Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels

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Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels Page 79

by Priscilla West


  He stopped, buried deep inside me, and touched his thumb down to my swollen clit.

  “Come.”

  Fireworks went off in the back of my head as I was overwhelmed with the flood of pleasure that erupted in my body. I felt an explosion of heat between my legs that traveled through the pit of my stomach and overpowered my senses. Each convulsion was a new wall broken through, a new angle of the same explosion. I screamed; I couldn’t help it and I didn’t care who heard. My legs thrashed around either side of Victor’s body, my hands gripping the leather seat beneath me, then grabbing at his shirt, his perfect ass, at nothing until I tossed myself back, shattered and confused.

  As I regained awareness of my surroundings, I realized Victor had pulled out of me after he had come, the warm liquid easing down my thigh. He was kissing my neck lightly. I became aware of the sweat on both our bodies, and gripped the arm he had draped down and around my torso as best I could, moving up and down from his shoulder to his elbow.

  The sweat in his hair smelled so beautifully masculine that I sighed, dancing my fingers through it down to the back of his neck. I held him there for a moment until he propped himself up. His blue eyes were gazing at my face and a smile was on his lips. He bent his head down to me and gave me a deep, passionate kiss, then picked me up and turned me around, leaning backward so that my back was nestled comfortably against his torso, my head resting on his chest.

  He kissed me once more on my forehead and held me tight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lying against Victor’s chest felt warm and comforting. His hand played with my hair idly as he took several deep breaths. I reached back and felt his elbow, running my hand up his chiseled arm. Was he acting nervous?

  “I think I’ve told you before that my mother abandoned me when I was six.”

  “You mentioned it briefly,” I conceded. It was such a delicate topic; I didn’t want to press him on the matter, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear him finally open up. “What happened?”

  He sighed and stared ahead, seeming to register nothing of what passed outside the window. “The men in my family are cursed, it seems,” he finally said.

  Cursed? What a strange choice in words. Was he setting me up for some sort of fairy tale story?

  “We fall madly in love with a woman only to have her turn our entire world upside down and eventually break our hearts. It first started when my grandfather cheated on my grandmother and left her for someone younger. Nobody in the house ever forgot the scene she made as she left. She told him he would never be happy as long as he lived, nor would anyone close to him. A year later, his new wife suddenly got sick and passed away. Not long after that, he passed away in an accident.

  “And then there was my father. He and my mother seemed like the happiest couple in the world. I think my father even believed it. One day I did very well on a test and I wanted to show my mother my grade. I searched all around the house for her, and even outside in the barn where she would sometimes be with the horses. She was nowhere to be found. Eventually I found my father in his office and asked him if he had seen her. It was the first time I’d seen him drunk. He had a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand and told me I would probably never see my mother again.”

  He took a deep breath. I couldn’t face him as he opened up to me, it was too intense. All I could do was run my hand up and down his leg.

  After a moment he continued. “She told my father that she didn’t love us anymore. Still doesn’t make sense to me to this day.” He shook his head. “I try to only remember the good times I had with her, but it’s almost impossible. The abandonment always creeps in.”

  “So you shut it up in a box and lock it?”

  I felt Victor’s jaw harden against my head as he squeezed my arm. Should I have let that moment with Evelyn drop? It was too late now. Thoughts raced through my mind as I wondered whether I had touched a nerve too sensitive.

  After another deep breath, he spoke. “You can’t quite do that though, can you? If it’s important to you, it will always creep up. You can’t run away from it forever.”

  “Unless you have amnesia,” I said, trying to make a joke at my own expense to lighten the mood.

  He chuckled. “I had never considered the amnesia angle until I met you.”

  I was glad he wasn’t going to clam up again. “It’s not great,” I said. “So you weren’t exactly good at dealing with your feelings about your mother growing up then?”

  He nodded. “Neither was my father. He remained cold and distant throughout my childhood and up until his death. I thought I had moved on. Hell, I was an adult; why would I still dwell on something that happened more than twenty years ago?”

  He sighed. “And then Evelyn came along. She was in the same class as me in college. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. We fell in love and married four months later, traveled across the world, made love wherever we could, and even considered having children. But then major changes started to happen in my company after my father died, and I was away from home with work constantly. I came home one day after a two week conference in Alaska only to find her in tears. She had two suitcases in tow and told me that she was fed up with me, that she had met someone else and was leaving me. I hadn’t seen her until that night in Paris.”

  It explained why he was so agitated when he saw Evelyn. But something still gnawed at me. “So am I just the latest in a succession of pretty young things since Evelyn? For you to take out frustration on when a memory of her creeps up?” Tears formed in my eyes as I said the words that had been stuck in my throat since that night in the elevator.

  Victor said nothing for a moment. He brushed a lock of hair away from my face and kissed my head. “No. You’re more than that.” He paused to punch the intercom button. “Oscar,” he called, “take us home please.”

  The moment was gone. “Certainly, sir,” Oscar said.

