Need (Bad Boys with Billions Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Nathan doesn’t have that kind of—wait a minute . . . Are you saying he came up with this idea, but swallowed his pride to ask you to fund it?”

  “Yep. Your boy has quite the head on his shoulders. I’ve had him in the Miami office for the past month, and he—”

  “Wait—you what?” I pressed my palms to my forehead. “Liam, what are you saying?”

  “Do I have to spell it out? Your bitchy speech worked. He’s been working for me ever since. He didn’t want you to see him around the office and think he was stalking you, so he asked if he could visit a few other sites first. He spent a couple weeks in LA, and then Denver, and most recently, Miami. My instincts were right. He’s awesome. How could I have not liked this kid, when he reminds me so much of myself?” He grinned in the way I’d once been so enamored with, though I now recognized I could never again be romantically attracted to him since he’d become one of my dearest friends.

  Nathan’s was the sexy smile I dreamed of nearly every night. His was the smile I longed to wake up alongside every morning. I loved him. I’d never stopped loving him. And the fact that he’d gone to the trouble of arranging this incredible surprise for me blew me away.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Office suite 805.”

  I was so intent on finding Nathan, I didn’t even say goodbye to Liam.

  “You’re welcome!” he shouted.

  I waved.

  The elevator took too long to show up, so I jogged down the stairs.

  Ten minutes later, I stood outside the suite Nathan shared with other members of his group, realizing I didn’t have a clue what to say.

  The last time we’d met, I’d been horrible. The time before that, as well. He’d prophesied I’d be begging him to take me back, and he’d been right. Never had I been more glad to be wrong.

  I forced a deep breath, then strolled through the humming communal office, trying to look as if I belonged. I found Nathan in a corner cubicle, where he poured over ad analytics for possible patterns. It was a thankless job, but someone had to do it. The fact that he seemed wholly engrossed in his effort filled me with quiet pride.

  This was my man. At least, he used to be. Only time would tell if we’d be together again.

  “Nathan?” Unsure what to do with my hands, I knocked on his cubicle wall. Lame, but at least it got his attention.

  “Hey . . . How’d it go?”

  Of course, I knew he was referring to my visit with Fern. There were no words to adequately convey how I had felt being in the presence of my little girl, let alone holding her like I’d done at the tour’s end. Though every part of me longed to help myself to Nathan’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck to thank him, I instead sat primly in his cube’s desk chair, keeping my hands to myself.

  Finally, once my pulse had calmed to a dull thud between my ears, I said, “Thank you. My visit with Fern was amazing.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” He sharply exhaled.

  We both started to speak at the same time, then covered our apparently mutual case of nerves with an awkward laugh.

  “Let me go first,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry, babe. We had it all, but I blew it.”

  “Agreed.” I bowed my head. “But there are so many things I wished I’d said—done— differently. Now . . .” I shrugged. “I’m not sure where we stand.”

  “How about we both accept a certain degree of fault and leave it at that?”

  “Done.”

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  Of course, in the moment, I wanted to kiss and kiss him and wish all of our ugliness away, but it wasn’t that easy. What we’d been through had made me feel crazy and out of control. All of that was still too fresh to completely let go, but maybe, hopefully, fingers-crossed soon?

  “Dinner,” I said. “But that’s all, okay?”

  Nathan

  Carol busted my balls hard for the first week we were once again talking. I’d been a total sack of shit and owned it. I’d apologized and explained that my lies had been about protecting her, and gradually, she’d begun to thaw. Tonight, she was meeting me at La Vache et le Poisson in Sausalito, and I had high hopes for a breakthrough. A fresh start.

  When making the reservation, I’d asked for not just a table overlooking the bay, but the whole deck. I’d gotten here nice and early to set up everything. Ella left her daughter with Liam to help me light hundreds of candles, and earlier that week on my lunch hour, she’d sat patiently with me while I described to her florist the kind of fantasy forest I wanted to create with potted trees and vines and fairy lights and sweet-smelling spring blooms. Ella offered to pay, but I’d refused. Tonight was all about me proving to Carol that I was worthy of her love.

