Tech Titans: The Complete Billionaire Romance Series

by Swann, Marcella

  “You, Bassirou,” I say. But that doesn’t mean he owns me. I’m my own damn woman. Still, the guilt I feel eats at me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, letting go of my face. “I’m just so uptight with all the stress of this upcoming show. We’re like a family, you and me.”

  I nod. I just want to drop it, get high and forget it ever happened.

  “Forgive me, mon coeur,” He murmurs, peering into my eyes. Whispering soft, supportive words in a mix of French and English, he pulls me close to his chest and holds me.

  His fingers slide through my hair, stroking my scalp and I shiver. I want to shove him away, want to tell him that just because he did these things for me doesn’t mean I’m his. But I worry that if I do that, all of this, my whole life will come crashing down. He’s told me a million times I wouldn’t be here without him and he’s right. Plus, no one understands me like he does. Right?

  My phone trills and he slides it out of my back pocket without even letting me go. “Who is HS?” he asks, his voice suddenly tight and angry.

  I close my eyes, silently cursing that I’d put any contact info at all. I should have called the contact something harmless. Security or something. I didn’t prepare for this. I don’t have a lie lined up.

  Think on your feet, girl! You grew up on those mean streets! You can talk your way out of anything.

  “Someone from the jazz festival. Said he knew my dad from back in the day.” Better to pretend I’m searching for someone I don’t give a damn about than tell him the truth.

  He lets me go and I try to grab my phone. But he holds it up out of reach and swipes a finger across the screen to unlock my phone. “Pin?” he demands, not even looking at me.

  I shake my head anyway. I’m not giving him my passcode. If he reads those texts this shitty situation will get so much worse.

  “Now, Sabine.” He roars the words, and I wince.

  Chapter Five: Hayden

  Talking to her only took the edge off things. I need to see her. I’m not sure what it is about her, but I feel pulled in. So, I’d had Judy track her down for me. And Judy had, giving me a look that I didn’t—and don’t—want to think about.

  I don’t get hung up on women.

  Which is what I keep telling myself as I walk toward my Ferrari Testarossa. The conversation had held her usual humor.

  “Find her for me?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” she’d said, on it before all the words were out of my mouth. Ten minutes later, she’d turned the monitor toward me. I’d stopped pacing in front of her desk and stared at the screen.

  “She’s booked for an intimate set at the Fillmore. I got you a front row seat and Google says it’ll take precisely 45 minutes to get there. Go get ‘em, champ.” Her wide grin brightened the room more than today’s outfit; this time in a vivid purple-pink. She’d jotted down the info in matching ink.

  “Where do you buy pens?” I asked.

  “Why, you looking for some color?” she asked, popping her gum and staring at the pen in question.

  “No, I want to never shop there.”

  She was quick to throw something at me, but I’d ducked out the door in a hurry.

  I drive through the heavy traffic with Sabine in mind. On the car stereo is Sabine full blast. An hour later, I’m threading my way through the place. Instantly recognized, I’m hurried backstage after tipping an underpaid staff member. From backstage, I watch Sabine perform through closed-circuit television, lost in the rich whiskey of her voice.

  The song comes to an end and I wish I could have gotten here in time to hear the whole performance. I sit, sipping water I’d been handed by another staff member and I wait. When she finally comes in, she’s giggling happily. She’s quick to close the door behind her and breathes a sigh of relief as if she’s glad to finally be alone.

  “Beautiful,” I say, taking in her fitted jeans hugging her full figure and the flowing top.

  She spins around a stunned expression on her face. It’s quickly replaced by a smile. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her breathless voice and beautiful accent stirring a primal hunger in me. That need triples as I study the plunging neckline of her shirt and the generous cleavage on mouthwatering display.

  “Waiting for you,” I say.

  “Did we have something to talk about?” she asks, her smile widening.

