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

by Priscilla West

  She was pretty sure, from the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that Henry knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “Certainly, Alphonse. Try and get a better shot than last time, okay?”

  Alphonse tittered nasally. “No telephoto lens here, Mr. Medina! Though, you must admit, I caught the anger in the beauty’s eyes!”

  Realization slammed into her chest and Sophie drew in a long, slow breath. This little worm was the man that had taken the picture of her inside Henry’s building. The picture that had been splashed all over the front page and caused all this trouble. Her spine stiffened. “Why are we letting this—”

  Henry’s arm tightened around her waist. “Hush, dolce. Alphonse was just doing his job,” he whispered. He turned his attention back to the photographer. “You’ll have to forgive Ms. Becker, Al. She’s a little put out with you. She prefers her privacy these days.”

  Alphonse bobbed his pumpkin shaped head up and down. “Of course, of course. Romance is a private matter for most people. But you’re here tonight!” He beamed at her.

  Sophie stiffened, then relaxed. “I realized trying to keep our relationship private only made people more curious. So, here we are.”

  “So, it was your decision to stay private? Not Henry’s?”

  Sophie laughed. “Well, Henry, were you trying to keep me hidden?”

  “Would you want to share such a rare jewel, Al? No, Sophie wanted it private, but I didn’t mind at the time. It meant I got to keep her all to myself, too.” He winked at the man.

  Alphonse wheezed laughter, snapping a photo of them as he did. “How did you two meet?”

  “I was practicing the tango. Henry barged into the studio and demanded I dance with him.” Sophie shot Henry a look from beneath her lashes.

  “That’s how it was. She was a vision.”

  “Ah, and what was it that caused Ms. Becker to throw an envelope of cash in the lobby of Figleaf Terrace?”

  Damn. What was their cover for that again?

  Henry didn’t miss a beat. “That was completely my fault, it was a special date for us and I only realized last minute. I gave her a tactless gift and Ms. Becker was justifiably upset, but I’ve since made it up to her.” Henry smiled at her, the perfect actor.

  She giggled in relief at his story, hoping that Alphonse would buy it.

  Alphonse tittered and snapped a few more pictures before Henry waved him off. “Off with you and your story. Let us enjoy the night.”

  The man smiled, satisfied that he’d gotten his story, and scurried off into the crowd. Sophie sighed. “Is that the beginning or the end of that?”

  “The end. Which is why I allowed it. Now that Al has the pictures and the scoop the rest will all move on.”

  She pressed back into Henry’s touch. “Good.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of his name from across the room drew him up short. Scanning across the crowd, he grimaced.

  “I have to go deal with this. Wait here. I won’t be long.”

  ***

  “Well, at least the peasant knows how to dress. I suppose that’s something.” The heavily accented voice startled Sophie out of her people-watching. She glanced down at the frail man in the wheelchair.

  His skin was a deep nut-brown and creased with age, though he had kept his long white hair. It was tied back in a ponytail and his goatee was trimmed to a sharp point. She didn’t need to ask him his name. The dark eyes boring into her from the pockets of wrinkles looked exactly like Henry’s, except they were full of spite.

  She extended her hand. “Mr. Medina.”

  He took her hand in his leathery grip and flipped it, palm up. “See? Callouses. Told you she was a peasant.” He directed the statement to the woman behind him, wheezing in a long, thin breath. His bony chest rattled with the effort. The woman held out an oxygen mask for him, her mouth twitching the slightest bit upwards at the corners.

  “I see, Jorge,” she breathed. Her green eyes twinkled with amusement as she swept Sophie from head to foot. “It’s clear Henry chose the outfit. He has exquisite taste.”

  “Usually. Nicole, I need to speak to this woman alone for a moment.”

  She saw the muscle in Nicole’s jaw clench, but the slender blonde obeyed.

  “I have spent my life building Henry’s fortune,” he started. He wheezed into his oxygen mask and coughed. “I will not see it squandered on some harlot dancer.”

  “Excuse me?” Sophie practically choked on the words.

