His to Have: A Billionaire Romance

by Hayes, Piper

  I pull the key out of my pocket and place it on the dingy counter. “I need a copy made.”

  He picks the key up and holds it up to inspect it.

  “You know this says ‘Do not duplicate,’ right?”

  I reach out and place my hand on his. “It’s for my boyfriend. We’re taking the next step in our relationship.”

  “A paperclip would do you about as good.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  “The key is for a padlock, but you already knew that right?”

  “It’s for a locker in the laundry room.”

  “Your boyfriend does laundry?” the man asks.

  “Can you help me or not?” I ask.

  The man reaches back on the wall and grabs a blank key. “That will be four fifty.”

  “For one key?” I flip through my purse and pull out my wallet. I’m over a hundred short, and there really isn’t much money left in my bank account. I can’t believe I’m actually going broke. Losing the apartment is one thing. Not being able to pay for a simple key is another. He’s probably gouging me because I’m a woman. “I only have three hundred on me. Do you take checks?”

  He laughs so hard he starts to wheeze. He leans over the counter to catch his breath. “It will be about two minutes, and it’s four dollars and fifty cents. Wait until I tell the guys that one. Four hundred dollars for a key. If that were the case, I’d have retired years ago.”

  I nearly die of embarrassment as I wait for him to finish. I slide a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet and place it on the counter. When he comes back with the key, I slide it across. He has a big grin as he hands me the key, but he waves away the bill. “The laugh was payment enough. Come back and let me know if that boyfriend of yours actually does the laundry. Four hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “I never got your name.”

  “It’s Mel,” he says holding out his hand.

  “I’m Catherine,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thanks for your help. If I ever come in here with the boyfriend, maybe don’t mention my mistake.”

  Mel nods and calls another customer up to the counter. I’ve done it. Now I have two keys, and I need to put one of them back.

  It’s two more days before I can put the original back. I wait until Blake’s taking a call on the veranda, and I sneak back in and examine the desk, reopening the drawer and looking it over top and bottom. I find the residue from where the key was taped to the underside of the drawer and I tape it back on. Then I hope like hell that Blake doesn’t realize that it’s been missing for the better part of a week.

  When Blake comes back inside, I’m on the couch, reading one of the books from his office.

  “You look different,” he says, “relieved almost.”

  “It’s because you’re back.” Then I hear a clank inside the desk. The key. I watch as it tumbles out and hits the floor. My blood pressure spikes. “What was that?” I ask.

  Blake steps around the desk and leans down on one knee. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. He picks up the key, holds it up to the light and grins. “It’s something I thought I had lost, something important.”

  Does he think I had anything to do with it? Is he going to tell me anything else? I slip my hand over my pocket where I hid the spare. “Sounds… mysterious. It just looks kind of beat up from here.”

  He laughs. “The key itself isn’t worth much, neither is the place it unlocks, but it means the world to me. To the right person, I think it would mean quite a bit too.”

  “Now I have to know.”

  “Maybe I’ll show you.” He walks over to me and kisses my cheek. I can smell the smooth, cool scent of his cologne. I can feel the buzz of anticipation on his lips. He slips the key into his pocket and runs his hands over my arms. “I was planning something for next weekend anyway. Maybe I’ll show you then.”

  “How about now,” I say.

  He slips his arms under me and scoops me up. “I have different plans for right now,” he whispers before he plants a slow, searing kiss on my lips. When he pulls back, I slip my tongue against his bottom lip. “I came up with them during my last meeting. It took all my willpower not to drop everything and come running back to you. You’ll have to wait a while to find out how that book of yours ends.”

  I let the book drop to the floor. Blake, take all the time you need.

  CHAPTER 8

  CATHERINE

  “You’re killing me,” Blake says as he turns and lets his gaze fall over my body. I’m reclining in his bathtub, looking out over the city. I’ve been trying to think of ways to entice him to stay since I woke up. I think I might have found the right one. “How am I supposed to leave knowing you’re so beautiful and so naked?”

