He was quiet for a few moments. He nodded slowly. And then finally, he smiled.
“All right, Morgan. You’ve got yourself some cash.”
I bit my lip.
“Really? I swear to god, if you’re lying…”
“Really. But, listen. I want to be directly involved with this project.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that I want to help. I can fund a professorship for an American studies scholar focused on women’s writing in the 19th century. That should basically be you, right? They don’t have anyone else they could give it to?”
“Exactly.”
“And then I’ll fund a few graduate student positions so you always have students to mentor.”
“That’s way too generous, Blaine…”
“And then, we’ll add in—let’s say, a full-scholarship for ten students interested in majoring in English? I think we can manage all of that.”
I couldn’t say anything. I tried several times but Blaine just raised his glass.
“Let’s drink to the future of the discipline, shall we?”
We drank and I felt myself getting hot and dizzy. This was too good to be true. There had to be a catch. There had to be one, somewhere.
But I couldn’t find one. Maybe he really had changed. Maybe he wasn’t the prick I always thought he was.
As we chatted, I couldn’t help but reflect on how far apart our worlds were. His business was so foreign for me: buying and selling companies, slicing and dicing them for a profit, making millions of dollars a month. More money than I would ever make in my lifetime.
“It boggles the mind,” I said finally, as Blaine detailed breaking up an Azerbaijani oil company into three smaller companies, and then selling each one for more than he had bought the original one for.
“What does?”
“Just… How you can have so much money—and wield so much power over people’s lives. Whether or not they have jobs. Stuff like that.”
“Someone’s bound to have that power, Morgan. It might as well be me.”
“But why should it be you?”
“Because,” he said with an almost sinister grin. “I took it.”
After we finished our wine, he volunteered to show me the rest of his place. I almost didn’t want to see it but curiosity got the best of me. Besides the extravagant living room, there was a chef’s kitchen, and an indoor pool and fully stocked gym. There was a full-sized ball room and billiards room, and seven bedrooms. Finally, we came to the master bedroom, a room at least as big as my entire apartment, also joined by the outdoor terrace.
“And here, finally, we end the tour,” he announced with a smile.
He tossed off his jacket onto a chair and I found myself sinking down onto his bed. He stripped off his tie and stood before me, our eyes locked. I felt my breath coming in short, slow bursts. And then, it was hard to breathe at all.
What the hell was I feeling? Was I actually attracted to him? That was so wrong—after all, he had been my brother!
But we weren’t related by blood.
And we weren’t brother and sister now.
“You know, I’m excited to work close together in the future,” Blaine said coolly.
“Me… me too,” I murmured, on my guard, but feeling that guard melting. He sat down on the bed next to me.
“I feel like we were never close as kids.” He lay down, staring up at the ceiling. “Did you come to my father’s funeral?”
I froze.
“Uh… No. No, I didn’t. I don’t think I had the money for a plane ticket then.”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to lie,” Blaine muttered. I turned back to look at his handsome face and found him looking more like a scared, sad child rather than a master of the universe.
“I know things were terrible between him and your mother at the end. I don’t blame you. I don’t know if I would have gone, had he not been… You know. My father.”
I lay down next to him, turning to look at him.
“I know. But… It’s so tough when a parent dies. Like that.”
He turned to face me, both of our heads horizontal, cheeks pressed into the duvet cover.
“You know, I’ve never had a woman in this bed that I wasn’t about to fuck,” Blaine said, suddenly. My eyes widened.
“Well, I’m honored to be the first,” I said, getting up, my heart beating fast. Blaine just laughed.
“Relax, sis. You’re not my type.”
“Your type?” I said, my voice cracking ever so slightly. I was taken aback, to say the least. “What the hell is your type?”
“Blonde, skinny, daddy issues.”
“I don’t fit any of the criteria, I’m proud to say.”
“Well, we can’t all be perfect,” he said with a shrug. “If you don’t want to head back to Silliman tonight, you can stay here. I’ve got a guest room. Five, in fact.”
I bit my lip. The offer was tempting. But no, I couldn’t afford to waste time in the lap of luxury here. Even if it looked like my career was safe for the time being, I still had work to do. Still had research to do. Classes to plan. There was always work to do.
“That’s sweet of you, bro. But I should be getting back. The weekends are just about the only time I have to get work done on my own research.”
“Oh, come on… Have a little fun, sis,” Blaine continued. He began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, but with precise movements. I found myself biting my lip. No. No. No. This wasn’t what I was supposed to want. But damn it… It was what I wanted… When he was about halfway down his strong, well-formed chest, he glanced up at me.
“What’s wrong? We’re brother and sister. Nothing weird about that—it’s like we’re just sharing a room at mom and dad’s house.”
“It’s nothing like that and you know it,” I laughed, grabbing a throw pillow and hurling it at him. He caught it effortlessly and flung it back at me.
“Fine, it’s not, but only because I was at college and you were in prep school—otherwise, it would have been totally normal. We could have been normal brother and sister.”
I smiled.
“Would you really have wanted that?” I asked, my voice teasing.
