USED by Him: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Box Set

by Sarah J. Brooks

  He opened his eyes, looking down at Tara. She was gagging and tapping his thighs frantically. He released her head, and she rocked back on her ass. He heard the vomit as it spewed from her mouth. She hurled for a few minutes while his cock shrank. He tucked it in and zipped himself.

  “What … the … fuck?” she panted through trying to catch her breath. “You almost killed me!”

  “I got to go,” he growled, turning to leave.

  “Is that it? You’re just going to leave me like this?” she queried, her voice hard.

  Without answering, he yanked the door open and stomped through, slamming it behind him. While passing through the apartment, he observed the same scene as before. A spark of anger lit in his stomach and started to spread. How could Tara take him to a place like this when she knew his reputation was on thin ice?

  12. Two

  Chelsea saw it tick, and she waited for the explosion. It was 3:24 a.m., and the phones were ringing off the hook. There was a host of reporters camping out at the front of the hotel wanting a statement. She saw it tick, the vein on Reid’s forehead, and she mentally prepared herself for the detonation.

  He was standing by the window in the suite with a hand on his brow, gingerly massaging the time bomb. She also took note that when he was angry, he got an orange glow. Usually, his complexion was a nice golden tan, and when he was angry, the blood rushed to the surface creating a weird hue.

  He hadn’t said anything within the last 19 minutes, and Chelsea was worried that he would bust a nerve. He had knocked her door at exactly 2:52 a.m. As if on cue, he knocked at the exact moment she flung away the covers to go pee. The knock had startled her nonetheless and made her heart jump into her mouth.

  There was a scratching sound at the door, and Reid turned, his face set and his eyes shooting steel bullets. Chelsea knew he was waiting until Colt came through the door. He looked at his watch as the door finally pushed, and someone staggered in.

  “Go fuck yourself!” Colt shouted to whoever was in the hall before slamming the door shut.

  He stopped, apparently shocked to see them both. He peered at her first before settling his eyes on his manager.

  “What’s going on,” he said, his voice slurred.

  Reid walked over and stood facing Colt. “Where have you been?” he asked, quite calmly.

  This shocked her. She had been expecting something a little bit more explosive. Colt did not immediately answer. A few minutes passed, which actually seemed like hours, in which Reid glared at a confused Colt.

  Colt then looked over Reid’s shoulder at her and asked, “What the fuck’s going on? Why are there so many reporters out front?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Reid turned his head with the instruction. His voice slightly betrayed his frustration. “You always do this Colt. The big bad rock star, nothing matters to you!”

  Colt pushed passed Reid, frustration showing on his face. “I’m tired, and we got a road trip in a few hours.”

  As he passed, the manager grabbed his arm. “You’re going to listen to me this time, Colt.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. What is it that I’m supposed to have done?”

  Reid stomped to the desk and picked up his tablet. He walked back to the rock star, shoving the device in his hand. Colt stared at it for a few seconds and then cursed under his breath. Chelsea saw his vein start to tick much as Reid’s was. His eyes darted to his manager and then over to her. She lowered her eyes to avoid his penetrating gaze.

  “Shit!” he cursed. “That twit!”

  “Your memory seemed to have returned,” Reid’s snarky tone did not get past Chelsea.

  “This reporter has it in for me, can’t you see that?” Colt shoved the tablet back into Reid’s hand. “When I get my hands on him.”

  “Are you saying the photo is a fake?” Reid asked, cocking his brow.

  “Some kid took the photo at the party, but the article is thrashing me. The guy has a vendetta,” he replied.

  “You always do this,” Reid bellowed and walked to the window. “You never take responsibility. Do you know what even happened today and how this will affect your career tomorrow?”

  “Hey, I’m clean man. I didn’t even see when the kid took the photo until it was too late,” Colt replied. “I’m tired. I need some sleep. Can we talk later?”

