The Billionaire's Casino - The Complete Collection: Billionaire Romance Box Set

by Sarah J. Brooks

  I thanked the bartender and wished him and his family safety; the locals had a choice whether to evacuate or not, though the evacuation was technically mandatory. I had no idea if the bartender was going to stay or go, but it wouldn’t make much sense for him to stay if all of the guests were gone.

  The rain was crazy; heavier than any other rain I’d seen in my lifetime, and the wind had begun to pick up smaller objects and float them through the air. I raced back to Brad’s suite, my arm covering my head for protection. When I got into the suite, I slammed the door closed and realized I was breathless and soaking wet.

  I grabbed a towel and tried to dry myself off. As I did so, I tried to check the weather online. The computer system in the room was down, undoubtedly the Legacy’s wifi had been torn apart, so I checked my phone. I had received a number of texts from Emma, and I responded to let her know that the evacuation was in process and that I was still safe.

  Then, I jumped in the shower. For as long as I could remember, showering in the hottest water my skin could handle calmed me down. I let the water of Brad’s incredibly amazing shower wash over me, and I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool wall as the water pelted my back.

  “Hi,” Brad’s voice echoed through the shower walls and I turned to see him standing in his towel in the open door. I scanned his face for signs of anger from earlier, but all I saw was the strain of the day, exhaustion at the leadership his job demanded.

  “Hi,” I said, my voice softer than normal. I didn’t want to fight, and I knew I owed Brad a big fat apology for how I’d left earlier. “I’m sorry.”

  He stepped into the shower and pulled me toward him. He had just come in from the rain and his body was cold against mine. He kissed me, and I tasted the cold rain on his lips as well as the warm water pouring down on us.

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “I’ve made my way in this world by performing one power play after another. Sometimes, I don’t know how to shut it off.” He wrapped his arms around me and dropped his hands to my ass. He drew my hips toward him, and I felt his erection pressing between my legs. I spread my legs apart and then closed them again over his cock, squeezing it between my thighs. Putting one hand on the wall to stabilize myself, I wrapped my other arm around his upper back.

  “I’m still sorry,” I said. “Forgive me?”

  “If you forgive me,” he said, and he pulled away to look at me. He grabbed my wrists and pushed me gently against the wall, tilting the shower head away from us and toward the opposite wall. I let him restrain me; his hands pressing my arms against the shower tiles aroused me like nothing else could in that moment. If he wanted to feel powerful, I was completely down for that.

  “I want you,” I whispered. “Do we have time?”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” he said. “The storm is breaking.”

  I pulled back, though I had nowhere to go, and looked at him. “What?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “It’s stalled out about a hundred and fifty miles out of the hurricane evacuation zone. The weather reports say it’s in a holding pattern. It may not reach the shore after all.”

  “But the mandatory evacuation,” I protested. “You sent everyone back to the mainland.”

  A shadow passed over his face and I could tell, though I couldn’t put my finger on it, that he was hiding something. Or, if not hiding something, perhaps not revealing the whole truth.

  “Do you want to talk,” he growled, “or do you want to fuck?”

  “Well,” I said in my most alluring, teasing voice, “I think the answer to that is obvious.”

  Brad smiled and turned the water off. He grabbed my hand with one of his, and grabbed two towels with his other hand. When we got to the bedroom, he wrapped me up in one of the plush, warm towels and kissed me.

  “Lay down,” he commanded softly. I complied, and he laid down on top of me. He began to kiss me, moving his tongue along my collarbone. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him to me. His hands groped my breasts and I groaned at the sensation of my nipples against his warm palms. He shifted, and I used the moment to maneuver out from under him. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Lay down,” I said, echoing his earlier words. I didn’t know if it was the drama of the day, the drinks I’d had at the bar, or the hot shower and the promise of make up sex, but I was in the mood to be on top and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  He arched an eyebrow at me, but he didn’t move.

  “You’re in charge all day long,” I said. “Lay back. Enjoy yourself. Let me drive tonight.”

  I watched him contemplate it. The struggle in his brain to give up control to me was fascinating. I licked my lips and dangled my breasts in his face as he decided. He smiled, and I lowered myself onto his cock. He filled me, and the sensation of having total control over our speed, our pace, was intoxicating. I spread my legs wider, my knees bent on either side of his hips, and I began to thrust up and down. I leaned back, arching my spine, pushing my full weight onto my quads and knees. I knew I had hit a good angle when Brad cried out, a loud, breathless gasp that was the absolute sound of him giving up his control to me… at least for the moment.

  “Slow down,” he panted. “I’m gonna cum… I want… I want to wait… for you.” His words came in staggered stabs on his breath, and I could feel him fighting his urge to release, to flood me with himself. I paused and I felt his body relax, rigid tension sliding away as he thought I’d given him a reprieve.

  I smiled, leaned down toward him, letting him lick and suck my nipples. His mouth closed over my nipple and I groaned, a shock of heat moving straight from my nipple to my clit. He moved his hand to the throbbing nub and began to move his thumb in slow, languid swirls.

  “Fuck,” I groaned.

  “Teasing,” he said.