“You’re asking, really? I tried. I always tried to get you to loosen up, to hang out with me. I always tried to treat you like a little sister. You act like you’ve never seen any movies about brothers and sisters, silly!”
“Stealing my stuff, making me miserable—you call that treating me like a little sister?”
“Have you ever seen a brother and sister? That’s what they do.”
I rolled my eyes and he finished unbuttoning his shirt. Then, he stripped off his undershirt.
Oh, god, he was gorgeous. Covered in intricate tribal tattoos—it was as if he knew my secret weakness. I loved ink on a man. Tyrone had been inked too…
And he was walking towards me. Don’t stare, Morgan, don’t stare, don’t stare.
“I’ll have a car take you to the train station then,” Blaine said smoothly, his voice like buttery silk. I could see a tiny glimpse of his flesh, his beautiful, powerful flesh. And damn it, I wanted to see more. I hated myself for it but I wanted it. “And I’ll see you next week when we announce the donation?”
“Sure… Sure… Next week…” I mumbled, looking down at my feet.
He wrapped his arms around me, giving me one more big hug. At first, I felt frozen in his embrace, but then I melted into it, sighing and savoring his scent once more, the strength and warmth of his body. I had to resist the urge to lean up and kiss his neck, resist the urge to make this more than just a friendly embrace… To make this something sordid and… Exciting. More exciting.
“It was good to see you, sis,” he whispered as we broke apart. “Don’t be a stranger.”
And then he leaned forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. I closed my eyes, leaning into that little token of affection.
“Same to you, bro,” I replied, and t
hen drifted out of the condo.
As I rode down the elevator, I realized my heart was pounding in my chest and I had broken out in a wet sweat. I was practically feverish. Hell, I was more turned on than I had ever been in my life!
Oh, god… And Blaine would be there to give me the department’s donation, in front of all my colleagues? How the hell was I ever going to keep it together?!
I did my best to brush those thoughts out of my mind as I focused once more on the scent of his cologne and his flesh… No. That wasn’t productive either.
Work. I had work to do. No time for stepbrother billionaires.
6
Blaine
The next week came and went in a blur. The busier you are, the faster time moves, I suppose.
Nicholas was delighted when I told him about my decision. We met once more in my office and, once more, he helped himself to a glass of scotch.
“That’s a damned good idea, Blaine,” he said. “People will love this. Just be careful that it doesn’t look like total nepotism.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s good that you’re providing scholarships for all these students, is all. Focus on that. Otherwise, it’s got to look a little odd… You start showering money on a university English department and your sister gets a job out of it.”
“She’s not my sister anymore,” I replied hotly.
“But that’s not how it’s going to play.”
“But she’s not—“
“Listen to me, Blaine. I’m trying to help you. I’m telling you how it’s going to play in the tabloids, how it’s going to play on the news. It’s going to look like you’re propping up your sister, which is fine, whatever—if we change the focus, if the focus is ‘Badboy Billionaire Shows Heart of Gold; Sends Poor Kids to College,’ great. If the headline is ‘Badboy Billionaire Bribes College to Keep Sis’s Job’… You’re not much better off than you were before.”
I sighed. He was right. Damn it, but he was always right. This was why I kept him around, after all.
“So, are you going to write my speech for me? I’ve got this ceremony at the college for it tomorrow.”
“I’ve already got a draft. Add your own flair and you’re golden, buddy.”
This called for a scotch. I clicked my phone and my secretary answered.
“Yes, Mr. Stone?”
“Tell my 4:30 that I’ll be fifteen minutes late. Mr. Blink and I have some spreadsheets to look over.”
“Of course, Mr. Stone.”
Her voice disappeared and I shot a grin at Nicholas as he poured me a glass. We clinked and took simultaneous sips.
“To the Silliman University English department!” I declared.
“And to nineteenth-century American literature saving your ass.”
I finished my drink with Nicholas over small talk: what his family was up to, when they were heading up to Cape Cod to go boating and camping, and so on. I kept promising to come camping with him and his family—this was their great passion—but things always got in the way.
Besides, rugged outdoors living isn’t really my style. I can do it, of course, but I much prefer luxury and exotic locales. I’ll take a tavern in Athens or a bistro in Paris over a tent on the Cape any day.
I made my way through my afternoon and evening meetings in a daze. I found myself… Excited. Excited to see Morgan again.
This feeling was so damned strange. I knew I wanted to fuck her, of course. I wanted to fuck her even when she was my stepsister and damned if I was going to fail now.
But even more than that, I imagined having wine with her, having a cup of coffee, walking down the old, cobbled back streets of Brooklyn, arm in arm in the winter time, the chill of the coming season sending shivers up and down our spines as I draw her close…
I liked the way she teased me. I liked the warm, feisty glow in her eyes when she called me out. It was something Liana never did. Liana would simply roll her eyes, or even ignore me—always in her own little world, so many light years away from me, away from Earth.
But Morgan was present in so many ways, lived so deeply, felt so passionately about what she was doing.
Passion. Feelings. God. What was I turning into? Had my divorce made me go soft?
