Bad Billionaires Box Set

by Elise Faber

  Had he just—?

  The throb between my legs was intense. My skin was tight, flushed. My brain was foggy, trying to understand.

  “This never happens,” he said. “Just give me a second.”

  “Did you just come?” I blurted, the haze of desire receding as incredulity took over. “Without me?”

  Fuck if Thor’s hammer really wasn’t broken.

  Jordan scowled. “It’s been a long time. I’ll take care of you.” He hitched his pants up around his hips and reached toward me. “Which way is your bedroom?”

  “Down the—”

  His phone rang.

  I froze. He wasn’t going to pick it up. No, he definitely wasn’t. Not when I was a twisted pile of need stretched out on a—really uncomfortable, as it turned out—coffee table. Naked while he was half dressed. Orgasm-free when he was not.

  So no, he wouldn’t pick up the damn phone.

  He wouldn’t. He . . . would.

  His hands reached to the back of his pants and he snatched up the phone, swiping a finger across the screen.

  “What?” he barked, eyes on me. I felt the heat of his stare on my breasts, my lips, my puss—

  Maybe this night wouldn’t be a total implosion after all.

  Then I saw his body change.

  Whoever was on the other end said something that made him stiffen and rise to his feet.

  Then reach for his shirt. And button it . . . or rather attempt to button it since half of the little disks were scattered on my carpet.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered, more to myself than Jordan.

  Because Jordan was no longer in the room.

  His eyes slipped from me as easily as someone ignores a vagrant on the street. One second to analyze, then next to dismiss.

  I propped myself up, wincing when the wood bit into my hip.

  I watched Jordan as he walked to the door, spouting terse orders, not sparing a single backward gaze for the woman he’d left unsatisfied and naked on the table.

  Not another look at me.

  The door slammed closed.

  Chapter Four

  Eight Weeks Later

  “I’m searching for treasure, baby. Can I look around your chest for it?”

  My eyes rolled . . . again.

  “I need more booze for this,” I muttered, bringing my glass of rum and Diet Coke to my lips and taking a sip.

  Gross. And I didn’t just mean the bad pickup line. My drink tasted horrible. It was probably the absence of calorie-laden Coke. Sugar helped the alcohol go down easier. But my pants were a little tight and that meant that I needed to cut back on life’s extras until my skinny jeans stopped giving me a muffin top.

  With a sigh, I took another sip and almost gagged.

  Apparently, my taste buds weren’t feeling the combination.

  Whatever. I was adult enough to not force myself to choke down something that tasted horrible. I plunked the glass on the bar top and pushed it away, pulling my phone out of my purse with my other hand.

  “We should go,” Seraphina said. “I don’t know why we even bothered.”

  “It was because we got through lunch the other day without interruption,” I said, lips curving at her pained expression. “Of course, we were probably naïve not to realize it was because the place was packed with women.”

  The Tea House was one of our favorite places and not just because they served tea and crumpets—actual crumpets!—but because it was small and cozy and made us feel as though we’d stumbled into a historical novel.

  The clientele was also not particularly masculine.

  “It’s lunchtime now,” she whispered. “Don’t these jerks have to work?”

  “Apparently not,” I whispered back as another came up to the bar and leaned close to my friend.

  Who leaned away so quickly that she nearly knocked me off my stool.

  “You like onions, huh?” Seraphina asked, and I wrinkled my nose.

  “Who doesn’t?” the man replied back, as much oil coating his words as coated his head. “But what I’m really liking is that shirt.”

  His eyes drifted down and stuck and I had the overwhelming urge to gag. Not just from his tone and his near orgasm over a flipping T-shirt. But because the rancid onion smell had hit my nostrils.

  I stood, clamping a hand over my mouth. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “As soon as you get back, let’s go.” She glanced at the bartender who all but sprinted over. “I’ll settle our tab.”

