JACKSON (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book One)

by Paige North

  I run my finger down her slit, Emily curving her back so that her hips push up into me. Her eyes stay on me, her mouth open, eager. I gently glide my finger across her pussy, so wet and pink and mine, mine to play with, mine to please. I dip my finger inside her and she lets out a moan. I pump inside her before slipping my finger out and giving her clit some much-needed attention. Her face is flushed with passion and I know she’s going to start begging me soon for more. I love that she always needs more.

  She reaches down between our bodies and takes me in her hand. God, her hand, so small but so assured on my dick. I slip my finger back inside her pussy and she pumps me at the same tempo as I do her, matching me, showing me that she can take it if I can. I’m not sure my body can take it—I fall to the bed beside her, fingers and hands still in place. Facing each other we work each other, our breath mingling in the small space between us.

  “I love you, Jackson,” she says. When she kisses me it fills me up with such love like I’ve never known. I have to make love to her.

  “Emily,” I say, moving above her. I put my finger, covered in her juices, in my mouth and suck it all off. She reaches out for me, but I take my dick in my hand.

  “Yes,” she says.

  I slide my cock into her slowly, leaning down on my forearms so I can be close to her face, which I intend to cover in kisses. Warm inside her, our bodies combined, I whisper in her ear, “I love you.”

  I slowly move through her, never wanting to leave. Her pussy hugs my dick so perfectly, and with every drive inside her I want to come. But I ride it out, looking into her eyes, moving so slowly it’s a major tease for us both. I go harder, slamming my dick in her, methodically as her face burns with desire.

  “Tell me again,” she says.

  “I love you, Emily.”

  I pull her leg up, my arm wrapped under her knee and continue loving on that cunt, her gasps and moans taking me to the edge, but I don’t fall over, not until she’s ready. She pushes her hips back at me with equal force, and as her hands claw out for more of me I know she’s ready and I let go, both of us jumping over the edge in an explosion of fireworks. When I collapse next to her I kiss her long and deep, holding her face in my hands and tell her again that I love her.

  We spend long stretches of time in bed feeling each other’s skin, running our hands over every inch of the other’s body, memorizing curves and lines and angles. We make love again, we fall asleep. We somehow manage to order in some Thai food, which we engulf before turning back to each other once again. It’s twenty-four hours of love and sex and sleep, a little food and a lot of Emily. A lot of Emily naked.

  Soon, I’ve hit my limit staying in a basement studio apartment, even if Emily is naked most of the time. I suggest a change of scenery, and Emily is game. I have my driver drop off one of my cars outside Emily’s apartment.

  “What am I supposed to pack for?” she asks. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t. For once in my life I have nothing planned.

  We get in the car and speed out of town.

  “Are we going to the Cape?” she asks, noticing the direction I’m headed. Even I hadn’t noticed where I was going, but I guess I’m on some sort of auto-pilot.

  “No,” I say. “Martha’s Vineyard.” It’s perfect. It’s a fucking island and I don’t even know the phone number to the house. “I own a house there.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “Of course you do.”

  I haven’t been out here in years. I’ve literally forgotten I own the home. In fact, I can’t remember the last vacation I took. My life has been consumed by work. That is, until Emily came around and reminded me that taking breaks can actually make you more productive—and result in the best quarter in the company’s history. My father never told me that.

  So we’ve moved our camp from Allston to Edgartown. It’s a classic Cape Cod–style home on the beach with plenty of land to keep the neighbors and other prying eyes at bay. My closet has clothes already in it, mostly summer beachwear but also some sweaters and wool pants because my staff is always prepared. There aren’t many off-season stores out here to buy warm clothes for Emily so we scoop up what we can and put in a huge order online for the rest.

  “I don’t need all that,” she says as I put in my credit card information.

  “Your hands and feet are blocks of ice no matter how much I turn up the heat,” I tell her. “You actually, literally need it.”

  “But we’re not staying here forever.”

  I pull her close and say, “Why not?”

  The fire is roaring and we’re bundled under cashmere blankets. We have the essentials—a bunch of dry pasta and sauces, a cellar of wine, and each other. As corny as it may sound, it’s all we need.

  “There is one thing missing,” I tell her, holding her hand. “If we’re truly engaged, then you need a ring.”

  “God,” she says, like I just suggested we go clean the toilets. “If we’re truly engaged then you won’t buy me some gaudy monstrosity.”

  “Hey, I take offense to that. I happen to have good taste.”

  “No, you hire people with good taste.”

  I nibble her neck, holding her tight as she squirms. “Whatever kind of ring you want, you can have,” I tell her. “Tomorrow I’ll call Samuel at Tiffany’s. They can come out here and show you a variety of rings. You can pick out whatever you want.”

  “That’s romantic,” she says. It takes me a moment to realize she’s being sarcastic.

