Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

  “Is this safe?” I ask. “Aren’t there normally employees here to make sure the coasters don’t fly off the tracks or something?”

  “I took care of it,” he says.

  A few moments later, I see he did do exactly that. There’s a bored looking teenage girl who looks half-asleep leaning near the coaster. She perks up when she sees us. Jackson slips her some money and leads us to the front of the ride. The girl checks our harnesses and moves to a side area where she presses a button and sets the ride in motion.

  The ride clicks slowly into the open night and starts to climb a very high section of track. I look out over the sparkling lights of the city, the empty park beneath us. He did all of this for me. Whether he’s just trying to sleep with me or not, no guy has ever come close to making a gesture like this for me. Before this, the most romantic thing a guy ever did for me was the time Landon Marshall lent me a few bucks to pay for lunch when I forgot it back in middle school. And it turned out he expected me to pay him back the following day.

  I look over at Jackson, smiling. “Thank you,” I say, having to raise my voice over the clicking of the coaster.

  “We’re just getting started. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  I bite my lip, unable to stop smiling like an idiot. “I didn’t know you were into magic,” I say, frowning at the stupidity of my own comment a split second later. “Can you pretend I didn’t just say that? I just, um, look forward to seeing what’s under your shirt--up your sleeve,” I add quickly, clapping a hand to my forehead in embarrassment.

  He chuckles. “You will. After all, I need to know your real name before I can get you to sign the contract.”

  The contract. He says it so casually, but I’m reminded of what’s hanging between us. Can I really sign myself over to him like that? Can I just put my name on a piece of paper that says I’m his, completely and totally?

  The roller coaster reaches the top of the climb and the track goes horizontal long enough for us to do a quick half-circle. Just long enough for me to realize exactly how high in the air we are. My breath catches and my hand involuntarily seeks out Jackson’s. He grips my hand back firmly enough to make me feel safe and protected. Firm enough to know the only way I’m getting out of his grasp is if he lets me.

  The coaster pauses dramatically while we’re pointed almost straight at the ground and then something beneath us releases, letting us free-fall down the track so fast it makes my eyes water. The next minute goes by in a flash of rushing wind, sharp turns, wild speed, and above all, the warmth of Jackson’s hand against mine. Even as I squeeze and clutch on to him like my life depends on it, his hand never falters in its grip.

  When the ride ends, our harnesses raise and I self-consciously try to fix the damage the ride must have done to my hair. “The secret of my massive forehead is out,” I say as I try to push my hair back in place. Somehow, Jackson looks just as perfect as always. The slight wildness the ride added to his hair only makes him seem even more sexy and rugged.

  He surprises me by leaning over and kissing the center of my forehead, saying nothing but somehow melting away my insecurities with the heat of his touch.

  I don’t let go of his hand as we get up and he doesn’t let go of mine.

  I can’t believe I’m here. Not just in a theme park that he rented out for just us, but I can’t believe I’m on a date with a man almost twice my age. It should feel creepy, but it doesn’t. I just feel special to be chosen by him. He could have any woman he wants. Probably any woman in the country, married or not. I doubt anyone would say no to him.

  The next few hours are some of the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. Jackson lets me pick anything I want to ride and comes along, always finding reasons to touch me, whether his hands are on my shoulders, around my waist, or just holding my hand. His touch is possessive, almost greedy, and I absolutely love it.

  We sit on a bench outside a roller coaster while I catch my breath and try to regain my balance. It must be nearly midnight by now, and I’m starting to feel a heaviness in my eyes, but I don’t want the night to end.

  “So,” Jackson says as we approach an end of the park where the music is distant and the clink of rides is faint. “I want you to close your eyes.”

  I laugh a little, closing my eyes but not understanding.

  He starts to tie something around my eyes. My impulse is to reach for it but I fight it down, standing still and waiting patiently.

  “Now turn to your right and start walking,” he commands. There’s a note in his voice. It’s almost dangerous, as if disobedience would carry consequences, except the thought of discovering the cost has my core tingling with heat.

  “I can’t see,” I say.

  “You can hear my voice. You don’t need anything else. Turn to your right and start walking. Don’t make me say it again.”

  I do as he says, each step igniting a mini panic attack because I’m convinced I’ll bump head first into a pole or trip over a curb. But I feel only the slight sloping of the ground beneath me as I walk downhill. The sound dulls around me and I sense we’re moving inside a structure. He prompts me to turn or veer to the right and left a few times until finally ordering me to stop.

  I do as I’m told, standing in the center of a room that feels damp and chilly, surrounded by the sounds of echoing water and faint familiar yet unidentifiable sounds. They are almost ethereal. I hear Jackson’s footsteps as he moves around the room, saying nothing. The moment stretches between us and I start to wonder what he’s doing, if he’s ever going to speak, or if he’s going to just leave me here.

  I hear him approaching me quickly from behind. I hunch my shoulders slightly, almost expecting to be tackled or hit, but instead he grips my shoulders gently and kisses my neck. His lips are warm and velvety against my skin and I find myself leaning into his touch, sighing with pleasure. His hands move down from my shoulders to my chest, cupping my breasts and lighting hot paths of pleasure that spread through my body like wildfire. I’ve never been touched like this. I’ve never felt like this. Just when the sensation almost gets to be too much to handle, he strips the mask from my eyes and leaves me gasping for breath, squinting my eyes against the blue light washing over us from the huge tanks of water on either side.