  I nodded, leaving my palm where it was, and rushed to the hallway leading to the toilets.

  My stomach roiled and I wondered if I was getting sick. The last time I felt like this—weak, nauseous, sweaty—I’d had the flu. Except then—

  “Oof!” My hand compressed painfully against my jaw as I collided with a wall.

  Or what felt like a wall.

  Instead, it was male and very hard and . . . my gut contracted—

  Extremely Thor-like.

  What. The. Fuck.

  My insides heaved and I shoved at Jordan’s hands, which had come up to steady me.

  “Easy now,” he said, and his voice slid over me in the same way as that night eight weeks before.

  Jesus Christ, I thought as I shivered in anticipation. What was wrong with me?

  “Abigail?”

  I dropped my hand from my mouth, stomach abruptly settling as I glared at him. “Is that a question?” I asked caustically and yanked myself out of his grip. “Or do you struggle to remember the names of all the girls you screw and leave wanting?”

  “I—”

  I leaned in and hissed, “I had to get myself off after you used me like a sex toy to get your jollies and then strolled out the door.”

  “Jollies?” His lips quirked, and I saw red.

  “Yes, jollies.” My hands found my hips and though I was slightly horrified by what I was saying, I pressed on. He’d had sex with me and left without a goodbye. “You left me naked on my coffee table.”

  I hadn’t heard from him for eight weeks and he was here in the bar saying my name like a question?

  Yeah, no.

  He knew where I lived, for fuck’s sake. Maybe a little pop by with a reciprocal orgasm could have been provided?

  Just a thought.

  “You ruined what I’d hoped was going to be the best sex of my life and . . . and you broke my favorite coffee mug.”

  He crossed his arms when I paused, chest heaving. “You done?”

  I blew out a sigh and started to push past him. “Yeah. I’m beyond done.”

  Jordan waited until my back was to him before he bent and whispered in my ear, “I didn’t want to leave.”

  “Could have fooled me.” I wrinkled my nose when a scent hit me and it wasn’t pleasant. Almost sour, it sent my stomach twisting again.

  “I had a very important work call I needed to take.”

  “Now that,” I said, “I read loud and clear.”

  “Abby.” He took my arm, spun me to face him.

  I would have been irritated by the manhandling if the smell hadn’t been so horrible and all-encompassing.

  What was that?

  My brain was processing it as rotting garbage, spoiled milk, and onion breath all wrapped up in one disgusting package.

  I gagged, eyes searching the hall for the source of the scent.

  I couldn’t find anything.

  Except for Jordan.

  “It’s you.”

  My stomach heaved and I shoved away from him, running for the women’s bathroom.

  “What’s me? Abby?” He grabbed my arm again, and I jerked free, pushing into the single stall. I didn’t have time to worry about the door closing, let alone locking, barely making it to the toilet as I lost my breakfast.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks, my throat burned, and the nausea didn’t abate as my body pitched a proverbial fit for several long minutes.

  Finally, when it seemed like I was done, I leaned back o
n my heels, tilted my head toward the ceiling, and reached blindly for the handle to flush the toilet.

  Warm fingers beat me, sending the mess down the drain. My eyes flashed open and, of course, Jordan was there. Unlike me, he’d crouched down, sparing his impeccable suit from the dirty bar tile.

  My jeans were probably ruined.

  “Here,” he said and handed me a damp paper towel.

  I took it, turning my head away as I wiped my eyes then mouth. I pushed to my feet, needing to rinse my mouth out in the sink.

  “You okay?”

  I spit and took another mouthful from the faucet to swish around. No, I definitely wasn’t okay. I’d just puked in front of the hottest man I’d ever seen, the same one who’d seen me naked, who’d been having sex with me, and still decided that his work call was more important than me finishing.

  “I’m fine.”

  Turning, I started for the door, only to have Jordan stop me again.

  “I’m sorry about that night.”

  I snorted. “Me too.”

