The Billionaire's Secret: Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance (Big Bad Billionaires Book 2)

by L. Steele

  His glare intensifies. "You have one second to answer."

  "I… I don’t know." I swallow.

  "A secret," he drawls. "That's the answer." His eyelids grow hooded. "What secrets are you hiding from me, I wonder?"

  "None." I swallow.

  "Everyone has secrets." He chuckles.

  "Even you?"

  "Especially me." His grin widens.

  The wet sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room. I drop my gaze to where the woman kneels between his thighs. His forearms flex, he spreads his legs, yanks her head closer, then begins to use her mouth in earnest. Back-forth-back; her entire body shakes.

  A gagging noise splits the rhythmic effect.

  My head spins. My core clenches and I chafe my thighs wanting…Needing more. So much more.

  His chest seems to expand further and further; his shoulders swell. His pale blue eyes glow with a strange inner light.

  He lowers his chin, raises an eyebrow, and a snarl rips up my throat.

  A heavy sensation stabs in my chest; my vision tunnels. I am not jealous. I am not. I don’t want him that way. Besides he had…left me there on the couch, while he’d indulged himself? What a complete jerk.

  My heart begins to race; adrenaline laces my blood. I raise the gun, aim it at Saint.

  He stares back. His shoulders stiffens.

  The woman between his legs glances around. I level the gun at her. She pales.

  I wiggle the gun and she rises to her feet, only to glance at him. What the—? I have a weapon trained on her and she looks to him as if seeking permission?

  Saint’s lips firm. "Leave."

  My toes curl, my scalp prickles… and the hair on my forearms rises. Jesus, no man should have a voice like that. My arm shakes. The woman passes me, then bolts.

  Silence descends. A beat, another.

  I hold Saint’s gaze, tip up my chin.

  Two can play this game. I will not be intimidated. Will not be coerced into breaking the silence. I stare down the barrel of my pistol, at the rat’s ass of a man in my cross hairs.

  He relaxes into the chair. The soft material of his pants outlines the contours of his powerful thighs. Don't look there, don't. I glance at his crotch, which is unzipped. His dick arrows up. Is it thicker than what I remember it to be? Nah, that must be my imagination, surely—

  "My face is up here," he drawls.

  I jerk my chin up. His lips curl in a smirk, and moisture instantly pools at my core. Damn the man, he knows the effect he has on me. So what? I tighten my grip on the gun. I hold the weapon. So why does it feel like the one between his legs is more lethal? Jesus, cliché much?

  "You do need to up your game, Gigi." He tilts his head.

  Anger squeezes my chest.

  He is toying with me. Asshole is having fun at my expense. I’ll teach him what it means to sit on that lofty, privileged perch of his and sneer down his nose at those who have to fight for every bit of help, for every shred of kindness, for every soft word, tender touch…every gaze filled with love, tears, blood… "Shut up." My voice emerges—harsh, guttural. Nothing like the sophisticate I am trying to portray. I draw in a deep breath. My hand trembles.

  Walk away, right now, while you can.

  I can’t. I won’t. I have to face him down. I have to find a way to ensure that I come out of this with some small shred of my dignity intact.

  He grips his gorgeous shaft, swipes it from root to tip.

  My throat dries. Heat flushes my skin and sweat beads my palm.

  "Stop that," I croak.

  "Don’t tell me what to do." His command lashes across my skin. My fingers slip. The stuffing from the chair next to his head explodes, but he's already moving.

  I hear the thud of his boots on the carpet, see a blur of movement, then the gun is knocked from my hand.

  I hit the ground, face down. His heavy weight presses into me. His hardness stabs into the curve of my waist. Those solid thighs grip mine on either side. I am surrounded by him. Heat from his massive body slams into me, pins me down. Moisture dribbles out between my legs. I strain and he places his cheek next to mine, his breath raising the hair on my forehead.

  "You have my attention, little Gigi."

  He licks the shell of my ear.

  Goosebumps pop on my skin. My vision narrows; my toes curl. "I want more than that." I shiver.

  There’s a pause, then his chest vibrates. "What?" he growls.