  I stand up and begin to move toward her. Her eyes follow me as I stop before her with only a few inches between us. She’s close enough to reach out and touch. She’s so close I can smell the fruity scent of her shampoo and taste the heat of her. The stage lights are so hot she’s covered in a sheen of sweat that triggers a need for her I can’t deny.

  I step closer.

  Her head tilts a little as she looks up at me. I want, more than anything, to reach out and touch. I want to run my hands over every inch of her curves. I want to dig my fingertips into her wide hips and pull her so close she could feel my need for her pressing against her belly.

  “I think we do,” I finally say.

  Her eyes drop, and I know she’s noticed I’m hard. She stares a little too long, tracing the line of me through my jeans. When her eyes meet mine again, I see the lust in them. Her tongue darts out and slides along her lower lip.

  I watch the motion, wondering what those full, beautiful lips would look like wrapped around the base of my cock. The thought squeezes at me like a vise and wrings a primal sound out of me. Her eyes widen.

  Her lips part like she’s got something to say, but no words come out. Instead, her eyes run over my face like she’s searching for something.

  When she finally speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper. “What do we need to talk about, monsieur?”

  Fuck.

  I grab her and pull her into my arms. Her heat radiates through me, and all the sore, tiredness I’ve been battling fades away. Her soft body makes me tighten with pure lust, and I bring my lips down on hers. There’s nothing sweet or gentle about the kiss; it’s purely animal need.

  She freezes for an instant and I know I should let her go. I’ve no right to be grabbing her or kissing her like this. She melts and her lips part for me. Her tongue slides along my lower lip, and I growl.

  Our tongues meet and slide along one another as we search, taste, devour each another. My cock pulses painfully and I feel her inhale as I press it tighter to her. She breaks the kiss, her breath cooling my damp lips.

  “I thought you wanted to talk?” she whispers playfully.

  I let her go and back off, determined to get my head back under control. I can’t just fucking lose control around her.

  Her hands grab my shoulders as she peers up into my face. When I hold her gaze, her smile brightens once more. “Don’t go,” she whispers.

  The words claw at my self-control. A guttural moan escapes me as I pull her back into my arms. My hands find her ass, and I pull her into me, hard. She whimpers, her lips meeting mine as her arms slip around my shoulders. I guide her back and lower onto the couch as she straddles me and sits in my lap.

  “Talk,” she whispers.

  “I want you,” I tell her.

  “You came all the way here to tell me that?” She still sounds amused as every last brain cell I have forgets everything but the need to be inside her right now. What did I come here to tell her?

  The heat between her legs has my cock pulsing, and I struggle against the urge to start undressing her. I could fill her in one quick, hard thrust. Her jeans would come off quick and easy and I could bury my face in her…

  Fuck. Get ahold of yourself, dude.

  Carefully adjusting, I move her beside me instead of straddling my lap. Distance is the only chance I have at regaining some self-control.

  Shaking my head like that will clear it, I struggle through the fog of desire blanketing my thoughts. “I came here to tell you that I’m totally into you, Sabine Baptiste, and I need to see you again.”

  She tilts her head, giving me an odd look and a
big smile that shows off her white teeth. “Well, here I am. You see me. What now?”

  “You make it hard to think,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she says, obviously taking my words as a compliment. I guess they are. “I obviously make most things hard for you,” she says, her laughter ringing out in the room. She glances at my cock as if her meaning might be misunderstood.

  “Let me take you out,” I say. The words sound weird coming out of my mouth, and she seems stunned into silence for a moment. Then she shifts nervously, looking away from me like there’s something serious on her mind.

  I’m just as shocked as she is. I don’t date. I’m not looking for love. SXz is looking to go public. The Internet of Things is blowing up. Big data is here. There is so much to do, so many opportunities to change the world with technology. I can have women, many of them. As many of them as I want. So, what the hell just happened?

  “Let me tell you a joke,” she says. Without waiting for an answer, she asks, “What’s the difference between a golf ball and what do you call ... eh ... the G-spot?”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  “That’s a weird answer,” she says, “The answer is, A guy will actually search for a golf ball.”