  “You could always join me,” I offer. “I’m sure no one would even know you were missing. What’s the point of owning your own company if you can’t play hooky every once in a while?”

  He tenses his jaw and grits his teeth. “When I get back…” he says.

  “I’ll be fully clothed and uptown. I have some errands I have to run.”

  He walks over to the tub and leans over me, hovering just far enough away that I can feel his breath but not his lips. “And I’ll have to do my best to change that.”

  “Tease,” I say. I grab his tie and pull him the final few inches into the kiss. He doesn’t miss a beat, and he leans into my lips, sliding his tongue against mine as he braces himself against the edge of the tub. Warmth floods through my body, and I’m holding out hope that he’ll stay a while longer. When he pulls back from the kiss, I keep my grip on his tie. It’s dripping with water.

  With a quick motion he pulls the tie off and hands it to me. “You are gorgeous. Let’s pick this up when I get back.”

  “Like I said, I’ll be gone.”

  “Tonight then. I’m not opposed to your place.”

  In the past week, I’ve spent as many nights at Blake’s place as I have at mine, but I still haven’t invited him over. I’m being kicked out soon enough anyway. “We’ll see,” I say. I lean back in the tub and slide a little lower. If he’s not going to enjoy this bath with me, I can enjoy it well enough on my own.

  After Blake’s gone and I’ve soaked for a while, I get dressed and decide to head back to my place. I’m not sure if I’ll spend the night with Blake, but either way, I need a change of clothes. It’s a beautiful day, and I decide a walk will help me clear my head. I grab a pair of Blake’s sunglasses before getting on the elevator. They’re thick rimmed and retro in a way that makes me look like a hipster, but I catch a glimpse of my reflection and like the way they look. I joke to myself that they’re my disguise and shove my hands in my pockets as I strike a dumb pose. The key. The copy is still in my pocket and suddenly I remember all of the doubts and worries I have. I wonder if Ben’s waiting for me once I get outside. Maybe I’ll need a disguise after all.

  I decide to walk. It’s nice enough out, and, contrary to what I told Blake, I have nowhere to be. I spend the next two hours slowly making my way home, fiddling with the key and wondering what secrets it can reveal. I study its outline and wonder what could be so special about it. I pore over each notch, each groove. I tell myself that this is just a copy, that though it opens whatever lock, it’s not the real thing; it’s not his. And yet I feel like if I stare at it long enough, I’ll learn something more about Blake, some secret I don’t even know exists. Once or twice I nearly walk into traffic. I bump into someone at some point, but I barely notice. My full concentration and imagination are focused on the key. I become so engrossed in it that I walk right by my building, and don’t notice until I’m a few blocks beyond where I meant to be.

  That’s when I see Damien. I wonder if he’s headed to my building on Blake’s behalf or if he’s following me for some reason. He doesn’t seem to have noticed me and is walking into a cafe, so that seems unlikely. He looks over his shoulder, like he’s worried someone is following him. I sto
p and I watch for a minute. Damien said he lives nearby, maybe he’s just stopping home for an early lunch or running errands before heading out of town. It’s really none of my business, but I can’t help wondering what he’s up to. I know it’s wrong, and I know I should leave it alone, but I decide I should walk by and see if there’s anything going on.

  I pass slowly on the opposite side of the street, trying not to call any attention to myself. It’s hard to see through the glass, but I can make out Damien sitting down at a table with someone young and handsome. A chill runs through me. He’s meeting with Ben. He’s meeting with Ben. Does Blake know about this? What would happen if Ben found out I know about this? I hide just out of sight and wait for one of them to emerge. It’s Ben, he’s got a newspaper tucked under his arm, and he’s wearing a tweed jacket that makes him look more like an English grad student than an FBI agent, but maybe that’s the point. His hair is tousled. He looks unassuming. He looks like the kind of guy you’d trust in a second. I’ve known him for years, and I don’t trust him anymore. And even though it’s been years, he still knows me better than I’d care to admit. He’s one of the only people I’ve fully opened up to at any point. He knows me, and he knows which buttons to push.

