by Amelia Wilde
Ruthless Kiss
A Billionaire Possession Novel
Amelia Wilde
Contents
Ruthless Kiss
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Priceless Kiss
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Books by Amelia Wilde
Ruthless Kiss
Nobody stands in my way.
My real estate empire is my life. I’ve got properties on almost every continent, and I’m not interested in distractions from building a massive empire. Women are necessary but fleeting—I don’t have time to remember their names before they’re out of my bed and out of my life.
Except Isabella Gabriel.
From the second she walks into my office, past my shouting secretary, I know there’s something about her. Maybe it’s her big green eyes, or her delicious curves, or the fact that her lips would look perfect wrapped around my c*ck.
Or maybe it’s the way she gives me a piece of her mind, her determination to save her mother’s precious apartment, or the way she’s not about to back down.
I don’t need this kind of temptation—especially when she proves she can play on my level.
It’s damn foolish to stick my hand in the fire, but I just can’t let her go.
Jasper Pace might be rich, but he’s scum.
He’s cocky, arrogant, and as cold-hearted as they come...so I’m not surprised when his juggernaut of a development company snatches my mother’s apartment building right out from underneath me.
The only thing that surprises me? The man is f*cking gorgeous. For a monster, anyway.
I mean, his suits fit him exactly right, and from the first moment we meet I can tell he dresses left. The way he looks at me makes me want to wrap my legs around him, even if what he says makes me want to slap him.
Fine. I’ll have a little fun, but only for as long as it takes to get that building back.
That’s it.
No feelings. No attachments. Definitely no love.
Just hot, wild sex, all in the name of revenge.
And only revenge.
Ruthless Kiss is a steamy billionaire romance with adult language, no cheating, and a happily ever after that will melt your heart.
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This book is for all my fans who love some sexy power games behind closed doors, and all my fans who inspire me to keep writing. And to my writer friends: I’d be nothing without you!
Chapter 1
Isabella
“I just need that big, beautiful signature of yours on the dotted line, and these deals are final.” My lawyer, one Penelope Drake, flips through a few other pages. “And on pages seven, and nine.” She sits ramrod straight in the client’s seat across my desk from me, her red hair in an impeccable bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes display only the slightest hint of nervousness.
I’m impressed.
“You had Mark Hudson reevaluate those details?” I pick up the first contract from the top of the pile and scan it one more time.
“Absolutely. The terms now match your exact specifications.” I hired Penelope from the newly expanded Grant and Associates to negotiate this expansion, and I have not been disappointed. Juliet Grant might have started out relatively small—at least for New York City—but her firm is a powerhouse now. I took a chance with them, and it’s paid off. Women have to stick together.
Especially when men are such unholy assholes.
I keep the scowl off my face and force myself to triple-check the contracts one more time. The last thing on Earth I’m going to do now is let my ex throw me off my game.
He could never play at my level anyway.
Penelope has a better poker face than my financial adviser, Bernadette, who looks like she might stroke out at any moment. She presses her fingertips to her lips. It’s not enough to keep the words in.
“Isa, I have to remind you—”
“I know, Bernadette.”
“It’s my duty to remind you, one more time, before you sign these, that—”
I fold my hands over the contracts and look across the desk at her. “That this is a short-term risk involving my business capital.”
“And personal capital. It’s a massive risk, Isa. If anything goes wrong—”
“Bernadette,” I say, keeping my tone as soothing as possible. Bernadette has been with me since I rented two racks in the corner of a boutique a block down from my shitty studio apartment. I was eighteen. “I love you dearly. But this is a risk I can afford to take.”
She takes in one more breath through her nose. “Now. You can afford it now.”
“I get it, Bernie. I really do.”
I pick up a pen on my desk, testing its weight in my hand before I undo the cap. Penelope holds her breath.
I steady myself, check all the small details a final time, then sign my name with a flourish. All nine times.
When I’m finished, Penelope doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief—to her credit. She just beams at me across the desk, and even Bernadette gives me a smile. “Congratulations, Isabella.” The name still sounds awkward in her mouth, even though I asked her after two weeks to please stop calling me Ms. Gabriel. Most people—at least those who have to hear from me as often as my lawyer does—call me Isa, but I’ve had no luck convincing her of that.
“On to bigger and better things,” I say. We all stand up, and Penelope sweeps the contracts into a file folder and tucks it into the briefcase she always carries with her.