  In the end, she finds a ring in a vintage store just off Main Street that she absolutely falls in love with. It’s a medium band of rose gold, art deco with an oval center of a peachy-pink morganite stone.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a diamond,” I say. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

  “No,” she says, holding her hand out to inspect the ring on her finger. “It’s perfect.”

  Emily

  Everything is perfect.

  When Jackson appeared in that coffee shop, half of me wanted to run away (maybe slap him first) but the other half, the truer half, wanted to fall into his arms. Just by showing up, I knew he loved me.

  I’m sitting at the kitchen island as he prepares us another gorgeous breakfast. I still haven’t figured out how he makes his scrambled eggs so dang good. Since he had a crate of food delivered out here—the far reaches of the island—we have been eating well. And I love watching him cook.

  “So what happens next?” I say. “We can’t just hide out here forever.” It’s been a week and although it’s heaven, I do have a life to get back to. I called in to work and told Jules I needed a little time off. As for school, Professor Stanwick found out what Brent had been doing to me and arranged for me to take time off from all my classes. In fact he told me to take all the time I need. I think he’s worried I might try to sue Brent—or the school—for harassment or something.

  “That was my plan,” Jackson says as he slices fruit. I swear, his hands are as deft with a kitchen knife as they are with my body. So smooth and assured.

  “You are not the kind of man who can just walk away from work,” I say. “I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long without your phone.”

  He’s checked it a few times but the Wi-Fi is spotty. There’s a house phone we can call out of but Jackson doesn’t know the number. We really are out here on our own.

  It’s been so easy being with him. We’ve spent our days bundling up for walks on the beach. In the evenings we cook—or rather, I sip wine while he cooks. Then we watch movies together—I never would have guessed he has a love for old westerns. And at night, we make love. His kisses on my skin make me float away, and his hands make me feel safe and sexy, all at once. We sleep late because we stay up late; we have created our own schedule, eating when we please, drinking wine at lunch, napping, staying up until three in the morning. We have no responsibilities. We’re like teenagers on summer vacation.

  “I don’t car
e about my phone,” Jackson says. “I suppose I miss working, but not necessarily my work. How about you?”

  I look into my glass full of orange juice. “I miss working. I mean, I know it’s only been a week but I’m wondering what they’re doing, what they decided on with some things we were talking about right before I left. I wish I could work full-time but there’s no way I could keep it up with my school schedule.”

  “When you graduate, you’ll be able to do anything you want,” he tells me. He sets a plate of thick-cut bacon in front of me. I snatch a piece, biting into the perfectly crispy goodness that has a hint of maple syrup.

  “Sometimes my mind races with all the work there is to do for kids,” I say. “And here I sit in this mansion by the beach. Should I feel guilty?”

  “No,” Jackson says. “Never feel guilty about what you have. But you can give back even more. With your knowledge and assertiveness, and my money, we could make one hell of a team.”

  “What are you saying? We should start our own charity?”

  “Why not?” he says, like it’s that easy—you have an idea, and you do it. “It could focus on mentoring at-risk kids like you keep talking about. I bet there are some people in the office who would be happy to do it. One of my senior vice presidents, Rachel Sullivan, would be a great female role model. It could really work, Em.”

  “Our own foundation,” I say, testing the words out.

  “You just tell me what to do,” Jackson says, “and I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, really?” I say. “Just like that, huh?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Then I want a kiss, and stat.”

  “That’s an easy one,” he says, coming around to me. He wraps me in his arms, one hand still holding a spatula, and kisses me. He tastes of coffee and pineapple. He tastes of love and home and security.

  “So what do you want to do today?” I say when he goes back to the stove.

  “What do you think about taking a walk?”

  I look out the window. “It’s pretty windy out there. Looks like it’s going to rain.”

  “Not on the beach,” Jackson says. “Down the aisle.”

  My heart is bursting. I’ve never felt so much love in my life. I am filled to the brim with everything Jackson is giving me.

  “We don’t have to,” he says quickly, coming back to me. “If you want to wait, or do something more traditional, we can. I’ll wait. However long you want.”

  “That’s not it,” I say, crying. He holds me to his chest, so strong and comforting. “I think it’d be perfect, just the two of us. Can we have a party back in Boston for my family and friends, though?”

  “Of course,” he says. “I told you—anything you want.”

  This is everything I never knew I wanted. I never imagined a life like this. I know that no matter what happens, Jackson and I can take it on because we’re a team.

  “I can just see the write-up in the society pages,” I say. “‘The bride wore a white wool sweater and Huntington boots and the groom sported denim pants and a Patagonia jacket.’”

  “Just like I always imagined,” Jackson says.

  We drive into town, fill out the paperwork and are married in the judge’s private chambers. Our witness is a woman named Betty who is there to pick up a permit for the gazebo she’s building for her granddaughter’s wedding next summer.

  When Jackson looks into my eyes, holding my hands, there is no one else in the world. “I will honor and protect you in good times and in bad,” he says. “I’ll be your strength when you feel you have none, and your light when you find only darkness. I will work every day to prove my worthiness of your love. I promise to laugh with you, to listen to you and to love you until the last breath leaves my body.”