  Considering the meal I’d shared here with Uma, this place might seem like an odd choice, but to the contrary, it was the only choice. It was about coming full circle. About finally having earned the money, the self-respect, and the dignity to bring Carol to the place that started it all.

  The night of our first date, when she’d wanted us to continue our conversation on this very deck, and I’d been forced by circumstance and pride to turn her down, had been one of the lowest of my life. Now, in large part due to her influence, everything had changed for the better.

  I rose when Carol walked toward me.

  My mouth went dry, my heart pounded in my chest and my eyes welled with tears.

  I’d always known how much I loved her, but not until this moment did I realize to what extent I’d been going through the motions of living without her, yet not truly living. Don’t get me wrong, my new job was beyond amazing, but not nearly as complete as it would be getting to share every sparkling new day with her.

  “Damn . . . ” I couldn’t stop smiling. “You look amazing.” The night was balmy, and she’d poured herself into a white sundress that shimmered in the netherworld between the dancing candles and the moon.

  “Thank you.” She bowed her head, as if for a moment overcome by the same swell of emotions as me. “What have you done? This place looks amazing.”

  “Not near as nice as you.” I approached her with caution. “Can I have a hug?”

  She rolled her eyes before stepping into my arms.

  As if on cue, John Mayer crooned “Your Body Is a Wonderland” over the restaurant’s sound system. I hadn’t quite reached the baller status of Liam to have my own orchestrated soundtrack, but I was working on it.

  Holding Carol in this special place, swaying to the music, was beyond any dream I’d ever had. When she rested her head on my shoulder, nuzzling my neck, I was the happiest man alive.

  But then Carol gasped and backed away, covering her mouth with her trembling hands. “Nathan, really? After all we’ve been through, all of this—the candles and flowers are beautiful, but too much. How many times do I have to tell you I don’t need you to be Liam—just yourself?”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t—” I looked to where she was pointing to see John Mayer himself stroll onto the deck wielding his guitar, singing some sappy song I’d never heard. This smacked of a certain matchmaking friend I’d told to go home. “Dammit, Ella . . .”

  “What’s she got to do with this? Did she plan what was supposed to be our big night?”

  “Not at all—” I said over the superstar’s ballad. “I mean, yes. I did most everything—except she helped with the flowers and lit a few candles. You know I don’t know shit about flowers, but babe—”

  “Dude, “ John said, “I’m trying to do my thing here. Do you mind?”

  “Shut up!” Carol and I barked in unison to the entertainment.

  Ella and Liam scurried from behind a couple of potted palms like the rats they were. Ella held the baby. Where had Liam and the pink cherub even been all this time?

  “I’m sorry,” Ella said to Carol. “I know Nathan planned on proposing tonight, and I wanted everything over-the-top special. Promise, all of this—every
single thing but one—was his idea and he paid for it all. He’s been so worried about making you happy. Inviting John was my idea. I’ve always had a thing for him, and—”

  “What the hell?” Liam said. “All of a sudden Mr. Fancy-Pants crooner shows up and I’m not good enough?”

  John held up his hands in surrender. “You guys are nuts. I’m calling my manager.”

  Liam pulled Ella and his baby girl close. “I’m the only man I want either of you having a thing for, got it?”

  “Mmm . . .” She silenced him with a kiss. “I love it when you go all caveman on me.”

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, but this was supposed to be Carol’s and my big night. How about showing yourselves and John to the door?”

  “Will do, man.” Liam slapped my back. “Good luck with Carol. Judging by her scowl, you’re gonna need it.”

  Ella jabbed his ribs, then yanked him off the deck and into the restaurant proper.

  I sighed. “That could have gone better.”

  Carol asked, “You’re proposing tonight?”

