The Boss Me Series: Complete Billionaire Boxed Set Romance Books (1-3): (A Billioniare Steamy Romance Series)

by Brooke Kinsley

  "Yes, Penelope. She seemed really pleased to be meeting one of her husband's students," I say as I roll my eyes. "You didn't tell me you were married."

  "Why would I? We've been separated for almost a year!"

  "Separated?"

  I turn to him and see a pained look in his eyes.

  "She never mentioned you were separated."

  "I don't understand," he says and hangs his head in his hands. "She wasn't in my office when I arrived this morning."

  "She was looking through your drawers when I turned up," I say.

  "What?"

  "And you failed to mention you were expecting a child too."

  I can visibly see his pupils dilate.

  "What! A child?"

  "Penelope's pregnant," I say. "Unless she had a few footballs stuffed up her dress."

  "That's... that's fucking impossible!"

  It sounds strange hearing him swear like he's shown a secret side to himself.

  "Jesus Christ. What the fuck?"

  He stands up and paces the room.

  "Okay. There's no way she's pregnant. Not with my kid anyway. I haven't seen her in months. We split up just after… Just after..."

  He goes quiet and slumps back down in his seat, tugging at his hair with nervous hands.

  "Just after what?" I prompt.

  He looks up and for a fleeting moment I think I see tears in his eyes, but then he looks away and swallows.

  "Just after we lost out son."

  I don't know what to say but I can see the pain his eyes. Instinctively, I lean forward and grab his hand.

  "I'm sorry. So sorry."

  He squeezes my hand and knuckles his eye.

  "I lost a child too," I say. "A miscarriage at eight months."

  "Shit," he says. "That must have been terrible."

  He squeezes tighter.

  “It’s the worst pain imaginable.”

  We linger in our shared grief, gripping our hands together in the cold basement as we stare at the floor, unsure of what to say to one another.

  "How old was he when he died?" I eventually ask.

  "He was six months old. It was meningitis."

  He pulls his hand away and begins picking at a fingernail nervously.

  "The doctor said there was nothing we could have done but, you know, as a parent you always blame yourself. Penelope couldn't take it, took off and left the country. As far as I know she was in the south of France with her parents."

  "So she was in your office this morning but disappeared before you arrived? Seems kinda strange."

  "Hmmm."

  He scrunches his face up in thought.

  "I don't like the sound of this. Something really weird is going on here."

  "You're telling me!"

  "Are you sure it was her? Tall, thin, blonde with a beauty spot on her right cheek."

  "And a sense of superiority? Yeah, it was definitely her."

  He gives me a sorrowful look.

  "I'm sorry," he says. "I should have told you about her but I never thought she'd be back in the picture again. I signed the divorce papers months ago but she's been difficult, hasn’t returned them yet. I should have known she'd turn up again."

  "Grief can do strange things to people," I say. "I'm sure she's back for a reason."

  He doesn't answer. At last, Gibson's gibbering stops and he walks into the room with a red face and sighs.

  "They're on their way and they'll review the CCTV footage," he explains. "I can stay here and wait for them if you two want to head home."

  "Sure," Frederick says. "If you don't mind."

  "Yeah, I better be on my way," I chime in. "I've had a long day."

  Again, they both look at my clothes. Once outside, Frederick links his arms into mine and walks me down the stairs.

  "So what have you been up to today?" he asks as he points to the dress and heels.

  "I got a lap dance."

  "What?" he laughs."

  "I've had a bit of a strange day."

  "Sounds like it."

  We walk in silence for a few minutes and as we reach Foxley Halls, I can see the party has calmed down.

  "You want to hang out?" I ask, nodding up to my floor.

  "How about you come back to mine?" he asks. "I could do with the company."

  "Sure," I smile. "I just need to do something first."

  Chapter Six

  "You never did tell me where you live," I say as I look out the window.

  The city falls away as we drive, giving way to tree-lined streets and an ever increasing sense of darkness.