  “Two can play,” I reminded him, and I began to move my hips again, slowly, impossibly slowly, mirroring the pace of his thumb on my clit. As I moved, I clinched the muscles of my pelvic floor, and I felt him shudder beneath me.

  “What are you doing to me?” he moaned.

  “Shhh,” I whispered, and slowly began to increase my pace. I sped up with each breath and I grabbed the headboard to give myself extra stability. I pounded against him harder and harder until a waterfall of heat and pressure pushed over me and I came, crying out and continuing to slam against him, drawing him deeper into me through my climax.

  When he came, it was through a flood of breath and groans, rhythmic gasps in tandem with his ragged breathing, and I felt him stiffen, pause, then explode. His hot cum spilled into me and I felt the itch of a second orgasm pushing through me. I grabbed his hand and moved it to my clit. He knew exactly what was happening, and, before I knew it, he’d flipped me over onto my back and lay next to me, giving my clit his full attention. I left my legs spread and widened them, inviting his hand to push harder, his fingers to move deeper, and I came again. This orgasm was different, riding the wave of the first that had nearly spent me. I felt my body convulsing, yet I couldn’t make a sound. When we were finished, we lay side by side listening to the rain pelt against the windows.

  “You’re sure,” I said at one point.

  “I wouldn’t keep you here if it wasn’t safe,” he said. “No matter how in charge you think you are.”

  I slapped his arm lightly, and I thought I heard him say something else… but I drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Several days later, I awoke in a strange bed. It took me a few moments to recognize my surroundings and, when I did, I braced for the wave of sadness I knew would wash over me. I was in my own bed, back at home in New York.

  I rolled over to grab my phone, hoping to see a familiar name on my notifications, but… nothing. I sighed and pulled my pillow over my head.

  A moment later, my phone rang. I snapped up, startled, and answered it without looking to see who it was.

  “Hello?” I asked, wincing at the de
sperate hope in my voice.

  “Exactly what I thought,” Emma’s voice said through the speaker. “You’re depressed. Get dressed; I’m taking you to brunch.” Sunday brunch in New York City was an absolute necessity, and I couldn’t argue. I agreed to meet Emma in a half hour after threatening her that if she showered or wore anything other than her nastiest clothes, I’d walk right out. “Agreed,” she said. “See you soon.”

  While I was getting ready, my phone buzzed again. Some day of rest, I thought as I reached for it. I saw my editor’s name on my caller ID and I sighed.

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up is you need to pack a bag again. Your story on Legacy Properties is an absolute hit, and we need you to do another one asap.”

  At the sound of Legacy, my heart sped up and I felt a snake of anxiety move through my stomach.

  “Where do you want me to go?” I asked, crossing my fingers that it was nowhere in the Southern Hemisphere.

  “London,” she said. “We’ve got you on a flight to Heathrow that leave on Tuesday morning. You’ll be there for three days, then back again. Can you swing it?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I asked, laughing so she would know I was kidding. “Forcing me to London; I may have to report you.”

  We laughed for a moment, and she filled me in on the rest of the details. When I left my apartment, I was soundly late for brunch, but I had renewed hope: I was going to go to London and check out one of Brad’s other properties. Of course I would tell him I was going to be there… just maybe not until after I’d arrived.

  Brad

  After dealing with the fallout from the Belizean hurricane and the evacuation, I headed back to Legacy headquarters in California. I had three headquarters locations, one in California, one in France, and one in India. Eventually, I’d have a fourth in Africa and, if I could maintain the momentum, a fifth and final headquarters location in Australia.

  Though I knew Cassie was safely three thousand miles away in New York, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. It wasn’t just the sex; it was the night of the hurricane, the night she had taken charge. I shook my head. I’d never had a woman do anything like that before. I thought about all of the things I’d given up with the money I’d earned. I’d forgotten that happiness was possible to any degree when I’d lost Antoine and Lorinda. Though it was nothing I’d ever say out loud to anyone, with Cassie, I had seen a glimpse of happiness. Just a glimmer, but it was there.

  So, why wasn’t I calling her? I shook my head as I poured a scotch and moved to the deck. The sun was shining and the Santa Ana winds were moving heated air all around. I knew the answer; I couldn’t call her. I couldn’t drag her into my life, for both her protection and for mine. If she found out about Antoine, about Lorinda, she would blame me. Worst case, she would call the police. I didn’t have a leg to stand on with the cops. To say nothing of me, I knew that involving myself with a woman was nothing less than irresponsible and could even be deadly. I couldn’t imagine anything happening to Cassie.

  I walked back inside, vowing to dive into my work. I had nearly a dozen new properties opening, and I was keeping a close eye on the arms delivery to Belize; I didn’t have time to be thinking about Cassie, Lorinda, or any other woman.

  I fired up my email and sorted through the spam looking for messages from clients and my managers. I blinked when I saw Cassie’s name come up, sure that I was seeing things. My heart started to beat faster, and I clicked on the message.

  Hi Brad,

  Just got an assignment in London at a Legacy property. Thought I’d let you know, though I’m sure you’re not going to be in the area. I hope you’re well.

