The Billionaire's Secret Kink 2: Knox (Secret Billionaire Romance)

by Lisa Ladew

  Table of Contents

  The Billionaire's Secret Kink 2

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  The Billionaire's Secret Kink 2

  By Lisa Ladew

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or organizations, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Copyright © 2015 Lisa Ladew All Rights Reserved

  Book cover by: http://www.stunningbookcovers.com/

  Chapter 1

  Mica, staring out her peephole at Knox

  Relax. Play it cool. He won't recognize you with all of the changes you've made. Just open the door, tell him it was a mistake, and send him away. You can call another company to protect you.

  Mica thought that voice was probably right. He wouldn't recognize her at first glance.

  But she didn't know if she could do it. She didn't know if she could send him away, run from him a second time in her life. There'd been something between them once, something fleeting and fragile, but she had never forgotten it. Never forgotten him. What if he hadn't either? She'd fantasized about this moment dozens of times over the years, the moment when she'd see him face to face again, have a chance to explain her side of things, maybe see if the instant attraction and fiery passion they'd once shared still existed.

  Mica tried to make her decision, knowing no matter what she did, her life was about to change forever. She would open the door, and the words she would say would either shut the lid on this part of her past for good, or blow the lid off completely.

  Either way, she wasn't ready.

  Knox

  Knox stood at the door, waiting for it to open, for noises to come from inside, for something to happen. He'd knocked once and waited several moments, but no one had opened it, and he heard no noise from inside indicating someone was on their way. Knox glanced down at the welcome mat he was standing on at the box sitting there. Miss Nichols hadn't mentioned it. Did she even know it was there? Or was it from the guy who had threatened her? A flash of concern burst like a sun flare across his brain. What if he'd gotten to her in the twenty minutes it had taken Knox to drive over?

  Knox lifted his hand to knock again but the door opened so quickly it almost startled him. Either she was whisper-quiet, or she'd been standing on the other side of the door.

  Knox felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. She was beautiful. Blond hair, creamy skin, curves for miles, and a pair of pouty lips to make him weak in the knees. He loved that look. He definitely still had Rachel on the brain though, because Mica Nichols reminded him of Rachel even more strongly than Darby from last night had. Knox's eyes traveled over her face, trying to find the resemblance. Her hair was the wrong color, both eyes were blue, and she was much curvier than Rachel had been, but her height of about five foot six was the same, and those pouty lips...they were the kicker.

  Knox resisted the urge to sweep his gaze up and down her body. She was a client, and he was a professional. Act like it, he growled mentally and held up his identification. "Miss Nichols, I'm Knox Rosesson. May I come in?"

  Her blue eyes were wide, staring at him with fear stamped on her expression. She didn't say anything, just stared and swallowed hard. Knox's eyes narrowed and he looked past her into the room. It seemed empty, but something was off, he just didn't know what.

  Knox shoved his ID card into his pocket, his eyes sweeping the room, his ears listening for the slightest sound. His gaze flew to the crack of the door at its hinges, but he saw nothing. Behind the door seemed empty.

  He dropped his voice. "Is everything all right?" he asked her, his hand reaching under his sport coat to brush the holster at his waist.

  A deep blush flew to her cheeks and she pressed her captivating lips together. She opened the door wider and her gaze dropped to the floor. "No. Nothing. So sorry. Please ... please come in."

  Knox watched her for a moment, worry creasing his forehead. She'd seemed to have gotten herself together on their short phone call, but now she was flustered again. Something had happened.

  He looked down at the cigar box on the mat questioningly. "Is this yours?"

  She shook her head and her blonde hair flew. Knox felt a very unwelcome tightening in his groin. God, he loved women with a lot of hair.

  "He left it," she whispered, her eyes even bigger.

  Knox chastised himself for his reaction to her. She needed his help, not his lustful thoughts. "How long ago? Did you see him?"

  "I didn't," she said, her voice a bit stronger. "I think it happened right before I called you. I had just woken up and I ... I was standing in my kitchen. I heard a sound and saw my door being unlocked from the outside ..."

  "He has a key?" Knox asked, confused. She'd said he wasn't an ex-boyfriend, so who was he?

  "No, I mean, I don't know. I never gave him a key. I haven't seen him in ten years."

  Knox nodded, encouraging her to go on.

  "Anyway, I, ah, I got my gun and waited but the door never opened. When I looked out in the hallway, the box was sitting on the mat, but no one was around. That's when I called you."

  Knox nodded, looking at her with fresh eyes. She'd seemed fragile up till now, but he had a feeling she was anything but. Something about this situation was shaking her to her core, making her appear that way at first glance. "Have you looked in the box?"

  She shook her head no again, her blonde tresses bouncing and curling over her shoulders. Knox talked himself down. She was off-limits.

  Knox motioned inside the apartment at her large dining room table. "Let's leave it for now. Bring me up to speed on what's going on, then we'll decide what to do with it."

