The Billionaire Possession Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

Gideon’s mouth works, and when he speaks again his voice is firm. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I do.” Then, because I can’t stand it anymore, I lean forward and press my lips against his. He tenses for the barest second, and then he wraps his hand around the back of my head, kissing me so hard I’m sure he’ll leave a bruise.

  When he pulls back, Hank lets out a low whistle. “Are we about to see a proposal?” He and Dave laugh together, but Gideon’s eyes are locked on mine, blazing with heat and hope.

  “I’m sorry, Kennedy. I should have woken you up from that nap.”

  “I should have realized that Abby’s an adult, and a schemer, too. She was going to convince you to do something I wouldn’t approve of, guaranteed.”

  He pulls me closer, kissing me again, softly. “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  “Please don’t walk away from me again.”

  “I won’t.”

  I breathe him in, relishing his clean, spicy scent, my entire chest exploding with warmth and love and a rightness that rights the entire world around me.

  Then Dave taps my shoulder, and my gut plummets back into my shoes.

  “Kennedy. We’re about there.”

  Gideon’s eyes shine with glee.

  When the green light goes on, Hank rises and triple-checks the clips that bind his harness to Gideon, who’s grinning like a maniac. They move toward the open door of the plane, the wind whipping by.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  Gideon turns back. “I’ll see you on the ground, pretty thing.”

  Then Hank is counting—one, two, three—and on three he pushes them out of the plane, tumbling gracefully into the air. I choke back a scream.

  It’s my turn.

  Dave and I stand, and he clips our harnesses together, his hands working over everything two times, then three. I’m so tense that my muscles must be vibrating more than the plane itself. My face feels pinched, and I can’t get my breath.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes!” I scream, and Dave laughs, his voice low in my ear.

  My entire body wants to lurch backward, back toward the safety of the plane, but Dave is moving us forward, toward the open door.

  It’s a gorgeous day.

  The sky is a clear blue, and below us, New York City’s skyline is rising from the earth. From here, everything looks clean and fresh.

  I still don’t want to jump out of a plane, but I think of Abby. I think of Abby, and how she clawed her way back after the accident, and how she never lets it get the better of her. I think of how shocked she’s going to be when I tell her what I’ve done. And I think about how, after this, nothing will ever be the same. I’ll have officially moved on, and I’ll have jumped out of a plane to prove it.

  I don’t have time to think anymore because Dave is counting—one, two, three—and then it’s out of my hands, because we’re tumbling into that cool blue sky.

  I scream, releasing the pent-up energy and fear, and then I suck in a breath. I’m weightless, I’m flying, I’m free, and New York City is so beautiful beneath me, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m doing this. Nothing will ever hold me back again. Not after this. It doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like soaring.

  It surprises me when the minute is up, when Dave pulls the parachute, and then we’re descending over the skyline.

  “You’re doing great!” he says into my ear, and for the first time I realize that I’m crying.

  “I know!” I shout back, the joy filling me to the brim. “I know!”

  The only thing that could top this is being in Gideon’s arms, and I’m flying toward him now. I’ll be kissing him before I know it. I take a big breath of the crisp, cold air, feeling alive and free and glorious, ready to touch down into my brand-new life.

  Epilogue

  Gideon

  Kennedy screams all the way down the zip line, her voice echoing off the walls of the canyon as she flies through the air. From the ground, she looks like a mythical creature, her hair streaming out of its ponytail behind her, the color like fire in the sun.

  She lets out one last screech as she hits the last fast section and starts to move backward, throwing her arms out like she’s flying. Then I can’t help but laugh along with her. Kennedy, it turns out, giggles uncontrollably when she’s overtaken by an adrenaline rush, and it’s a sound of such pure joy that it’s impossible not to join in.

  She comes to a stop, and two attendants hurry out to unclip her from the harness, and then she’s dancing toward me, clapping her hands, eyes bright. “That was amazing.” She takes a big breath, then lets it out, putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t know, though.”

  I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. I’d like to kiss far more of her, but that will have to wait until we’re back at the lodge. “You don’t know what?”

  “I don’t know if I liked that one better, or the one through the rainforest.”

  I let out another laugh as we head back toward the tour vehicle that will take us to a private airfield half an hour away, where we’re going to board a chartered flight back across New Zealand to Edenhouse, the luxury lodge I chose for this time around. Kennedy reminisces about the zip line trip we took all the way to the airfield, and on the flight back settles into a warm contentment that I can’t get enough of.

  I want to get her clothes off the moment we get inside, but I have other plans.

  “So, was it a good day?”

  She grins up at me, running her hands through her hair, tossing it back up on top of her head in a loose bun. “Every day with you is amazing.”

  It’s about to get even more so.

  Evening is settling in around us, and Kennedy changes out of her shorts and top for a flowing sundress that makes me want her even more. When she emerges from the bedroom, I press her up against the wall and kiss her. Not enough to have us tumbling to the carpet, but it’s close.

  When we come up for air, her blue eyes are shining. “I’m starving.”

