DASH: A Secret Billionaire Romance

by Lucy Lambert

He straightened up, not the least fazed when every set of eyes in the room turned their attention to him.

  I caught myself remembering the way the rain plastered his shirt to his skin, showing every muscular contour of his body. And how could I forget the taste of that rain on my lips when he kissed me?

  I sat down quickly, trying to make it look like it was on purpose and not because my knees had become hot and weak.

  How did I go from not wanting to be in the same room as him to wanting to be alone in a room with him this fast?

  “Everyone leads several lives,” he said, “You just have to know how to balance them. When to let one become more important than all the others.”

  The bell went, its ring echoing up and down the hall. When everyone left Alex came over to my desk. My knees still hadn’t quite recovered enough to trust them with standing.

  And it didn’t help that he smelled so good. Again, I wanted to reach out and feel the roughness of the stubble on his cheeks.

  But not here, not at school. I had this desire to keep everything a secret. It was bad enough that Ash knew. If Mr. Stockwell or some of the other faculty found out I didn’t know what might happen. Only that I probably wouldn’t like it.

  “You know,” I said, “That actually wasn’t such bad advice for once.”

  “I knew you’d come over to my side eventually,” he replied. He held out his hand, which I accepted. He pulled me to my feet, and before I could stop him our bodies pressed together, his arm snaking around the small of my back, his lips seeking mine. “I thought that bell would never come,” he said, his breath hot against my skin.

  We kissed, but I didn’t let it go on, even though I wanted to. I kept worrying that someone might peer in through the window in the door and see us.

  I put my hands on his chest and eased us apart. His arm around my waist resisted for a moment, and I almost gave in to its yearning, but then it relaxed.

  His eyes captured mine and I thought that he might kiss me again, making my body tingle, but he didn’t.

  “And now I’m going to take you out for lunch,” he said.

  “I’d like that, but I have some prep work to complete for my next class,” I replied.

  “Work you probably did last night and are now just going to pore over for the next hour.”

  I pushed against his chest but he didn’t let go. Instead he smiled. It was a rakish, charming smile and it simultaneously annoyed and tempted me. I tried not to think of how nice he smelled, either. Or how I liked being so close to him.

  I did have the work done last night. It had kept me from thinking about him, about the way our bodies fitted together and about the way I wanted that to happen again so badly.

  But I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that.

  I could feel myself on the edge, ready to tumble over into it, into him, but I felt wary. Worried. The last time I’d let myself feel this way about a man I’d received a text breakup message.

  “So? I work hard at my job and it means a lot to me. I’m sure you can understand that,” I said.

  “Better than you know,” he replied. He tightened his grip on me, drawing my body harder against his. My breath hitched in my throat and I tried hiding that from him.

  “However,” he continued, “I also know how valuable a bit of rest can be. Let’s go. I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. So are you coming willingly or do I have to carry you out to my car?”

  His eyes flashed with mischief and I wasn’t certain whether he was kidding about that last part.

  That was definitely something I didn’t want to happen. It’s okay. It’s just lunch.

  But is anything ever just something? As an English teacher I found that an antithetical sentiment. Nothing was ever nothing. Something was always something. A cigar was never just a cigar, no matter what Freud had to say on the matter.

  “I’m not sure we should,” I said. The minutes were ticking by. Any time someone might walk by the door and see Alex holding me close.

  “I am. And I guess this means that I’m carrying you.”

  Before I could protest he literally swept my off my feet, one strong arm under my knees and the other around my shoulders. I sucked in a breath. No man had ever lifted me like that before.

  A sudden vertigo filled me, along with something else. A rush of excitement. I had to fight the urge to smile and laugh like I was back in college again.

  He held me effortlessly, not a sign of strain on his face. There was something highly erotic in just how much stronger than me he was, about how he chose to use that strength and how he also chose when and how to restrain or unleash it.

  My breath caught in my throat again while my whole body fluttered with heat.

  “Put me down! Put me down! Before someone sees!” I said, watching the hallway over his shoulder. All I’d need now was for Ash or Mr. Stockwell to pop on by. Or worse, one of my students maybe coming to ask a question about some school thing like how to write a good thesis statement.

  Here was my thesis: if I did get caught, it wouldn’t be good. For either of us.

  Imagine the headlines: Teacher seduces billionaire during mentor program, school board to investigate. That sounded about as fun as walking over shattered glass in my bare feet.

  But still, I had to admit that part of me wanted to risk it. A part of me that swelled in size and influence when I saw the devil-may-care expression on Alex’s face.

  “I told you this was how it was going to be,” he said, turning us around so we faced the door. One of my shoes started coming off my foot, dangling and exposing one white-socked heel.

  “Fine! I’ll go, I’ll go. Just please, put me down,” I said, grinning. I’d put my arms around his shoulders.

  For a moment there his eyes smoldered with sudden desire and his hold on me tightened. I thought he might carry me out anyway, like I belonged to him and damned if anyone saw.

  I heard footsteps in the hall, the sound of conversation. “Alex…” I said, part of me wanting him to carry on like that anyway and damn the consequences.