  "I always thought you'd live in the city."

  "I love the city," he says. "But I love the country more. It's amazing that only a few miles out of London you can be surrounded by this."

  He gestures out the window at the nearby fields but all I can see is blackness. I'm not listening anyway, I'm thinking about the empty safe and the missing money. I'm thinking about Penelope and what I almost did with Ben.

  "What were you doing?" I ask.

  "Sorry?"

  "Back there. Why were you on campus?"

  "Oh... I was with Gibson. That old sod wanted to share a pint and chew the fat."

  "Convenient," I say.

  He gives me a sideways glance.

  "That you were nearby when it happened," I add.

  He narrows his eyes.

  "You sound like you've been watching too much Scooby Doo," he laughs.

  "Ha... Yeah. Sorry, it's just all so weird. Who would have known the money was there?"

  "I've been thinking about that too."

  The car slows to a crawl as he takes a right turn. Before us sits a set of black gates topped with gold. They're intimidating as they loom down on us, daunting and sinister.

  "What the fuck is this? The gates of hell?"

  He sniggers and reaches out to tap the code on the panel. A second later they glide open and we're moving down the long drive. In the distance, through the tree tops, a turret comes into view, then another. Then there are countless windows, pillars, two marble lions by the front door and a long line of sports cars.

  "Woah..."

  The tires crackle on the gravel as the car draws to a halt.

  "Come on," he says as he moves around the car to chivalrously open my door. "You must be freezing."

  The goosebumps rise on my arm and I rub at them as I step out to look up at the house.

  "This looks like freakin' Downton Abbey!"

  He smirks and takes my hand.

  "I never thought you'd be the type of girl to watch that," he says.

  "My mom," I groan. "She loves it."

  Before we reach the door, I notice it's opening. I wonder if it's automatic and has sensed our presence but then I see the white, gloved hand that's curled around the mahogany, the shiny patent brogues, and the bow tie.

  "Hello, Xavier!" Frederick smiles at the old man in the doorway.

  "Master Milton," he replies and opens the door for us. “I do hope you’ve had a delightful day. I just lit the fire and baked some Earl Grey and vanilla biscuits. I’ll pop along in a moment with them.”

  ~

  "What even is Earl Gray?" I ask.

  "A type of tea."

  "Hmmm..."

  I nibble along the edge of the cookie and can't decide whether I like it or not.

  "Have you always had a butler?"

  He looks up to the ceiling as he remembers.

  "Xavier has been with this family since before I was born. I think since my dad was a young chap. He's pretty much family."

  "Paid family," I muse.

  "Yeah, I suppose so," he says as he furrows his brow. "Anyway, do tell me about this lap dance of yours!"

  He rubs his hands together and sits up close to me on the coach. The fire is roaring in front of us, its orange tendrils reaching up past the ancient chimney.

  "I don't know where to start."

  "Well, start with what happened after you met Penelope.
"

  He drapes an arm over my shoulder. There's still a feeling at the back of my mind that he's hiding something from me but it could just be paranoia. We'd only got together for one night. It's not as if he was obligated to tell me about a wife he was separated from but still... I would have liked to have known.

  "After I met Penelope..." I sigh. "I'll be honest, I was pretty freakin' upset. She made it sound as though the two of you were still together."

  He picks at his fingernail again, a habit I notice he starts doing whenever her name is mentioned.

  "We're not," he says. "I can promise you that."

  I look at his face for signs that he's lying but there doesn't seem to be any.

  "I believe you, though millions wouldn't."

  He looks up and smiles.

  "Anyway, back to the lap dance," he says as he waves his hand impatiently.

  "Right, yeah. I was in a real shit mood after that and didn't much feel like going to class. I drove into town, drove around for ages actually. Was just trying to get my head straightened out. I don't know what I was doing. Really, at one point I even considered setting fire to your car."

  "What?"

  "I didn't though."

  He remains looking horrified.

