The Billionaire Possession Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  “What?”

  “Why did I wait so long?” he says.

  I roll my eyes, even if he can’t quite see my expression. “I have no idea. It was kind of ruining my life.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. What could I do to ruin your life?”

  “One thing, and one thing only.”

  “Torture you by not having sex with you?” he teases.

  “Bingo.”

  “I think we made up for it.”

  “Yes. Please don’t touch me ever again,” I deadpan. We both burst out laughing at that, and I step away from him, pushing my hair back from his face.

  Jasper pads over to his bedside table, and his phone lights up in his hand. Then the rest of the room’s lights turn on. It’s a symphony of recessed bulbs and he adjusts them carefully, bringing them up slowly so I don’t have to run for cover as my eyes adjust.

  “You really do have everything.”

  He turns with a grin that has me wet. Again. After an entire day spent in his bed. Or on his floor. Lots of places, really, and I’m sure there are more in this penthouse. “I have two questions.”

  “I might not answer either,” I drawl.

  He laughs. “First, do you want to take a shower?”

  “I think you’ve wasted a question on that. Look at me.”

  “I’m looking at you.” His eyes flicker over my body, my nipples going hard again under his gaze. “Anyway, what’s your answer?”

  “Yes. Yes. Shower.” He holds out his hand to me, and I take it with a little grin. The sweetness might be a little over the top, but I can’t get enough of it. Not now.

  He leads me across the bedroom and down a hallway that opens into the most upscale master bathroom on the planet. Everything is gleaming, clean, tiled to perfection, and the shower could easily fit four people in it.

  Jasper steps in and turns on the water, beckoning for me to follow. The rainwater showerheads make it feel like a tropical vacation, and I tilt my head back, letting the water work its way through my hair.

  “There’s one more thing I wanted to ask.”

  I open my eyes, looking at him through the blur of the water, my core heating up. “Ask it.”

  “Don’t go back to your place.” Jasper slides his hands around my waist, leaning down to kiss my collarbone. “Stay here tonight.”

  26

  Jasper

  She presses her lips together, sweeping her hands over her dark hair one more time. Isabella is a vision in the water, every droplet glistening against the curves of her body. I run my palms down over her hips. She shivers, a smile playing over her lips, and closes her eyes.

  “Don’t...”

  “Are you telling me that I can’t—” I run my fingertips around the front of her hips and she twists under my hands, a satisfied laugh bubbling up from her chest.

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  “I beg to differ.” I move my hand back to her waist. The water is hot enough to make her skin rosy. I’ve had my hands all over her for most of the day, and it’s still not enough. “But you don’t need to convince me that you can’t take another—”

  Isabella puts her hands on mine, hesitating, then leans in, her head against my chest, the water cascading down over both of us. “This is not related to the original question.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Ha.”

  “You still haven’t given me an answer.”

  “I’m still thinking.”

  “It normally doesn’t take you very long to decide.”

  “I’m normally not coming down from a day of...” Her voice trails off, and she takes a deep breath in, lets it out, her shoulders relaxing.

  “Getting well-fucked?”

  I can feel her smile against my chest. “I don’t know if I’d put it exactly that way. But it’s accurate nonetheless.”

  I wrap both arms around her, curling one hand through the thick wet fall of her hair. “Stay.”

  “I shouldn’t. I already missed brunch, and if I stay—”

  Her voice goes soft at the end of the thought, and I have the sense that if I stay doesn’t have anything to do with whether she missed brunch or not. I have the sense that staying means something to her, means something more than a game of constantly raising the ante or even an afternoon and evening of sex.

  “If you stay, you’ll get a world-class dinner, and world-class company for the rest of the night. You don’t need to worry about clothes—I can have a selection sent up by the time you’re finished drying your hair.”

  “You have a hair dryer, too? The amenities here are second to none.”

  “Damn right they are.”

  She pulls back, looking up into my eyes. There’s a smoldering heat behind the green. I want to look into those eyes until the moment I fall asleep tonight. “I shouldn’t,” she says.

  “You shouldn’t have come here on such short notice, with such an attitude, either,” I tease. “It seems to me that Isabella Gabriel doesn’t care much about what she should or shouldn’t do. She mostly cares about getting what she wants.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “That’s why we’re such a perfect match.” I laugh, but it doesn’t feel like a joke. The moment the words are out in the air, I know they’re true.

  Isabella narrows her eyes, a new light shining there. “I shouldn’t stay. But you know what? I will anyway.”

  “Don’t make me eat in the dining room.”

  Isabella walks by my side down the hall in bare feet, the yoga pants and matching long-sleeved top I had sent up the moment we stepped out of the shower both perfect fits. I’ve got to tell Maryanne, my personal shopper, that she absolutely nailed it. Somehow, in fifteen minutes, she found clothes in exactly Isabella’s size that are both elegant and comfortable as hell judging by the graceful, relaxed movement of her body.

  That could also be from the sex. “What do you have against the dining room?”

