She's Mine: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Kira Blakely

  “What does it mean?” I ask him as I run my thumb over the ink.

  “I should think it’s obvious,” Grant answers. “The bald eagle is for America, the land of my birth. I never wanted to forget that. Also, I wanted to spite my grandfather.”

  I give him a puzzled look. “He doesn’t like America?”

  He shakes his head. “But not as much as he dislikes the fact that I have American blood.”

  “What about the rose?”

  “I had that added before my mom died. She always reminded me of a rose, and I wanted her to know that I would always remember even though she kept beating herself up for not being a better mother to me.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “I also think it’s appropriate to put the rose right in the eagle’s claws since she was captivated by America.”

  “Or the eagle could be your father, an American, the one who whisked her away. And now, they’re soaring together with her forever in his grasp.”

  He glances at the tattoo. “I never thought of it that way.” He looks at me. “And I never thought of you as a romantic poet.”

  “I watch Broadway, remember?”

  “Right.”

  My inspection of Grant’s tattoo done, I return to my original quest – his chest. I place my hand on his collarbone, tracing it toward the middle then running my fingers down the narrow strip of smooth skin between his pectorals. Looking at his face to observe his reaction, I follow the curve of one of them, skirting dangerously close to his nipple before circling around and touching it. He sucks in a breath, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

  Biting my lower lip, I do the same to the other, holding his gaze.

  Same reaction.

  All right. His nipples are sensitive but not that sensitive. I’m suddenly curious to find out where his pleasure buttons are. After all, he probably knows all of mine.

  I continue to explore my new playground, moving my hand lower so that I can trace the straight and curved lines of his taut abdomen.

  Amazing.

  “Did you always have this kind of body?” I ask curiously as I slowly approach his belly button.

  “No.”

  “Why have it then?”

  “I like to keep fit since I spend a lot of time outdoors,” Grant says. “And because it gets the attention of…”

  He stops talking, gasping as his muscles contract.

  “That tickles,” he tells me when I search his eyes for an explanation.

  “You mean this?” I brush my fingers around his belly button.

  His body trembles. “Fuck!”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I give him a mischievous grin. “So, what was that you were saying again?”

  He hesitates. “Women like a nice body.”

  “They do, do they?” I tickle him on purpose.

  He laughs, squirming beneath me.

  “You’re mean,” he says afterward, gasping for breath.

  “Oh, I am, am I?” I threaten to tickle him again, chuckling when he puts his hands up in surrender.

  Okay. So, I’ve found a ticklish spot. It’s not the kind of spot I wanted to find, though.

  Just then, I notice the scar to the right of his belly button, about an inch and a half long. I touch it.

  “Knife?” I ask.

  Grant nods.

  As curious as I am, I don’t ask what happened. I just lower my head to kiss it reverently, bothered by the thought of him being hurt.

  I don’t want to see him hurt again.

  As I do, my hand inadvertently brushes against his crotch and he sucks in a deep breath.

  Of course. His most sensitive spot is the most obvious one.

  “And what happened here?” I ask playfully, cupping the bulge.

  “You know very well what happened,” he answers, his voice suddenly hoarse.

  “Oh. Are you saying I did this?” I stroke him through his pants.

  “Fuck!” He shudders, throwing his head back.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I pop off the button and pull down the zipper, pressing my lips against the stain in his gray boxers. “I guess I’ll have to take responsibility then.”

  I take his cock out, my mouth and sex watering at the sheer size and magnificence of it. For a moment, I just stare at it, marveling at this part of him that’s a work of art all on its own. I stick out my tongue to lick the tip as I begin stroking.

  “Fuck, Abby!” Grant’s hips quake, his legs trembling beneath me.

  I stop stroking and start sucking, savoring the slightly salty, slightly bittersweet, slightly sour taste of him that’s unlike anything I’ve ever had before.

  “Fuck!”

  His curses continue between gasps as he shudders, his fingers tugging my hair. I’ve hit the jackpot, all right.

  Suddenly, he pushes me off, hands gripping my shoulders. Licking my lips, I look into his eyes, swallowing as I see the smoldering desire there.

  He wants me, and that realization sends a new buzz of excitement through my body.

  Grant wants me.

  And I want him.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper.

  The next instant, I’m on the ground, Grant above me. Kissing me with lips, teeth, tongue and all, he quickly pulls down my pants and my underwear then he spreads my legs and enters me with one thrust.

  There’s no restraint, no gentleness now but that’s fine. I’m not scared. I want this just as much as he does. Besides, I’m the one who made him feel like this.

  I cling to him as he pounds into me, my moans and gasps combined with his grunts and the slapping of skin against skin filling the tent.

  Shit.

  The first time we had sex, I was drunk and I still felt the intensity of it. Now that I’m wide awake and sober, I feel the heat swirling beneath every inch of my skin all the way to my curled toes, my sex melting as his cock drives in and out, stroking every bunch of nerves hidden beneath the silky skin.

  Indeed, with each thrust, he turns me inside out, robbing me of breath and speech. My fingernails dig into his shoulders. My vision blurs, my eyelids squeezing shut as tears form at the corners.