  "I promise. The car's fine. Anyway, after that, I drove into Soho."

  "Oh really?"

  "And found a club called the Windmill."

  He smirks and leans in closer.

  "I've been there many times myself," he says. "Tell me, did you go to VIP?"

  "I did. Even met a few guys."

  He stiffens up.

  "Made some friends, did you?" he asks.

  "Why? Are you jealous?"

  Sitting up straight, he reaches for his glass of scotch and takes a liberal gulp.

  "I don't get jealous," he says as he grimaces from the strength of the liquor.

  "You could have fooled me. Anyway, I got a dance from a girl, a skinny, blonde chick with the most plastic breasts I'd ever seen and nipples so long and hard you could spin records on."

  He laughs and leans in close to me again.

  "Did she let you touch them?"

  "She put them in my face, brushed her nipples across my lips."

  He starts to breathe a little heavier.

  "Did you suck on them?" he asks,

  "No," I reply regretfully. "Although I wanted to."

  Resting his hand on my knee, he squeezes gently and rests his head on my shoulder. It feels only natural to tangle my fingers into his hair and pet him.

  "Have you ever been with a girl?"

  "No," I answer as I stare into the fire.

  "Would you want to?"

  I think for a moment, watching the shadows from the flames dance along the archaic oil paintings above the fireplace.

  "Yeah," I finally respond. "I think I would."

  He looks up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His hands are sliding up my thigh, getting closer and closer to my pussy.

  "I'd do anything to see that," he says as he tentatively brushes a fingertip over my panties.

  Reaching up, he kisses my neck and whispers:

  "You're wet already."

  "I've been wet all day."

  "Have you missed me?"

  "Uhuh..."

  I lean back into the couch and let him pull my legs apart.

  "Hmmmm.... so beautiful," he says. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day."

  "Can I confess something?" I interrupt him.

  He looks down at me quizzically.

  "Sure."

  "I cried after I met Penelope."

  The words feel ridiculous as they tumble out my mouth but I had to say it.

  "You cried?"

  "I thought you'd taken advantage of me. I had all these images in my mind of you fucking every student you'd met. I worried I was just one in a long line of conquests."

  "Oh, sweetheart!"

  Pulling me up by the arms, he holds me tight so my face is pressed into his chest. I breathe in his scent and revel in the warmth of his body.

  "We've not known each other for long but I feel it. There's something between us, something special."

  Again, I feel stupid for blurting out my feelings but I can't stop myself.

  "I feel it too," he breathes into my ear and kisses my cheek. "I knew you were incredible the first moment I lay eyes on you."

  Placing a finger beneath my jaw, he lifts my gaze to his before kissing me softly. I push myself closer against him and feel my body relax in his arms. His lips are soft but his kisses are firm, his tongue brushing up against mine as he lets out a soft moan.

  Pushing me back down, he lies between my legs, his cock already rock solid and pressing into my thighs. I raise my hips to grind against it and feel it push against my clitoris.

  "Fuck," he whispers. "I'm close already."

  "Me too."

  With one hand he pulls my panties to the side and with another he unzips his pants and pulls himself free. He's bigger than I remember and I reach out to stroke the swollen head. But he pulls my hand away and pins it down beside.

  "You like it rough?" he asks. "I need you right now."

  "Do it as hard as you can."

  He looks into my eyes one last time and clasps his fingers around my jaw. Then he thrusts inside me hard, then harder. I let out a scream, fling my head back and open my legs wide.

  "Oh, God!"

  And he's grunting and moaning, swearing under his breath as he drives himself into me.

  "I'm coming!" I cry. "I'm coming already."

  Reaching a hand in between my legs, I rub myself furiously into a frenzy until my entire body is convulsing and my pussy is contracting onto him. Looking up, I see his eyes are clenched shut and he's gritting his teeth, his face red and his chest covered in sweat.

  "Fuck!"

