The Billionaire Possession Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  God, I wish I didn’t have to think about things like having to pay for my dad’s nursing home care.

  The thought sends a hot wave of embarrassment sweeping over my cheeks. My dad did everything for me growing up. A memory comes to me of paddling a canoe near the shore of a pristine lake upstate at one of the camps he worked extra shifts at the electric plant to send me to. How dare I complain about taking a few extra shifts for him now.

  I press my lips together, as if I would have ever said the words out loud in the first place, and cross the lobby to the hallway leading to the administrative offices.

  Darla is sitting behind her desk, clicking at something on her desktop, when I knock gently on the door.

  “How’s he doing?” There’s genuine concern in her dark eyes, and I know it’s at least partially calculated—if he’s not doing well, she’ll end up devoting extra staff to him tonight. And while this is one of the nicest places I could find, they’re still stretched to the limit when it comes to expert staff. Like everywhere else I considered.

  “Resting. He seems calm for now.”

  A smile breaks across her face. “That’s great, Juliet. Do you know when you’ll be by next to visit?”

  I blink at her. My next visit? “Um….” I run through my work schedule in my mind, cross-referencing it with my class schedule, the fact that I’m missing at least one class this afternoon if I can’t get back to Anderson in time. “My next free day is two Wednesdays from now.”

  Darla smiles benevolently at me. “I’ll be sure to let him know.” Then she turns back to the computer screen.

  “Darla?”

  She looks back at me, and I scan her face for another clue. Her cheeks are a little pink, and maybe there’s a twinkle in her brown eyes, but I don’t know what that would have to do with—

  “I’m sure you have a lot to do, honey. Is the traffic bad at this time of the afternoon?”

  Honey?

  “What’s going on? You seemed pretty determined to sit down and talk to me when I got here, and I know what that’s about.” I move toward the two chairs in front of her desk and take a seat in the one closest to me. “Let’s have the conversation, Darla.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “We’re all set, Juliet. There’s nothing else to talk about, unless you have concerns about your father’s care.”

  “Look. I know it’s going to be a long shot, convincing you to bring on a dedicated aide, but I think we both know that it would be—”

  “It’s all taken care of.”

  I am baffled. My mind turns and twists her words, but I’m not getting it. “Since when? It’s been a struggle for the past few months, and I know it’s my responsibility. I need a little help working things out for—”

  Darla turns her body away from the computer and looks at me from across the expanse of her desk. “Mr. Grant has fully funded your father’s care, along with providing an allowance for a personal aide.”

  “He did what?” A flash of anger detonates in my chest. While I was up visiting my dad, he was down here with Darla, meddling in my business? I never asked him for help. I never asked him for anything. All I did was accept a ride, and now—

  Darla holds up her hands. “I didn’t reveal any personal information. He asked me for the bottom line on your dad’s account, then added enough to it to cover a private aide.” She puts her hands down on the desk and cocks her head to the side. “He didn’t discuss this with you? I assumed because you came in together—”

  The way we came in together? I wrack my brain for anything I might have been doing to give Darla the impression that Weston Grant is now involved in my life, but I’m so angry that the past hour is nothing but a blur. “That was a bad assumption on your part.”

  She lifts a shoulder and drops it. “Either way, everything has been covered by Mr. Grant—he’s paid more than enough to get through to March, when your father will be eligible for Medicare. We can reevaluate the payment arrangement then.”

  My mouth is hanging open like I’m trying to catch flies. I need to smile at Darla and leave as graciously as possible. But my heart is in my throat, pulsing hotly, and instead I snap my lips together. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be in touch to find out how he’s doing later on in the evening.”

  “I’ll talk to you then.” Her smile has a strange quality to it, like she knows something else that I don’t. “Have a nice afternoon, Juliet.”

  I’m already out the door, bag clutched close to my side, and heading for the exit. If Weston Grant knows what’s good for him, he won’t be anywhere near Overbrook anymore.

  Apparently, he doesn’t know what’s good for him, because when I get outside, not only is the heat blasting me like I’m clay waiting to be turned into a pot, but he’s standing on the curb with his hands in his pockets, his jacket off, the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him, but I shove that magnetic attraction right out of my thoughts. The door to the Town Car is open next to him, like he’s expecting me to climb on in and have him take over everything else in my life.

  In six swift steps, I’m face to face with Weston Grant, my fury raining down like a thunderstorm tearing through the city. Our noses are inches apart. The rage boils up, and then explodes like lava exploding out of a volcano.

  “Who the hell do you think you are? And what the hell were you thinking?”

  14

  Weston

  Juliet is a hurricane sweeping toward me, violet eyes flashing, blonde tendrils coming loose from their careful twist. She’s a tsunami, and there’s nothing I can do to stop her. I’m not even sure that I want to. This angry, she is a sight to behold.

  At the last moment, I straighten my back, bracing for impact. It’s like she’s going to tear right through me—me, the Town Car, and the rest of the city.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouts, the rage evident in her voice. “And what the hell were you thinking?”

