In Bed With the Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  Beautiful, smug little bitch.

  He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, watching her as she tracked the movement, her gaze lingering on his groin. Looked like two days had been a long time for her too.

  “So, no pleas for rescue?” he asked. “No demands for backup?”

  She glanced up at him, her expression guileless. “Nope. After all, it’s not like I even know where we are, right?”

  “You’ve gotten very cocky for a prisoner.” He took a couple of steps toward her, but she held her ground. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me exactly who you were calling and why?”

  She lifted one coppery brow. “Or what?”

  Definitely he shouldn’t have absented himself. He needed to keep the pressure on her, keep her off balance. Not to mention the fact that he could have used the fucking distraction too since everything else was going to hell in a handcart.

  And it wasn’t just what was happening with Hunt. The ache of seeing Violet felt like a raw wound, and he hadn’t fully realized how painful it would be until now.

  Wanting something warm beneath his hands, he reached out, gripping Temple by the hips and lifting her up onto the broad windowsill. Then he pushed her thighs apart with his body and stepped between them, keeping his hands on her waist.

  She didn’t move or protest, merely putting her palms flat on the sill beneath her and looking up at him from underneath her lashes. “Well, I guess being sat on a windowsill is very threatening. Should I be scared?”

  He liked the scent of her. He liked her warmth. They were exactly the kinds of distractions he was looking for. And her challenging him was just an added bonus. “Yes, you should.” He firmed his grip. “Feel free to fight me. You know how much I like that.”

  “I’m not sure I need to fight actually, Jericho.” Her amber eyes gleamed. “Or should I say … Theodore.”

  He froze, a sharp blade sliding down the length of his spine, cutting through skin and bone and sinew, opening him up, exposing the heart of him.

  She couldn’t know who he was. Nobody knew who he was.

  He struggled with the shock, trying not to let it show. “That’s a fucking terrible name.” His voice, luckily and only through years of long practice, was level, not a shred of emotion in it. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Oh, around.” Her gaze was scalpel-sharp, searching his. “I also heard another name. Fitzgerald. Theodore Fitzgerald. They go together rather nicely, don’t you think?”

  His thumbs were digging into her soft flesh hard and he knew he was giving himself away, but he couldn’t seem to loosen his grip. The only person to say that name in sixteen years had been Violet. The name of a dead man.

  He smiled, probably with too much teeth. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never heard of him.”

  Temple cocked her head like a bird. “Haven’t you? That’s not what I was told.”

  “And what exactly were you told?”

  “That you had another name. A name you’re clearly trying to hide.” Although she hadn’t moved yet, it felt like she’d kicked him in the gut, taking the wind out of him. “Why is that, Theo? Did you not want your father to know you were in the same business?”

  How did she know? Who had told her? There was only one person who knew, and that was Violet.

  Not the only person. Hunt knew.

  Ah, fuck, he did.

  “Is that who you were talking to?” He didn’t bother trying to deny it. There was no point, not with that name out there. “Was it Elijah Hunt?”

  Her smile promised a wealth of secrets. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  He moved before he was even aware of doing so, one hand gripping her ponytail and jerking her head back hard, leaning all his weight forward, pressing her up against the glass of the window at her back. With his other hand, he held her chin, pinning her where she was with the weight of his body. “Tell me where you got that information,” he demanded, cold and flat. “And I won’t hurt you.”

  She’d gone very still. Her breathing was absolutely steady, and there was no fear at all in her eyes, only a savage kind of satisfaction. “You won’t hurt me, Jericho. And I’m not fucking telling you anything until you give me the information I want.” The determination in those golden eyes of hers was hard, certain, and sure, as if she was the one holding the upper hand.

  Clever little bitch.

  “You can’t do anything with that.” He held her tightly, keeping her right where she was. “No one gives a shit what my real name is, not as long as I deliver them the power and the money they want. And as far as the rest of the world is concerned, Theodore Fitzgerald died jumping off a bridge sixteen years ago. So you have nothing. And making demands of me right now is a seriously bad fucking idea.”

  “Maybe. But there’s a reason you don’t want anyone to know who you are.” Her voice was level, her gaze like a laser beam, cutting into him. “What is it, Jericho? Or maybe … who is it?”

  There were so many reasons why he’d assumed the name of the man he’d killed in order to take his place. Why he’d made sure Theodore Fitzgerald stayed dead.

  It was a repudiation of his father. A way to protect his sister. A kind of vengeance. And a vow.

  A promise he’d made to himself that he’d do whatever it took in order to bring down the empire he’d built. Become something he despised.

  Become Jericho. Murderer. Drug dealer. Pimp. Trafficker. Scum of the earth.

  He couldn’t do that as Theodore. So Theodore had to die. And that was a good thing, because poor, craven Theodore would never have had the balls to do it.

  You should kill her. End this madness now.

  He should. That’s exactly what he should do. Get rid of her and the threat she presented. And not only because of what she’d just found out, but because of what she made him feel. He already had Violet buried like a thorn in his heart. He didn’t need to start having feelings about another woman. Even if those feelings were more to do with his cock and years of celibacy than anything else.