  Jorge gestured with a jut of his lips toward Sophie’s shoes and dress. “These clothes, shoes, his mother’s pearls. You like to play dress-up, dancer? Never leave the stage? I’ve seen dozens of you and I’ll see dozens more. The best thing you can do now is get away from my son as fast as you can.”

  Her throat caught as she tried to keep her fake smile plastered on. Bitter man that he was, he was shrewd. He knew how to hurt people. “I—”

  “You don’t belong here,” Jorge sneered. “You didn’t earn any of this.”

  Sophie was searching for what to say to this onslaught when help finally arrived. “Hello, father,” Henry said. His voice was cool as he slipped into place beside her. “You look well.”

  She sagged slightly against Henry’s side. She might not really need Jorge’s approval, but getting the sharp side of his tongue still left her drained.

  Jorge Medina’s lips writhed. “Why is this woman wearing your mother’s pearls?”

  Henry’s hand tightened on her hip. “They look lovely on her, I think.”

  “Thank you.” Sophie smiled up at Henry, avoiding his father’s gaze. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

  Henry’s mouth twisted in agitation. “Sorry, I got waylaid. Are you ready to go?”

  “Henry, I was speaking with your... companion,” Jorge wheezed. His eyes swept Sophie’s form with derision.

  “Yes, you were. Good night, father.” Henry’s hand slid to the small of her back and urged her around the acerbic millionaire. The minute they stepped out of the hotel, she took a deep breath of cool night air.

  “Well, that was—” she started.

  “It was awful. I’m sorry about him.” His face was grim and the lines at the corners of his eyes were deep as he squinted into the night.

  “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.”

  The limo drew up to the curb and Henry helped her into it. He slid in after her, tugging at the knot of his bow-tie, a look of exhaustion taking over his face.

  Sophie looked at him as he stared ahead. He was decompressing as much as she was from that affair. For the first time , she began to feel the baggage Carl had mentioned. His father, his status, fighting with the sharks in that party, it was overwhelming.

  She sidled up close to him and leaned on his shoulder. “Henry, your father—”

  Henry exhaled loudly through his nose. “Please don’t listen to him. He is an old man who has lost any sense of the manners he once had.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “And thank you for coming to this with me. I hope you feel better about this whole situation. I’m sorry about—about everything.”

  Sophie’s heart squeezed in her chest. He was doing it again, making an effort. She bit her lip. His father’s words stuck in her mind: she was acting. Whether she was acting like they were a couple or like she didn’t want the man in front of her, she couldn’t say.

  “Back to Chelsea, sir?” the driver asked.

  Sophie looked up at Henry. His eyes were closed, and she could see his jaw tense. She wanted to melt into him.

  “No,” she said. For tonight, she would keep acting.

  Henry’s eyes shot open. He looked down at her, his eyes going from tired to focused.

  “The penthouse,” he called, holding her gaze.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They didn’t speak for the rest of the short limo ride. Sophie leaned against Henry’s side, his broad palm resting lightly on her knee. Their eyes met, and her lu
ngs constricted in her chest as he held her hungry gaze with his own.

  The limo pulled up to Henry’s complex and he slid out of the back seat, his eyes still lingering on her. Sophie sensed desire in the heat of his stare and the tick in his jaw, but there were other emotions too. A hint of surprise around the corners of his eyes and a flicker of hope in the determined set of his strong chin. He reached his hand out to her.

  She studied him, tall and handsome and holding all those emotions in check. Giving her a choice. She’d thought she’d made it back at the hotel, but his demeanor said differently. He was clearly trying to convey that she could change her mind right now and he would have the driver take her home. If she wanted.

  Did she? Her body wanted her to stay. It vividly recalled his every masterful touch, the rich sound of his voice as he’d told her to take off her clothes, the delicious friction as he’d slid inside her. Heat pooled low in her belly and moisture flooded her already tingling folds. She knew what her body wanted.