I never bothered with this bullshit before. I never made love before; I only fucked. Now, yes, I wanted to fuck Morgan, but more than that, I wanted to make love to her: to kiss her neck, kiss her plump lips, kiss my way down her toned, firm body and feel her tremble and squirm beneath me, feel her pleasure bursting through her skin…
I wanted that more than I wanted to bend her over my desk and plow her.
Admittedly, I’d still like to do that too. But not as much as I wanted her in bed, as I wanted to treat her like a princess and woo her.
God, what was wrong with me?
Whatever. She would submit to me before long. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that women can’t resist a man with a fat cock and a fatter wallet. Before long, she would be all mine. It felt so taboo, so wrong—but after all, we weren’t related by birth. There was nothing illegal about it.
I would have rather had her when she was sixteen but now was just as much fun. I hadn’t been with anyone since my divorce and I was craving the touch of a woman, craving the feeling of hot, soft flesh beneath me…
And, no matter how much I might try to deny it, I craved the sound of her laugh and the sound of her delighted squeals just as much.
Oh, damn it all to hell. What had I gotten myself into here?
At least the donation meant I would be close to her… Close to her always. For the next few years, as long as she was a professor at Silliman. She would be mine.
And, in the mean time, so long as we played it right, the tabloids would eat it up.
Friday evening finally came and I left the office at noon to drive up to Silliman. Pulling away from the city in my silver, limited-edition Bugatti, I found myself glancing behind myself absentmindedly, even as I dipped in and out of traffic. There, behind me, was the city skyline, framed beautifully in blue. It rose up, bearing over me as I raced away from it, like a monster chasing a child in a nightmare. But this was no nightmare.
This city still was my destiny. I was positive about that. And there was nothing that would come in between me… And it.
And along the way, I would fuck whomever I wanted. Maybe even make love to them.
To her. To Morgan.
I arrived at Silliman around three o’clock and was at the Faculty Club by three-thirty. Morgan met me outside, wearing a smart, professional suit with a skirt that nonetheless showed off her shapely legs and rear. All that Crossfit had really been paying off for my homegirl.
“All good?” I asked, sliding my hand coolly around her waist as we strode into the Club. I saw her look down at my hand in indecision. I wasn’t about to move it.
Move it, Morgan. Move it if you don’t want it there.
But she didn’t move it. If anything, she sidled closer to me, and I could smell the fragrance of he perfume, could feel the hotness of her skin and how close she was to me. She was close enough to touch, to taste. I could have her right now.
“Oh, Professor Kennedy,” Morgan said suddenly, pulling away from me after only a few steps into the luxurious old club. Imagine an Ivy League university to yourself, and the Silliman University Faculty Club will pop into your mind: beautiful old Gothic architecture and, inside, gorgeous old wood and stone-work, with luxuriant red carpets and smartly dressed students and teachers everywhere.
“This is my brother, Blaine Stone. Well, ex-brother, actually.”
“Ex-step brother, to be perfectly accurate,” I corrected gently, grasping Anthony’s hand. He was old, grey, and Irish, though still fit, even if he did walk with a noticeable limp. His handshake was firm and powerful. I liked that. I respected that.
“Mr. Stone, it’s a pleasure. We can’t tell you how much we appreciate your gift.”
“Professor, ca
ll me Blaine. It’s all thanks to Morgan here—she convinced me absolutely of the importance of the work you do here. I wouldn’t be here without her.”
“And I probably wouldn’t be here much longer without you,” Morgan said with a smile. Anthony smiled grimly. I nodded seriously.
“Well, we all have our debts,” I whispered, my voice low enough so that only she would here as Anthony turned to greet another professor.
A look of surprise flashed over her face, though not just surprise—it was more… Intrigue? I couldn’t explain it, but my hand once again found its way around her waist, going lower and lower, till it was all but resting on her behind. I felt her freeze, but then melt under my arm.
“We… We should go get our seats,” she whispered as the guests started to file into the auditorium. “We’ll be on the stage.”
“Of course,” I replied. “I expected no less.”
Inside the huge, soaring auditorium, we found the rows packed: professors from other departments, administrators, students, community leaders, and more. As we strode up to the stage, I watched the eyes watching me.
I could feel them, picking me apart, looking at me as if I were made of money. Bastards, all of them. Thinking I’d fund their after school program or their research trips or their dissertations, let them expand and get themselves fancy new raises, enough to buy a new car, put a new addition on the house…
But could I blame them? Wasn’t Morgan treating me the same way?
I didn’t want to admit it but… She was, wasn’t she? There was no reason she would have called me, talked to me, met with me, had she not needed my money.
I felt my face darkening as we ascended the stage and took our seats. I focused and forced a gentlemanly smile onto my face. When you’re a rich man, a powerful man, you learn fast that society expects you to do what you’re doing with a pleasant smile on your face.
Even if you’re skinning a company, firing a thousand workers, shorting the housing market—do it with a smile, pretend you’re just oh-so-delighted to be here.
At His Mercy: A Dark Billionaire Romance Page 5