  Yes, do it. How can you do what you need to do with distractions like Temple around anyway?

  Good fucking point.

  Perhaps she sensed the change in him, because without warning she twisted, her knees jerking up, the soles of her booted feet planting themselves right in the center of his gut, and she shoved hard.

  Taken by surprise, he lost his grip on her hair and stumbled back, knocking over an armchair. She’d slipped from the windowsill, her arms loose at her sides. She looked relaxed, but he knew she wasn’t. She was ready to kill if necessary.

  Well, maybe they should both try it. Let the strongest and the best survive.

  He straightened. Smiled.

  Then he came for her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  She didn’t know what had changed for him, but something had, and it wasn’t just the mention of his real name. There was a darkness behind his green eyes, a shadow she hadn’t seen before. It was bleak, cold, and she recognized it. It was the darkness she’d seen in the eyes of her victims just before they died.

  And she knew because she’d made herself watch every death.

  Why the hell it should be in the eyes of this man she had no idea, but the last thing it should have done was matter to her. Yet for some reason she didn’t understand, it did. Which was just fucking unacceptable.

  She didn’t want to be curious about him. She didn’t want to know anything about him.

  Especially when he was crossing the room with the express intention of killing her.

  Like moonlight shining on the sharpened blade of an ax, he was all cold, brutal power, and she couldn’t look away. Because somehow that power was made even more mesmerizing by that bleak darkness lurking behind the blazing emerald of his eyes.

  She shouldn’t be looking at him in the way she was, shouldn’t be letting the sheer physical beauty of him distract her. Even coming toward her, all deadly lethal intent, he was beautiful.

  He wasn’t i
n suit pants and business shirt today. Instead he wore worn jeans that sat low on his hips and a plain black hoodie, nondescript clothes that should have masked the charisma of the man who wore them. But they didn’t, not even a bit.

  Yet there was no time to stare at him, no time to even think, not when his fist was coming fast toward her face. Fuck, he wasn’t holding back.

  She barely managed to dodge it, the brush of air against her cheek giving her a taste of the power he’d put behind it and yeah, he really wasn’t holding back. Dropping to the ground, she swept out a foot, but he avoided her, stepping in close and reaching for her shoulder, probably to pull her down so he could deliver a knee to her gut.

  She didn’t oblige him, bending and twisting so his hands closed on empty air, ducking then rising to deliver a kick of her own inside his guard, in the center of his chest. Her foot connected, but it wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around her ankle that she realized he’d let her do it. Dammit. She should have been paying closer attention.

  He jerked her ankle, pulling her off balance, so she went with the movement, twisting her foot out of his grip before she ducked and rolled away from him. He went straight after her, aiming a kick to her abdomen, but this time it was her turn to snatch a grip at his boot and twist hard, using her strength and the movement of her body to jerk him off his feet.

  He cursed as he went down, somehow folding his long body and reaching for her as he did so, and she’d thought she’d managed to avoid him, her forearms coming out to knock his hands away. Yet his reflexes were incredibly fast because she found herself hitting empty air, his hands settling on her hips and crashing her down to the floor with him.

  She hit hard, her head banging against the carpet, but there was no time to recover. His grip was so strong and she knew if she hesitated she’d be toast. Dazed, she rolled onto her back so he was above her, then brought up her knee, aiming it at his groin. At the same time, she shot up the heel of her hand to the underside of his jaw, putting all the power she could behind it.

  He avoided her knee with a twist of his hips, his own coming down hard on her inner thigh, making her gasp in pain. But he didn’t quite avoid her hand, his teeth snapping together as she hit his jaw, blood trickling down the side of his mouth. She didn’t wait to see if she’d dazed him, giving another violent twist of her body, flipping over onto her stomach, trying to loosen his hold and get out from under him.

  Jericho cursed and suddenly the whole weight of him was lying on her, crushing her to the carpet, pressing her face into the white wool and forcing all the air from her lungs. She fought for breath, trying to buck him off, but it was like moving a mountain. Trying a different tactic, she attempted getting her knees underneath her so she could use her quads to push up with more force, yet he shifted his legs, trapping hers beneath them. Then his arm came around her throat, heavy as an iron collar, and he jerked her head back.

  She tensed her neck muscles, bending her head forward to relieve the pressure on her throat, but he only shifted, pulling even harder. She moved her arms, trying to turn her body enough to elbow him, yet again he shifted out of the way, the iron collar of his arm around her throat closing, pulling tighter, squeezing.

  Her vision began to darken around the edges, warm breath brushing by her ear.

  “I’m sorry, kitten.” His voice was so soft, so unbearably gentle. “I don’t want to have to do this, but you’re getting in the way. And I can’t have anything getting in the way, now that I’m so close.”

  It was strange, but even with her lungs screaming and her vision darkening, all she could think about was what was she getting in the way of? And what was he so close to?

  You’ll never find out if you don’t get out of this.