  She starts to head for the kitchen, but I catch her arm. “I’ve got something ready.”

  It’s waiting on the front porch, and when we step outside the door, Kennedy gasps like she’s never seen a setup like this before. It’s one of my favorite things about her. In six months, she’s never gotten tired of my surprises. It’s still as thrilling to her as always. “Gideon!”

  The table does look lovely, set with candles and china and white linen, the perfect complement to a day spent soaring through a canyon. Kennedy beams up at me. “What’s the occasion?” I tuck her hand into my arm and lead her over next to the table, and she takes in a big breath of the warm air. “Is it a surprise?”

  She narrows her eyes, still grinning, when I take both of her hands in mine. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Ask,” Kennedy says, wrinkling her nose a little.

  So I drop down to one knee.

  Her mouth goes into a round o, and her hands flutter upward like she wants to hide it, but decides not to. “Gideon…”

  “I thought you were perfect from the moment I saw you.” My voice shakes a little. Get it together, Gideon. I slip my hand into my pocket, drawing out a small velvet box. “Kennedy Carlisle, there’s no bigger adventure than being in love with you. For as long as I’m drawing breath, I want to be by your side, and I want you to be by mine.” Tears are coming to her eyes, pricking at the corners, but she’s radiant, glowing. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, and drops to her knees to throw her arms around my neck. “Yes!” I open the box and she gasps again. It’s not a traditional diamond—it’s a rare black opal, small and glittering, totally unconventional, like she is. When I slip the ring onto her finger, Kennedy bursts out in a laughter that’s so joyous and pure I wish I could bottle up the sound.

  Then she’s scrambling to her feet, pulling me up with her, kissing me hard, lighting me up from the inside. “
Every single breath, Gideon,” she says, her voice bursting with love. “Every single one.”

  Shameless Kiss

  1

  Juliet

  “Palsgraf v. Long Island Railroad,” I whisper to myself as I push the drink order from Table Five across to the club’s bartender, Peter. He’s the kind of bartender that makes the ladies weak in the knees—blonde, blue-eyed and tall, with a broad chest and arms ripped with well-defined muscles. He looks every part the model off the cover of a romance novel. He’s also an insufferable flirt.

  “Looking good tonight, Juliet.” He takes the paper I hand to him from my order pad with a wink.

  I give him a tight-lipped grin in return. I look this good every night I work at the White Rose. It’s my job to look this good. At least this good. I always try to look my best. Looking my best means more and bigger tips, and more and bigger tips means I can buy myself some more time. I’m trading time away from studying for law school right now, but I’m not going to let my dad down. Hence the extra job, on top of the full-time, all-consuming work that is going to law school.

  “Palsgraf v. Long Island Railroad,” I repeat as soon as Peter turns away to prepare the drinks. “Palsgraf v. Long Island Railroad, 1928. New York Court of Appeals. Foreseeability.” It’s the Cliffs Notes version of the case, the same Cliffs Notes I spent until the early hours of the morning writing out longhand. Typing out notes doesn’t give my memory the same juice as writing it all out by hand. “Limits liability to those consequences that could reasonably be foreseen.”

  Peter returns with the drinks, and I grab a tray from the other side of the bar, arranging the glasses in a perfect triangle. He watches me with his contemplative blue eyes. “You have an exam in the morning?”

  I roll my eyes. “When don’t I have an exam? I’m in law school.”

  He shakes his head. “What are you doing here so late if you have an exam to study for tomorrow?”

  I balance the tray on one hand and spin him a flirty grin, rubbing the fingers of my other hand together. “Money, Peter. You don’t make any money as a lawyer until you become one.”

  He grins back at me, pretending to sniff the air. “You should wrap one of the club’s members around your finger, and then you’d have all the money you could ever want. It reeks of money in here.”

  I take in a deep breath. Peter’s tone is low, rumbling beneath the gentle music playing in the background every single moment the club is open to its members. It’s not the kind of thing we’d be caught dead saying in front of the members, but it’s true. Everything about the White Rose is decadently understated—the dark, rich-textured carpeting that hushes even the most expensive stilettos, the linen tablecloths with higher thread counts than my nice sheets, the paintings placed strategically and inconspicuously on the walls, drop-lit from under their opulent custom-designed frames, several of which are originals from some of the world’s most famous artists.

  If the White Rose doesn’t smell like money, I don’t know what it smells like.

  I shake my head slowly at Peter. “Sell out? I would never do that.”

  Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes dramatically. “I’m not suggesting selling out, I’m suggesting that there may be a shortcut.”

  “I don’t need to take a shortcut.”

  I turn away from the bar, running a mental assessment of tonight’s ensemble—is the strapless black dress still in place? Has it curved with the sway of my hips and become crooked? No, and no. Every step I take is calculated to the right degree in the swing of my hips. I might not be the most attractive waitress at the Rose, but you know what? I can play the part.

