I think about little Dean and his sweet smile. I can’t do that to him. I can’t risk attaching myself to a guy who I’m not a hundred percent sure about. Two hundred percent sure. Even if he is my baby’s father. I don’t care how he makes my body feel or how good it would feel to simply be held again. I can’t. And even if Damian was telling the truth? Even if it was all sincere and he really does want to try to make things work with me?
What’s he going to think when he finds out I have a son. That we have a son.
“God,” I groan, clutching my temples and sliding down to sit outside my apartment with my back to the door. Most guys would probably turn and run as soon as they find out I have a kid. And even if he didn’t, what would he think if he found out I had his kid and didn’t tell him about it for all these years? It doesn’t even matter that I had no way to find him. Just the fact that I didn’t try will be damning enough.
I hear little footsteps on the other side of the door and I’m suddenly falling backwards to bump into the ground, face toward the ceiling. Dean’s little smiling face hovers over me. He belts out a giggle. “Mommy home!”
Angie, the nanny Alec paid for, comes from the kitchen with a crooked smile on her face. She’s in her forties and has exactly the kind of stern, motherly attitude Dean needs in his life. If she wasn’t way out of my budget, I’d snatch her up in a heartbeat to replace my normal sitter, but it’s not an option. Dean’s just going to be stuck with a pushover mom and a pushover babysitter once my time with Angie runs out.
“Sorry,” she says. “He heard you coming up the stairs and wanted to surprise you.”
“He succeeded,” I say, grunting a little as I sit up and rub the back of my head.
Dean prods the back of my head when he sees me clutching it. “Oh no! Boo boo! Ice!” He screams before run-waddling to the fridge to get his little heart-shaped ice pack.
“Are you okay?” she asks, concern splitting her features when she sees my eyes, which I assume are red and puffy with mascara smeared underneath.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It was just a rough day.”
“I can stay till his bed time if you want to go in and take a nap.”
Dean comes rushing back with the little red frozen heart held up like a trophy. “Ice!” He declares moments before tripping and falling flat on his face.
Angie and I both wince, hands going to our faces. Dean gets up, frowns down at his knees, as if trying to decide if this particular boo boo was tantrum worthy. “Oh no,” he says happily. “Boo boo.” With a self-satisfied smile, he plops down and presses the ice to his knee.
I grin at Angie, who smiles back. “He’s a little trooper. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a tougher little guy.”
“I wish I could say he got that from me,” I say carelessly.
There’s an awkward moment of silence. I don’t talk about Dean’s dad with anybody, and Angie has probably already picked up on that. Thankfully, someone knocks at the door, saving me from the discomfort.
I pull it open and see Damian, standing there in my hallway looking determined and so sexy it’s not even fair. I squeeze out as quickly as I can, before Dean sees Damian or vice versa. That’s not a conversation I want to have right now--or ever, for that matter.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss once the door’s closed behind me.
“I’m not giving up on you. You said there was something that would make me run? Try me.”
“Can we start with how you even know where I live?”
He flashes an unapologetic smirk. “Next time you try to run away from me, you might want to turn around every once in awhile to make sure I’m not following you.”
“So you’re pretty much stalking me?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he says.
I sigh, even though I want to be pissed or creeped out, I can’t manage it. It’s not fair to all the average looking guys of the world, but somehow being “stalked” by a guy like Damian feels flattering and exciting, no matter how I spin it. To think he’s going to all this trouble just to get me to forgive him is going a long way toward making me want to give this thing a chance. I just hope I’m not being selfish and putting myself before Dean. If I knew I was doing this with his best interests at heart, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from practically begging Damian for a date. But my little guy on the other side of the door comes first. Before anything and everything.
Damian is obviously into some kind of crazy BDSM scene, if the place he took me to at the party is any indication. That, and the fact that he commands obedience like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he somehow makes submission feel so sweet. How could I knowingly bring a man like that into my son’s life?
There’s a thump at the door and the muffled sound of Dean’s voice. “MeeeeOWWW,” he yells playfully.
My eyes goes wide.
Damian squints past me. “Big cat…” he says.
I shift on my feet and tuck a hair behind my ear. “Yeah. I really need to put him on a diet.”
“HeeeHAWWW,” yells Dean.
I close my eyes in defeat. There’s no way I’m convincing Damian I have a donkey in there, even if Dean’s impression of a donkey wasn’t terrible.
“Big cat and a little donkey…” says Damian slowly. He moves closer to me, eyes taking me in with a fiery intensity. “Invite me inside.”
I’ve already seen how persistent Damian is. I know there’s no use saying no to him now. If he knows I have a child, he’ll never stop until he finds out the truth. My best hope is to let him see Dean, hope he doesn’t see the resemblance, and then wait for him to decide he doesn’t want to deal with the baggage like any other guy.
I open the door slowly.
Dean stands there in his cute little “Mommy’s Best Man” shirt, which is tucked into his jean shorts. He looks up at Damian with wide eyes, then notices the tattoos on Damian’s arms.
“Oh no!” he says. “Dirty!” He runs toward the kitchen where we keep the wipes.
