Desire

by Simone Sowood

  “Stop laughing, Lawson. It’s embarrassing.”

  “For him not you. You should never be embarrassed. Besides, you’re an artist, I’ll just tell him you needed inspiration.”

  She shakes her head at me, the corners of her lips turned up.

  Once we’ve adjusted our clothing and smoothed our hair, we make our way to the lobby. Skye sheepishly clings to me, but I don’t give a fuck if the whole world knows what we just did. In fact, I want the world to know about us.

  We exit the hotel, my arm around her waist. Skye’s old banger is parked halfway blocking the door.

  “Sorry, I hadn’t intended on staying long.”

  “Come home with me, I don’t want you out of my arms just yet.” Or ever.

  She looks at me and smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  A smile spreads across my face. This day couldn’t turn out any better. I give her a squeeze.

  “You know, you’re going to need a safer car if you’re working with me. I can’t have you driving around in this piece of shit, it’s not safe. The paintings might get damaged.”

  “The paintings, huh?”

  “Will you say no if I said it was for you and not the paintings?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Then borrow my Range Rover until you can buy a better one yourself.”

  “You want me to borrow your car?”

  “Not really, I want you to have my car but I’m willing to settle for you borrowing it.”

  “Well, since it will make you happy, when do I get the keys?”

  “As soon as we get to my place.”

  We both laugh, and I still haven’t let go of her. Skye tries to pull away from me and toward her car but I hold on tight.

  “Let’s go in my car, we’ll get something to eat on the way to my place.”

  “My car’s here, I can’t leave it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have someone pick it up. And take it to the wreckers from here.”

  “Fine. Let me grab my stuff out of it.”

  Isn’t it much better when you trust me? I don’t think it would be a good idea to say that to her though.

  Skye grabs an armful of stuff, passing most of it to me.

  “Goodbye, piece of crap,” she says, patting the roof.

  With an armful of sweaters topped with a pair of sneakers, I lead her to my car.

  “It’s a Maserati day, is it?”

  “Most days are.”

  Her lips twist in thought. “I’m never going to stop fighting for the ninety-nine percent.”

  “I don’t expect you to,” I say, grinning. Her smile beams back at me.

  We dump her stuff in my car and get in. I rev the engine a few times, just for fun, and we tear out of the parking lot.

  “I’m starving. For some reason I didn’t manage to eat much yesterday or today,” Skye says.

  I look over at her and smile. “I know just the place.”

  We talk freely as we drive and it reconfirms everything I feel about her. She’s not after me for my money. She’s not interested in keeping me happy for fear of losing her free ride. All she wants is me.

  And all I want is her.

  “What are you doing?” she asks as I pull into the Chicken Chums parking lot.

  “You’re hungry, right?”

  Skye bursts into a throaty laugh, “You’re so awesome.”

  I lean over to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head and our lips connect. Skye’s priceless, and she’s mine. There’s no way I’m ever letting go.

  Epilogue

  (Skye)

  One year later

  I’m standing in my new studio, the one I bought all by myself! And even better, I now have three artists working with me to help create my products. Lawson likes to call them my disciples.

  Since accepting Lawson’s offer to create paintings for his hotel lobbies, my earnings have gone through the roof. I not only have a whole range in the hotels, but they’ve also converted them into prints, which hang in the hotel bedrooms.

  I also sell the prints to the public in a range of quality and price points, so something is affordable to most everyone.

  They’ve been snapped up, and hang in college dorms rooms and living room walls across the country.

  You can even get them on things like mugs, shower curtains and calendars.

  Most lucrative of all, I do limited-edition hand-finished and signed canvas prints of each painting, which I sell for a high four figures a pop.

  And the best thing of all? Every single one of my works challenges the concept of the division of wealth in the world. And thousands and thousands have sold.

  My message, so core to my being, is getting out. I might not change the world, but I’m trying.

  Soon after the day my mother left the voicemail, Lawson flew my parents out to California for a reunion. He even put them up in his newest hotel, so they’d see my paintings every time they went in and out of the hotel.

  They loved it, though I’m not sure that was the reason he put them there. I think he was trying to reinforce to them how wrong they’d been not to support me.

  Meanwhile, they told everyone who entered the lobby that their daughter was the artist, whether the people were looking at my paintings or not.

  Lawson really did run that article on me. My parents provided him with enough stories of me to fill a novel, let alone three pages in a glossy magazine.

  As a result, people from all over the world now commission me for private works. Which I do for a mega-large fee, provided I have the time.

  It didn’t take much for me to convince Lawson I was glad I lost the Kelso commission.

  Kelso was so freaked by Lawson’s anger and threats that he practically begged to settle a few months later. Which Lawson used to his advantage, and got far more out of Kelso than the amount he was originally willing to settle for. Sucker.

  “This building is amazing, sweetie,” my dad says as we enter the main area.

  “I love it. It’s all my design, with tons of light from the two-story windows,” I say. I freaking love my studio.

  “It feels very industrial.”

  “It’s an artist studio, Dad. It’s supposed to feel like a warehouse.”

  “If you say so, you’re the expert.”

  I totally am the expert.