  “I didn’t want to leave.”

  With a shrug, I shook his hand loose and headed for the door. “Go away, Jordan.”

  “I had to go.”

  “Reading that loud and clear.” I yanked the handle and entered the hall.

  Jordan stepped in front of me and bent down so that his face was near mine again.

  That bitter smell curled around my nostrils again, seeping in and making my gut roil.

  “Back up,” I snapped. “You smell horrible.”

  His mouth dropped open. “I what?”

  “You. Smell. Horrible.”

  He lifted one lapel of his suit jacket, tilting his head down and sniffing. “I smell fine.”

  I clapped a hand to my nose and took a step back, my words slightly nasally when I said, “If you say so.”

  He inhaled on the other side. “Nothing. Just my deodorant.” He looked up at me. “I wanted to apologize for that night. I was off my game and in the middle of a huge merger. I had no business going home with anyone at that time.” His eyes locked with mine. “It wasn’t my intention to leave you . . .”

  “Wanting?”

  A flash of something crossed his expression. Heat? Frustration? Regret?

  Since I’d been intimately familiar with those emotions over the last few months, I smirked. Then I turned and walked away.

  My exit was almost good enough to make me forget that I’d tossed my cookies in front of him.

  Almost.

  Because Jordan was still the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.

  Chapter Five

  Jordan watched Abigail’s ass as she walked away from him. God, it was a good ass. Two perfectly plump handfuls he’d spent the last eight weeks dreaming about.

  And he was finally done with the buyout.

  Finally ready to spend the foreseeable future on a private stretch of beach in the Caribbean.

  A stretch that he now owned.

  His private jet was fueled, the pilot on standby.

  So why wasn’t he already in the air?

  Unfinished business.

  With the curvy brunette who was moving further out of reach by the moment.

  He trailed her across the bar to the blonde model-type, Suzette or Sandy or some S-name. Heads dipped together and twin glares were thrown his way.

  That might have made him smile. If he weren’t so desperate to improve Abigail’s impression of him.

  Not just in the bedroom, either. Love them and leave them wasn’t his style. Jordan was more of a serial monogamist. And since he hadn’t found a woman in a long time who would tolerate his long work hours, frequently broken dates, not to mention panicked phone calls from his staff at all hours of the day, it had been a long time since he’d had an orgasm that came courtesy of a member of the opposite sex.

  Aside from Palm-ela, that was.

  Inwardly snorting at his own awful joke, he plastered on a confident smile, and approached the girls.

  “Ladies, can I buy you another round? Maybe some food?” The mention of food made Abby’s face go pale and he gritted his teeth. Of course she wouldn’t want food. She’d just been heaving up breakfast in the bathroom.

  “No food,” he said quickly.

  “Stop mentioning food,” Abigail ground out, one hand coming to her stomach, the other to her mouth.

  “Abs?” the S-friend asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Just not feeling good.”

  “Well our tab is paid, so we can go.”

  Jordan stood like a useless floor lamp shoved into a corner as he watched the girls talk.

  He wasn’t in the habit of being ignored and though it wasn’t something he enjoyed admitting, he didn’t like it one bit.

  He was important.

  Correction, he used to be important.

  Now he was just an out-of-work inventor. Granted, one with a couple of billion in the bank, but still, he was at loose ends.

  Beach ends, he reminded himself.

  “I’m just going to head home,” Abigail was saying. “Go to bed early and hope that this thing blows over quickly.”

  “Okay, love. Want me to walk with you?”

  Abby opened her mouth but the sound of a cell phone ringing stoppered any words that might have emerged.

  Jordan reached for his cell then remembered he didn’t have one any longer.

  It was relief that coursed through him, not a pang for the job, and certainly not a desire to go back to somewhere he was needed.

  His—the—company was in good hands. He was going back to his roots. His wallet was just a little thicker.

