s a sea, not an ocean. And I’m admittedly more interested in the part where you take them back off.”

  She shook her head. “Unreal.”

  “That I’d want to watch you get undressed? Because if last night didn’t convince you…”

  “No, that” —she waved her arms at him— “this is all being wasted on a man who doesn’t do relationships.”

  “I do get points for some aspects, though, right?”

  She shook her head like he was hopeless, but she was grinning when she walked over, all legs in a shirt that hit mid-thigh and not an inch below. No wonder he couldn’t think about anything but her. He hadn’t had a drop of blood venture north of his belt since she’d arrived in his sandbox.

  “You,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips, “are the perfect man. Pity you are so determined not to share that with a woman.”

  He didn’t state the obvious—that he was sharing with her. Wasn’t much point in it. She wasn’t staying. There was a definite, looming expiration date on this thing between them. Gala night. He had guests coming from DC, and there was no way they wouldn’t recognize her. Even if he and Zoe kept their relationship strictly business for the public, once she was “discovered,” there’d be no going back to what they had now. And there’d be no hiding it. He was risking everything, but the damage was done.

  He’d deal with the fallout later. For now, he thought about kissing her. About turning that little tease of a brush she’d given him into something that would rock the island. But he had a better idea.

  “Don’t forget your identification,” he said, punctuating with a single rough kiss that left her eyes wide and glassy and her nipples tight. Go ahead and want me, princess. He’d already talked to his pilot. The flight plan was in place, the plane ready. “Wheels up in thirty.”

  It was Zoe’s second time on the jet, and she was no less impressed than she had been on the first. “This plane is gorgeous.”

  “Don’t give me too much credit,” he said dryly. “It came this way. And for the record, it’s leased, so don’t get too hung up on that guy who owns a plane thing.”

  She watched him, a smile teasing her lips. “You aren’t impressed by much of anything, are you?”

  “I’m impressed by you.”

  She nearly choked on her disbelief. “For what? Hiding from my life?”

  “Nope. For standing up for yourself, snatching your self-respect out of whatever kind of hell went down, and walking out. You removed yourself from a bad situation,” he said. “Most people stand there until they drown, but you didn’t.”

  “Neither did you,” she said softly. She thought his assessment generous, but she liked the parallel. She liked thinking they had something in common.

  He just shook his head and
grinned. Then he reached for the intercom. “Hey, Cap. We’ve stopped climbing and the sky is blue. You gonna turn off the seatbelt sign or what?”

  Soft laughter followed. “Did I forget to do that?”

  Zoe recognized the voice. “Is that Hector?”

  “Yes. The sorry bastard.” The light flicked off. He unsnapped his belt and helped her to do the same. As if she needed it. Truth be told, she no more needed his help than she needed his hand in her lap, but if he wanted to make an excuse of it, she’d take it.

  “He didn’t fly me in,” she said of Hector.

  “No, he wasn’t on the flight that day. Cap—whose real name is Charlie—is the pilot. The second chair is either Cap’s son or Hector. That day it was the son.”

  “Does Cap live on the island?” Apparently there were more inhabitants than she thought.

  “Yep. He and his wife live in a cottage near the air strip. He’s a retired commercial pilot, or he was until I hired him. He babies this thing like it’s his own,” Ryder said of the aircraft, then he laughed. “His son is a skilled pilot in his own right, but he flies fighter jets for a living, so I try to keep him out of first chair when he’s here on leave.”

  “And Hector is a sorry bastard because…?”

  “Because he thought he’d keep me from showing you the bedroom.”

  “There’s a bedroom?”

  “Wanna see?”

  “I might. But only because I’ve never seen a bedroom on a plane.”

  His grin faltered, and she laughed. He shook his head and led her to a side-facing door to the rear of the seating area. Beyond the door was a single bed and a desk, the latter accessorized by a leather chair and a large wall-mounted screen. Standard airplane windows lined the bed, beyond which, scattered islands marked the distant, deep blue sea. Zoe couldn’t imagine rolling over in her sleep and waking to a view of the earth thousands of feet below, although it couldn’t beat the rush of waking of next to Ryder. Of feeling him move inside her. Tingles shot every which way, and he lit fire to her with his smoldering assessment.

  “Remember that thing you started back there in your room?” he asked.

  “That thing I started?”

  “You kissed me. Without pants.”

  “That’s starting a thing?”

  “It’s starting a thing.” He shut the door. Locked it. “I’d like to finish the thing.”

  “I might be interested in finishing the thing.”

  He reached back and yanked his shirt over his head, then tossed it. “We definitely need to finish the thing,” he murmured, his mouth closing over hers before the last word fully escaped. He lowered her to the bed, chasing down after her. She shivered when the cool bedding hit her back, then luxuriated in his heat when he landed on top. “I’m fresh out of handcuffs, sweetheart, so you’re just going to have to hold on.”

  The suggestion of being restrained, even destined to go unfulfilled, sent a shudder through her. Before Ryder, the wildest thing she’d ever done was wear out a vibrator. She had no idea she liked being tied up. Or spanked. Or, Lord help her, that she had an affinity for a man with a filthy mouth, much less the ability to respond in kind. As a rule, she didn’t curse. But the way he responded made her want to learn every dirty word ever uttered. To find out first hand just how hard he’d fuck her when she begged.

  Wake. Up.

  What was she thinking? Just that morning, she’d been on the verge of regret, and now here she was, wanting what she had no right to want from a man who’d made it clear he could never be hers. She swallowed. “Last night—”

  “Last night terrified me.”