Damian looks to me with an amused glint in his eye. “I promise, I washed up before I came.”
I give him a wry smile. “He has never seen tattoos.”
“His dad doesn’t have any?” asks Damian. His tone is light, but I can practically feel the weight behind the question.
“His dad isn’t in the picture anymore.”
Damian nods, relief clear in his features.
Dean comes waddling back with way too many wipes clutched in his small fist. “Sit!” he practically yells at Damian.
To my surprise, Damian sits down on the floor cross-legged. His sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms, but he pulls them back above his biceps, giving me a mouth-watering view of tanned, tattooed skin pulled tight over perfectly formed muscle. Dean climbs into Damian’s lap and frowns in consternation as he tries uselessly to wipe away the tattoos.
“Sorry, bud,” says Damian with a grin. “I’m a dirty man. I don’t know if any amount of wipes can fix that.”
“Fix,” repeats Dean, who still isn’t giving up.
I lean in the doorway, watching the two of them together, trying with all my might not to get teary eyed and failing. I’ve never thought I’d see them together, and I didn’t expect it to look so right. God. I didn’t even realize they have the same smile, but I can see it so clearly now. Dean is so obviously Damian’s son I’m surprised Damian didn’t call me on it at his first glance.
“Go ask your mommy if you can have a marker,” says Damian suddenly.
Dean pops up, dropping his wipes. He comes to stand below me, craning his neck to look up at me. “Markuh?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say with a smile. “Go get one. But be careful with it.”
He hurries off to the drawer where we keep the arts and crafts. I give Damian a long, curious look. “Do you have kids?” I ask.
“Hey, I think we’re getting somewhere. She’s asking me questions now.”
I glare. “Do you?”
&n
bsp; “No. But I’ve always wanted them.”
“Well, you’re really good with Dean,” I say.
“Dean?” he asks. “It’s a good name. Strong and a classic.”
“Thanks,” I say, blushing and feeling more relief than I should that he likes it.
Dean returns with a green washable marker. “Markuh,” he declares, holding it up like the holy grail.
“See this?” asks Damian, who points to part of the tattoo on his arm. “This is a tattoo. Do you want one?”
“Yes,” says Dean with an emphatic nod.
“Come here.” Damian sits Dean on his knee and uncaps the marker. “Do you like cats?”
“MeeeOWW,” says Dean.
Damian chuckles. “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one. We’re going to give you a cat tattoo on your arm.”
“Arm,” agrees Dean.
I realize Angie is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching with a happy little smile on her face. She shoots me a double thumbs up and makes some surprisingly suggestive gestures when Damian isn’t looking.
I nearly snort out a laugh, but hold it in somehow. Watching the two of them together is going a long way toward changing my mind about how dangerous it would be to get involved with Damian. A long way. I’ve barely seen Dean interact with men before, and it’s clear now how much he needs that kind of influence in his life. We both do.
“There. Meooow,” says Damian.
“Cat!” yells Dean, who runs up to me and shows me. “Cat!”
“Oooh, it’s so pretty, Dean.” It actually is, too. “Are you an artist or something?” I ask Damian.
“Nah,” he says. “I’m just really good at drawing cats.”
I laugh. “Sure.”
Damian stands up, brushing off his knees and rolling his sleeve back down. “Sorry,” he says, noticing Angie. “I didn’t even see you there.”
“No, no. I was just on my way out. Dean begged me all day to take him to the park so I’m going to give Kylie a break,” she says, winking at me and making one more gesture that I definitely wouldn’t expect out of a woman I thought was prim and proper.
Dean claps his hands, hugs my leg, and to my surprise, he fist bumps Damian before following Angie out the door.
I cover my smile with my hand and nod to her as she goes.
“What would you have done if I didn’t let you in?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter. Because I knew you were going to let me in.”
As much as being around him again is filling me with butterflies, it feels dangerous, like being with Damian is so all or nothing that there would be no turning back once I step over the ledge. Every guy before Damian felt like an open doorway--as easy to go in as it was to go out, but Damian? It’s like he’s a bottomless pit of lust and hunger and primal sexuality. There are no half-measures with him. The only way in is to plunge over the edge into his darkness, and once I’ve taken that step there will be no turning back, for better or worse.
I have to find a way to keep some kind of emotional distance so I don’t get swallowed up in him. I just don’t know how long I can keep it up.
“Jerk,” I say.
He eyes glint with something dangerous. The look is gone as quickly as it comes though, replaced by a quick smile. “Do you draw the line at going on a date with a jerk? Because there’s a party tonight and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to show up alone.”
“A date?” I ask. “Listen. I’m going to make this as clear as I can. I want what’s best for my son. And yes, if there were no other factors involved, I’d love to go on a date with you. But I have to think of Dean. I can’t risk bringing someone into our lives that I don’t trust completely.”
“Then let me prove you can trust me. Go on a date with me. No commitments. We’ll go out as many times as you need to be convinced.”
“I thought you said dates were pointless.”