  He didn’t wait for Reid to answer; he walked to his bedroom, and when he was inside, he slammed the door. Chelsea was sure he was angry, but why? He was the one in the photo. The blog article stated that Colt was at a party with drugs and alcohol. It implied the rock star was also on drugs and hung out with junkies. The photo showed a woman draping all over him snorting white powder from a mirror.

  She felt disappointed. She knew he was a philanderer, but she never took him for a druggie. Now, she wasn’t sure. She watched the bedroom door and wished she could go over there and talk to him. But perhaps she was the last person he’d talk to, let alone be honest with her.

  “You can go back to your room, Chelsea,” Reid said. “Get some shut eye.”

  “I’m not sleepy. What are we going to do? Can’t you get this removed?” she asked.

  Reid eyed her with a surprised expression. “The photo is real. There’s nothing much I can do,” he said.

  “But the article implied that Colt is on drugs and that’s defaming, isn’t it?”

  He fingered his chin a moment before picking his phone from his jacket pocket. He scrolled through and then dialed a number. While he was doing his thing, she went to get a copy of the NY Early Edition in the hotel lobby. She wanted to see if Colt was in it. She picked the paper from the newsstand and on the front was her rock star boss. “Rocking Drugs and Sluts” was the headline.

  She shook her head at the photo. One of the girls in the photo was one of the two from the last time his photo appeared in the paper. She looked at the by-line of the journalist. This one was different. In addition, she could not blame Ben for this one. Colt had to take responsibility.

  When she returned to the suite, Reid was in an animated conversation on the phone. “What do you mean I need a court order to take it down?” He paused a minute then added, “Can’t I just file an injunction?” There was another pause. “Alright, I’ll see if Judge Moody is available.”

  As soon as he hung up, he looked in her direction, and then his eyes caught the paper in her hand. He did not waste time. Within seconds, he was grabbing it from her clutches, scanning the front page with his scary eyes.

  “Shucks,” he said. “Chelsea, call the papers and see what you can do to have them retract this bullshit.”

  “What should I tell them?”

  “Anything. Be convincing, threatening, anything to get them to retract this. I have to see a judge,” he said.

  He left the suite while she stared at the paper. Colt was in his room, and she was in the living room. Suddenly, she felt as if the walls between them were fading. Her heart began to do somersaults as she wondered what he was doing. Did he take a shower? Was he toweling his thick brown hair? Was he naked? Her cheeks burned on the last thought, which shocked her to the point that she gasped. To distract herself, she picked up the phone and dialed the number for the editorial department of the paper.

  “Hello?” a sleepy sounding voice answered the phone.

  “Er, is this Mr. Brock?” she asked after peering at the name on the editorial page.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?” the man asked.

  “Your headline today, can you remove it?” she asked without thinking.

  “Who is this?” Brock’s voice sounded more alert.

  “Colt Montgomery’s manager. Our lawyer will be contacting your newspaper within a few hours. If you print a retraction in your late edition, we will withdraw our position.”

  “And what position might that be, and isn’t Colt’s manager a guy?”

  She cleared her throat and shuffled nervously. “I am the second in command, and your paper
has slandered Mr. Montgomery. If you don’t print a retraction and an apology, we will be forced to take action against the newspaper, the editor in chief and,” she looked at the journalist by-line. “And Montie Wilks.”

  “Listen, miss; I don’t know you. Are you a fan of the star? He’s a lucky guy …” the man was saying.

  Chelsea’s heart rate quickened, and anger flared hotly within her. The man clearly did not believe her. “Are you calling me a liar? I tell you I am Chelsea Downing, the manager’s assistant, and I will have our lawyers contact you if you do …” someone grabbed the phone from her, midsentence.

  Startled, she turned and collided with Colt’s hard chest. Her entire body flushed from contact with him, and an electrical current shot through her. She could smell his divine freshly showered scent. His body heat was seeping into her, and his eyes bored into hers as he held the phone to his ears.