  Even her mind was telling her to go for it. He had proven he was willing to repent for his previous behavior. He’d given her a glimpse of his world, and her interaction with his father had gone a long way toward explaining why he might have acted the way he had the morning after their previous liaison. Business came first in the Medina family. But the chance, her mind insisted, was worth the risk. Only her heart was cautious.

  He was still guarded. The society he moved in was foreign to her, and she wasn’t comfortable within it. His father had made no bones about his complete and utter dislike for her. Damn it! Sophie slid toward the door and clasped Henry’s warm fingers. In every dance, someone had to take the first step. This once she was the leader, not the follower.

  “I’ve got you,” he said as she pulled herself from the car.

  His eyes were smoldering embers as he swept her through the lobby to the elevator. Their linked fingers were the only parts of their bodies that touched, and yet Sophie’s skin prickled as if he were running his hands up her thighs and over her torso.

  The elevator doors slid open and they drifted inside, as slow and weightless as milkweed puffs. Her first trip up to Henry’s penthouse had taken forever, it seemed, as the numbers on the display crawled from L to 73. This time it happened in the blink of an eye. Henry’s thumb stroked across her knuckles in a slow, hypnotic rhythm while he quickly tapped in the code for the penthouse. The light touch seemed to transfer from her hand to her breasts. Her nipples ached as if he caressed them with that butterfly brush of his thumb.

  She began to move her fingertips over the rough satin of his palm, but he drew her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles. His tongue, hot and slick, flicked quickly into the tender space between her pointer and index fingers. The fleeting caress created an answering throb between her thighs. Sophie gasped, eyelids fluttering.

  The elevator doors slid open, revealing the glowing opulence of the first floor of his penthouse. Beyond the windows, all of New York City lay spread out in twinkling lights. She drifted toward the terrace as Henry released her hand to open the sliding glass door. Sophie stepped outside, the city sounds rising around her in a symphony of car horns, revving engines, and the babble of people. “I’ll never get enough of this view,” she mused.

  A cork popped behind her, making her jump. She spun to see Henry pouring them each a glass of champagne. “To celebrate,” he said when he caught her look. His smile was slow and sensual as he handed her the overflowing flute.

  Their hands brushed as she took the glass and Sophie felt another spark of heat leap from him to her. It sank into her skin and burned through her veins, igniting her blood. “What are we celebrating?” Her voice came out husky.

  “Us.” He raised his glass, touching its rim to hers before lifting it to his sculpted lips. His eyes were intent on her face as he drank deeply, strong tan throat working as he swallowed.

  Sophie licked her lips. “To us.” She drained her glass in one long, breathless sip. The bubbles rushed straight to her head, making her feel light, as she set her glass aside. Henry had removed his tuxedo jacket and draped it over one of the chairs on the terrace. She reached up and untied his bow-tie, slowly drawing it from his collar before dropping the length of fabric onto the chair as well.

  “You look amazing tonight, dolce. I was the envy of every man at the party,” he said with heavy breath as she began to unbutton his shirt.

  “I look this way because of you. The dress, the shoes...” she trailed off, biting her lip as his dark chest hair came into view. She bent her head to rub her mouth over the coarse, wiry hair. He smelled of cinnamon and bergamot, and when she pressed her tongue to his flesh he tasted of the spices. The flavor was headier than the champagne he fed her.

  “It’s not the dress, or the shoes. It’s you.” He pulled her hips into him. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection against her belly. She made quick work of the last few buttons of his shirt and shoved it from his shoulders, an electric shiver coursing over her skin at the sight of his naked chest.

  Henry lifted the champagne and filled his mouth again. It dripped down onto his chest, glistening like diamonds on his skin and in the fine, soft hair of his flat belly. Sophie followed the trail with her tongue, licking the ridges of his abdomen thirstily. She paused to circle her tongue around the flat copper disc of his nipple, scraping the sensitive bud with her teeth. Henry groaned and pulled her back up, drawing their faces together.