  Miss Nichols nodded and stepped back, allowing Knox to enter the apartment. Knox looked around, noting the large bay window at the front of the room, possibly giving the guy a way to watch her if he rented one of the apartments across the street. Her furniture was all leather and dark wood, the walls of the place a striking white, and bold paintings of nature scenes lined one wall. He didn't see a TV. He liked it.

  She closed and bolted the door, then motioned for him to sit at her dining room table, which was at one end of the open, airy room.

  Knox sat in the closest chair and surreptitiously studied her as she walked slowly to the other side of the table. She moved with hesitancy, her eyes raking the room, the kitchen, the floor, landing anywhere but him. He wondered if that was how she always was, or if the situation was giving her nervous tendencies she didn't normally possess.

  She sat and folded her hands on the table, fingers gripping each other tightly, her gaze glued to the table and her shoulders rigid. To Knox, her posture looked like someone who was planning on lying about something. But about what? And why? He waited.

  After a minute she started talking without ever lifting her eyes from the table. Her voice was soft, gentle. "It started a few weeks ago. I have the exact date written down at my house in Seattle. I received a letter in the mail. It ... well, I thought it was threatening. The police officer I reported it to said it wasn't, but, well, he doesn't know
Dick Bailey."

  Knox held up a hand, interrupting her. "That's his name?" She nodded. "What exactly is your history with him?"

  A blush infused Miss Nichol's cheeks with soft pinkness and Knox thought she looked even lovelier than before. He shook his head slightly and waited for her to answer.

  "That's complicated. Well. I guess it's not, really. He's—" Her grip on her own fingers grew tighter and she seemed to be wrestling with herself for her next words. Finally she spit them out all in a rush, like they burned her mouth. "He's my adoptive father."

  Knox turned his head slightly and leaned back in his chair. That was the last answer he had expected.

  Miss Nichols sat quietly again, her cheeks still flushed. Knox prompted her. "And you haven't seen him in ten years?"

  "Not since the day before I turned eighteen," Miss Nichols said in a tiny voice, still not meeting Knox's eyes.

  Knox frowned at the statement. It stirred feelings in him for some reason. Feelings he didn't have time to examine right now.

  "And he's been violent in the past?" Knox asked.

  Miss Nichols opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. She opened it again and tried to force words out. She couldn't. Her hands twisted over each other on the table. Knox didn't know what to make of it. He was watching some internal battle, but about what he wasn't sure. She didn't want to say how he was violent, that much was obvious. Her hurt was beginning to tear at him.

  He reached out and put his hand over hers, a simple gesture he didn't even realize he was going to make until he was doing it. "It's ok. If you're not ready to share, then don't. Just tell me what happened in the last three weeks."

  She stared at his hand on hers and her face quivered. He pulled back, not wanting to put any more strain on her.

  She pulled her hands apart and placed them, palms down, on the table. He could see her still wrestling with herself. He waited patiently. He felt like he could give her all the space in the world, if that's what she needed. Protective feelings welled up inside him, taking him by surprise. He would help her, no matter what.

  She took a deep breath and her eyes stair-stepped their way up the table, then his upper body, all the way to his face. When their gazes locked, Knox felt an invisible balm spread over his spirit, like she was soothing him from the inside out. He smiled gently at her, wanting to soothe her back, even as he marveled at the effect she was having on him.

  She spoke haltingly, hesitantly. "Mr. Rosesson, ah, I really want to thank you for coming to help me. I'm sorry I ... well, I know I must seem an absolute mess."

  He held her gaze as gently as possible, scared her eyes would soon bolt like a frightened deer. He wanted her to stay with him. To trust him. To see what his intentions were. "Please, call me Knox."

  "Oh, ah. Well, I don't think ..."

  She flushed again and her eyes dropped back to table. Knox kicked himself for moving too fast. He needed to ease her past her fears and doubts and insecurities like he was coaxing a baby squirrel to eat a nut out of his hand. Something about her story, her history, and having to ask for help had put her on a paper-thin edge. Too strong of a push in any direction and she would be liable to run from him to keep herself from falling. He wanted to help her. Suddenly, he found himself unable to think of anything in the world he would rather do than fix this woman's problems. Make everything right for her again. Maybe if he did that, he would see a smile curve her beguiling lips upwards.

  Knox turned his palms over and spread them wide. "Sorry. Forget I suggested it. Please, tell me what you feel comfortable sharing."

  He saw her take another deep breath and then her shoulders relaxed a bit. He was about to congratulate himself on a small move in the right direction when she raised her gaze to his. As soon as their eyes locked, she went rigid again.

  Knox felt the gentle balm cover his spirit again, and wondered fiercely why he seemed to be having the exact opposite effect on her.