  Grant moves faster and faster above me, gripping my thighs. Then he loses his rhythm and he stops, burying himself inside me, filling me to the brim. In that moment, I open my eyes, blinking away the tears so that I can see his expression, that same expression that held me in awe the first time I saw him in his office. It’s even more breathtaking now that I know I’m the one responsible for it.

  Like before, it sends me over the edge. My second orgasm is like a roller coaster, knocking the breath out of my lungs as it goes on and on and on. My body trembles. My mind spins. Everything is a blur. Then the ride stops and I let my head crash down, turning it to the side as I gasp for air.

  As my senses recover, I realize the rain has stopped. The storm within me has subsided as well. Yet, I’ve already been completely swept away.

  “Are you all right?” Grant asks, planting a kiss on my cheek.

  I look at him, smiling as I reach up to touch his cheek, my body spent but my heart spilling over with warmth.

  “Grant Herbert, consider yourself wanted and taken.”

  Chapter 8

  Grant

  Taken, huh?

  I grin in amusement at the word as I sit in the foldable chair in front of the fire pit with my tumbler of coffee, Abby still asleep inside the tent, recovering from yesterday’s adventures.

  I’ve been a lot of things in my life – fatherless, resented, kept away, looked down upon, forced to abide by the rules, sent to boarding school. I’ve been a son, a grandson, a rebel, a dreamer, a lover, a friend, a fighter, an orphan and recently, I’ve been the founder and CEO of a company. A boss.

  I’ve been through hell and back, but I’ve never been taken.

  Until now.

  Well, I guess that’s what happens when you give, when you offer yourself. When you open up, someone steps in and gets cozy.

&n
bsp; Why did I do it? Why did I decide to take that leap of faith, to put down my defenses even though I was fucking terrified?

  Simple.

  It’s because of Abby. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I need her for my plan or my company.

  The moment I saw her again, here where I never expected to see her, I realized just how much I wanted her to be by my side – so much that I scared her away. As Roger and I searched for her, I feared the worst. When we found her fast asleep under a tree, exhausted and with cuts on her arm, I wanted to punch myself, hating myself because I drove her to this. I vowed then and there I wouldn’t hurt her. As I watched her sleeping inside my tent, I told myself that I wouldn’t lose her or leave her behind again.

  No matter what the cost.

  I’m not going to let her slip through my fingers again.

  Fuck, Grant. You’re in love.

  Am I? I wouldn’t know.

  I don’t know anything about love. My father died before I could learn to read or write. My grandparents don’t seem to love each other. I’ve never seen them hug or kiss. And they definitely don’t love me. Even my mother only said she loved me after she found out she was dying. She said it a million times as if trying to make up for lost time.

  Apart from her, the only person who’s ever loved me was Lindsey. And she clearly no longer feels the same way.

  Did I love her? I don’t know. I cared about her, but in the end, it was not enough for me to want to stay.

  And yet, here I am wanting Abby to stay by my side.

  Indeed, I was the one who tried to win her over and use her for my own ends. But in the end, I was the one who got won over.

  What can I say? Abby is truly an amazing woman, much more beautiful and fascinating than I expected her to be.

  Speaking of the angel, she comes out of the tent, stretching her arms. Her hair is uncombed, she isn’t wearing any makeup, and she’s still in the clothes she slept in – one of my college sweaters paired with her own blue jogging pants. She looks completely breathtaking.

  “What?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips as her gaze meets mine. “Never seen a girl with sleeping bag hair before?”

  I grin, taking a sip from my tumbler. “I can’t say I have.”

  “Right.” She puts her hands in the pockets of my sweater and walks toward me. “You’ve never brought a woman on your camping trips before.”

  “No,” I confirm, getting out of my chair. “You’re the first.”

  “Well, technically, you didn’t bring me.” She throws one shoulder back. “I mean, I didn’t come with you. Then again, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.”

  I shrug. “Does it matter?”

  She sits on the chair. “Why don’t you bring women here?”

  “Because I come here to think, and women usually make that impossible.”

  “Then maybe I should go.” She gets up and walks away from the chair. “You know, leave you alone, so you can do your thinking.”

  I put my arm around her, pulling her close. “I’m already done thinking. I’ve already made my decision.”

  “And what decision is that?”

  “To not let you go.” I kiss her.

  Abby parts her lips and kisses me back, our tongues becoming entwined as she puts her hands on my waist. I would have liked to put both my arms around her as well, but I’m still holding my tumbler.

  “Mmm.” She licks her lips as she pulls away. “Coffee.”

  I frown. “And here I thought I was delicious.”

  “Well, you, too. But right now, I need coffee.”

  I hand her my tumbler. “I’ll make some more then.”

  I put the half-filled pot of water over the fire and add another piece of wood to the flame.

  “You’ve got this whole camping thing under control, don’t you?” she asks, sitting back down.

  “It’s not a thing; it’s a hobby.”

  “And how long have you had it?”

  I shrug. “Years. When I was growing up, there was a patch of woods behind the mansion and I’d often escape there. Sometimes, I even slept there.”