  I keep my distance, taking care not to be seen, but after a block I know where Ben’s going. He’s heading to my place. I should rush back to the building and beat him there. I should confront him and tell him to come clean about everything he knows about Blake, but I can’t. I can’t face him right now. I can’t go home. I’ll blurt something out about the key, or I’ll inadvertently show it to him, or I’ll do something else to screw myself over. As soon as Ben is around the next corner I reach my arm out and do something I haven’t done in years. I hail a cab.

  CHAPTER 9

  CATHERINE

  Once I make it back to Blake’s place, I decide I’m not leaving until I know more about what’s going on with Ben and Blake and everyone involved. Blake gets home early from work and says he wants to make me dinner. He wants to know what my favorite meal is. I tell him I don’t know. I’ve never had much interest in food. If you want to talk about designer cocktails, then sure, I’m your girl, but food? Food always seemed like something I had to avoid in order to stay attractive. I’m not sure how to explain this to him. Guys never understand this. They never understand calorie counting and weighing yourself and worrying about what people think about your appearance.

  “You’re telling me you live in this city, and you don’t have any favorite foods? All of the best food in the world is within about fifteen minutes of here. “I thought you said something at some point about eating at all the hottest restaurants.”

  “I should have said being seen at the hottest restaurants. The eating is kind of an afterthought.”

  “Well, I’m starving and I’m sure you are too,” he says. “Tell me one thing you like to cook.”

  I snort in laughter. I’m horrified by the noise, but I can’t help it. “I don’t cook,” I tell him.

  “Nothing, not even mac and cheese?”

  “I always had a credit card, and my parents had a personal chef.”

  “Someone once told me that if you can’t really take care of yourself unless you can cook. I’m going to teach you how to cook something.” He pulls out a drawer and picks out a big, curved pan. “Stir-fry. That work for you?”

  I nod.

  Blake places the pan on the stove and heads into the living room. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Shopping. There’s a market around the corner. It’s got the best produce around. At least tell me you’ve been grocery shopping before.”

  I nod unconvincingly.

  Blake slips on a light jacket and motions to the elevator. “Where would you be without me?”

  I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that question.

  The market Blake’s so excited to shop at is little more than a corner bodega. He grabs a basket and starts loading in vegetables. He squeezes them and holds them up in the light long enough to decide whether or not they’re keepers. He tosses me an onion. I barely notice in time to catch it. “Firm with a dry skin,” he says. Then he tosses me a pepper. “Firm with bright color.” He explains each item as we go along, and he seems genuinely excited to share his knowledge with me. “Do you know what kind of wine pairs best with stir-fry?”

  “Not a clue.”

  He grins. “Beer,” he says. “I’ve got just the right one back at my place.” We pay for the food and head back.

  “Do you do all your own shopping?” I ask.

  “No, usually I have someone come and do it for me, but there’s nothing like picking your own ingredients and making a meal from scratch. “The work I do for a living is so abstract that it’s nice to slow down and do something tactile for once, you know what I mean?” He wraps his arm around me and holds me tight as we walk back to his place.

  Once we’re in his kitchen again, he cracks open two beers and hands me one. They’re cold, and covered in condensation that drips like thick beads of sweat. We clink bottles and I take a deep sip. I can feel the carbonation as the beer rolls down my throat. I take a step back and watch as Blake rinses the produce and lines it up on a cutting board. He starts the flame under the wok and pours some oil. He pulls out a large knife. “Do you know how to use one of these?” he asks. He already knows the answer is no. “Come on over and I’ll show you.” I step up to the counter and he slips his arms around me. He wraps my fingers around the handle. “The key is control. Just lift the back of the knife and bring it down. With your other hand, bend your knuckles and move the vegetables over at steady intervals.” He holds the zucchini and guides my hand as I slice. “Just like that,” he says. He guides me through cutting the peppers and cabbage and onion and I manage not to nick myself or him, which seems like a minor miracle. We toss the ingredients into bowls, and he pulls some chicken out of the fridge.