  Chapter 2

  Mica

  Mica met Knox's eyes, her soul searing in confliction. Tell him! she screamed at herself, knowing she had to appear ridiculous to him, with all her blushing and stuttering. She had wanted to take the easy way out, had wanted to turn him away at the door, but he'd looked so strong and competent standing there, like he might be the only person on the planet who could help her. Who could do the job right. The police officer she'd dealt with in Seattle had been polite, but noncommittal, basically saying Bailey hadn't committed any crime by sending her the letter. Later, when she'd gotten the second letter he'd said there still was no threat. When the blood had drenched her mailbox, the cop had shrugged, taken a few pictures, and said if they could tie it to Bailey, then there might be something the police could do. Mica hadn't heard from the cop since.

  If the police couldn't help her, then maybe Knox Rosesson could. He'd helped her on the train, ten years ago, when Bailey had been trying to put his horrible plan into action. Knox had been the single biggest reason she'd been able to push forward with her life, to muster the courage necessary to flee into a city where she knew no one, but where Bailey couldn't find her. Knox had been kind to her, protective and thoughtful, treating her like she was worthy of consideration and dignity. When he'd looked at her, it had made her look at herself with fresh eyes. It had been the first time in her life that she'd been able to see herself as someone different than the scared and broken shell that life had made her.

  Mica opened her mouth, the words on her tongue. I'm Rachel. I'm sorry I left you on the train. I didn't have the guts to be honest with you and that's why I fled. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that was the biggest and the one I regret the most.

  She couldn't force the words out. She'd made a lot of changes over the years, hoping to keep Bailey out of her life forever. She'd stolen an identity, changed her name, gained thirty pounds, adding a welcome fullness to her face and curves to her formerly lean frame. She'd had a mole by her lip removed, dyed her hair blond, and grown it long. She'd taken to wearing a colored contact in her right eye to change her green one to blue. She'd stayed out of the spotlight, never allowing herself to be in pictures at her shows or any other time. She had no social media accounts. She let Justin do all of that for her.

  Now, sitting across from the man who had saved her dignity, her innocence, and her sanity, and maybe even her life ten years ago, she couldn't bring herself to tell him who she was and what he'd done for her. Part of it was unease at the very deep connection they'd forged in such a short amount of time. The connection she still felt, even if he didn't. But most of it was pure cowardice. She was afraid of what his reaction would be to her lies and her running. She'd promised him she wouldn't leave the train car while he dealt with his business. She'd sworn she would accompany him back to California and let him help her. But as soon as he left the private car she had snuck out and ran off into the big city, unable to think past where to sleep that night.

  Mica felt her cheeks heat fiercely again, this time at her inability to say anything at all. She must look like an idiot. She bit the inside of her lip and cast her mind about for something to say. Anything.

  "I have a copy of the letter in my phone," she said, her voice sounding thin and hollow.

  "Can I see it?" he asked softly.

  Mica pressed her lips together in frustration. He was treating her like a scared child! Like she needed to be coddled. Probably because that's what you're acting like.

  "Of course." She ran into the kitchen and got her phone, then sat back down, flipping through her .pdf files. She found the first letter and handed him the phone.

  She watched his eyes move back and forth over the words. She'd read the damn thing so many times she had it memorized. Her mind played back over the loaded phrases.

  Dearest "Mica",

  I've finally found you. I been looking all over for you for the last 10 years. How I've missed your sweet self. Reunions are great, right? Unless you ain't expecting them. That's why I'm writing
this letter. I want you to know I'm coming. I want you to feel all shaky like I do when I think about finally seeing you again.

  We discussed a debt the last time we spoke. Money you owed me. I know you didn't mean to run off without payin it. Circumstances being what they were, I forgive you. But I still need that money. Might be I need it more than ever now. You agreed to it, and now it's time you pay off that debt once and for all. If you do, I'll be able to retire to France or somewhere far away from here. I know you might not want to pay me, since if you do, it means you will never see me again, but let me assure you, you'll survive. If you pay me what you owe me.

  Here is my local address. Surprise me! I'm afraid I'll be leaving by Friday, so don't take too long.

  Dick Bailey

  Mica watched the sexy man sitting across her table, her breath stuck in her lungs. What would he think of it?

  He finished and looked up at her, his eyes blazing in anger. "I see a lot wrong with this letter, and it certainly is threatening. The guy who wrote this is your adoptive father?"

  Mica blushed again, shame filling her. She knew intellectually she had nothing to be ashamed of, but on a very deep level, she was ashamed. Ashamed she hadn't run away from Bailey long before Knox Rosesson had finally made it possible. At the same time, she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't imagining the threat. Someone else saw it.

  "Yes," she said quietly. "There's another letter. Swipe right."

  Mr. Rosesson did, and Mica watched him read the next letter, wondering what he would say about it.

  Still waiting. Here's a suggestion. On Friday morning, between 8 and 9, make a cash donation to the church next to the motel I'm staying in. You know how much. Put it in a paper sack under the donation box by the rear doors. If you do this, I'll consider your debt to me paid free and clear and you'll never see me again.

  Knox placed her phone gently on the table and looked up at her. "You paid him."