  “Montgomery here,” he said in his deep rumbling tone. “Listen, you don’t have to do anything. Just let the lawyers deal with it. We don’t have time to waste.”

  He hung up and handed her the phone. They were still standing inches apart, and she could not tear her eyes away from his face. He hadn’t shaved, and she realized she liked the stubble. There were a few more revelations for her. She liked his lips. What would it be like to be kissed by him? Her eyes glued to them, and her cheeks burned.

  His hand was still outstretched with the phone, and she took it. Their fingers brushed, sending another bolt of electricity up her arm. She sucked in her breath, and her eyes darted to his; he was looking at her in a weird manner that she did not understand. His eyes were a shade darker than they usually were, and she felt a pull towards him. Something was happening to her … between them … she was confused.

  Then, before she knew it, he closed the small gap. His arm encircled her waist and pulled her to him. Her breast pushed into his chest, and her heart jumped to her throat. She could feel every nerve in her body start to go crazy, but her limbs also melted with the contact.

  His head dipped, and her eyes widened. Her breath came in gasps as his lips descended on hers, and she lost it. His lips sizzled and burned her. When his lips touched hers, a bolt of lightning shot through her body. Her breathing stopped as she parted her lips to try to catch her breath. However, Colt seemed to have taken that as a cue to take her tongue. As his tongue encircled hers, another lightning bolt almost rendered her unconscious.

  Her heart was doing backflips, and her mind had gone blank when she felt something hard pressing into her belly. At first, she thought it was Colt’s cellular phone, but when she felt it throb against her, she decided to check what it was. Their lips were still glued together when she reached between them and touched something warm. Her palm closed around it, and she stiffened. Colt growled against her lips, and a light went off in her brain.

  With all her strength, she pushed against him. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked down at his nakedness. He had apparently come out in a towel, which he lost at some point during the last few minutes.

  Her mouth fell open, and she brought her hand to cover it. Her free hand she placed on her racing heart and noticed her nipples raging against the fabric of her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing bra. She was still in her sleepwear of shorts and T-shirt. A little self-consciously, she folded her arms across her chest and looked away.

  In the corner of her eye, she saw him pick his towel up and walk away. After a few steps, he stopped. “Be quiet, I couldn’t sleep for all the racket.” His voice was low and thick. He stepped off again, and when he reached the bedroom door, he stopped but did not turn around. “You taste delicious,” he added, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

  A myriad of emotions tormented her. She wanted to run and hide or bury her head somewhere. Then again, she wanted to run after Colt and demand he kiss her again. She was frightened, nervous, excited, and awakened. Something within her had awakened to the point where she felt aware of herself as a woman. She’d never felt it before, though she’d gone on dates and even been kissed.

  The kiss. Was that really a kiss? Was this the kind of kiss she’d seen in the movies where the girl’s leg would bend at the knee and her leg would slowly rise behind her until it was at a 90-degree angle? Absently, she touched her lips, and they tingled at her own touch. She closed her eyes, recalling the last few minutes. She recalled his lips touching hers and the sensations coursing through her body. Mind blowing came to mind … utterly explosive.

  13. Three

  Colt turned over in the bed for the zillionth time in the last two hours. It was about 5:30 a.m., and he should be checking what was happening, but he didn’t want to see her. She was completely messing with his mind. He knew it wasn’t deliberate. At first, he thought it was just an act. However, something about her was pure.

  He had never feared anything in his life … not as an adult anyway. But today, he feared facing her. This kiss. He’d spent the last two hours trying to rid his mind of it. He needed sleep, but to no avail. Her lush breasts pressed into his chest, her soft, pliant lips beneath his; she felt damn good in his arms. So what the hell was he afraid of?

  He opened his eyes and lifted the sheet. It was still there. It seemed like a permanent fixture now. His damn hard on, and it was all her. He knew it. This was distracting, to say the least.