  "Take me as your sub."

  7

  I am given with pleasure when taken by force. What am I?

  Answer: A kiss

  * * *

  Saint

  * * *

  "Do you have any idea what you're asking for?" I push back and flip her on her back.

  Her green eyes deepen in color, glittering emeralds that cut through me, hurt me, scoop up every last drop of humanity left in me and render me incoherent.

  "Well?" I glare at her.

  "Y...yes." she stutters.

  I rise to my feet and she pales.

  "On your knees," I growl.

  She hesitates.

  I lower my voice to a hush, "Now." Her shoulders stiffen, then she pushes up to kneel at my feet. It puts her face at eyelevel with my crotch. My groin hardens.

  I reach down, grab my cock. Her breath hitches. She drops her gaze, watches as I massage my dick.

  She licks her lips and my muscles go solid. My shaft lengthens. Ah hell, hadn’t meant for things to get out of hand so quickly…literally.

  I widen my stance to accommodate my arousal and she makes a sound deep in her throat.

  "That's not for you." I smirk. "Yet."

  "What?" She peers up at me from under sooty eyelashes.

  "You'll have to earn it first." I allow my smile to widen.

  Her eyebrows draw down, she flicks out her tongue to touch her lower lip, and my cock instantly twitches. Hell. This response to her is interesting. Not what I expected. Best to put her in her place right away. I tuck myself in, then stalk forward to retrieve my gun.

  "What are you doing?" Her squeak fills the space.

  My lips twitch. I straighten, turn to her.

  Her cheeks pale. "St…stop. Don't come closer."

  "Why not?"

  "This…this isn’t what I want." Fear vibrates off of her, bleeds into the space between us… My dick instantly lengthens.

  Do you blame me? She’d hit upon my weakness, then proceeded to lay her insecurities bare to me… Well, of course, I am going to take advantage.

  "Let me be the judge of that." I stride forward.

  She jerks her chin up, "Don’t come closer."

  "That’s not what you said earlier."

  "I… I didn’t think—"

  "What—?" I pause in front of her. "That I’d call your bluff?"

  Her chin wobbles, "Are you. Will you...?"

  I lean forward.

  Her shoulders rise and her throat moves as she swallows.

  "Rule number one, never question me."

  "And if I do...?"

  The next second, I press the gun to her temple. Her gaze narrows as her eyes blaze. Bloody hell, she has some strength, this woman. She raises her chin, and damn, if my dick doesn’t follow suit. I don’t need to look down to know that my cock’s saluting her impudence.

  "So, tell me, Gigi, why is it that you sought me out?"

  "I told you it was to—"

  "Ask me to be your Dom?"

  She nods.

  "You think I believe that?"

  "Why else would I be here?" Her gaze narrows, "It isn’t for your politeness or consideration, clearly."

  My lips twitch before I wipe the smile from my face. I grip her hair and tug so her head falls back, "Tell me the truth."

  "Couldn't it be because I saw the man behind the asshole face you show the world? Perhaps I want to get to know you better?"

  "Do you?"

  Her gaze skitters away.

  A hot sensation coils in my stomach
, "Thought not." I wrap my fingers around her neck and her gaze widens. "Perhaps I should take you at face value, after all."

  "What do you mean—?"

  "Shh!" I draw the barrel of the gun over her lips and her face pales. Fear radiates from her. My pulse begins to race. Finally. "Let’s see what you’re made of, shall we?"

  I yank her up to her tiptoes, until she’s level with my chest.

  "Such a tiny little thing, you are. Not a hair out of place, even after spending hours on the couch in my office. What would it take to mess you up, huh?" I drag the barrel of the gun down her cheek—She swallows—past that lush lower lip, to the hollow at the base of her throat. Goosebumps pop on her skin.

  "Not that courageous now, are you?"

  She swallows, then tips up her chin and opens her mouth. I click my tongue.

  Her gaze narrows, her eyes sparking with that familiar light of defiance. Oh, good. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  I drag the pistol down, hook the barrel into the dip of her neckline. She stills, the only movement, her chest rising and falling. Her nipples pebble against the fabric of her blouse. My vision narrows and I draw the gun over the nipple.