  “I could find it right now,” I say.

  “I dare you,” she whispers.

  “Sabine!” We both glance toward the newcomer; a guy who notices me and instantly flies into an internal rage.

  Chapter Six: Sabine

  Don’t forget our date.

  I smile a little at Hayden’s text. How could I forget? Just as quickly, the smile leaves my lips. What the hell am I going to tell Bassirou? After that meltdown he’d had backstage at the Fillmore I know there’s no chance he’ll let me go to lunch with Hayden.

  He’s my manager, my friend, my mentor. Not my keeper.

  Who is this? I text back. And I wait for the inevitable response. I don’t have to wait long.

  Very funny. You’re not getting away from me again. I can hear the words as clearly as if he’s saying them to my face.

  Dad? I giggle a little, enjoying the playful little exchange. In mind’s eye, I can imagine him sighing a little bit even as his eyes smile.

  “Sabine!”

  Bassirou’s voice echoes through the place, and I bolt upright. Sure, I could tell him that I’m in my room, but that would pretty much be an invitation for him to come in. I don’t want that. Instead, I head to the door, tucking my phone in my back pocket.

  “Yes?” I ask. Stepping outside my room, I close the door behind me, so he can’t see my unpacked bag sitting on my bed. He walks over to me, and I notice how he looks me up and down. I’ve opted for jeans and a button-down shirt tied off at the waist. The buttons are undone enough to show a fair amount of skin and a couple inches of my stomach shows, but I feel good.

  He’s quick to step forward and tug the knot from my shirt. Stunned, I try to step back and come up short against the door. He lets the loose bottom to the shirt dangle and begins to button up the top buttons. The backs of his knuckles drag along the top of my breasts as he fastens them one by one almost up to my throat until none of my cleavage shows.

  “Merde! What are you doing?” I ask, my voice sounding stunned even to my own ears. My fists are clenched at my sides as I struggle to process what’s happening right now.

  “You can’t go out dressed like that,” he snarls.

  “I’ll go out dressed how I damn well please,” I snap before realizing what he’d said. He doesn’t know about my plans to go out with Hayden— for a good reason. He’d be pissed. Forbid me to go. “What do you mean go out?”

  He gives me a look of barely disguised disgust. “To breakfast. Or are you going to turn into one of those anorexic girls that don’t eat to trim down?” He sounds like he abhors the idea. I don’t disagree. It’s something we see eye to eye on. I’m proud of my curves. But something about the way he says it rubs me the wrong way.

  “Let me make this perfectly clear,” I say in French, hearing the anger in my voice as I tie the bottom of my shirt back up while he glowers at me. “I choose what I wear and how I wear it. You have no say over this. Do you understand?” I study his face carefully, looking for any reaction to my words.

  Suddenly, all venom leaves his expression. He takes on a concerned air with ease. Always the street hustle. Right down to the worry in his eyes as he reaches out and straightens my collar. “Désolé, ma cherie. I’m sorry. I just worry. Some men might try to hurt you if they see you like this. I’d have to kill them if they hurt you.” His eyes stick to mine and an icy shiver runs down my spine.

  I have no idea what to say or how to react to this sudden change in him, and all the fire drains right out of me.

  “You’re beautiful, Sabine,” he says. “Some men might not take no for an answer. These are the times we live in. You know how men are.”

  “And I’d kick them in the dick until they fell down,” I say. Did he forget who I am? Where I’m from? Where we’re from? With a sigh, I unbutton the buttons he’d messed with.

  He gives a hearty chuckle.

  “I have plans,” I say suddenly.

  His eyes narrow. “What plans?” he asks, taking my shoulders and turning me in a half circle away from my room.

  “You know I don’t have to tell you everything,” I say with a false laugh designed to put him at ease.

  But he’s deadly serious when he answers. “It’s my duty to know. I need to get out in front of anything a tabloid might print. I need to meet anyone you’re with, in case you go missing. I need to know, so I don’t worry you’ll wind up in a ditch somewhere. I love you, Sabine, don’t you ever forget that,” he says, tipping my chin up and forcing me to look into his eyes.