  He relented, setting me down on my feet.

  “Let’s go…” I started, meaning to head for the door. He caught my wrist and yanked me back. He kissed me hard for just a few seconds. Those few seconds were all it took to leave my head spinning and my body buzzing. My heart pounded the blood past my ears.

  “Now we can go,” he said, releasing me just in time. A group of students I didn’t recognize went past, none giving us more than a cursory glance.

  Chapter 21

  ALEXANDER

  I could still taste Charlie on my lips. She tasted sweet and I wanted more of her, couldn’t get enough of her.

  Right at the end there, before we’d left to grab some food, I’d almost lost control. The memory of our time together in her bed seared itself across my mind and I could think of nothing but how it felt to be with her.

  And I’d wanted nothing else but to be with her again. Right there, in her classroom.

  She had no idea how close I’d come to sweeping all the things off her desk—the stapler and the little tin for pens and pencils and the bins for the students to put their finished assignments into—and let desire take care of the rest.

  My fingers squeezed around the leather-wrapped steering wheel until it creaked.

  I hadn’t cared about the consequences when they came to me, but right at the last second there, when I heard the students coming down the hall, I’d thought of Alisha’s threat and what might happen to Charlie if someone did find out.

  “Where are we going?” Charlie asked, leaning forward to look up through the windshield at the track of the L when we passed below it. The train itself rumbled by between two ancient apartment buildings.

  “Somewhere no one knows either of us,” I said, my eyes hunting for a parking spot. A sewer grate let out wisps of steam against the cooling fall air.

  “That actually sounds pretty nice,” Charlie said. She glanced at me, a smile in h
er eyes and on her lips. That expression, I’d discovered, always sent my heart into a boxing match against my ribcage.

  I pulled the car into a spot at the curb in between a Dole delivery truck ahead and some old Ford sedan behind. I knew the Mercedes looked out of place there, but didn’t care.

  Then I went around the car and got Charlie’s door for her. She smiled at that but refused to take my helping hand.

  “I do know how to stand up and walk, you know,” she said, quirking one adorable eyebrow at me.

  I shrugged. “I like to hold your hand.”

  Her smile pulled at her cheeks again, which flushed red right before she dropped her eyes to the sidewalk. I nodded. She caught the gesture.

  “What?” she asked.

  “One moment you can be all ra-ra feminism, I can open my own damn doors, all independent and grown up and the next you can be blushing furiously from a little light flirting. It’s adorable,” I said.

  “Shut up!” she grinned, socking my shoulder with her fist. Her blush intensified.

  I caught her fist and held onto it. Her fingers uncurled so that I could hold her hand. She glanced around, as though one of her students or coworkers might be playing hooky today this far from the school.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “No one here knows us.” I started walking us down the sidewalk, catching a glimpse of our reflections in the big windows of a pawn shop as we passed by it.

  The fall air was brisk, and I liked its cool caress on my face. But not as much as I liked the warmth of Charlie’s hand in mine.

  A giddy rush of energy swept through me.

  “You have to admit though,” I said, “You are enjoying this.”

  “Enjoying what?” she said.

  “Our little affair. The stolen kisses, the secret rendezvous, the chance of getting caught. It thrills you.”

  She gave me a sharp look, “It thrills you, you mean.” Her eyes went searching, fixing for a moment on a yellow taxi as it glided down the road. Then she smiled. “But yeah, I guess it is kind of thrilling.”

  I took her to a small corner diner with a big green awning called Vince’s. It had an equally small patio, but the chairs and tables were all stacked neatly by the windows, ready to go in for the season.

  Being the middle of the day, we had the place to ourselves and I picked us out a booth near the window.

  I sat across the table from her. There was a little stand in the middle with the menu and the salt and pepper shakers. The place smelled of ham and Swiss and old coffee grounds.

  Charlie looked outside, watching the wind catch a few orange and red leaves as they skittered down the sidewalk. I took the chance to admire her.

  There were the faintest of freckles on her cheeks, I noticed. I wondered how they might look in the middle of summer. My eyes traced the line of her jaw, back up her cheek, up to her eyes.

  The girl next door, I thought. Charlie was the epitome of that idea.

  I looked at her eyes again. They were simultaneously soft and sharp, knowing and innocent. Eyes someone could easily get lost in.

  Eyes currently regarding me back.

  “What? Do I have something on my face?” she said, her fingers coming up to brush at her cheeks and lips.

  “No,” I said.

  “Then why are you looking at me like that?” she said. Already the faint blush of rouge had returned to her cheeks.

  “Because I think you’re beautiful,” I said.

  Her eyes went wide and she gave the corners of the diner furtive glances. “Could you have said that any louder?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t care if anyone hears me call it like I see it. I’m happy that they paired me with you.”

  Here the waitress came over with her pen and pad of paper. We ordered some coffees and some BLTs. She eyed my expensive looking outfit but didn’t say anything.

  If anything, that reassured me that no one would recognize us here.