  “That was the plan, but obviously, the mood’s kind of—”

  “Shut up and kiss me.” She twined her arms around my neck, and with the only music being the lap of water against the deck’s pilings and the pounding of my heart, I finally touched my lips to hers and found home.

  Need more NOW? Keep reading for an excerpt of Want,

  the next exciting story in my Bad Boys with Billions series!

  Garrett

  In my thirty-one years, I’ve been called a lot of things—bastard, ass, jerk, motherfucker, scumbag and soulless cocksucker. One title that has never been bestowed upon me is nice guy, which is why I couldn’t tear my gaze from the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted, but could never have.

  Savannah. Where did I even begin?

  I downed my neat scotch and tapped the bar for another.

  Onstage, Jerry Baritone and the Tone-Ettes crooned Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl.”

  My father, the great Richard “Dickey” Marsden, had summoned us all to the club—Julep, Mississippi’s Fairview Country and Golf Social Society for those who weren’t in the know—to celebrate clever Savannah’s med school graduation. She’s everything I’m not. Warm and welcoming. Friendly to dogs, kids and old people. As a doctor, she’ll no doubt possess a flawless bedside manner.

  I didn’t just want my stepsister beside my bed, but in it, on me—riding me, fucking me hard enough to burn her from my soul.

  Another scotch returned me to age sixteen.

  “Son . . .” Dad planted his big hands on my shoulders, propelling me forward toward the girl who changed everything. “Meet your new sister, Savannah. Isn’t she a peach?”

  The girl, fourteen, ducked her head. Her long hair spilled forward, a black wave shining in the hot May sun, playing hide-and-seek with pale cheeks flushed from the heat. I couldn’t yet see her eyes, but her lips were large and full and pouty. She wore a slip-style floral sundress. The shoulder strap had fallen, and I couldn’t stop staring at the creamy transition from her collarbone to her shoulder. She was tall for her age, but somehow not gangly. My attention-starved sixteen year-old cock roared at a peek of side-boob.

  “Dickey, you have such a charming way with words.” The girl’s mother, my soon-to-be stepmother, Delilah, smiled beneath her giant pink Derby Day hat. My mother hadn’t been the hat sort—proven when she’d died in a motorcycle accident while not wearing a helmet. The fact that her death had come while she’d been on hiatus from being a wife or mom was never discussed. “Savannah, where are your manners? Give your new brother a hug.”

  The girl looked up, and the shock of her green eyes made me bite my tongue. Blood, coppery and deep, flavored her first fleeting brush against me. She’d smelled clean. Of soap and sweat and the champagne allowed by the occasion.

  My attraction had been visceral.

  I’d popped my cherry at thirteen with my Dutch nanny, and continued munching cuntcake at the New Orleans boarding school where Dad tucked me away. No shit, I wanted Savannah, but this was different from my standard operating procedure. She was different. The fact that she was soon to be my sister? Was this a fucking joke?

  Another scotch returned me to the present.

  Jerry and his girls sang Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher,” and instead of being repulsed, Savannah went with it, laughing and twirling and shaking her tight ass. As siblings, we’d shared countless celebrations. Holidays and weddings. Graduations and birthdays and Dad’s work promotions. She’d partied through them all, while I typically sulked. What can I say? I’m not a fun guy. As a general rule, people don’t like me, and I could give two shits.

  Sure, the booze and being back home had turned me extra morose, but for real, nothing in life brought me pleasure but causing others legal pain. I had more money than I could spend in two lifetimes. I had great cars and houses and an endless supply of eager woman. Literally, the only thing I didn’t have—could never have, but had always wanted—was Savannah. And that fact killed me. It had fueled every horrible act I’ve ever committed, and as she strode toward me in a red cocktail number, long legs bared to her thighs, frustration and pain clenched inside. I wanted to pitch my glass against the nearest wall. Punch something. Kick a barstool into the club’s glowing aqua pool.

  Instead, I pulled my shit together, bracing myself against her spell.

