The Billionaire Possession Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  Levi pulls out his phone and brings up an app.

  That’s how it starts.

  We go through every piece of furniture in the formal living room. He snaps pictures with his phone and taps notes onto the screen. It reminds me of what he was doing in the car, when I couldn’t tear my eyes off him to save my life. Only now he’s cataloguing my things, making notes. Or it would have been mine, one day, if...

  There’s no point in dwelling on what might have been, but when we step through to the den, the next item up makes my throat go tight.

  Levi snaps the picture, starts making notes, and then turns back toward me, his lips parted like he’s about to ask me a question.

  And here I am, standing in the center of the room, swallowing hard and trying my best not to cry.

  He’s at my side in an instant. “Ruby?”

  “Yes?” I force the word to sound as normal as possible. I’m not going to put on a show right now. I’ll save that for the privacy of my shoebox of an apartment.

  He slips the phone into his pocket. “Did something happen?”

  “Not at all.” The smile I manage to put on my face is probably a hideous mockery of a real one. “Walking in here hit me in a weird way, I guess.”

  “What about it? Was it the dollhouse?”

  It was the dollhouse, but I don’t want to say that to Levi.

  It’s an odd place for the piece to be, in what used to be my father’s den—he was in charge of decorating, and liked to sit in here to watch football on the weekends—but it must have made sense in terms of the estate sale. The antique itself is more than a hundred years old, and whoever owned it at first really dedicated themselves to making it a perfect replica of a nineteenth-century mansion in 1:24 scale. Roughly, anyway. Whatever the actual scale is, this dollhouse has been in my family for generations, and cared for as well as any of their other properties.

  I open my mouth to say that it’s nothing and the truth escapes instead. “It’s so stupid, isn’t it?”

  He wrinkles his forehead, his gray eyes mesmerizing, holding my gaze. “What’s stupid?”

  “Being so in love with a dollhouse.” The sob I choke back is a shock, even to me. “I was going to have this one day, and now I’m not.” I laugh, but it sounds strangled and false. “I don’t even have room, you know? Anywhere I’d choose to move, I’d be stuck lugging it around. It would be such a pain in the ass.” More laughter frees itself from my chest. “I don’t want to deal with it, but I have to. It was going to be mine.” Mine, and maybe my daughter’s. It’s so absurd that it makes me laugh harder. I don’t have a daughter. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t even have one of those sperm-donor plans for when I turn thirty-five and decide not to wait any longer. But the dollhouse? That’s the thing that’ll make me crack up, right here in front of Levi.

  I wipe frantically at the tears spilling over my cheeks, trying to get the hell over this, when Levi makes a decision.

  16

  Levi

  It’s not the first time someone’s become emotional in front of me at an auction or an estate sale—not the first time by far. But Ruby’s struggle tears at something inside of me. It tears at the professional shield that normally lets me look into a weeping old lady’s eyes with nothing but a distant compassion. That’s usually enough for them.

  That’s not enough for me, and it won’t be enough for Ruby.

  It was awful, riding here in the car without looking at her. Without talking to her, except for the usual pleasantries. Without reaching for her hand. Or her knee. Or her waist, to pull her in. But I had to do it. I had to give her the space for this to be businesslike. It’s possible she’s so into me one minute and so distant the next because I pushed her too hard here on Sunday. So I kept my distance, letting her breathe, even though it meant I was suffocating the entire ride.

  But now, even as she holds her head up high and tries to keep smiling, the situation is getting to her.

  I can’t let her crumble in front of me like this.

  I don’t want to let her fall apart while I stand by, doing nothing, acting like this is a purely professional arrangement and nothing else. It’s not, even if I can’t put into words why I ever thought it was a good idea in the first place. For all I know, it could be the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  It’s not a thought that propels me toward her, closing the distance between us with two long strides, not a calculated decision. By the time I’m moving, I’m done thinking. I have no other choice but to respond to the urge to protect her, to keep her safe, even if that means taking the edge off the pain she’s feeling right now.

  I take her into my arms, pressing her against me, even while I brace for her inevitable rejection. She’s going to push me away. She’s going to leave the room, her eyes cold, her back straight. She’s going to snap at me—how dare you, what are you thinking, this isn’t part of the deal.

  I know it, and I don’t care. The instant my arms are around her, warmth cascades through my entire body—a bright, peaceful warmth. I’ve done the right thing.

  She doesn’t pull away.

  She doesn’t do any of those things I was expecting, even as the first shred of doubt enters my mind. I’m not intending to force myself on her, but seeing her fight to keep the tears off her cheeks and out of my sight woke something in me that’s never been inspired by another display. Not ever.

  Her body melts into the embrace, and Ruby drops her hands away from her face. When she leans into me, her cheek pressed against my shirt, it’s all over. I’m a goner.

  Shoulders sagging—whether it’s from relief or sorrow I don’t know—she stops holding back the tears. Ruby cries silently, holding her breath between every sob, and I stand in place, holding her no matter how hard her shoulders shake. I feel like a mountain. I feel like the most powerful man on the face of the planet.