  After a moment of silence, Victor spoke again. “I know you’re upset at the way I pulled you away from Pedro, and I feel like I should explain. The contract you signed stated that you would be under my protection. I cannot fail at that duty, and having you out of my sight with no way to contact you—or have you contact me—made me realize that was a possibility.” He reached into his inner coat pocket and took out a small phone not unlike his own. “I should’ve given this to you earlier. My phone number is already programmed in it. If I’m not around and you’re lost or need my help, I’m just a phone call away.” He placed the device in my hands.

  I looked down at the small contraption. Are you afraid of losing me, too? The thought brought a smile to my lips. “So you weren’t jealous?” I asked, in what I hoped was a teasing voice.

  He pulled my chin back so I was looking up at him and kissed me probingly on my mouth. “Me, jealous?” he said lightly. “Of course not.”

  Yeah, right. Still, there was no sense in continuing on that topic. “I’m happy where I am,” I told him, nestling under one of his arms. “I enjoy being with you.”

  “I’m happy with you here too, Dove.” He held me close to his chest in silence until we got the mansion.

  At dinner that evening Victor seemed more or less his old self. He sat at the end of the large, wooden dining room table as I sat next to him on the adjacent corner. We were eating a meal Betty had prepared that consisted of succulent grilled chicken topped with freshly picked strawberries from Victor’s garden topped with a sort of balsamic syrup. The presentation rivaled that of a fancy restaurant, and I admired the showmanship for a moment before taking my first bite.

  “I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you,” Victor suddenly said.

  I swallowed a piece of chicken. “A doctor’s appointment?”

  He raised his hand. “Yes. I’ve been searching around for good doctors who might be able to help you with your memory loss. I found a specialist who comes highly recommended at a hospital in the city.”

  I let the words sink in for a moment. A doctor w
ho can help me regain my memories? Did I even want to know what went on in my life before I found myself disoriented and without a home? I always considered that something horrific had happened, that perhaps I was the one who did something horrific, and that I had blocked it all out of my memory on purpose.

  Did I really want to face whatever it was that lay dormant inside me?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The doctor’s visit ended up being anti-climactic. Dr. Mark was nice, and he asked me some basic questions about my memory loss, showing particular interest in my memory of art history just as Victor had. After an MRI and some blood work, he sent me on my way and told me he would call when the results had been analyzed. The whole thing took less than an hour and felt like a bit of a waste; the whole thing resolved nothing.

  During the weeks that followed, I was busy in my art room creating paintings on the canvases Victor supplied for me. Some of my subjects were no more than the people living in the mansion. Oscar, Karen, and Betty all took turns sitting in a chair in front of my easel and patiently waited as I painted their portraits.

  I was happy with all of my work, but my favorite piece was my painting of Victor. It used the largest canvas I had and took several sittings for me to get right: his stylishly messy hair, his stark blue eyes, and his stern, yet gentle mouth. Instead of portraying him in his usual fitted suit and tie, I had him dressed in slacks and a t-shirt to convey the less severe side of him that I was slowly coming to know. It took a few sleepless nights to complete the painting, but the end result was worth it.

  When I grew tired of drawing people, I ventured outside. The days were starting to get longer and warmer, so I would use that opportunity to set up my art supplies in the shade of the front yard. From there I had the spectacular view of the emerald green pastures and Victor’s horses grazing and frolicking in the sunshine. Sometimes, however, I would drop everything to run over to the barn and ride Victor’s mare, Butterscotch, in the pastures under the sunny, spring sky.

  When the night of the Lotus Art Gallery opening arrived, Victor allowed Karen and me to drive into town to pick out an outfit to wear.

  “It was nice of Mr. Draper to give us the day off.”

  I nodded. “We’ve only ever seen each other at the mansion,” I told Karen. “It seems kind of strange for us to not be working together.”

  At Victor’s suggestion, we went to an expensive boutique at the edge of town, and right when we headed through the door we were bombarded by a salesperson greeting us.

  “How can I help you?” the woman asked as she walked up to us.

  “Oh I—” This was the first time I had walked into a clothing store since I had lost my memory; Victor was the one who picked out clothes for me to wear and he was uncannily good at it. Now faced with the task on my own and surrounded by so many items of clothing, I was starting to become a bit overwhelmed. There were too many options to choose from but I wanted to make sure I was dressed appropriately for my first gallery opening. “I’m looking for something dressy, but not too dressy…but also casual, but not too casual.” I scratched the back of my head sheepishly. “I hope that makes sense.”

  The salesperson smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I get that all the time.” She gestured with her hand, “Follow me, I think I know a skirt that will look fantastic on you.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Karen and she gave me a supportive smile as we followed the woman to the back of the store. I shimmied around racks of clothes lined up like little armies only to be bombarded by a wall of skirts, blouses, and dresses.

  The salesperson took a skirt from a rack and held it up to me. It was a moss green cotton material, high waisted and cropped just above the knees. Near the hem were small embroidered flowers. “We can pair this with a white top, perhaps something a bit sheer, that you could wear a camisole underneath. Try this.”

  “Okay,” I said as she handed me the clothing. I tried the outfit on in the fitting room, stepping out to show Karen when I was finally dressed.