“The new stores will be a hit.” She extends her hand across the desk for me to shake. “I’m looking forward to hearing how everything goes.”
Buying three storefronts is only the beginning. “Oh, you will,” I promise.
Bernadette nods at me, pride shining in her eyes. Once a decision is made, she always gets on board. “Good for you, sweetheart.”
She di
sappears through the door just behind Penelope. I wait until I hear the elevator doors slide closed behind them before I pull the bottle of champagne from my mini-fridge, along with a single fluted glass.
That’s all I need.
I let myself grin a little while I pop the cork and pour into the glass, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. This feels amazing. I sure as hell couldn’t afford champagne back when I first started this business, borrowing my mother’s sewing machine, working in the hallway of the cramped one-bedroom in the Bronx. There wasn’t room for the machine and the tiny table it sat on anywhere else in the apartment—not with all three of us sharing the bedroom, my mom and sister in one bed, me in a twin bed, a foot of space the only gap between them.
So Jason was a dick. That doesn’t make me want to celebrate less. He almost had me, too—I was ready to put his ring on my finger, so damn head over heels that I almost, almost, was willing to marry that bastard without a prenup.
“Be done with him,” I command myself. Time to get him out of my head.
I lift the champagne glass and close my eyes. I never thought I’d get this far. I never thought I’d be selling my clothes in storefronts all over Manhattan.
And as of today, I’m going statewide.
A thrill goes down my spine, along with yet another jolt of adrenaline. I’m not about to let Bernadette be right with all her doomsday predictions.
My office seems bathed in a new light when I open my eyes. The clouds that rolled over Manhattan earlier this morning must have cleared. It’s too bad. I love a good storm.
I raise my glass, silently toasting the picture of my fourteen-year-old self, hunched over the sewing machine in the light of a single lamp. I’m not looking at the camera. My skinny frame is totally absorbed in the piece I’m sewing. “We’ve come a long way.”
My phone rings, the ringtone loud and insistent, scaring the shit out of me. I was looking forward to the bubbly sweetness of the champagne, the glass halfway to my lips, but it shakes in my hand as I scramble for the phone.
“Isabella Gabriel,” I answer. There’s a muffled sob from the other end of the line, and my stomach turns over. “Mom?”
“Isa?”
“What’s wrong?” I put the champagne flute down on the desk, and it rattles in place. “Mom, talk to me.” If she’s crying this hard, it has to be terrible news. “Is Evie okay? What’s going on?” A thousand possibilities tumble through my mind, each worse than the last. More sobbing. “Mom. Mom. Take a deep breath.”
She takes a long, shuddering breath. “I got—I got a notice.”
What the hell? “What kind of notice? I don’t understand, Mom.”
“A notice that—that all the leases are being terminated. We’re not going to be allowed to renew at the end of August.”
“The lease on your apartment?” She’s been living in the same building in Hamilton Heights since I was nineteen. There’s no way they’re kicking her out. “That’s not possible.”
“It’s been bought.” A hot spike of anger cuts straight through my gut. There’s a crinkle of paper, like she’s smoothing it out in her hands. “A developer, I think.” She chokes up again. “Isa, everybody has to go. Where am I going to go?”
If I know anything about New York City—and I sure as hell do—then I have a guess as to who’s behind this. Damn it, that was my next big goal—getting her building under my control. Shit.
“What developer, Mom? What does it say?”
“Pace, Inc.”
I grit my teeth to keep from cursing out loud, upsetting her even more. Those bastards have been buying up every promising property on the island and gutting them for luxury condos, forcing out people—like my mom—every step of the way.
A cold determination fills my chest. Not this time.
“You don’t have to worry, Mom. I’m going to take care of this.” I get her off the phone with a promise to come for dinner by the end of the week.
My desk chair slides back an inch when I stab the button to turn on my computer monitor.
I’m going straight to the top, and I know exactly who I’m going to confront about this.
All I have to do is find him.
Chapter 2
Jasper
“To the Pace Empire!”
My father raises his glass and takes a sip. Everyone clustered around my desk does the same. The tumbler feels heavy, solid in my hand, and the whiskey goes down smooth. It’s a Highland Park 30—not nearly the caliber of the Macallan 55 I have in my penthouse, but there’s no damn way I’m going to break that out every time we close another deal. Not at the rate I’m going.
When the toast is finished, the guys scatter, heading back to their respective offices. “Find me more buildings!” I call after Mike Ford, the guy who’s singlehandedly located at least three diamonds in the rough in the last month alone.