  “Maybe I’ll watch you do this part,” I say. The idea of raw meat grosses me out, but I’m willing to trust Blake’s judgement.

  Blake makes quick work of it cutting it into small strips just like the vegetables. He tosses it into the pan and it sizzles. He washes his hands and gets a spatula. “You add, I’ll stir,” he says. “The key is keeping everything moving, just like this.” He works everything carefully as I add in the vegetables. “Now it’s your turn,” he says. Within a few minutes, the entire kitchen smells wonderful, and Blake is adding in the sauce.

  “What do we do next?” I ask.

  “We eat,” he says, he picks up his beer and clinks it against mine. “Congrats, you just cooked your first meal.” I down the last of my beer and play with the label as he plates the food. I feel a bit of a buzz already, and I grab another drink and follow Blake outside to eat.

  We sit next to each other on the terrace. There’s a gentle breeze off the river, and from Blake’s terrace, the sound of traffic and and the low hum of the city sound almost like the ebb and flow of the river itself. I lean against Blake as I eat. I finish every last bite of my meal and I eye Blake’s.

  “I thought you didn’t like food,” he says. He pushes his plate over and I steal a bite.

  “I’ve never had someone cook for me before,” I tell him.

  “We cooked together.”

  I like the sound of that. “What about dessert?” I ask.

  “I had few things in mind.” He’s looking at me in a way that says he’s not talking about food. I take another sip of beer, and I can’t tell if I’m getting tipsy or if I’m just that excited about whatever Blake has in store. It’s probably both, and that’s fine with me. There’s no name for what we have together. It’s not love. It can’t be, but it is something, something I’ve never felt before and can’t name, something raw and electric and wonderful, something real. Blake kisses my neck and runs his hand down my side. Then his lips are on mine, his tongue. God, I want him in every possible way.<
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  There are no more words, no attempts to explain, only desire, only our mutual need. I’m breathless and frantic and I need him. I pry his shirt open and place my palm against his chest. His heart is racing almost as fast as mine. In the half shadow of the reflected city lights, he grabs my hips and guides me onto his lap. I grind against him, and I can feel his cock straining against his pants. I want to feel him inside me. I want him to slip my clothes off, and I want to feel his bare skin against mine, I want to move together as one. I want that rush and that crash and that release.

  “Turn around,” he whispers. I stand for a second, and he pulls my dress off before pulling me back onto his lap. I’m facing away from him, and he has his arms wrapped around me. His arms are warm and strong, and the night air is cool against my skin. Blake’s pants are down around his ankles, and I’m so turned on I can barely wait another second. He slides one hand between my legs and the other up to my cheek. He brushes my hair aside and kisses my neck. I rub against him as he slowly pushes two fingers inside my core. I close my eyes as the pleasure intensifies.

  “Fuck me,” I tell him between hurried breaths. I mean it, too. I want him to fuck me hard. I want him badly. I want to feel his full length inside me, and I want him to overwhelm me with delight. I don’t know where or how he had it, but he’s ripping the condom wrapper and sliding the condom onto himself. I help him slide it down around his base and give an extra rub before he places his length between my thighs. He rubs his cock against my clit before he pushes deep inside me and the excitement rolls through me.

  I close my eyes, and I can’t hear the sounds of the city anymore. I can’t hear anything but my own excited breaths and the motion of Blake against me. I push back against his hips. The pressure is so incredible that I already feel weak in the knees, and I can feel an orgasm starting to rise up inside me. He slides one hand back between my legs and the other over my breasts, playing with my nipples as I gasp in delight.