  “It looks like what you wanted,” she said, looking at my outfit from the top to the bottom. “Are you happy with it?” She must have noted the hesitant look on my face.

  “I don’t know, do you think it’s formal enough for a gallery opening? Do you know what Victor will be wearing?"

  Karen laughed. “I’m sure he’ll be in his usual suit. What’re you so worried about?”

  “I just want to look nice.” In reality I didn’t want to embarrass Victor or to stick out in a crowd of fellow artists. I gave myself a once-over in the fitting room mirror and decided that I couldn’t depend on Victor to dress me forever—for once we would be at a social function with people I could relate to. I was determined not to let my skirt be the one thing they remembered about me.

  Twenty minutes later we were out the door, my new outfit neatly folded in a large shopping bag. Karen and I decided to take advantage of our outing and stopped by a small Italian bistro for lunch.

  After we ordered our food, we chatted a bit. Although we saw each other every day, we really hadn’t had a chance to sit down and get to know each other more since my first few days of living with Victor.

  “How’re things going?” she asked me. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled.

  Did my mother’s eyes do that?

  “I’m… happy,” I told her. “And maybe a bit confused.” I wasn’t worried about revealing too much to her. I knew that whatever I told her wouldn’t leave the restaurant. “Victor has shared so much with me, yet somehow he remains distant. I’m pretty sure he cares about me, but he’s never said it.”

  “I think he’s confused,” Karen said. “I know he’s a kind man at heart, but ever since he was a child he’s had an air of darkness about him.” She leaned forward. “How do you feel about him?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured Victor; the way he would kiss me on my head, the way he spoke to me, the exotic, yet passionate way we have sex. I realized that I always looked forward to seeing him. “I think I’m beginning to fall in love with him,” I said slowly. “If this tingling feeling inside of me whenever I think of him is any indication, then it must be true.”

  “Have you ever thought about telling him?”

  “I did while we were in Paris, in so many words at least.” I toyed with the cloth napkin on my lap. “And my feelings have grown even stronger, but he hasn’t mentioned anything about it since. Even if he does have feelings for me, I’m just his... employee.” I believed that Victor didn’t see me as just his maid, but it would be my own fault if I convinced myself that our relationship was anything more than an arrangement.

  “You would be surprised by how much he’s changed since you’ve arrived.”

  I felt a heat creep into my cheeks, nervous about what she might say. “Really? How so?”

  Karen leaned back in her chair, her eyes becoming distant. “Before you moved in we would barely see him, unless he needed something from us. And when we did see him, he would never laugh, wouldn’t even crack a smile.” Karen reached across the table to grab my hands. “And then you came along. I really noticed it when you got back from Paris. Mr. Draper seems a lot happier; he talks to us more, cracks jokes now and then, and he smiles. I think you’re good for him, Dove. Don’t give up on him.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at her words, even though I didn’t know if they were true. One thing was for certain, though: I wasn’t sure if I could give up on Victor even if I tried.

  ***

  Victor and I arrived at the Lotus Art Gallery at seven thirty, a half hour after its opening, but the place was already packed with people. Women in long, elegant dresses gathered near the cocktail table while men in suits greeted each other with an air of familiarity. I felt slightly out of place until I noticed that dozens of paintings hung against white walls with bright lights underneath illuminating them. I remembered the trip to Paris and the afternoon Victor and I had spent at the Louvre. I felt now the way I had felt then: awestruck. I
was envious of the artists who were lucky enough to have their work on display, but my admiration of them overshadowed any jealousy.

  “This is amazing,” I muttered, more to myself than to anyone else, but Victor overheard me.

  “I knew you’d like it.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the wall of paintings. “I’m going to say a quick hello to someone, I’ll be right back.”

  He left me standing in front of a massive experimental piece, its neon colors swirling in and out of another, creating a tornado-like image against a black background.

  “What do you think of this one?” A tall woman who appeared to be in her late thirties appeared next to me adorned in a beaded silk gown. She towered over me in her heels and I tensed up at the idea of critiquing someone else’s art.

  “I think its bold.” I felt like that was the safest response.

  “Go on,” she encouraged.

  It was clear she wasn’t going to back down until I gave her my honest opinion so I considered the painting for a moment longer, secretly hoping that she wasn’t the artist. “I think the use of neon was smart, it immediately draws the gaze, but I’m not sure it should have been set up next to a still-life. The contrast makes the focus of the gallery look a little confused.” Before I’d even finished my sentence, my cheeks grew hot with embarrassment—I wasn’t qualified to be making any judgements.

  “That’s an excellent observation,” the woman said as she turned to me and reached out her hand. “I’m Marissa Jones, the lead art director of Lotus.”

  My jaw clenched in horror as I shook her hand; I should’ve kept my mouth shut. “Ms. Jones, I’m so—”

  “You know, we could really use a sharp eye around here,” she cut me off. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of the other pieces in the gallery.”

  “My thoughts?” I asked, shell shocked.

  “Yes! Currently, we only have a part-time position available but I like a girl who speaks her mind.” Marissa laughed.

 

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