  “Go, Seraphina” Abby whispered, gesturing to the bar’s entrance as her friend picked up the call. “I’m fine.”

  “Talk to you later,” Seraphina mouthed before taking off.

  “Okay,” Abby murmured and tucked her purse over her shoulder. She turned for the door without a glance back at him.

  Which was fine.

  Because Jordan knew where she lived.

  He let Abigail leave, giving her a thirty-second head start before following her.

  She was barely a block away and he used his long legs to his advantage, catching up to her in hardly any time at all.

  Shortening his stride to match hers, he didn’t say anything as he walked next to her.

  Her breath caught when she peeked up at him, but the verbal litany he’d expected to greet him didn’t come.

  Hazel eyes stayed forward, ignoring him.

  Ah. They’d progressed to the silent treatment.

  He could work with that.

  Keeping pace, he stayed at her side as they walked to her apartment.

  Patience was his strong suit, and he’d spent every spare moment of the last two months imagining all the ways he was going to make up that night to her.

  It hadn’t been until hours after the call that he’d realized exactly what he’d done to her. When Abby had said he’d used her like a sex toy, she’d been right.

  He’d acted like a premature teenager and then hadn’t even bothered to explain or make it up to her. Yes, that phone call had put his business deal on the razor’s edge of falling through the cracks and almost destroying every single thing he’d been working toward for years.

  But he wasn’t a user.

  That was his father’s job.

  So now that the deal was tied up in a neat little package and the checks had cleared, he was going to explain and, if she let him, make it up to her.

  “I shouldn’t have left without a goodbye.”

  Abigail’s feet stuttered, missing a step before her chin came up and her lips pressed into a firm line.

  Ruby red and plump, that mouth sent heat right through him.

  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to talk to her.

  Which should have sent him running.

  Instead, he was right there next to her.

  “I was in the process of selling my business an
d the call I received . . . well, it jeopardized everything I’d been working for.”

  Jordan stopped talking and waited for her to say something.

  She didn’t.

  He sighed. He might need more than patience for another shot with this one.

  “I—”

  “Will you just shut up?” she snapped.

  He paused, rocking back on his heels as she stormed on and for the first time, he wondered if he’d been daydreaming about the wrong woman all these weeks. Yes, she was beautiful, but maybe she wasn’t what he remembered.

  Fiery yet tempered with vulnerability. Kindness for her friend. Self-deprecating and funny.

  Maybe she was just mean.

  And he had spent too long with mean to take up with it again.

  Jordan hesitated, feet pointed back toward the bar and the lot his car was parked in. Maybe instead of trying to make it up to her, he’d drive to the airport and hit his private stretch of oceanfront.

  Then Abby began running.

  “Wh—”

  They were less than a block from her apartment and she was sprinting for it like the hounds of hell were after her.

  He knew he hadn’t been that bad in bed. Okay, on the table.

  Right?

  But it was her posture that finally snapped him out of his stupor. She was bent at the waist, hand across her stomach, head tilted down, and she was barely watching where she was going.

  Thankfully, the sidewalks weren’t crowded but she wasn’t looking. She could knock over a little old lady, crash into a street sign. Hell, she could miss the edge of the sidewalk and get hit by a car.

  Which was the thought that finally propelled him forward.

  He ran toward her, catching her arm and tugging her away from a trash can. “Careful, you almost hit—”

  “I need that,” she groaned, ripping free and whipping back to the receptacle.

  And for the second time in the hour, Jordan watched Abby toss her cookies.

  Funny how the sight would typically make him run, but with Abby, he stayed beside her.

  Albeit, he still had no idea what he should be doing.

  Holding back her hair? Rubbing her shoulders?

  She didn’t seem to like it when he touched her, so he opted for searching his pockets for a tissue and shifting from foot to foot.

  This round didn’t last as long as the first. Thankfully. For her. Because he definitely wasn’t feeling relief at not having to find something else to keep himself occupied while she was feeling horrible.