  “Hey, smiley . . .” She leaned in for a hug and cheek-kiss combo, wreathing me in her custom perfume’s lush blend of vanilla, jasmine and the ocean. I knew, because I had a fresh batch made for her on every trip I took to Paris. She wore her long hair up, and I fought the urge to tug it down. “Just for me, couldn’t you at least crack a hint of a smile?”

  I tried and failed, but she hugged me again and I couldn’t help it—being with her was so amazing that a half-assed grin emerged like a shy sun peeking out from behind clouds. “There it is. God, it’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”

  “Yeah.” An eternity, yet still not long enough.

  “How have you been? Mom said your friends Liam and Ella finally had their baby?” I nodded.

  “Is she as adorable in person as she is in the tabloids?” The media adored Ella, and she loved them back—for a price. She used all photo proceeds to fund her charity for battered women.

  Shrugging, I said, “I guess she’s okay. If you go for that sort of thing.”

  “Garrett, stop. You cloak yourself in this tough-guy persona, but it’s me. I see beyond your mean lawyer act.”

  “Whatever.” The growing crowd pressed her closer. Heat radiated from her thighs to my needy fingertips. “Let’s talk about your residency. When do you leave for Boston?”

  “Two weeks. Mom insists on me having a new wardrobe. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ll spend ninety-five percent of my waking hours in scrubs and the rest sleeping.” My mouth went dry. Over Christmas, we’d fallen asleep together watching Scrooged. Her faded Monroe Prep T-shirt had ridden high, exposing the curve of her perfect ass in reindeer-themed boy shorts.

  “Take care of yourself. I’ve heard . . .” The rest of my sentence was covered by too many drunken conversations and Jerry’s ridiculous wail.

  “What?” She smiled and cupped her ear.

  “Nothing!” I shouted above the band.

  She shocked me by taking my hand, grabbing a bottle of Patrón from the bar, then guiding me through the club until reaching the deserted pro shop, where only ghosts of the party remained.

  After parking on a padded bench, she screwed the top off the bottle and chugged.

  She coughed, then laughed. “That’s better. Part of me doesn’t believe med school’s really over. I knew it would be bad, but . . .” She took a few more chugs, then passed me the bottle.

  I downed enough to catch up.

  “Remember when we used to spend our whole summers at the club pool?”

  “Sure.” My mind’s eye saw flashes—slanted cut scenes of her
mounded breasts squeezed into a red bikini. Her belly, gently rounded and beaded with sweat. The bronzed backs of her thighs. The bits of forbidden skin the sun never got to kiss that I caught lucky glimpses of when she rolled over and thought no one had been watching.

  I drank a lot more, and handed her the bottle.

  She downed more than she probably should have. “I used to watch you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “My friend Elaine told me you always had a towel over your lap because you were happy to see me.” She laughed before taking another few sips. “I told her she was full of shit. You’re my brother, right?”

  I fucking died—especially considering my cock was in equally bad shape now.

  “But there was this one time when you were home from school and I caught you getting out of the shower. You must have just jacked off, because you were still semi-hard. I’d heard girls at school talk about sex, and sure, I’d made out plenty of times, but that was the first cock I’d seen live and in-person.” She giggled.

  “Glad my cock could amuse you.”

  “Oh no . . .” She once again hit the bottle, then slid off the bench to perch between my legs. I stopped breathing when she leaned forward, kissing my package. “I’m sorry, giant, beautiful cock. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She laughed and laughed.

  “Jesus, stop. This isn’t funny.” I tried shifting away from her, but that only made her more determined.

  “No, really . . .” She clasped her hands on my knees, burying her face in my crotch. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be together? Like we’re brother and sister, but not really. It’s such a wicked taboo, but why, you know?” She palmed me, and I damn near lost my shit.

  I’d never been more hard. Like fucking never.

  Using my knees for leverage, she rose high enough to kiss me, and I was lost.

  How long had I waited to feel her pouty, full lips crushed against mine? I slipped her my tongue and we were off. Flying high on what had apparently been years of mutual curiosity.