  Abby nods. “You sure love the outdoors.”

  “How about you?” I ask her, shaking the dirt off my hands. “Have you ever gone camping?”

  She shakes her head as she hands me back my tumbler. “No. My mom didn’t like it and I have to be honest – I don’t like getting dirty.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Nor do I like the idea of being in the middle of nowhere surrounded by wild animals or the idea of sleeping on the ground, knowing that bugs could crawl under you or worse, over you, at any moment.”

  I take another sip of coffee. “And yet, you slept well last night.”

  “Well, I was tired. And there were no bugs or wild animals. That doesn’t mean there won’t be.”

  I huff. “Of course there are bugs and wild animals out here. We’re outdoors. This is their home.”

  “Precisely.”

  “They’re more gracious hosts, though, so you have nothing to worry about.”

  She raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Really?”

  “Come on, Abby. This is the outdoors.” I gesture to our surroundings. “You should relax and have fun.”

  She doesn’t answer, sighing.

  I grab her hand. “You know what? That’s what we’re going to do today. We’re going to relax, and we’re going to have fun.”

  This time, both her eyebrows go up. “And how exactly are we going to do that?”

  I smile. “I know exactly how.”

  ***

  “Rafting?” Abby gives me a look of horror as I hand her the paddle. “How exactly is this fun or relaxing?”

  Right now, we’re on a rented orange raft in the river, our yellow life vests on.

  “Come on.” I start paddling. “Where is your sense of adventure?”

  She looks around anxiously. “Some people die while doing this. You know that, right?”

  “More people die while driving their cars,” I point out.

  Abby sighs. “Just promise me there are no alligators, sharks, or snakes in here.”

  “We’re not in the Amazon, Abby.”

  “Just promise me.”

  “I promise,” I assure her.

  “And just… tell me what to do.”

  “Well, you can start by rowing.”

  She reluctantly does that, dipping her paddle in the water and moving it forward and back.

  “That’s it.” I smile encouragingly. “You’re doing great.”

  She gives me a look of doubt. “Am I?”

  I nod as I lean forward, touching her knee. “Hey, don’t worry. This river isn’t rough. It’s fine even for beginners. That’s why I brought you here.”

  She still doesn’t look convinced.

  “And I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” I go on. “You trust me, right?”

  Abby gives another sigh. “I guess I’ll have to.”

  I smile.

  She frowns. “Hey, you’re slacking off.”

  “Sorry.”

  I continue rowing, guiding the boat along as the river becomes narrower. I still can’t stop staring at her every now and then, though, watching her features as they visibly relax, admiring the way she looks in her life vest, blue shirt, and black shorts, her hair in a loose braid with some tendrils floating in the breeze.

  “You’re staring at me again,” Abby says, noticing it.

  “Guilty,” I admit with a grin. “I can’t help it. You just look amazing.”

  She snorts. “I’m pretty sure I look my least amazing right now.”

  “Not at all. You look… like you’re not trying to hide or be something you’re not, just like you were at that party.”

  She looks surprised. “So, you noticed what I was trying to do, huh?”

  I nod. “Is there a reason for it?”

  “There is, actually.” Abby takes a deep breath as she
looks into the distance. “So, I told you my mama and I left the Philippines when I was eight, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, when we came here and I started going to school, I became immediately aware that I was different. I didn’t have pale skin or pale hair or blue eyes. I spoke English but it didn’t sound the same.”

  “It takes some time to get the accent.”

  “So, anyway, I had a hard time fitting in and some of my classmates picked on me.”

  “You were bullied?”

  “Yeah.” She looks at me. “Did you know that Asians are the ones who get bullied most in school?”

  “I didn’t know that,” I admit. “I thought it was only in the movies.”

  “Well, it’s real,” Abby tells me, glancing away. “And it was… bad.”

  I frown, imagining her being called names by a bunch of giggling kids in the school lawn, having her things shoved down the toilet or being tripped on purpose in the hallway.

  “Is that why you hate being Filipino?”

  She nods. “When I changed schools, I told myself I would do everything I could not to stick out. I would speak like the other kids did. I would dress like them. I wouldn’t do too well in my tests.”

  “You purposely held back.”

  “I just wanted to fit in, to belong. You know, become one of the herd. When I got to high school, I dyed my hair. It doesn’t matter, though. Some people still found me different. No matter how hard I tried, I was still a Filipino, after all.”

  I shake my head. “It shouldn’t have mattered.”

  “But it did. Even when I was applying for work, it did.”

  “At least, it didn’t for Nathan.”

  Now that I can say Abby is mine, it no longer bothers me to talk about him. It feels silly, actually, that it ever did. He is my friend, after all.

  “Yeah.” She nods, smiling. “But I never really got over the stigma. I’d try to look boring so that no one would pay attention to me. I tried my best to hide my ethnicity.”

  “Yet, you caught my attention,” I point out. “And everyone else’s at that party.”

  “Yeah, that was your fault.” She glances at me. “I was trying to prove that you couldn’t mess with me.” She lets out a deep breath. “Yet, you still did.”