  I realize the ethereal sounds were coming from speakers so we could hear the whales inside talking to each other.

  “You did well, Princess. Submission is not always easy, but it will always be rewarded. Remember that,” says Jackson.

  I smile shyly. “I don’t think I’ll have trouble remembering any of that.”

  He pulls me close, pressing my back to his chest and possessively wrapping his strong arms around me. I lean my head back to look at him and there’s a strange look on Jackson’s face as he looks around the room. It’s almost nostalgic, but there’s sadness in his eyes too.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He seems a little startled by my voice. “Oh. Nothing’s wrong, Princess.”

  “Why here?” I ask suddenly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, this has been the most amazing night of my life, but I can’t help noticing this place seems special to you somehow.”

  He nods slowly, letting me know I’m right with the faint hint of a smirk. “It is. That’s why I wanted to bring you here.”

  “What happened here?” I ask.

  His eyes are on the tank as he answers. “Nothing, exactly. This place was just… It was very important to my sister and I. We had a troubled childhood. The first time I took her here, it was therapeutic for her, somehow. I guess it was for me too.”

  I narrow my eyes slightly. “You have a sister?”

  “Sarah,” he answers.

  I’m tempted to ask more but there’s something in his tone that warns me off. So I just let him hold me, looking into the tank where the small whales swim slowly around the huge space.

  “I didn’t know they could keep whales in captivity,” I say after a while.

  “
They can’t. Not for long. These whales will be set free in a few months. Every whale that comes through here is only visiting. Only a temporary prisoner.”

  I look thoughtfully in the water, wondering why his words seem to hold so much meaning. “That’s why this is your favorite place here?” I ask carefully.

  “Yes,” he says.

  I expect him to say more, but he doesn’t. He’s content to stand with me and hold me while we watch the whales drift through the tank, so incredibly large but weightless in their element. Time loses meaning when his arms are around me and in this place. I feel us growing closer by leaps and bounds even though we barely know each other. We say nothing, as if standing here quietly with him is exactly what he needs and all expects of me.

  It’s a kind of peace I’ve never known. There’s no urgency. No rush. No doubt or self-consciousness.

  It’s almost three in the morning when Jackson drops me off back at my dorm. He shows no sign of sleepiness, but I can barely keep my eyes open. He helps me out of the car and leads me to the door of my dormitory.

  I’m so tired I try to just walk inside, forgetting to even say good night, but Jackson plants a firm hand on the door, keeping me from opening it. His face is inches from mine, all the intensity of his gaze practically sucking the air from my lungs.

  “Your name,” he says.

  I bite my lip, looking down. Something about toying with him thrills me, and I can’t resist now. That, and I’m driven to put off telling him my real name as long as I can, even if it’s just a few more seconds. If he remembers the email I sent, he’ll see how the coincidences in our meeting were not coincidental at all, and I doubt he’ll be happy about it. “I said I would give you my name only if tonight went well.”

  I let my words hang between us, watching his face for any sign of amusement. He shows none. There’s only iron in his gaze. Cold steel.

  “Your name,” he repeats.

  I lower my eyes, feeling subdued by his will. “Brianne. Brianne Hartley.”

  As soon as I say it, I notice something like shock or recognition flash across his face. “You. It was you the whole time?”

  I nod, knowing how this must look now. I’m the angry student who lashed out in an email at him and I coincidentally ended up arranging a date with him. “I’m sorry. I know how this--”

  He cuts me off by slamming his hand against the wall behind my head, eyes boring into mine. “Tell me this much,” he growls. “Did you ever have any intention of signing the contract, or was this all just to get back at me?”

  “I…” my words fail me. My thoughts blur together into an incoherent mess and all I can do is hold back the tears of fear and regret.

  “Yeah. You know what? Nevermind. I’ve already wasted enough time with this.”

  He walks back to his car, shoes clicking on the pavement. He slams the door and revs the engine before pulling away. I lean my forehead against the door of my dorm and bang it softly against the wood a few times. Why didn’t I try to explain the truth? Why didn’t I just tell him that yes, I originally thought I would never sign the contract, but as I got to know him I started to really consider it?

  I walk back to my room in a haze of tired confusion. I slump into my bed face first and let my tears flow freely now. I just ruined my chance at something special. For once in my life, I had an opportunity to experience something extraordinary and I just let it slip away.

  8

  Jackson

  I lean against the barrier in front of the race track, watching two exotic super cars scream past. There’s a small crowd of VIPs and some of my business partners present. I don’t fail to notice the men from the Dominican Republic are here as well. My temper may have gotten the better of me last night, but I still feel a slow burning fury toward Brianne. The problem is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about punishing her for being dishonest with me. And for the email she sent. I imagine laying her out in my playroom, arms and ankles strapped to the bed while I take my time getting her to apologize.

  Fuck.