  She’s so close to me now that every breath I inhale is filled with her. The wrath of her energy is vibrating over my skin, as strong as the aftershocks of an earthquake that could bring down half the city. Her breasts are rising and falling with every breath, her knuckles white where she’s clutching her bag, and my cock strains against the fabric of my boxers. My heart beats once in my chest, a loud thud that seems to echo across the block, and then everything speeds up.

  The heat radiating between us is a thousand times hotter than the humid air, and it’s through that heat that I lean forward. I can’t help myself. It’s a violent kind of beauty and it draws me in, pulling me with a force stronger than gravity.

  My lips meet hers with a crash, my heart leaping in my chest, and it’s as if Juliet has thrown herself into the epicenter of the quake. Instead of jerking back, she presses against me with a ferocity that’s as inexplicable as her anger. I raise my hands to grasp her body, sinking deeper into this shameless kiss. I pull her tightly against me, her curves like an ocean that sweeps over me, engulfing me completely. Her bag drops to the concrete sidewalk with a little jingle—her keys—and her hands are crossed over the back of my neck, gripping me so tightly that I couldn’t get away if I wanted to.

  I don’t want to.

  All of Brooklyn fades away into the vortex of her. I don’t feel the tendrils of the air conditioning curling out of the back door of the Town Car anymore. I don’t feel anything except her body moving in time with me underneath the sleeveless silk blouse she’s wearing, her muscles tensing as we meld together. It’s something between a battle and a kind of passion I’ve never felt with another woman. Not once. Not ever.

  I trail my hands down her back and delve into her mouth with my tongue. She’s minty and sweet, and I drink in the taste of her, our tongues dueling and dancing together. She threads her fingers through my hair, still holding on tight, still in control. Fifteen seconds ago she seemed ready to kill me, or at least ready to stalk down the street and back out of my lif
e forever, but she’s still not hurting me—she’s still being careful, not biting down on my lip too hard—though she could.

  This woman is incredible.

  My cock is so hard against her that it’s painful. I want to pull her into the car and capture this wild energy in my arms, let her straddle me and keep doing whatever this is, but I’m so caught up in this moment that I can’t move, except to pull her closer in.

  She’s kissing me back with such intensity that my lips feel bruised, but I don’t care. I’m going to ride this out until the bitter end.

  The bitter end comes.

  Like a storm that’s depleted the last of its raindrops, Juliet pulls back, breathing hard, her eyes latched on mine in shock and her hair tousled. She doesn’t glance up and down the street to see who might have seen us, but her cheeks are red, flushed with everything that happened between us…and more, I suspect. Her lips drop open, and she raises her fingertips to touch them, gently. Next, her hands flutter to her hair, smoothing the escaped tendrils back into place, deftly adjusting the clip holding it all together.

  She straightens her posture, the silence growing tense and hot.

  I wouldn’t mind if it ended in another kiss like that.

  I don’t think any other kiss on the planet could possibly compare.

  “I’ll accept that as a thank you.” The words roll off my tongue before I can stop them. It’s a miracle I manage to put a sentence together at all, given the electricity that’s arcing through my entire body, sending wave after wave of goosebumps down my spine and arms, and given the massive erection I’m currently trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

  Juliet’s eyes narrow. Now I’ve done it. I’ve said the one thing that will make her explode in a white-hot burst of flame right here on the sidewalk in front of me, and this will be all over before it even starts.

  So the burst of laughter that escapes her throat takes me completely by surprise.

  Juliet laughs so hard that tears come to her eyes. She laughs so hard that she doubles over, hands pressed against her stomach. She laughs so hard that it leaps across the air between us and makes me laugh through the bewilderment flooding my brain. I don’t know what’s funny. I don’t need to know. The fact that Juliet knows is enough.

  Finally, she straightens up, wiping at her eyes, blinking upward, and when she meets my eyes again, she stands tall. It takes a few more deep breaths to get herself under control. “All right, Weston Grant. First things first.”

  “I think that was the first thing.”

  “First things first—I’m going to pay you back for what you did in there.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  She lets out another laugh. “Every single cent. There’s no way I’m letting you pay for all that. So we need to work out some…terms.”

  That sounds like something I can get behind. “I’d love to work out some terms with you.”

  Juliet waggles a finger at me. “Not those kinds of terms. Monetary terms.”

  I step closer to her again and reach up to tuck one final strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re going to ignore that kiss, then?”

  Her voice turns soft, and I can tell she’s holding her head stiffly upright to keep herself from leaning into my touch. “I think we have to. For both our sakes.”

  “Do you know what, Juliet James?”

  “What?”

  “I think it’s far too late for that.”

  15

  Juliet

  I don’t know what came over me—if I’m starting to crumble under the stress, or whether Weston’s intensely incredible handsome looks have scrambled my brain, but that happened.

  It happened.