  No, she wouldn’t. But he was too strong, too fast. And she’d let herself get in this position. If she hadn’t been so distracted by him, if he hadn’t been as good as he was …

  There is one option you’re forgetting.

  Temple blinked. Christ, of course. This fascination, this chemistry, it went both ways. And maybe, if she was lucky, she wouldn’t be the only one to miss her chance to kill.

  You will be lucky. You know he likes a fight.

  Yeah, and hadn’t he told her that himself? She closed her eyes and gave a minute shift of her hips. And sure enough she felt the heat pressing against her butt and the hard line of his cock. Excellent.

  A surge of adrenaline went through her, clearing her vision a little, giving her the strength to move again, an undulating movement of her hips, rubbing the curve of her butt against his groin.

  More breath at her ear, ragged and harsh. “What are you doing, little bitch?”

  She didn’t waste precious air in answering him, just kept up that slow, undulating movement, feeling the press of him against her get more insistent.

  The arm around her throat loosened fractionally, the pressure easing. “Oh, kitten.” The rough velvet of his voice was fraying around the edges. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  She licked her dry lips, forcing herself to speak. “Actually I don’t think it’s hard enough. Not nearly hard enough.” And she circled her hips in a long, slow grind.

  “This won’t stop me.” His breathing was even harsher. “All it’ll do is put off the inevitable.”

  Temple swallowed, her throat sore, staring down at the white carpet beneath her. She’d never begged for anything, never wanted to make herself so vulnerable to anyone, but here, right now, she knew he meant what he said. He would kill her. And she couldn’t let him. If there was a chance that Thalia was still alive and that Temple could have rescued her, but let herself get killed instead …

  “I don’t want to die,” she said hoarsely. “Please. I can’t. Not yet.”

  There was a silence behind her, the hot, heavy weight of him pinning her to the ground, the iron collar of his arm around her throat. “Why not yet?”

  She closed her eyes. “Because I have to find my sister first.”

  More silence and it seemed to echo strangely in her ears, though that could have been her heartbeat, wild and loud in her head.

  Then he moved, the arm around her disappearing as he flipped her onto her back. The look on his face was intense, fierce, his eyes gleaming in the light coming from the lounge windows. Emerald green yet lit with golden flames. The light also touched the gilt tips of his hair and the dark gold stubble that lined his strong jaw.

  He looked like a fallen angel. An angel with a demon’s soul.

  “What sister?” he demanded.

  Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell him, to give him that secret. And certainly if he hadn’t been holding her down with the intention of strangling her, then she wouldn’t have told him. But it was done now, it was out. She’d given him something of herself, and she couldn’t take it back.

  So she stared up at him, not looking away. “The name I gave you. Thalia Cross. She’s my sister. And I’m trying to find her.”

  A strange expression crossed his face, one she couldn’t immediately identify. “And what makes you think I know anything about your sister?”

  She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to confront her with it. Because this wasn’t going how she’d thought it would. She’d wanted to have him at her mercy, perhaps begging for his life while she told him all the reasons he couldn’t have it. Told him why it was so important that she find Thalia, what her sister had saved her from. Told him all the things she’d done and all the lives she’d taken, each one stripping little pieces of her soul away from her until all she had left was the determination to go on. And the rage she had for the man who’d put her in this position.

  The man who’d turned out to be him.

  No, she didn’t want to tell him that while she lay beneath him, defeated on the floor, her life in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to be that way.

  But then life never happened the way you wanted it to.

  “Because you were the man who took her,” T
emple said harshly. “You were the man who trafficked her. And if she’s dead, that makes you the man who murdered her.”

  * * *

  For a moment he could only stare down at the woman on her back, her red hair spread all over the white carpet like spilled blood. Like she had been in Paris, only this time it was different. Very, very different.

  He should have finished the job, he knew he should have. And he still couldn’t think why he hadn’t. Sex shouldn’t have been able to distract him and certainly one fucking hard-on shouldn’t. How curious to have his own tactics turned back on him. How curious for them to actually work.

  Yet it wasn’t only his dick that had stopped him. There was something else too, the last bit of his conscience, the one he’d tried very hard to protect and preserve over the past sixteen years. The bit that whispered to him that killing her was wrong. That if he did, he’d fall the rest of the way into the darkness, and there would be no coming back. Pretty fucking curious thing too since he hadn’t planned on coming back anyway.

  His conscience. And the shake in her voice as she’d told him she didn’t want to die. Because she had a sister she wanted to find.

  A sister she was now accusing him of having murdered.

  There are so many sisters you murdered. Can you even remember one of them?

  Molten anger moved in her gaze, the rage he’d seen there before. No wonder he’d thought this was personal. It was.

  “What happened to her?” He shifted his hands to rest on the carpet on either side of her head, keeping his weight on her, pinning her.

  Her throat moved, pale and graceful. “I don’t know what happened to her. That’s why I’m fucking here. To find out where she is, what you did to her.”

  “What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

  “I’ll give you one guess.” Her eyes blazed. “Because you’re a fucking human trafficker! That’s what you do. You take women, and you sell them. And my goddamn sister was sold. Like a fucking animal!”