  Cassie

  I stared at the message. Thought I’d let you know, though I’m sure you’re not going to be in the area. Was that an invitation? A challenge?

  Cassie

  My plane touched down in London early in the morning, and I checked into my room at Legacy Suites by ten o’clock. I flopped down on the bed and sighed, grateful to finally be on solid ground after two plane delays and a long layover in Amsterdam. My luggage was supposed to be on its way up, so, when there was a knock at the door, I didn’t think anything of it.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “It’s your luggage, ma’am,” said a young voice from the other side. I opened the door and saw a bellhop in full uniform standing outside my door. There was no sign of my luggage. However, in his hands, he held a large basket wrapped in plastic.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Compliments of the owner, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve also been instructed to escort you to your new room. Your luggage is there.” He smiled apologetically as I sighed, louder than I’d intended.

  “What’s the issue with this room?” I asked. “It’s perfectly fine, and, even better, I’m already in it.”

  “I have orders, ma’am, to bring you to the VIP suite on the twentieth floor.” His expression and his voice were kind, but they contained an edge of nervousness. A tone that begged me, wordlessly, to just go along with the plan. I imagined him going back to his manager and saying I’d refused… the manager having to call Brad and tell him… the thought made me smile.

  “I won’t hassle you,” I said, “don’t worry. Let me get my purse.” I closed the door and snapped a few quick pictures of the room before I grabbed my bag. The VIP suite would be great, but I was a journalist first and I needed to make sure my articles were accurate for the average person, not just someone banging the owner… though the memory of Brad moving through my mind made me smile more broadly than I had so far that day.

  I walked with the bellhop to the elevator and he pushed the 20 on the door. When the doors opened, we walked out into a hallway with only two doors, labeled A and B.

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  “Ah, A is the Presidential Suite, ma’am,” the bellhop said. “And B is your suite, the VIP.” He opened the door with a flourish and gestured for me to enter. He followed with the basket and looked the place over, undoubtedly running through a checklist in his mind he’d gone through hundreds of times.

  “Thank you, uh,” I began.

  “Simon, ma’am,” he said, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. He held out his hand and I shook it, adding a tip to his palm. “Thank you, ma’am.” He began to walk toward the door. “One of the features of the suite is an in-room massage, which you can schedule at your convenience. Just call the front desk.”

  He tipped his hat at me and I closed my door, then looked around. There was no chance anyone other than Brad was responsible for my upgrade. A free in-room massage? I shrugged. May as well enjoy the amenities. I grabbed a bottle of champagne from the bar and sat on the bed, flipping on the tv. While I caught up on the news of London and drank a flute of champagne, I checked out the features of the hotel.

  An hour later, I stood up and stretched. There was no question, Bradley White knew his stuff when it came to hospitality. The London property was completely different from the Belize property—intentionally so, and, undoubtedly, by necessity. Still, it was hard to believe the two were owned by the same person… and that there was only one owner instead of a conglomerate.

  I realized I was starving, and, at the same time, felt a sudden emptiness. While the hotel was completely different from what I’d experienced in Belize, it wasn’t hard to see Brad in the details of this hotel, and it made me miss him.

  I checked my watch. It was too late in New York to call Emma or my editor. I didn’t want to go out. If I’d been in a better mood, I would have ventured out to at least the hotel main floor to check out the restaurants and the casino, one of the features of the London Legacy property. But, I felt jetlagged and, honestly, a little crabby.

  My eyes kept drawing back to the massage menu, and I decided that was at least one thing I could do that would both help me relax and center and would benefit my job. A hotel that offered complimentary, in-room massages to its VIP guests wa
s definitely going to interest my readers.

  I called the front desk.

  “Hi, this is Cassie Young in 20B. I was told I could schedule an in-room massage?”

  “Yes, Ms. Young, of course. When would you like the massage?”

  I hesitated. “Um… do you happen to have anyone available now?” I asked.

  There was a pause at the other end. “Um, one moment, Ms. Young, let me check. I think we can accommodate that request fairly easily, just hold on a moment.”

  I waited, feeling embarrassed that I had even asked. Nothing like being an overly demanding American right off the bat.

  A moment later, the receptionist came back onto the line. “Of course, Ms. Young; is an hour enough time for you to get ready? We can send the masseuse up at four o’clock.”

  I smiled, realizing I’d been holding my breath. I released it and closed my eyes. “That’s perfect,” I said. “Do I need to do anything to the room to prepare?”

  “Of course not,” the receptionist said genuinely. “You’ve just had a long trip; you relax and let us do the work.”

  I hung up, unlocked my door, and took a quick shower. I had another glass of champagne, then flipped through the channels mindlessly until there was a courtesy knock at the door.

  “Come in!” I called.

  “Ms. Young?” A man’s voice called out, and I walked from the bedroom into the living room and entry to see a man in a masseuse uniform standing with a massage table in one hand and a duffel bag in the other.

  “Yes, what’s your name?”

  “My name is Antoine,” the man said. He flashed a smile and I felt warmth spread through me. He was an older man, in his forties at least, and he gave off a very calming, relaxed energy. “I’ll set up in here. Why don’t you go into your room and get changed into a robe, then come out when you’re ready.”