  I don’t know how much time goes by, standing like this. I’m submerged in the feeling of her body against mine, her delicate curves wrapped in my arms, the scent of her fruity shampoo. But eventually, Ruby straightens up, takes a deep breath, and flicks the last tears away from the corners of her eyes. Her blue eyes, more vivid against the red in her cheeks, meet mine tentatively.

  “Can you—” She clears her throat. “Excuse me for a minute, would you?”

  “Of course.” I give her a smile, and she returns it with a flicker of her own. Then she turns, disappearing back through the second door leading out of the den.

  I brush my hands against the front of my shirt where her tears collected, and the sensation of the cloth under my hands—she was that close to me—sends a thrill down my spine. It’s pathetic to think that something so small could affect me in the least, and even though there’s nobody in the room to see I drop my hands. I’m glad that my jacket is back in the car.

  Ruby comes in from the opposite door a few minutes later, her cheeks still pink but the blotchy evidence of her sobs mostly erased. “Okay,” she says, lifting her hands. “That was embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  She bites her lip, then lets out a little laugh. “You probably say that to all of the people you manage auctions for.”

  I shrug. “Only the ones who have a difficult time.”

  She looks at me, eyes huge and blue and deep. “How many of them do you end up...comforting like that?”

  I take a shot. I don’t know what she’s fishing for, or if she’s fishing for anything, but something about the tone in her voice has shifted and a new heat throbs in the air between us. “So far? You’re the first.”

  Ruby nods, stepping farther into the room. “Where did we leave off?”

  I can’t take my eyes off her. “I hope…” A sharp desperation wells up in my chest. I’m not ready to leave this topic behind. Not yet. “I hope I didn’t cross a line.”

  She takes in a deep breath. “That’s the thing…” Her gaze is back on the dollhouse, but after a few agonizingly long heartbeats she looks back a
t me. My heart leaps against my ribs. “I should have hated it. I should have hated the way I broke down in front of you—and I do. I still hate that part. But I should have hated the fact that you—you of all people, Levi—were the one to feel…feel sorry for me.” Then her voice drops to a whisper. “I should have hated having your arms around me like that. I’ve been telling myself I hated your touch ever since…” She trails off. Ever since Sunday. Ruby doesn’t say it out loud. The moment that she’s referring to, with my hands on her face, tilting those lips up toward mine and never allowing myself to kiss her… “I should have hated it.”

  It’s all I can do to draw in a breath, but I do it. I force the air into my lungs and take a step toward her. The scent of her skin swirls in the air. She’s close enough to reach out and touch, but I don’t dare do it. I don’t dare do it…yet.

  Instead, I ask the question.

  “Did you?”

  Ruby looks into my eyes, her lips parted, and everything in my entire body hangs on the next words out of her mouth.

  17

  Ruby

  I’m already stripped down to the core in front of Levi, after that outburst. I cried about a dollhouse. I cried about a dollhouse that I can’t fit into my apartment by any stretch of the imagination. I sobbed against the front of his shirt for a long time, and there’s nothing in this room that really means anything to me…until I start to think about it. Standing next to all my father’s things, my mind goes into overdrive thinking of all the reasons they’re important, that they should be treasured, that they should be protected. Once it starts, it’s impossible to stop.

  So much for pretending to be a true professional about this. From the moment I woke him up on Sunday morning, I’ve done nothing to convince him that I’m level-headed, that I’m in this for the money, that I can be as coldly interested in profit as he is.

  Is it this room that has the words coming in a rush out of my mouth, spilling out one after the other until I’ve all but admitted that the feeling of his arms around me was the best thing I’ve ever felt? That I didn’t know it until he touched me, but some part of me has always been dying to be held that way? To be held by him? I never knew that a desire could be so specific without ever having met the man in your life, but now it seems like I’ve always been hungry for his touch. For Levi Blake’s touch.

  My heart is on fire. It must be burning up inside my chest, making all the rest of my resistance wither to ashes.

  Levi’s gray eyes are locked on mine like he’s a drowning man and the only thing that will save him is the gaze that neither of us can break away from. I don’t want to break away from it. I don’t want to take another breath that’s not full of his scent.

  “No. I didn’t hate it.” The words are still a whisper, and I have to work to make my voice audible. “I didn’t hate it.”

  He’s so close—close enough for me to reach out and brush my fingertips over the fading wetness of my tears on his shirt—and I can’t tell him how much I want him to touch me again. I can’t find the words to say that even though I hate what he’s going to do to this house, I want him closer, I want his lips on mine, I want his body on mine...

  But he doesn’t need them.

  The moment he hears what I’ve said, he’s moving forward, and I’m swept up in his arms. He’s so strong, so powerful, and it seems to take him no effort at all to lift me, his hands on my ass, my legs wrapping around his waist. It all happens on instinct—the same instinct that makes me throw my arms around his neck and kiss him, so hard and hot that there’s nothing on the face of the earth that can match the inferno raging between us.

  He backs me up against one paneled wall, and my shoulder hits a frame, sending it crashing to the ground, the glass shattering. I don’t bother to look down, and Levi doesn’t seem to have heard. His lips against mine are firm, possessive, and god do I want to be his. I can’t help moaning a little into his mouth, opening my lips to give him full access.