  And even though I’m protesting, even though the right words are coming out of my mouth—because I can’t get involved with a man like Weston Grant, for more reasons than one—I know he’s right when he says it’s too late for us to leave what happened between us by the wayside without saying another word to each other.

  His fingers hooking one last flyaway behind my ear are what undo me. It’s all that I can do to straighten up and look him in the eye.

  “You might be right about that.” I suck in a deep breath and lift my chin. “But I don’t have to admit it yet.”

  He laughs, his resonant voice sending shivers down my spine. “No. Of course not. I do have one suggestion, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That we stop giving ourselves heat stroke and get back into the car.”

  I can’t argue with that.

  Three blocks down, and I’m still struggling to control the emotions twisting my gut and filling my chest with warmth at the same time. I’m not thrilled that Weston stepped in like that to pay for my dad’s care, but that kiss—that kiss. What was I thinking? Was I the one who started it?

  “You must be starving,” he says, adjusting his sleeves. “Is there anywhere special you like to eat in Brooklyn?”

  It takes me a few heartbeats to process what he’s asking, what with all the thoughts flying through my mind. “In Brooklyn?” I shake my head. “I don’t know Brooklyn very well. I lived in Harlem up until two months ago, and now I’m in Midtown.”

  “You didn’t grow up in the city?”

  “Lansing. My dad worked his way up through the Cayuga power plant. It was—” My throat tightens. The camps in upstate New York. Dance classes after school. My dad hunched over the kitchen table with my mom, late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping. Chin up, Marie. We’ll get through it. I want her to have a nice childhood.

  My mother hadn’t always agreed. She’s going to be thirteen in November. She’s not a child. And my father, endlessly on my side. She’s not asking us for anything. I want to give this to her. I want to be that kind of father. My mother had always fallen silent after that, and I knew from peeking around the doorframe that my dad would always kiss her on the temple. She’d smile at him like he was twenty-two and tan and muscular again, and that would be the end of the discussion.

  “What made you become a city girl?”

  “Law school.” Oh, shit. “Speaking of, I don’t have time to eat with you right now. I’m missing class.”

  Weston narrows his eyes at me. “We’re forty minutes from Midtown. Aren’t they going to be over by the time you get back?”

  I check my watch again. Yes, my Civil Procedures class will have been over for at least twenty minutes by the time we make it back to Anderson, but—

  But what? says the little voice in the back of my mind. Everything is still spinning like it’s been put into a blender—the sudden relief of not having to worry about hiring an aide for my dad on my already stretched-thin budget, the anger at Weston still sparking in my gut, the feel of his soft lips against mine, devouring me, possessing me—I can’t do anything but tell him the truth. “Yes. But I should still….” That’s it. “I should still meet with my professors and catch up on what I missed.”

  “You’ll have time for that later in the afternoon, won’t you?”

  “I have a shift at the Rose….”

  Weston considers me, his green eyes searching my face. “And you won’t entertain the idea of taking the evening off?”

  My mouth falls open. “You think I should call in sick?”

  “I think you should call in. What you tell them is entirely your business.”

  I let out a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t call in.”

  He lifts one shoulder, lets it drop. “I think calling in for one evening isn’t out of the realm of possibility.”

  “I’ve never called in. Not for anything. And this is the first semester of law school. I’m definitely not supposed to be missing lectures with no excuse.”

  “You had a valid reason for missing those lectures. I’m sure your professors will understand.”

  “They might not, and I can’t afford—”

  His eyes twinkle. “Juliet, I am one hundred percent positive that your professors won’t give you the slightest hassle for yo
ur absences today.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him, his meaning finally dawning on me. Jesus. Maybe I do need the night off, if it’s taking me this long to make sense of what other people are saying. “Don’t you dare.”

  He gives me a smile that makes my core turn molten hot. It’s something half playful, half sinfully gorgeous, and I want to cover those lips with my mouth again. I want to do it on purpose this time.

  I shouldn’t want to.

  But I do.

  “I won’t make you any promises.”

  I press my lips together and look him in the eye. “Weston Grant, I think you’ve already interfered enough in my life today. Leave the professors at Anderson alone.”

  “Interfered?” His green eyes dance in the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the tinted windows. “I think the word you’re looking for is improved.”

  I bite my lip, that strange mix of irritation and attraction welling up again in my chest. “You’ve certainly made things better for my dad.”

  “But not for you?”

  “I never asked—” There’s no good way to say this without sounding completely ungrateful, and it’s too late the instant the words are out of my mouth.

  “You didn’t ask.” Weston speaks before I can take them back. “It’s another reason I find you absolutely delightful.”

  My smile is too big, too weird, for what he said to me, but this situation is stranger by the minute. “Because I didn’t ask you for money?”

  Weston leans in, grinning. “Nobody ever says no to me, that’s true. But it’s not as if they say nothing. Sooner or later—and usually much sooner than this—most women…most people...ask me for something. You never have, even though you knew who I was when we met.”