  “And that’s one thing I’ve been wanting to bring up,” she said, “What is this to you?”

  “This?” I asked.

  “Yes, this. Us. These two weeks. Is… When you’re done with this program are you done with me? Because I’m really not the sort who goes for the short fling. That isn’t me. And if that’s what you think this is then we should just call the whole show off now.”

  She looked me right in the eye when she said it, the innocent girlishness leaving her, replaced by no-nonsense woman behind it all.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, and I could see the hard set of her jaw.

  “Is that who you think I am?” I said, half amused and half offended.

  “We’ve only known each other a little while, Alex. I’d like to say I know you, that I trust you. But I’ve made that mistake with someone before, someone I knew—or thought I knew—a lot longer and it blew up in my face. And I don’t think I can take having it happen again.”

  Be gentle, I remember her saying to me in bed. I could see now that she meant it in a far broader sense.

  Something about that made me want her more, want her harder. Sometimes gentle could be rough.

  “I’m not playing games with you, Charlie,” I said, “I don’t care what you’ve seen in the magazines or online. This is the real me, and I’m being real with you. When I want something or someone I don’t tread lightly.”

  A small frown wrinkled the smooth skin between her eyebrows. I could see that English-teacher’s mind of hers chewing over the words, analyzing them, considering them, searching for meaning within them.

  “What are you saying?” she said.

  “I’m saying that I wish these two weeks were over so that you could see that I am serious.”

  The sandwiches and coffee arrived, interrupting us. The bacon smelled good, and the steam coming off the coffee was appetizing. But neither of us touched our food.

  Our hunger was of a different sort. It panged inside of me, raw and un-satiated.

  I got my reputation because I went through women quickly. I was that brightest, hottest flame that the saying talks about, and I always started guttering after that initial fulfillment of lust.

  Except this time my desire didn’t abate. I still wanted Charlie. Wanted her more than before that rainy day in her apartment.

  “I want to know more,” she said.

  “About?”

  “About you. You’re not, and forgive me for the cliché, not exactly an open book,” she replied. She smiled and my heartbeat kicked up a few notches.

  “What is it you want you know about me?” I asked, somewhat surprised. Most of the women I’d been with stopped caring about me past what they could see: the fortune and fame, the hard body.

  Maybe that was one of the things that drew me to Charlie: that she wanted to get to know me rather than just wanting me.

  “Ask,” I said.

  “And you’ll actually answer?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I replied, returning that smile of hers, “But I might.”

  “You like being a bit mysterious, don’t you?” she said.

  “Is that your first question?”

  “Do I have a limit?” she said, moving her steaming coffee mug out of the way and leaning forward, her hair spilling onto her shoulders.

  “You might. So I’d make any more questions good ones if I were you,” I said. Another jolt of desire went through me. The way she leaned forward, that mischievous smile on her face, the way her head canted ever so slightly to show off the curve of her neck, the way the lines of her body drew my eye down to the top of her blouse and the hint of smooth skin it revealed, all combined to make the muscles low in my abdomen tighten.

  If only we were alone.

  Chapter 22

  CHARLIE

  I wonder what he’s thinking about right now?

  I could see the shapes of thoughts passing by behind his eyes. I wanted to know what they were. Were they about me?

  I found that I wanted them to be about me. Even though I still
couldn’t quite believe all this was happening. That I sat across the table of this unfamiliar diner from a man I saw on the news and in the magazines all the time.

  Despite that, I knew that I didn’t know very much about him. And that I wanted to know more.

  Because I still didn’t feel totally safe, totally assured. I wanted to, though.

  I leaned forward, the vinyl covering of the seat creaking a little beneath me. I could smell the sandwich and the coffee, but neither appealed to me the way Alex did.

  My appetite wasn’t for food.

  “Who were you before this?” I said.

  “Before what?”

  “Before you were…” I continued, gesturing at his shirt, his haircut, at the Rolex glinting on his wrist.

  “Maybe I came from money,” he said. His eyes sharpened.

  “But you didn’t.”

  The tiniest furrow appeared between his eyebrows. Maybe he wasn’t a closed book like I’d said earlier. Maybe he was just one written in more difficult to read language.

  That was okay; if there was one thing I didn’t mind, it was reading between the lines.

  He put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist. “Tell me why you think that’s the case.”

  “Because of the way you are at school,” I said, “Like you know the place. Like it kind of scares you a little, maybe reminds you of something you thought you forgot. The way you try and act like it’s no big deal to you. No, you didn’t come from money.”

  He cracked a smile, one corner of his mouth lifting, and shook his head. “Every cent I’ve ever had I made myself.”

  “You’ve made a hell of a lot more cents than most people,” I said.

  “I just had a few opportunities come up that I grabbed onto instead of letting them go.”

  “You know, you’re good at answering questions without actually giving an answer,” I said. I gave his shin a light tap under the table. His eyebrows lifted. I got the feeling that no one, let alone a woman, usually treated him this way.

  It was nice, actually, like I got to see a part of him that few people did. A secret part. My stomach stirred with excitement.