  I’m soaked.

  My pussy throbs against the fabric of my pants, stretched tight over his hips. Why did I wear these? Why did I not wear something that would let him slide his hands up my thighs and push my panties out of the way so he could fuck me right up against this wall? Now that I’m not trying to keep my mind away from him, everything I’ve ever wanted is breaking loose, running rampant in my thoughts. His hands against my ass are holding me without the slightest bit of strain, and when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, grazing it, I arch my back against the wall

  He swings us around then, still kissing me as fiercely as the moment our lips first met, and steers us toward the leather sofa against one wall. Levi kneels, putting me down on the sofa, my legs still spread to accommodate his waist.

  Every inch of me aches to be closer, to tear off my clothes and his, and I’m so lost in the wanting of it that it takes me by surprise when he lifts my shirt by the hem and pulls it over my head, whipping it to the floor.

  “Not fair,” I gasp, but there’s nothing that feels better in this moment than the air caressing my skin…and then his hands, sliding down over the curve of my waist and then back up to tug at the straps of my bra. “Not fair…”

  He laughs, his voice low and thrilling, and reaches for the buttons of his shirt. They’re open in an instant and I finally have my hands where they’ve wanted to be—against his naked skin, trailing down over...

  Over the most unbelievable set of abs I’ve ever seen on a man. It’s like dragging my fingertips over a washboard, every ridge defined, and I must look pretty captivated because Levi puts two fingers under my chin and tips my head back so I’m looking into his eyes again. “Do you like what you see?”

  “Yes.” Then he’s pressing his thumb against my lip, against my teeth, and I bite down gently. His gray eyes flash.

  Another kiss—this one hotter than the last, more consuming, and I can’t help but press myself against him, my nipples hard against the lace of my bra. This morning, I never would have admitted to myself that I was putting on this bra, these panties, because I had to meet Levi after work. He was never supposed to see them.

  He wasn’t.

  I would keep telling myself that, but his hands are against the fabric of my bra, cupping my breasts, and he’s seeking out my nipples with the pads of his thumbs. I arch back when he makes contact, and another moan escapes from my mouth.

  “God, Ruby, I could listen to you do that all day.” He increases the pressure on my nipples and pleasure burns a path right down between my legs.

  I’m about to lose control.

  18

  Levi

  It’s not enough for me, getting her shirtless on the sofa in what used to be her father’s den. It’s not enough, and it’s verging on being too much. Her skin is so soft under my hands that it’s an effort to take my palms away for long enough to test the firmness of her breasts. And Jesus, they’re perfect.

  Her nipples are pebbles beneath the rough lace of her bra, and when I circle them with my thumbs she can’t stop herself from tipping her head back. Ruby’s blonde hair spills down her shoulders, coming loose from whatever clip she was using to hold it behind her head, and the second it’s down I can’t remember what it looked like when it was so tightly bound.

  I’d like her to be tightly bound. I’d like to see her with her hands behind her back, her ass in the air, breasts straining toward the fabric of the sofa or bed or floor that she’s kneeling on. I’d like to hear her moan my name, beg me for more, whimper for another orgasm. I’d be all too happy to give it to her.

  It’s not the center of my sexual life, dominating women, because most women aren’t arching back on a leather sofa. Most women don’t look at me the way Ruby looks at me, with a combination of strength and vulnerability that’s asking for power to step in, to show her that there’s a space where there’s no need to worry. Not about estate sales, not about auctions, not about money. If I were to dominate her, she’d come so hard she wouldn’t remember her name
, much less the value of the dollhouse she’s so torn about giving up.

  I want more.

  I need more.

  She does, too.

  She opens her eyes, her breath coming fast and hard, and her arms tighten around my neck.

  I lean in, making her shiver with another circle around her nipples, this one agonizingly slow, and press my lips to her neck. Then I raise my mouth to her ear.

  “Put your hands down by your sides.”

  Ruby bites her lip, and the second it takes her to move her arms is such a beautiful hesitation that my cock twitches in my pants. If I weren’t so invested in what I’m doing to her nipples, I’d put my hands on her wrists and guide them down into place.

  But she does it, pressing her palms against the leather surface. Her hips strain toward me, though I don’t think she notices it’s happening. She’s held back by her own pants. Those will be next to go.

  “Keep them there.”

  “Why?” The question is a breathless word, hardly making a dent in the soft silence of the room.

  “Because I told you to.” I nip at her earlobe. “Because in this moment, right now, you’re mine, and I gave you an order.”

  She sucks in her breath, and goose bumps rise along the back of my shoulders. This is a risk. It’s a huge risk to say this to Ruby right now, but I’m riding the current in the room and this is where it took me. I don’t have any idea what’s going to happen next. She might stand up and slap me across the face, or she might—

  Ruby’s head tips back and she sighs, so deep it’s almost a moan. Her hands stay in place against the seat, and I drag my thumbnails across her nipples, the nails catching on the pattern in the lace. Her hips rock forward again. I don’t reach between her legs. I want to, but I wait.