“When it comes to you, they are. For me. What matters is you. If you want to get to know me more, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“What happened to Mr. Demanding?”
“There is a time and place for that,” he says with a smile that makes my core tingle with heat. “We’ll play by your rules. For now.”
I swallow hard when my head fills with images of him standing over me while he reaches to undo his buttons, revealing that hard, muscular torso I’ve pictured so many times when the lights are off. He’s been my guilty pleasure in the dark of night, and now that he’s here for real, I can’t fight it any longer. I have to give this a shot.
“I need to make sure Angie can watch Dean a little longer. And I have to read him a bedtime story before I go. It’s our thing.”
Damian throws his hands up in compliance. “Whatever you need, Kitten.”
Kitten. That’s what he called me all those years ago, and it’s the first time he has used the pet name since he came back into my life. I can already feel his possessive grip tightening around me, and I hate how much I love it.
8
Damian
This is a really nice car,” says Kylie. I can hear stiffness in her tone, like she’s still not sure she made the right decision by coming with me.
“I always thought it would be different to be wealthy,” I say, surprising myself by already letting my guard down and talking about my past. I never let women in, and even though I’ve devoted everything to finding Kylie again and making this happen, I still expected old habits to die hard. I guess not, though, because the words come freely, and they feel good coming out. “It’s nothing like I thought it would be.”
“How do you mean?” she asks. Maybe she can tell I’m giving her something I wouldn’t even consider giving another woman because she leans in now, watching me with interested eyes as I drive us through the city.
“When you don’t have money, it feels like it’s the answer to all your problems. Sad? You think you’d be happier if you could just afford those things you want. Lonely? If you had money, you would have people knocking down your door. Unfulfilled? With money, you could literally do anything you want. The truth I’ve found is once you have money, you’re forced to take the first real look at yourself you’ve ever taken. You strip away the excuses and the what ifs. You can’t hang your motivation on what it would be like to make it big anymore. You have to look in the mirror and ask yourself if you’re happy every morning, and if you’re not? There’s nothing left stopping you from going after what you want.”
“Did you go after it? The thing you wanted.”
“Discovering what I wanted took many years. But once I knew? Yes. I never stopped. I thought about it every hour of every day. I poured all my energy into it until I made it happen.”
“What was it?” she asks.
“You,” I say.
She looks at her lap, cheeks flashing so red I can see it even in the dim light. “You say the right things,” she says quietly. “And I want to believe them. I really do.”
“You don’t need to explain it,” I say. “You’re being careful. Doing what’s best for Dean. I admire that.”
Kylie’s sitter agreed to watch Dean as late as she needed, which is good, because there’s no telling how late I’m going to keep her out tonight. Like most nights, there are a handful of BDSM clubs we could visit, including an exclusive party I agreed to have at my mansion, but the party will go on whether I’m there or not. Tonight isn’t about me, though. It’s about trust. Kylie needs to know she can trust me before we can move forward in any meaningful way, so I’m not going to confuse things by bringing her to a club--not just yet, at least.
I may be practically ready to burst at the seams from my need to take her again in all the ways I’ve had three years to imagine, but I have larger goals than my own carnal pleasures. Ever since I saw her in the airport and felt that spark of connection ignite between us, I’ve wanted one thing more than anything else: her happiness. I’m sure I’ve said as much to women in the past, but it was nothing but lip service--a flatt
ering phrase to draw out a smile or make them feel cared for.
Kylie is different. She always has been. There’s a perfect innocence to her. Not the kind of innocence men often talk or care about. I don’t give a shit if she’s been with men before me or if she has sinned. Her purity is deeper than any of that. I know there’s a piece of herself she holds close to her chest. She guards it so carefully that I doubt even she even realizes she’s doing it anymore, but Kylie is damaged. Whether she suffered something traumatic or was just beat down by the day-to-day of her life, I may never know, but I know it made her put up walls, walls that even she can’t get through.
More than anything, I want to bring those walls down, not just for my own satisfaction, but for hers. I want her to be free, and I know I’m the man to release her. I just need to convince her.
“I want to take you somewhere special, but the dress code is… complicated,” I say. “We need to go on a quick shopping run before dinner so you have the appropriate attire.”
“I don’t know if I can--”
“Everything is on me, Kitten. All I want you to do tonight is relax. Everything is taken care of. Everything will be perfect.”
We arrive at the restaurant a little over an hour later. Kylie is wearing the dress I bought her--a simple black thing that fits her so unbelievably well I am seconds from throwing away my good intentions of keeping her out of the clubs, and my bed, tonight. My cock is also throbbing because I picked out the swimsuit she wears beneath the dress as well, and the similarities to our time in the airport three years ago are not lost on me. Not at all.
“I still don’t see why I couldn’t just change into a swimsuit when it was time,” she says, although she doesn’t say it in a whining kind of way. I’m happy to hear a hint of teasing in her voice.
She knows damn well why I insisted she wear the swimsuit beneath her dress. She just wants to hear it out loud. “Because the last time I fucked a woman, I was surprised to find she was wearing a bikini beneath her dress instead of panties.”
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 6