  “She’s like fire in my brain,” he started singing under his breath. The words were coming to him, and he started humming to a melody. The light bulb going off made him sit up abruptly. He flung the sheet aside and grabbed his music notebook, where he started scribbling.

  The last time he wrote a song completely on a whim was nearly ten years ago. All the other songs he’d written took some thought, some brain work. Now, the words flowed as a gushing river that broke its banks. Three pages of lyrics and the notes to boot. He wrote the keyboard notes and the guitar chords. He titled it: She’s Fire.

  * * * *

  By 7 o’clock, several newspapers were sending out press releases apologizing for the misprint. Chelsea was at Reid’s desk when she heard a noise from outside. They were on the 23rd floor, so she was surprised that any activity on the hotel grounds would be loud enough to disturb the guests. She walked to the window, taking a look down at the street.

  Her mouth hung open at the placards she saw and the crowd, which seemed to be split in two. There was a demonstration of sorts going on. She pulled the curtain apart to get a closer look. It was no use. She moved to the music room and out on the balcony. This was her first time venturing beyond the living room of the suite.

  When she reached the balcony, she shaded her eyes from the early morning sun as she peered into the throng. One of the signs read, “Purple Crush is No Junkie.” Another one said, “We love you Colt Purple Crush Montgomery!”

  Her eyes darted to the other set of people who seemed irate. There were a few signs as well. “The Purple Crush Crushes Ice”. There was one sign that looked weird, “Purple Ice Crush.”

  It was apparent that the two groups consisted of fans and anti-fans. She retreated to the desk and brought up the browser on the laptop. She went to the official fan site to see what was happening there. It wasn’t good. Some former fans were bashing the star, leaving hateful comments about his drug habit.

  He hadn’t come out since he went back in; she wondered what he was doing and if he got any sleep. It was time for breakfast, but he was so picky that she didn’t want to order without his approval. She would have knocked on his door if she wasn’t afraid of what he might appear in when he opened the door … his birthday suit.

  She continued her perusal of the fan site. After a few minutes, an idea struck her. She created several accounts under different names and started posting Colt’s achievements, his last performance, along with photos. Under her assistant account, she made an announcement that the articles were false and that the papers were all retracting their articles.

  One anti-fan started bashing her announcement, clai
ming that the photo was legitimate. She replied by asking him to show her where on the photo Colt was seen taking drugs. Then he mentioned that the original blog wouldn’t be taken down. It was strange the way he was ripping into Colt, also mentioning past shenanigans, like the last photos. When she checked the IP address, it was the same for the admin on the blog where the article originated. The guy was Carl Benson, the reporter with the attitude.

  Chelsea didn’t bother wasting time with him. She filed a complaint with the search engine citing slander. The search engine told her to present proof.

  “Argh!” she growled angrily.

  When Colt pulled the door opened and walked out with his hair in a man bun, beard clipped low and freshly dressed in tight tank and jean, her heart stopped. She stared at the gorgeousness of a man standing before her.

  “I’m hungry, get me food, loads of it.” He grinned, and her knees weakened.

  “Y-yes,” she stuttered, fumbling for the phone.

  At that moment, Reid burst through the door. He was waving a piece of paper. “Let’s go,” he said to Colt, and then his eyes settled on her. “Aren’t you dressed yet? You have 15 minutes!”

  The cordless was in midair. Should she order the food or get dressed? Colt was looking at her, and so was Reid. She looked at them both, and when her eyes locked with Colt’s, she remembered their moment.

  “I’ll just order Colt’s breakfast before I go,” she said.

  “No time to eat, we’ve got to go see Judge Moody now. I hear he’s going on vacation today.”

  Colt looked disappointed. “Let it be Chelsea; we’ll grab a bite on the road.”

  Her stomach was fluttering all over the place as she replaced the receiver on the phone and brushed past them to the door. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her knees wobble. As she closed the suite door, she realized she’d been holding her breath. She expelled it, hurrying to her room.