He gives me a jaunty salute from the doorway. “You got it, boss.”
My father beams after him, waiting until the last of them are gone before he turns back to me. “Hell of a job, son. Hell of a job.”
I sip the last of my whiskey and put the tumbler on the little tray perched on the edge of my desk. “Three more buildings. I wanted five by July.”
He laughs. “You’ve still got time.”
Time—but it never feels like I have enough. “Three weeks, two buildings—I’m sure I can pull it off.”
“No doubt.” Declan Pace’s blue eyes, a mirror image of mine, sparkle in the afternoon sunlight pouring in through my office windows. The floor-to-ceiling glass gives me an incredible view of Manhattan. From here, the city looks clean and alive and close—close enough for me to reach out and grab with both hands. There’s more out there for the taking, and I’m going to find it. “No doubt at all.”
I sit back down in the executive chair behind my desk, giving my father a nod. But he doesn’t head for the door, back to his own office at the other end of the hallway. “Something on your mind, Dad?”
He considers me, taking another measured sip of his whiskey. “I’m impressed.”
“By what?”
“By you. You’ve got the same kind of killer instinct I had when I started this firm.”
I fold my arms over my chest and lean back, smiling at him. “I don’t know if I’d think of it as killer. We’re improving Manhattan one building at a time, even if the riffraff has a problem with it.”
Dad laughs out loud. “They’re not riffraff, son. They’re future tenants.”
I wave my hand in the air. “Behind closed doors, I know you agree with me.”
He cuts his gaze at my open office door, then gives me a level look. “It’s about time you took over the enterprise, Jasper.”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. “Don’t joke around. I’ve got contracts to sign.”
“I’m not joking.” His eyes haven’t left mine, and there’s no trace of a smile on his face now.
I straighten up in my seat. “I see that now, but—”
“What changed my mind?”
“Yes.” My dad has lived and breathed Pace, Inc. for thirty years. He’s been the first one in the office and the last one out more days than not. What the hell happened to make him want to loosen his grip on his empire?
“Are you telling me you didn’t notice that you had more and more to do over the past year?”
“I noticed. I didn’t think that meant you were interested in something as absurd as retirement.” The image of my father lounging on a white-sand beach somewhere makes a laugh bubble up in my chest. Laying around like some kind of lazy asshole seems antithetical to…well, the rest of his life.
He wags a finger at me, a spark coming back into his eyes. “I didn’t say I was going to retire.”
“But you’re ready to be done with Pace, Inc.?” My heart picks up speed. To be in charge, in every way possible—it’s so tantalizing I can practically taste it. There’s already a low hum of adrenaline racing through my veins. Pace, Inc.,
mine. I could get more aggressive in Paris and London and Dubai. I could own those markets.
“It’s pretty clear that you’re ready to take matters into your own hands. These last three buildings are a major coup.” I get ready to scoff—they’re a fantastic deal, but not any more so than the five before—but Dad cuts me off. “You’ve assembled a damn good team here. You haven’t needed me to steer you toward a good find in a year. You don’t need me here.” He leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ve got a thirst.”
“There’s more whiskey.” I grin back.
“For new markets.”
“You want to expand Pace, Inc. elsewhere? We’re worldwide already.”
“No, no.” He shakes his head, his eyes going distant. “I want to start something, build it from the ground up.”
“At sixty-five?” I laugh.
“I’ve got nothing but time.”
“And money.”
“That’s right.” The last of his whiskey gone, he sets the tumbler next to mine and stands up. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”
I stand along with him, possibilities thrumming in my veins, and reach out to shake his hand. He looks me square in the eye. “Keep up the good work. Don’t ever take your eye off the prize.”
“I won’t.” The prize—money. Power. Always.
He goes whistling out the door, and I stand at my desk for a long moment, fingertips pressed against the polished surface, a new fire lit in my gut.
Yes. Today is a good fucking day.
I sit down in my seat, pull the contracts toward me, and scrawl my signature at the bottom of each. “Christine?”
My executive secretary, a willowy blonde who wears her skirt suits like high fashion, is instantly at the doorway. “Yes, Mr. Pace?”
I hold out the papers to her. “Get these down to legal immediately. I want to get started on these buildings as soon as we can.” I can’t wait to have my driver take us past, watch the rotted innards of these properties hauled out to make room for gleaming interiors, for shining lobbies, all the old stripped away to reveal the true potential of the place.