  It’s a good thing I’m not wearing much makeup because I am a slobbering mess by the time our little ceremony is over and the judge has declared us husband and wife. When we kiss, Betty lets out a little whoop of joy.

  Jackson carries me across the threshold, even though I tell him it is not necessary.

  “I’m not even wearing a wedding gown,” I say.

  “All the more reason to go through with the tradition,” he says.

  He takes me upstairs to the bedroom and lays me on the bed. He pulls my sweater and boots from my body. He runs his hands down my arms and across my belly.

  “My wife,” he whispers.

  Jackson makes love to me slowly, like we have all the time in the world. And we do—we have a lifetime together.

  Afterward, we are lazing in an afternoon post-coital haze of tangled sheets and sweat drying to our naked bodies. We both jump when the phone rings.

  “God, I can’t remember the last time I heard a land line ring,” I say.

  Jackson hops into a pair of flannel pants and walks across the room to a little table, on which sits a black old-fashioned phone.

  “Hello?” Jackson says. I figure it must either be a wrong number or maybe Sandra calling from the office, checking to see when—if—he’s coming back. “Is that totally necessary?” he says. His face has changed—his features are pinched, no longer relaxed. “It has nothing to do with me…. When would I have to be there? That soon? Alright…fine, I’ll call for the jet…. I’ll be there.”

  When he hangs up he runs his fingers through his hair.

  “Everything okay?” I ask. When he looks back at me the old familiar heaviness is creeping into his eyes. It’s the heaviness he wears with his business, and when he talks about his family. “Jackson? What is it?”

  He comes back to bed, sitting on the edge. “It was the family attorney. I have to go to Los Angeles to meet with him and my brothers.”

  “Did something happen?” I ask.

  “He said they’re going to decide the fate of the company.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with us, does it?” I ask. “I mean, we just got married.” I know rich powerful people have long arms into some shady stuff, but there’s no way anyone would know we just got married today, out in a little town on a little island.

  “No, no one knows about us,” Jackson says. “Which means it’s something else. But I have no idea what.”

  I reach across and take his hand. “Hey, listen. We’re a team now. No matter what happens, I’m here with you. Okay?”

  He looks at me, and the comfort is immediate. He squeezes my hand back. “Okay,” he says, nodding.

  But it’s something more. Something isn’t right. I don’t know what will happen at that meeting in Los Angeles, but I know one thing is sure—nothing will ever get between Jackson and me ever again. We’re too strong together, both of us too determined to make our own happiness.

  “Now get back in these covers and make love to me,” I say, hoping to get his mind off that phone call, if only for a little while.

  When he looks at me I can see his features relaxing again. He moves over to me and covers my body with his. “Whatever you require, my love,” he says, “I’m here to provide.”

  THE END OF BOOK ONE

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  Discipline (The Billionaire’s Rules, Book 1)

  This was a gigantic mistake.

  That was Ivy Spellman’s very first thought as she sat down in the freezing cold conference room and waited for orientation to start.

  There were approximately thirty temps all watching the front of the room, where Cullen Sharpe, CEO, stood in his perfect dark suit, his eyes scanning the group as if he was evaluating them and finding them lacking already.

  This was a man who w
ouldn’t be denied anything and everything he wanted. He was, to put it plainly, stunningly handsome, but not in the superficial sense.

  He was complex, Ivy decided almost immediately.

  His eyes were intense and he had an animal magnetism and presence that was like nothing she’d ever come across.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, his straight dark hair was styled perfectly, sweeping over his brow in a controlled way, as if it had been set in place by an engineer. His chin was long and square, cheekbones prominent.

  The man’s black suit was immaculate, with nary a wrinkle or a speck of lint, even under the unforgiving bright overhead lights that made everyone else look slovenly and blotchy by comparison.

  Ivy had mistakenly taken a seat in the front row and was now directly in his line of fire. His cold blue eyes were as gorgeous and frozen as the Alaskan tundra.

  “As most of you are aware,” he finally began, “I’m the founder and CEO of Biomatrix Pharma.” He smiled coolly, without feeling. “You might be wondering why I’m here when surely there are others who could be talking in my place. And there’s a very simple reason for my being with you right now instead of attending to more pressing matters.”

  Cullen Sharpe stopped, having noticed that his silver cufflink was slightly crooked. He adjusted it with one efficient tug of his perfectly manicured fingers, before looking at the group once more. “I’m here because I’m involved in every single detail of this company. There is nothing—and I mean nothing—too insignificant to escape my attention.”

  Upon saying this, the CEO’s eyes fixed on Ivy, locked on her with such intensity that she nearly flinched.

  Why is he staring at me?

  Ivy wanted to swallow, but was afraid of the loud gulping noise that was sure to result. Her throat was dry and you could hear a pin drop in the room.