  Oh, did I mention my daddy’s here to walk me down the aisle?

  The studio has a magnificent industrial church-like atmosphere, and I couldn’t think of a better place to get married. We’ve cleared out all the stuff, which was no easy feat, and crammed it all into my office and back rooms for the day.

  Folding chairs in neat rows are packed with people, with an aisle down the middle.

  Lawson insisted on overflowing the room with flowers. He said for beauty, but really I suspect he’s trying to cover the smell of paints and paint cleaners.

  My dad and I are standing just around the corner, out of sight from the guests and waiting for the music to start.

  I peek around the corner and spot Lawson waiting for me at the makeshift altar.

  My breath hitches at the sight. Even though we’ve now been living together for ten months, it feels like this is the first time I’m seeing his utterly gorgeous face.

  He’s wearing a custom-made Italian-cut dark-gray tux with a black bow tie. I made him wear it.

  Lawson protested, saying I might stand him up because I didn’t want to marry a prick. I told him to fuck off, and that I wouldn’t marry a man wearing a T-shirt, no matter how much I loved him. Besides, I’ve gotten used to the idea of spending the rest of my life with a rich prick.

  Right now, my heart pounds at the knowledge we’re about to be married. But I’m not the least bit nervous, only excited. I want to run down the aisle into his arms right now.

  There are so many things I want to do with him right now, but we’re going to have to get rid of all these guests first.

  And this silk and lace wedding gown I’m wearing
— although Lawson may want me to keep on what’s underneath. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees me look all innocent and virginal in my white lace lingerie.

  I’m super excited to give Lawson my wedding present to him. I designed him a new tattoo. He’s finally getting that self portrait of my tits he always teases me about. I can’t wait to see his face.

  The music starts: the very unoriginal Wedding March that my father requested. Apparently he’s dreamed about this day since I was a baby. That’s fine, my dreams have all come true, I don’t mind making someone else’s come true too.

  “Ready, Skye?” Dad asks, offering me his arm.

  “It’s about time.”

  I take his arm and we walk down the aisle. My mother stands in the front row, dabbing her eyes with tissues.

  Ava and Gordon stand beside her, clasping hands. They announced their engagement last month. I love them and feel I owe them both so much. Transferring Ava the proceeds of my tenth and twenty-fifth paintings was the proudest day of my life. Not only was it enough money to cover all my back rent, it cleared her mortgage. There was even a little left over for her wedding money savings pot.

  Julie stands beside Lawson, acting as his best man. She’s still friends with Freya, although she’s lost a lot of respect for her now that she’s moved in with Kelso. Freya will freak when she finds out Kelso isn’t as rich as he lets on, but I can’t feel too sorry for her.

  My friend from college, Amy, walks a few feet ahead of me, acting as my maid of honor.

  Her and Julie are wearing coordinating dresses in a shade of cerulean blue that I mixed myself. It took me weeks to find the exact shade I wanted, and I’ve gotta say, it looks pretty fucking amazing with all the sunlight flooding in the windows.

  Lawson’s eyes are fixed on me the whole way down the aisle, traveling up and down my body, occasionally locking with my eyes.

  When we arrive at the altar I notice Lawson swallow hard. The fact truly almost makes me cry. I know it’s because he never thought he’d find someone. At least not someone who loved him for him.

  I turn to face him, placing my hands in his.

  “I love you,” he mouths.

  “I love you too.”

  ***

  I hope you enjoyed Hung!

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  Billionaire’s Secret

  Relentless. That’s the one word that describes Jay best.

  More than sexy. More than confident or charming or protective.

  If I hadn’t sworn off men forever, I’d melt into his arms right now.

  There’s just no way I can handle getting hurt again. I can never trust another man.

  But like I said, he’s relentless, and he wants me.

  He promises to make my body quake in ways I’ve never known.

  I try to be strong, but the more he pursues me, the less I can resist him.

  Until finally I give in to his touch and let him into my life.

  Except the more I’m with him, the more things stop making sense.

  Is he really who he says he is?

  And why does he know so much about me?

  ***The complete, re-edited Billionaire’s Secret story includes Loving Jay, previously only available to newsletter subscribers. Steamy read. Be warned, Jay is all alpha.***

  Part One

  Trusting Jay

  Chapter 1

  “Dammit,” I let my arm flop to the side and opened my fingers. The vibrator rolled out of my hand and thudded onto the floor. Orgasms were getting harder and harder to achieve without having another warm body against mine. My resolve to stay far away from men after what Matt had done was softening.

  I peeled myself from my bed and plodded into the bathroom. Ugh, the oversized vanity mirror. I hated it, and there was no way to escape its reflection.

  I’d shifted some of the weight I’d gained during my six-year relationship with Matt, though I still wanted to lose enough to get back into the jeans I’d worn when I met him. I even keep them at the back of my closet for when that day came. At twenty-eight my breasts were still pert, at least. My roots needed doing.

  I stepped into the shower and anxiety kicked in about the workday ahead. The water pounded off my forehead as I contemplated the fastest way to get the dreaded WeeksEnd report over and done with.