  His thighs shake and he falls forward as he climaxes, his cock pumping his ejaculate into me in a long stream as he buries his face in my breasts. For a long while, there's nothing but the sound of our breath and the smell of our sweat as we hold each other close.

  Then footsteps sound outside the door and somewhere down the hall a door creaks open.

  "Shit, Xavier," Frederick gasps. "I hope he didn't hear that."

  "I think everyone for a twenty-mile radius heard that," I laugh as I brush the hair from my eyes.

  "Let's go upstairs," he says. "I want to hold you."

  Chapter Seven

  My eyes are heavy but I don't want to miss a single second with him. I roll over and lay my head on his chest as we both look up to the ceiling, the top of the four poster bed framing the view.

  "I could get used to this," I say. "You don't know how lucky you are, living here."

  "I've lived here my whole life," he says. "It all seems rather boring to me now."

  Rubbing my eyes, I laugh and sit up, resting my hand on his taught stomach.

  "Boring? It's like living in a museum," I gesture over to the priceless artifacts that seem to litter every surface. "The most valuable thing in my house growing up was the television. Where did all this stuff come from?"

  I'm looking at a bust in the corner that looks older than anything I've ever seen. The nose has been chipped off and the once smooth marble is now corroded at the sides but there's no doubt as to how beautiful it is.

  "It all came from my dad. He collected stuff on his travels," he explains. "Had a real eye for collectibles."

  "Where's your dad now?" I ask as I run a hand between his pecs.

  He keeps his eyes on the ceiling.

  "I have no idea. He's not much interested in his business, me or this place anymore."

  "Oh. You're not close?"

  He scoffs and turns to me.

  "Close? How close could I be to a man who placed me in boarding school at five? The most I ever saw him was once a year, if he could be bothered."

  I lay back down next to him and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

&nb
sp; "That's so sad," I say. "But I wasn't close to my dad either. He went to jail when I was a baby."

  "Woah, that's heavy. Am I allowed to ask what he was in for?"

  "Armed robbery," I reply without much thought. "It doesn't bother me anymore. I mean it used to. There were times when I was humiliated by it, especially when I was a kid. Imagine making fathers' day cards in class and having to tell your teacher to address it to Louisiana State Penitentiary."

  I shiver and pull the covers up over me.

  "But it is what it is. There's no hiding it. He's a thug, a violent criminal and there's nothing I can do about that but get on with my life and make sure I don't make the same mistakes."

  He reaches his hand up and strokes the hair at the back of my neck, comforting me with his soft hands.

  "You're a very mature lady," he says.

  "I'd like to think so," I smile.

  He's silent for a minute, deep in thought as he wraps a lock of my hair around his finger.

  "I've been thinking," he finally utters. "You and I aren't that different."

  Linking my hand into his, I roll over onto him and kiss his forehead.

  "Not that different," I breathe. "You must be crazy."

  "Think about it," he says, kissing me back. "We both love maths, we're both brilliant at poker, we both love Poe, both have absent fathers, both have lost a child..."

  "And you come from one of the richest families on Earth, live in a mansion and is super famous."

  "Trifling things," he laughs. "I mean in here," he taps my head. "Wealth or not, we've lived the same experiences and lost and loved the same things."

  I can't deny that he's right.

  "Thank you," I say.

  "For what?"

  "For being here with me. It's one of the most perfect moments of my life."

  He tugs at my arm.

  "Come kiss me."

  Our lips meet and I coil my legs around his waist to pull him close enough to feel his heart beat against mine. His hands are exploring me, running the length of my body as he kisses my face, my neck, my chest. Latching his lips to my nipples, he flicks his tongue back and forth until they're stiff and sensitive. Then he pulls them between his fingers and watches lustfully as they turn dark pink.

  Cupping my breasts, he kissed his way down to my stomach, his hot breath lingering on my belly button until it tickles so much all the hairs on my body are sticking up on end. I laugh and attempt to wriggle free but he grips my hips and holds me in place.