  She makes a face. “It’s so formal.”

  “There’s a second living room in it.”

  “There’s a tablecloth.”

  “I can have it removed.”

  “It’s not really about the tablecloth.”

  I laugh out loud, and Isabella looks up at me with raised eyebrows.

  “It’s not. I don’t like to eat in the dining room when I unwind,” she insists.

  “Do you have a formal dining room in your apartment?”

  “Of course I do. Or at least I would, if I were going to host a dinner party.”

  I laugh again. Her hair is twisted into a low bun at the nape of her neck—she opted not to dry her hair after all—and she doesn’t bother to hide her grin. “You’re telling me that you would create a dining room in your apartment for a party?”

  “If I ever had time to throw a dinner party that needed a dining room, I’d...rent one. The furniture, at least. I’m sure I could rearrange enough to make it work for one night.” Isabella makes a beeline straight for the sofa and falls into it. “So, what’s on the menu? Takeout?”

  “By world-class meal, I did not mean takeout, no.”

  “We are in New York City.”

  I take my phone out of my pocket and send a quick text to Lucas. The dining room table was already set, but I’m not giving Isabella the satisfaction of being right about at least one of my dinner instincts. Lucas emerges from the hallway a moment later, a wide tray in his hands. He winks at me as he hands me the tray.

  “We’re good from here. Thanks for staying late. Oh—Isabella, this is Lucas, my personal chef.”

  He nods at her, and she beams back from over the back of the couch. “Nice to meet you, Lucas.”

  “Enjoy.”

  Then he’s going back down the hall, walking fast, like he has somewhere to be. He probably does, but I’ve paid him handsomely enough that putting it off didn’t seem like such a hardship.

  I take the tray over to the sofa and slide it across the coffee table. Below us, th
e Manhattan skyline twinkles against a backdrop of light pollution. It’s absolutely beautiful.

  “Now all you have to do—” I uncover the plates, setting aside the thin silver covers. “—is choose a world-class movie to go with this meal.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure.” Isabella smiles at me, scooting closer across the surface of the couch until our legs are pressed together.

  “I trust you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  There’s a bowl of gleaming fruit pieces to go along with each of our dinners, and I lift a strawberry out, holding it in the air between us. Isabella shakes her head. “I’m not eating out of your hand.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “That it might lead to other things.”

  I lean in closer, grinning. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  27

  Isabella

  “Are the contracts that good?”

  I narrow my eyes at Angelique and wave the drawings in the air. “Do these look like contracts to you?”

  She holds both hands in the air. “My mistake. The designs, then.”

  “If you must know, they are that good. I drew the first drafts myself.”

  “Yes, and then you had someone else fancy them up and—”

  “Not a chance! I might be the CEO, but that doesn’t mean I let someone else do all the creative work. Goodness, Angelique, are you looking to pick a fight?”

  She grins at me from the door, then laughs out loud. I can’t help but join in. My chest feels light and free and good, and it’s all because of Jasper.

  It feels so wonderful that it almost makes up for the fact that thinking of him like this—thinking of him like this more and more every day—is tearing me in two.

  “Seriously, the smile on your face is—” Angelique shakes her head, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s kind of creepy, Isabella.”

  I give her a dead serious expression. “Creepier than this?”

  “Almost. I’ve never seen you look that happy about anything, much less designs.”

  I perch my chin on my fist. “What is it that you’re hoping to get from me? A more time-consuming assignment?”

  “Leaving now...” she sings the phrase, but turns back before she’s fully back out of the doorway. “If you decide you want to spill about whoever’s making you so happy, I’ll be at my desk...”

  “What makes you think it’s a who?”

  Angelique rolls her eyes. “They’re designs, Isabella. Not even real-life chocolate cake makes you smile like that. I’ve been here long enough to know.”

  I stick my tongue out at her, and then we’re both laughing, the sound filling up the room. “Oh, she’s in it,” I hear her say from her desk. “She’s in it now.” Then a sigh, and she gets her laugh under control enough to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

  I turn my attention back to the designs for next season. I don’t really do “winter” lines and “spring” lines, because I’ve surveyed my clients and listened to their feedback. They want versatile pieces that work throughout the year. Athletics is a far bigger business at this point than fashion, so that’s where I’ve focused my resources. I should stock the new locations with a few teaser pieces from the day to night line. I scribble down a note on the pad next to my calendar.

  The new locations, which are being gutted and reconfigured even as I sit here. The existing decor in all three of them could generously be described as crumbling ‘90s mall interior, which is not quite the look I’m going for with the Gabriel Luxe brand. Luxe because simplicity is a luxury.

  I never thought one of my brand slogans would so neatly describe my life, but it does.

  Things with Jasper aren’t simple. They seem simple—especially when he’s got my arms held in his strong grip, my aching nipples pressed against the cool comforter on top of his bed, and his cock buried so deep in me that it’s all I can do to get a breath from the orgasms. It doesn’t get much simpler than that. That’s sheer pleasure.