  My manager, Calvin, required an end-of-week report every Friday. He thought he was clever, ‘It’s a week send off at the week’s end’ but I failed to see the point of it, other than Calvin got a little tingle every time he said the term WeeksEnd. Fridays used to be something to look forward to, before he got the job.

  I did my hair and make-up then pulled on a tight navy skirt, to remind myself to pay attention to what I ate, and a cream blouse. After sticking my navy pumps in my bag, I locked my condo door and walked the fifteen minutes to my office in comfortable shoes. The commute through Chicago’s busy downtown was my favorite thing about the job. At least, it had been since Calvin became my boss.

  * * *

  “Morning, Sam,” I smiled to my co-worker and cubicle-mate as I slung my bag into my chair. I slipped off the sneakers and pulled out my heels.

  “Hey! It’s Friday, all ready for the WeeksEnd report?” Sam asked with a wink.

  “This is what I’d like to do to the WeeksEnd report.” I made a hammering motion with the shoe in my hand.

  “Yes, this requires coffee. Shall we?” Sam swung her chair around and stood, her long curls bouncing with the movement.

  “Most definitely.”

  We made our way to the little independent coffee shop on the corner by the office. Friday mornings were always super busy and we got in line.

  I listened to Sam order the jumbo deluxe chocolate mocha, which sent my mind to my already tight waistband. I should hang those jeans at the front of the closet, for the extra motivation.

  “Skinny regular,” I said to the clerk.

  “Uh-huh, your name?” the frazzled-looking clerk asked.

  “Abbie.”

  “I think our drinks may take a while. Be right back,” Sam apologized and sprinted to the restroom. She always needed to pee before eating or drinking, as if her body needed to make room for the new stuff.

  I shuffled to the drink collection area, though it was impossible to get anywhere near the counter due to the horde of people still waiting for their caffeine fixes. I ended up leaning against the wall. Through the heaving crowd I noticed a gorgeous man stirring his coffee for a ridiculously long time. Once or twice I thought I caught him looking at me but I decided that I was being silly.

  As the other customers left and made space, I moved to the collection point. At last they called my name and I took the coffee to the preparation area. I grabbed a sugar and tore it open but as I lifted it to pour, I paused remembering the jeans that I wanted to fit into again.

  “Trying to resist?” a man said, his voice smooth and rich.

  “Um?” I snapped out of my thoughts. My eyes refocused and I looked to the voice. It was the same man I’d noticed earlier. He still hadn’t left the prep area.

  “Put it in, you can spare it,” he said, flashing me a brilliant smile.

  It was a little unnerving, coming from a stranger in a coffee shop. Only he didn’t seem creepy. Maybe there was a legitimate reason for him standing there so long. I sized him up, early or mid-thirties, nice suit, deep brown eyes. He was tall but not crazy tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist.

  “You can’t stand there all day hovering a sugar packet over your drink.”

  I realized my arm hadn’t moved and I tipped a little of the sugar into the coffee.

  “Here,” he handed me a stir stick.

  “Thanks,” I said, examining him more. His dark hair had a lot of volume and a slight wave. Executive hair most men would envy. And mesmerizin
g deep brown eyes.

  “No problem. Do you come here often?”

  “Closest coffee to the office.”

  At that moment Sam appeared and dumped two packs of sugar into her chocolate mocha.

  “Screw it, it’s Friday,” Sam said as she added a third sugar to her drink. “Ready to face the big C and his damn WeeksEnd?”

  “Ugh, let’s go,” I sighed.

  “Well, very nice to meet you, Abbie. I’ll see you around.”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, disconcerted he’d used my name.

  The second we were out the door Sam started probing me.

  “Who was he?”

  “Just some guy.”

  “Just some absurdly hot guy! Why were you talking to him?”

  “He was talking to me.”

  “Oh my God, he was trying to pick you up! At nine in the morning! In a coffee shop!”

  “I doubt it, he was fixing his coffee.”

  “Come on, Abbie, how long does it take to fix a coffee? And when was the last time you talked to a stranger in the morning zombie rush of a coffee shop? Never!”

  “Oh well, we’ve left now. I’ll never see him again.”

  Was he really trying to pick me up, or was he a crazy stalker? After all, I had noticed him standing around before my coffee was ready. The hurt of Matt ensured I wasn’t interested in a relationship, but I couldn’t ignore the ache between my legs much more. It had been so long since I’d been with a man.

  I still wasn’t sure how I felt about sleeping with someone else or someone else seeing me naked. I didn’t have the confidence in my body or myself that I’d had when I met Matt at a fit twenty-two.

  * * *

  As we entered the office my blood pressure shot up at the imminent interaction with Calvin.

  Drive and hard work had gotten me where I was. After college I started work at Hamilton’s in the accounts payable department and did my CPA in my spare time. After various positions with Hamilton’s, a headhunter approached me about a job at Force McAllister, in an analyst role. It was just as my relationship with Matt ended. With perfect timing, the extra salary was what allowed me to kick Matt out. Before that I wouldn’t have been able to swing the mortgage on my condo without his contribution in rent. Though realistically, even with the pay bump I still can’t afford the mortgage.