  I feel more than lust toward Brianne though. In the past that’s all it ever was. Maybe I had some fleeting feelings for my submissives beyond the need to dominate, but it was never anything lasting. But now, just thinking of Brianne makes my skin prickle and my heart pound. It’s not just a kink with her. Hell, I haven’t even had her in my playroom.

  I can still see how gorgeous she looked with the blue light of the water tanks playing across her face, making her sapphire eyes nearly glow. And remembering the way she obeyed me so well stiffens my cock.

  Hunter steps up beside me, looking out over the track. He’s wearing a racing suit like I am. His thick hair is a mess from the helmet and his cheeks are flushed, but the expression on his face is serious. Dark.

  “I told you I’d keep my ear to the ground, Jackson,” he says quietly. “I’ve been hearing some nasty shit.”

  “About?”

  “About those Dominican thugs wanting to see you hurt. Or worse. Rumor is they are going to arrange some kind of accident. I think you shouldn’t race today, man. They could’ve fucked with the car or something.”

  “I’m not backing out. These fuckers aren’t going to turn me into a tiptoeing coward. In fact,” I say, pushing off the barrier and striding toward them. “Maybe it’s time we put these fucking rumors to bed.”

  I hear Hunter quietly urging me to wait, but I ignore him. I’m not about to play this he said she said bullshit game. If they have an issue, they can tell me to my face. No more games.

  “Problem?” I ask, standing in front of the three men. Two are relatively tall with lean builds and the other is short with a beard and a thick, muscular frame. I don’t remember their names. I can barely remember drinking with them, for that matter.

  “Problem?” repeats the shortest man in a thick accent. “No problem here, carajito.”

  I pretend not to notice the slight. I spent enough time in the Dominican Republic to know carajito is basically a term for an annoying child. “If there was a problem,” I say, “I’m sure three grown men wouldn’t be afraid to say so to my face.”

  One of the taller men, who has a faint scar from his eye to his mouth, smirks. “It sounds like you have the problem, pana.”

  I let the silence that follows linger, meeting their eyes and giving them one last chance to speak up. When it seems clear they have nothing more to say, I scoff, walking away and heading toward the car waiting for me.

  Hunter jogs to catch up with me, leaning into the supercar as I strap myself into the modified racing seat. “What happened?” he asks, having to yell to be heard over the engine.

  I notice Dean Cartwell, a billionaire hedge fund mogul, getting into the car beside mine and starting the engine.

  “Looks like they want to keep whispering behind my back,” I say, pulling the door closed and revving my engine.

  “Think about it, Jackson. At least let someone look over the car before you drive,” pleads Hunter through the window.

  I roll the window up, setting my jaw in defiance. I feel a faint sense of unease. I know it’s possible that he’s right, but I’m not about to let these men dictate how I live my life. I won’t let them make me show fear.

  Fuck that.

  The car is so minimalistic inside that I feel like I’m in some sort of cocoon. The engine roars powerfully, shaking through to the center of my being. All sound dies out. There’s nothing but me and my connection to the machine.

  Of the many events I’m forced to attend because of my station, the races are one of my favorites. Billionaires find endless ways to waste their money, but I’ve always found a special thrill in riding the edge of danger on the track. I can feel the terrifying power of the car waiting to be unleashed. I look over toward Dean’s car while we wait for the previous two cars to pull off the track ahead of us.

  I stick my arm out the window to signal I’m ready. Dean does the same. A scantily dressed woman stands between our cars holding a
checkered flag. She slowly raises her arms, looks between both our cars, and then yanks the flag down.

  Our cars scream into action. I’m off the paint faster than Dean, and immediately cut in front of him, establishing my position early and hard. The car drives like a possessed beast. I have the accelerator pressed to the floor, and the engine sounds like a demon from hell clawing its way to the surface. Everything but the road in front of me blurs, and I’m completely aware that even the smallest miscalculation could send me smashing into the wall at hundreds of miles an hour.

  I take the first turn, letting off the accelerator only as much as I have to, but as soon as I turn the wheel, I feel the steering column disconnect from the axle. The detachment only takes a fraction of a second, but I feel it play out like it takes ages. I’m hurtling forward on the track at blinding speeds and I just lost complete control of the steering column. There’s a grinding sound and the wheel jumps in my hands. I yank it hard to the left, but it’s pointless.

  I slam on the brakes, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of me. The tires scream and the back of the car whips out of control, but there’s no stopping it.

  I have a split second to feel the inevitability of the crash and the cost of my stubborn pride before it happens.

  There’s a sound of breaking metal and a roar like a tsunami crashing over my head, and then darkness.

  I’m sitting in a dark room with one window. Sarah is beside me. She’s young though. Far too young. She can’t be more than fourteen, and when I look down at my hands they are softer than I remember. Smaller. There are metal bars covering the window. Two simple beds with no blankets in either corner. There’s a foul-smelling hole in the floor just big enough for us to use the bathroom, but not to escape. We can never escape from here.

  My heart beats faster and I feel like I can hardly breathe. I suck in rapid breath after rapid breath, unable to get enough air in my lungs. Heavy footsteps approach the door. Thump. Thump. Thump.