  Table Five this evening is occupied by a bachelor party. I don’t know how the hell this group of guys in their tailored summer suits and too-wide grins even got this table. On nights like tonight, when the August air is clear and no humid haze masks the cityscape, Table Five boasts the best view in the house. It sits directly in front of a wide, circular window that overlooks the Manhattan skyline. Tonight it’s sparkling below us, dark and clean and mysterious from this high up.

  It’s an excellent view. Some nights, when the last of the club’s members have gone home and the guest parties have trickled out, I like to look out over that view and imagine that I’m someone else—at least, someone who’s on the other side of all this...preparation, and waiting, and knows where she’s going for sure in the future.

  It would be so much easier if it wasn’t for Dad.

  The thought of him makes my throat tighten, but I swallow it away without divulging anything in my expression. I’ve perfected the look—a little smile, like I’m thinking of something slightly naughty—that seems to get me the best tips. People here like a waitress with a little mystery, a little allure. Or that’s what I try to make myself believe. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have their lives. I guess that’s not exactly true—I can imagine it. I can’t imagine it for myself. Most of the men here—who I might add, are wearing custom-designed shirts that cost more than I make in a week—acquired their money from family businesses. Because of their family names. Or else they used family money to start companies that soared to the top of the market, dumping cash into their pocket hand over fist.

  Someday I’ll have a little taste of what that type of freedom is like. Someday, when I’m out of law school and have passed the bar and joined a firm—I’ll accept the highest offer—I’ll finally be free of the weight that’s heavy on my shoulders even now, when I’m pretending to be someone I’m not: a sultry, sexy princess with perfect posture and not a problem in the world.

  Time? That’s something I might never have. But at least I’ll have earned what I get.

  I have to keep working, keep earning tips. And if that means approaching Table Five with a seductive grin and an obvious sway of my hips, then so be it.

  “Drinks,” I say, keeping the tone of my voice balanced somewhere between sultry and absolutely professional. I slide the tray onto the table and deliver the correct cocktail in front of the man who ordered it, fluttering my eyelashes at each one in turn. Eye contact earns tips. “Where did all your friends go?”

  They were a party of six when they arrived earlier in the evening, but now they’re down to three. The one sitting closest to me, who ordered a whiskey neat, looks at me with eyes so dark they’re almost black under the club’s mood lighting. “We’re making some changes in personnel.”

  I laugh, noticing his other hand rising up from his lap, and step away, flicking my gaze around the table to the others. “Is there anything I can get you in the meantime, while you wait for your new crew to arrive?”

  The second man at the table, his dark reddish hair combed in such a way there’s not a lock out of place, murmurs something to Mr. Dark Eyes. He grins at me, his teeth leering and reminding me of a wolf. It’s at moments like these that I’m glad for the extra security hired on by the Rose, in case anything happens. Usually everyone is on their best behavior, but with such wealthy men, some who feel entitled because of their success, I’m always on my guard. The smile on my face stays planted firmly in its position. “Tell you what,” I say, picking up the tray from the table. “You let me know if you need anything.”

  “Oh, we will. We will.”

  I turn and walk away, working my hips a little more, even though the hairs on the back of my neck are raised.

  Law school. Dad’s bills. Tips.

  I lock my thoughts on those things.

  Consequences that can reasonably be foreseen....

  2

  Weston

  “Where the hell are we going again?”

  Gideon turns to me with a wide smile and signals to his driver to stop. “We have one last place to be tonight.”

  “I don’t have one last place to be.” In fact, I want to be back in my penthouse, stretching out on my bed after a long night of searching that has, so far, resulted in absolutely nothing. Gideon is only in town for the weekend, and he promised me a good time i
f we went out. For once, I had an empty space on my calendar. That doesn’t happen often. It’s even rarer that Gideon is in New York City at all—he and his Kennedy are constantly out of the country, those adventurous in-love fools. I don’t know how he manages to run his company from a different tropical beach every week, but somehow he manages.

  “Yes, you do. We’ve got to make an appearance at Cross’s bachelor party.”

  “At the White Rose?”

  “I didn’t pick the place.”

  If he’d chosen the place, we’d be cliff-diving off some treacherous-as-hell cliff in the middle of nowhere, which is why most people don’t risk asking Gideon to be the best man at their wedding.

  “Did you even get invited?”

  Cross is the kind of guy who has more friends than he knows what to do with, but it’s mostly because he never knows when to stop.

  Not that I can talk about knowing when to stop.

  Gideon shrugs. “It was a last-minute invitation.”

  “Oh, so the rest of his party bailed, and you’re stepping in to bail him out?”

  Gideon’s driver pulls open the door behind him, and he steps out onto the curb, smoothing out his jacket. He only put the jacket on recently, after we left the last club, which turned out to be a public place that was more dive bar than exclusive dining establishment. It was a good place to have a few drinks. It was not a good place to find a woman I could be interested in. It wasn’t that plenty of ladies didn’t throw themselves at me, which they did, but there was no spark.

  I scotch across the seat and step out after Gideon, straightening my own jacket when I stand to my full height. At least the Rose has a membership requirement that keeps the quality relatively high.

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  I punch him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s after one o’clock, and you’re dragging me to some half-finished bachelor party?”