  She shudders. My shaft lengthens.

  "You enjoy that, hmm?"

  She shakes her head.

  I glare at her, "Don’t lie."

  "I’m not."

  "Admit it. You are aroused.’

  "No." She sets her lips.

  "We'll see about that, shall we?"

  I toss the gun to one side, then pull her forward.

  She falls into me, "What the hell? You tossed a loaded gun, you—"

  "Relax, I clicked the safety on." I squeeze my fingers around her nape, my fingers meeting in the front, that’s how slender the length of her neck is. "The only gun you need to be worried about is the one in my pants."

  She makes a gagging noise. "Ugh, that was terrible, even for you."

  "And if you want to gag, there are other ways to bring that on too."

  "Keep your cheap shots to yourself." She huffs, "Why do you keep a gun anyway, and in an unlocked drawer?"

  "Why were you snooping in my office?" I retort.

  "I..." She swallows, "You left me on my own in your space." She raises her shoulder. "It was fair game."

  "Hmm." I lean into her, "And you... little Gigi, are in my space. Does that make you fair game too?"

  I tighten my grasp on her, and she trembles. Her thighs quake.

  Pressing her against me, I sense her every move, every breath she takes, the trembling of her eyelids. Her lips part, her hips wriggle, and damn it, but I can’t stop myself. I lower my head, close my mouth over hers. I suck on her tongue, bite down on her lower lip, shove my free hand under her skirt, finding that melting core between her legs.

  I slide my fingers in between her panties and skin, drag my knuckles across her clit.

  A whine bubbles up her throat; I swallow it.

  I thrust a finger inside her core, and hell… The melting softness is my undoing. I add a second finger, then another. Her spine curves and her neck arches. I hook my fingers inside of her, finding that hidden center of hers. Her entire body bucks.

  I tear my mouth from hers, "Don’t you dare come, Gigi."

  She shudders, thrusts her pelvis forward.

  I release my grip around her neck, yank my fingers from her pussy. I step back and her legs give way.

  I catch her, push her into the door and pin her hips with mine. A pulse beats to life against my temples, on the backs of my eyelids, even in my balls. Jesus. Hell. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

  I am supposed to get my women off, reduce them to globs of liquid need, make them crawl to me for release… And while I’d done all that to her… I’d never before been this aroused... This need to bury myself inside of her, scratch my name into her cells, her skin, tear into her and show her how it can be between us? No. No way, am I doing that. I release her and she sags against the barrier.

  Back the fuck off, before she pulls you in with those beautiful eyes, that gorgeous visage, the innocence about her which is…all a façade. A trap. One way to ensure that I forget what this entire charade is about—to get to the bottom of whoever set her up to lure me in. If she thinks it is that easy to veer me off course, to distract me from the one thing that has kept me and the Seven focused all these years, then she has another think coming.

  "In which sport do winners move backward and losers move forward?" I let the words hang in the air between us.

  She blinks, then asks, "Which…which one?"

  "A fucking tug of war is what." I chuckle. Bloody hell. Why had I allowed those words to escape my lips? Why the hell am I showing her a glimmer of my vulnerability?

  She makes me weak, is why. No way, am I allowing that to happen again. Not when I have a hell of a lot more at stake than some piece of pussy which doesn’t mean anything to me. But she isn’t just another anything… She is… Gigi. An enigma, a puzzle. A riddle I am going to solve, even if it means hurting myself in the process.

  I turn, snatch up my gun and shove it into my waistband.

  "Wait."

  I shrug on my shirt, turn to her. She swallows.

  "What about…?" Her voice trails off.

  "About?" I growl.

  "My proposition."

  "Let me think." I drum my fingers on my chest, peruse her from head to toe.

  Her cheeks flush. Her eyes glitter with that inner fight. Damn, but she has a hidden depth, a fierce perseverance that is both endearing and… Endearing? The hell? Since when have emotions ever featured in any relationship, huh? I take, I allow a select few to make me come…then walk away. That is it. No relationships. No entanglements. Nothing that can touch the part of me that I keep hidden away. Nothing to tempt me to cross the line that is forever etched in my memory… Until her. I crack my neck, yawn, then shake my head, "No."