  But the rest of it?

  It’s a storm that rages in the back of my mind from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep again.

  I’ve over-leveraged myself with him. That’s what it feels like. I’m in over my head, and I’m in over my head because I treated this like a challenge, like a game, and after that night at his penthouse, I think it’s way beyond that boundary.

  How long?

  Always.

  I didn’t think about it at the time. I didn’t have room in my bliss-addled brain to process what I was saying, or even what he was saying. I answered from a raw, truthful place.

  It’s going to come back to haunt me.

  Because that is the awful truth. Jasper makes me want to be with him for every possible moment of every single day. It’s like I’m in high school again, how giddy it makes me to feel his hands running over my skin, spreading my legs...

  His lips against my collarbone, his lips against my own lips, the way he takes control when the kisses get hot and powerful...

  Powerful.

  That’s the word that makes me careen back toward my original position, which is that Jasper has the one thing that I want, and the entire goal here is to get it for myself. I shouldn’t feel sorry about using his attraction to me for my own personal gain. If there’s anyone on earth who deserves it, it’s Jasper Pace. He’s been relentless in doing everything he can to make himself the most money possible. He doesn’t care about anything but his business, even when actual lives are affected by his actions. He’s arrogant and ruthless, and he never lets up, not even for a moment.

  I groan, covering my eyes with my hands. I can’t be with him. Not in the long run. My ambition is nothing compared to his unstoppable thirst for more and more of the city.

  “You okay?” Angelique is standing in the doorway of my office, a long white envelope in her hands.

  “Yes. I’m…working through some things.” I put a smile back on my face, the giddy feeling creeping back in.

  Angelique rolls her eyes at me, stepping into my office and letting the envelope fall to the surface of my desk. “Who’s Jasper Pace?”

  I look at her like she’s beamed in from the surface of the moon. “Jasper Pace? Pace, Inc.? They’ve got the developments all over New York?” Developments...not travesties, like I’d usually say. The man has crept into every corner of my brain.

  And I love it.

  I love him.

  I shove that thought away as hard as I can. Not in front of Angelique. If I’m going to decide to be in love with Jasper Pace—officially—I’ll do it without an audience.

  “Oh, that guy. The old one, right?”

  “The son.”

  “A hot son?”

  “Get out of my office.”

  She winks at me, then heads back to her desk.

  I rip open the envelope and slide the packet of papers out. The first page makes my heart plummet right to my feet.

  28

  Jasper

  “What the hell are you thinking, Jasper?”

  Mike Ford swivels around in his seat, eyes wide. We’re in the middle of a meeting to go over some prospective designs for the new building purchases, and he was mid-sentence about two possible properties when my father, of all people, stormed into my office and started shouting.

  I stand up. “What’s this about?”

  My dad looks at Mike Ford, eyes narrowed, and then looks at me. “I think you misunderstood my plans, son.” His voice is taut with anger, and there are bright pink spots high on his cheeks. He’s pissed. I have no idea why.

  “Is this something you wanted to address right now? I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

  Mike doesn’t hesitate. He gathers up the folders on my desk, sweeping them into his hands with the papers in disarray, then stands up. “We can come back to this later, Mr. Pace. It’s no problem.” The Mr. Pace is largely for my father’s benefit, but the older man doesn’t so much as glance at Mike as he sc
urries out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him with the lightest touch imaginable.

  I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down in silence.

  He stares back, his eyes a mirror image of my own, his jaw set, teeth gritted so hard his chin is trembling. My heart pounds. It’s not like him to burst into a meeting and reprimand me in front of staff members. I can’t remember the last time we had an argument—not an argument of this caliber, but any argument at all regarding the business.

  “You are making some very poor decisions.” He’s the first one to crack, and it sends a little bolt of pride up my spine. It’s tempered by the fury in my father’s voice. “Very, very poor decisions.”

  “Help me understand what you’re talking about.” I keep my voice even, but the words are meant to bait him. I’m not pleased about what happened.

  “Of course, son. I’ll help you understand.” His tone is filled with acid. “A woman has you in her pocket, and you’re selling our souls for her. When were you going to tell me?” For an instant, his face reveals his hurt. “Or, if not me, anyone in the company?” He tilts his head to the side, considering. “Maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe everyone in the company is working with you on this, all behind my back.”

  “What are you talking about? Are you suddenly getting fed conspiracy theories by one of the homeless guys that camps out in the alley?”

  “Are you going to look me in the face and lie to me?” My father’s voice thunders. He’s lost all control, and my gut twists.

  There’s another long moment, and then it clicks—his rage, his red cheeks, the accusations that I’m now controlled by some mystery woman.

  My father has discovered the loan I’m making to Isabella. I don’t know who told him—Cindy from the finance department, probably—but at this point it doesn’t matter.

  “Dad. One loan for one building is not going to cause the empire to crumble.”