  I don’t even know how to begin to argue with him. He’s right. The words make perfect sense. But I’m an adult who deserves a bit of privacy. “I have a right to my privacy,” I say.

  He chuckles a dark, cold sound that chills me to the bones. “You belong to the public now. You’ll never have a private moment, ever.” There’s no joy in his tight smile, and I feel troubled as I stare at him like a mouse might stare at a snake slowly squeezing the life from its body.

  “I’m going to meet someone who knows my father,” I lie. “I’ll stay under the radar.” Jerking out of his grasp, I step around him into my room. I close the door none too gently, feeling like a teenager even as I agonize over the truth in his words. The second I traded my life for fame, I knew I was signing away my right to privacy. I’ve managed to stay out of the tabloids so far, but I know my life is a ticking time bomb.

  Hot tears sting in my eyes as I finish packing for my day with Hayden. An overwhelming sense that it’s all hopeless anyway fills me. Hayden is only going to see me while I’m exciting.

  Once he gets to know the real me, he won’t want to be around me anymore. I’m a street rat. I came from nothing. Sure, I can sing, but I’ve got more things going against me than I have working for me. I’m a screw-up. A failure. I sing because it’s an escape from this hell I’m in.

  Best case scenario, Hayden and I fall into some made-up fairy tale love that doesn’t exist, and I’ll never be able to sing from my sorrow again, and I lose everything.

  Or.

  He’ll see me for a while and leave me for whatever reason he picks from the multitude of good reasons not to be with me. Then I’m broken hearted, sad and pathetic, and my life is still ruined because Bassirou walks away when he finds out I tricked him.

  No matter what happens, I lose.

  Welcome to my whole fucking life’s story. All options are merde, and I lose. With a deep breath, I grab the baggie of weed from my nightstand table and throw it in my bag. Zipping the whole thing up, I realize it’s way too quiet out in the suite I share with Bassirou.

  Maybe he left. A girl can hope, anyway.

  Chapter Seven: Hayden

  I see her close the door of her cab and start heading my way. Despite her easy smile, I
sense she’s upset. I see it in the set of her shoulders and in her tight walk. Her overnight bag is worn, and her jeans and button up top stand out like a sore thumb here, but I don’t give a damn.

  I walk up to meet her and take her bag.

  “Mon héros,” she says, a grin softening the words.

  “Hero?” I say, giving her a sideways look as we fall into step beside one another. “I’m sorry no man’s ever treated you right.”

  She glances up at me.

  “I get, how you say … seasick,” she says, placing the accent on the second syllable as a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

  “I’ve got tablets for that,” I say, stepping onto the deck of my boat and offering a hand to help her in. She steps over cautiously, and I place her bag on a seat.

  “Tablets? Date rape drugs?” Her grin is growing wider.

  I know she’s baiting me, and I refuse to take it. So, I change the subject. “The life vests are under the seats. You know how to swim, right? Nager?” I ask, doing a few quick strokes.

  “I can swim,” she says in almost perfect English. “If you throw me over, you better go and not come back.”

  “I’m not going to throw you over,” I assure her. She can trust me on that.

  Within moments, we’re out on the open water and she’s standing beside me at the wheel. I step back and usher her over.

  “You can’t sue me if I wreck your boat,” she says playfully over her shoulder.

  “My insurance covers even you,” I say, and her laughter rings out over the whip of the wind.

  Her joy hums through her body as she stands at the wheel, her head tilted as she stares at the Golden Gate Bridge. The wind catches her tightly curled hair, and she turns her head into it, eyes closing, lips curved into a smile.

  She opens her eyes again, and I’m stuck on her. We come to a stop out on the open and head out to sit on the seats. She’s quick to strip out of her shirt and into her bathing suit top. The deep purple suit is beautiful against her golden skin.