  "What?" She gapes.

  "One touch and you were ready to throw yourself at my feet, bare yourself to me, and all but ask me to take you right there. I prefer…" I pretend to think, "...a bit more spirit, a bit more spine, a bit more oomph. Not to mention…"

  I glance at her gorgeous breasts, her curvy hips, her delicate ankles. If I touch her again, I am a goner. If I look into her eyes, I’ll never find myself again. No, this is the right thing to do. I have to walk away from her. "...I prefer my women to have more curves."

  "You bastard."

  The color leaches from her face and she sways. I take a step forward, then stop myself. Why do I care if she is hurting? That is the whole point, remember? Hurt her feelings enough that she’ll never turn to me again.

  "Want me to spell it out for you, Doll?" I reach her, then thrust my face into hers, "I don’t want you."

  8

  Why did the two lovers end up in prison?

  Answer: Because they stole each other’s hearts

  * * *

  Victoria

  * * *

  I stare at my reflection in the shiny elevator door—hair mussed up, lips swollen and bare of lipstick. I look…like I was thoroughly kissed. He did more than that. He turned me down, he insulted me, and I stood there and took it. What choice did I have? I can’t force him to take me as his sub, ca I?

  I stumble out of the office building of 7A investments, my hand bag at my side.

  Was it only a few hours ago that I had torn into the building?

  A gust of wind buffets me. I sway; the rain slicks my hair back, floods my sight. I step forward, my feet encounter thin air, and I pitch forward. A scream rips from my throat and I am hauled back.

  "Hey, you okay?"

  I turn around to encounter sharp gray eyes.

  "Are you all right?" the woman asks again.

  I swallow, nod. Open my mouth to thank her, but no words emerge. My heart is racing so hard that I am sure it’s going to jump right out of my rib cage. She peruses my face, "Victoria?" She frowns.

  I peer through the rain. Sh
e’s as tall as me, wearing a raincoat cinched around her waist.

  "Have me met?" I scan her features.

  "You’re Summer’s stepmother, right?"

  I wince. That is so not the identity I need to be riddled with… But yeah, no getting away from it. I nod and her face cracks into a wide grin. "I saw you at Sinclair and Summer’s wedding..."

  I glance at her features, then shake my head, "Sorry, I have a bad memory for names.”

  I glance up at her clear umbrella.

  "Oh, shoot." She steps forward to hold her wide umbrella over me. The rain stops pounding my face.

  "It’s Amelie." She prompts.

  "Amelie?"

  “I'm Summer’s friend?"

  "Ah."

  "I’m a pastry chef." She grins, all bright and happy. Christ, she makes me feel a hundred years old. Was I ever that hopeful about my future? Maybe before the Mafia had gotten to me? When I had been a student at UCLA? No, I'd always been a brooder, a thinker...some would say a dreamer, even. Look where that’s gotten me. I bite my lower lip. She frowns, peers into my face,

  "In fact, I was on my way to meeting her right now. Why don’t you come along?’

  I stare, then shake my head, "I honestly don’t want to impose."

  "Oh, you’re not imposing, and Summer will be glad to see you.

  I chew the inside of my cheek. Somehow, I don’t think so.

  "She’s mentioned how much she wants to get to know you better."

  "She has?" I tilt my head. Is she saying it to make me feel better? Or is she really trying to be friendly?

  A man almost walks into us, then excuses himself to veer past us. I stare. "Did he apologize?"

  She laughs. "That’s London for you. It’s very civilized, isn’t it?"

  "I’d forgotten."

  "You’re British, of course. I could tell from your accent. So how did you meet Summer’s father?"

  I tense, pull myself up straight, "I think I need to leave."

  Her face crumples. "Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to be nosy. Sometimes my mouth doesn’t grasp what my brain is trying to communicate. Often, I speak nonsense, and by the time I’ve realized what I’ve said, it’s too late."