  He was insistent and demanding as he kissed her, sucking her lower lip hard as his tongue swept along the line of her teeth. Sophie shuddered. Her knees felt weak and she was dizzy with the alcohol and the hot, hard presence of the man. The world shifted suddenly and Sophie gasped. “Henry!”

  He had scooped her up, the arm beneath her legs still holding the half empty bottle of champagne. He cradled her against his bare chest as he strode back into the penthouse. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he growled.

  Sophie clung to his neck, hot blood throbbing in her sex. She nibbled the smooth expanse of Henry’s naked shoulder, delighting in the shiver that coursed down his spine. “I thought we were doing a fine job of disrobing where we were.”

  “I want you to be comfortable,” he said, glancing down at her with a wicked grin, “for what I have in store for you.”

  Sophie squirmed in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the bedroom.” She pressed her thighs together at his words, seeking the friction her body so desperately wanted.

  “Aren’t there any on this floor?” The place was huge. Surely there was more than one bedroom.

  Henry’s arm tightened slightly around her back. His voice was rough velvet. “I want you in my bed, Sophie.”

  Heat prickled in her cheeks, she’d been eager for him since the last time she’d shared his bed. Whatever her mind and heart had felt, her body had never been torn about what it wanted. Now that she was so close to having it again, it clamored for him, nerves singing loudly in anticipation of his touch.

  When he pushed into his bedroom and she saw that vast bed, covered with the thick green duvet, desire twisted down her spine. He slowly lowered her feet to the ground, setting the champagne on a small bedside table. His chest heaved slightly, though not with exertion. The color burning in his cheeks was lust.

  He bent to kiss her, his tongue slipping sensuously between her lips to tease hers. The erotic play of his mouth across hers was so sweetly drugging it took her a minute to feel the tug of his fingers on the dress’ zipper.

  He dragged the now loose dress from her shoulder, following the naked curve with the heated silk of his lips. Sophie let her head fall back, resting her hands on his smooth, hard hip bones as he traced the descending path of her dress with his mouth and tongue. He caught one stiff breast between his teeth, wet tongue pressing through the thin lace of her bra.

  “Henry, god!” she cried as the dress slipped off completely, puddling aroun
d her feet. It was expensive. He should probably hang it up. Sophie opened her mouth to say so, but he bit her perky nipple gently through her bra and she didn’t care about the dress anymore.

  “Lay back on the bed, dolce,” he murmured against her belly. He straightened, urging her backward until her knees touched the soft green coverlet. She sat, leaning back on her hands and staring greedily at Henry’s naked torso. “Further,” he pressed.

  She wriggled further onto the bed. The movement made her aching breasts sway against the damp lace of her bra. Henry’s dark eyes flared as she reached up with one hand and flicked open the garment’s front closure. As soon as it was undone the halves parted, and he groaned at the sight of her bare breasts.

  Sophie shrugged the straps from her shoulders and tossed the scrap of flimsy material away, leaving her in just the heels and panties. Henry reached for her left foot, cupping her heel in his hand and stroking along the length of her shin. He dropped a kiss on the tips of her toes, peeking out from the crystal-studded Louboutin’s, and then drew the shoe off and laid it aside, repeating the same sensual process with her other foot.

  He stroked his warm palms up her calves, brushing teasing fingers into the crease of her knees as he moved upward, parting her thighs gently. His fingertips hooked beneath the elastic of her panties and tugged them down. Sophie lifted her hips slightly, helping him.

  When she lay naked and quivering he unzipped his own slacks and pushed them from his hips. The outline of his erection was visible through the thin, soft cotton of his boxers. She waited for him to remove them as well, but he didn’t. She couldn’t contain the tiny whimper of disappointment.

  “I told you, dolce. I have plans for you. There’s no rush.”

  She wanted to argue the point. The throbbing in her pussy, the tension coiled in her belly, the aching need in the tips of her breasts, that was the rush.

  “Please, Henry. I need you.” She spread her thighs, feeling no embarrassment at the admission.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to leave you wanting.” He climbed between her thighs and reached across the bed for the champagne bottle, taking a long pull before offering it to her.