  “It did?”

  “You look like you want me to elaborate,” he said, “but are you going to yell at me again? Because you can yell at me in Saint Lucia. Right now, I’d prefer you scream my name. It’s a nuance, but an important one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to yell at you.”

  “Good. Because what happened last night is, I found something I didn’t think existed. And it’s fucked up that I had to find it in you, because I can’t have you. Call it a catch twenty-two. Call it hell. Call it what you want, but until you do something to convince me you’re not everything I want in a package I can’t have, I’m going to be one tortured asshole having the best sex of my life.”

  “You have a filthy mouth,” she said. Because she was dying inside. Dying. “Put it on me.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice, and he didn’t bother with foreplay other than to touch her and find her wet. Ready. Always so ready. She didn’t even recognize who she was. Wasn’t sure which version of herself she wanted to be true.

  “It should just be like this,” she said as she watched him step out of his pants and roll on a condom. It. Relationships? Sex? She wasn’t even sure what they had…just that she wished this thing between them could be real.

  He yanked down her underwear. Rough. “It should definitely just be like this.” He climbed on top of her, kissing his way up her body until the stars aligned and he plowed into her. He grabbed her hands, lacing his fingers through hers, and eased out. And waited. Torture.

  She raised her hips, but to no avail. He evaded all but the slightest contact, and with his grip on her she was helpless to do anything but wait. “How long is this flight?” she muttered. Impatient.

  “I’m just waiting for you to ask nicely.” He pushed back in and ground his hips into hers, then left again. “Ask nicely, princess.”

  Make love to me. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. He didn’t want her to ask nicely. He wanted her to beg. He probably wanted her to drop another f-bomb, but she suddenly felt vulnerable.

  Like this moment would be gone in a flash, and the memory just wouldn’t be enough.

  So she gave in another way.

  “This feels like more,” she whispered. “More than just sex.”

  He met her eyes, and she was surprised to see the conflict raging there. Storm clouds. She knew why she felt them. Had no idea what they meant in his. Then she forgot to care, because his mouth was on her, his body fast and hard against her. Inside her. They came together, and then there was just the drone of the engines and an endless sky with them in a world that could never be theirs.

  She traced his tattoo with a fingertip and wondered how many times those arms would wrap around her before it was over. Wondered how she’d ever let go.

  “Think we can do that again on the way home?” she asked.

  He laughed, the sound muffled by the pillow where he’d fallen, face first just over her shoulder. “I think I can do that again right now.”

  A ding sounded in the cabin. She looked up to see the seatbelt light flashing.

  “Maybe not,” he muttered. He crawled off of her and stumbled into his pants. “I swear he did that on purpose.”

  She rolled over to look out the window at the island below. “Either he has impeccable timing, or…we’re there.”

  “Likely excuse.” He pulled her to her feet, then helped her straighten her dress before he found his shirt and put it on.

  She reached for the door, but he caught it before she could get it open. She scowled. “Seatbelts, Ryder.”

  He grinned. “Mile-high club, Zoe.”

  Oh, sweet Jesus. Her good girl card was going to be permanently revoked. “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t need to know how many members you’ve inducted.”

  He caught her arm when she tried to walk away. “I told you I don’t sleep around.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Translation: it did matter. She just didn’t want to hear it.

  He let her go. She was back in her seatbelt, praying the stupid plane would land safely, when he called out after her. “Might not matter to you, princess, but you better hand me my motherfucking wings, because you were my first.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When they landed on Saint Lucia and deplaned, no one batted an eye as they showed their documentation, then climbed into
a cab. “That was easy,” she said.

  “As opposed to…?”

  “A crowd of women screaming your name.”

  He snorted. “I’m not a celebrity—just a private businessman. Rarely does anyone give me a second look, especially not here. I tend to avoid limos and fanfare. I prefer to tip the hell out of the cabbie. If he knows how to drive, that is,” he added, louder, when they went careening through a left turn on two tires and a yellow light.

  Ryder glared, but Zoe breathed a sigh of relief. The short trip to BayWalk Mall felt longer with a madman at the wheel. She thought better of kissing the ground when they got out on Castries-Gros Islet Highway, but the temptation was strong. “And I don’t like airplanes,” she muttered.

  He handed the cabbie some cash, then looked at her in surprise. “You don’t?”

  “I might now, although I’m not so sure about cabs.”

  He leaned down until his lips touched her ear, then whispered, “I guess I need to fuck you in the back of a cab next.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That guy probably would have comped the fare if we’d let him watch.”

  “Doing it in front of an audience. Yet another untapped fantasy, princess?”

  If only he knew. She couldn’t quite agree to public sex, but she was beginning to realize she hadn’t any fantasies until Ryder. Well, not since the old ones featuring him. She’d replayed those a time or ten, but the real thing had blown the fantasy to bits.

  So how are you going to get over him this time, genius? She’d have to avoid the Caribbean. And all other islands. Possibly cabs. Definitely aircraft.

  “All right, darlin’. Get me off this sidewalk. Where to?”

  She glanced down the street that cut through the upscale shopping center. “Um, women’s clothing store? One with gowns, which would be…where?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t walk many red carpets on my way in and out of real estate closings, and I sure as hell have never needed a dress.”

  After two hours, Zoe wasn’t sure she needed one either.

  She blew a frustrated breath at the strands of hair that had fallen into her face, but in the humidity they barely moved. “I don’t know how to shop at these places. Is there a department store around here anywhere? Preferably one that doesn’t work off commission?”