The Barrington Billionaires Collection 1

by Danielle Stewart

  James caught a glimpse of the delicate curve of her collarbone that peeked out from the top of her scoop neck sweater, and he felt a tug in his gut. Her jeans were tightly hugging the curve of her hip and her shapely ass was pivoting rhythmically up and down as she took a few steps away from him. He could watch it all day if he had time. But he didn’t . . .

  The urge to hear her voice and know what she was doing here clawed at him. Not being one to fight an urge, he moved out his office door and called to her.

  “Are you looking for someone?” he asked loudly. His voice was deep and always carried. In a board room it made him powerful, but as this woman’s shoulders jumped, he realized the boom of his tone had startled her. “Lost?” he asked, trying to soften his voice some.

  “I’m not lost,” she bit back curtly, turning only halfway toward him and stopping reluctantly. Her hair flipped over her shoulder and exposed her neck, the pale skin nearly translucent in its unblemished purity. The perfect spot to run your tongue from collarbone to earlobe. He imagined the act as she snapped at him again. “I know my way around this office.” He watched her tuck the paper behind her back as though she’d just grabbed a cookie from the jar without permission. His level of intrigue ramped up significantly.

  “It’s just that you looked . . .” he wanted to say sexy, appetizing, “confused,” he chose instead.

  “Well, you look nosey,” she said in a squeaky voice, sounding like she was fighting a playground bully. He wrestled back a laugh as she inched away. Clearly this woman did not know who he was or what he was doing here. “I don’t need any help,” she grumbled.

  “You may if you keep that attitude,” he grunted, feeling his body pull in her direction. There was nothing like some feisty banter with a beautiful woman. Something was magnetic about her, the way she was dismissing him. He’d gotten to a level of wealth and success in his life where most women could not be trusted to be their authentic self with him. They all laughed at his jokes, appeased him, and contorted themselves into whatever they thought he wanted. He wasn’t opposed to a flexible and contorting woman in bed, but he’d grown tired of the chameleon way they adapted their comments through faked interactions with him. At least this woman wasn’t doing that. She was halfway down the hallway before she hummed something he couldn’t make out.

  “Where can I get glasses?” he called, and she stopped in her tracks. “The new CFO . . . he wants a drink and I don’t know where to get glasses.”

  He watched as she spun around, biting thoughtfully at her lip. “There’s a kitchen back there. Down that hall.” With a quick point in the other direction, she turned to leave. But he wasn’t done with her.

  “Show me,” he said, not pretending it was a question. Would she?

  “I have to go,” she replied, shaking off the stare that lingered between them. Now she was paying attention. She was looking him over the same way he was looking her over. If long deep gazes shot strings, there would be a web between them now.

  “Show me where the kitchen is,” he said, not asking nicely. This was a test he often did with people. A great way to size someone up. Demand something of them, not angrily, subtly. Watch their reaction, and you would be able to see into them like gazing to the bottom of a crystal clear lake.

  There was a nervousness about her, and he wanted to test the depth of her unease. Would she bark back at him? Would she tell him to go to hell? What kind of woman was she?

  “Fine,” she huffed, walking past him, but avoiding his stare as she passed. “It’s up this hall then a left, I think.”

  A pleaser. That’s who she was. Someone unable to say no without a long explanation of why. And even her no could be broken down if pressed. He probably could have asked her a hundred more things, and no matter how late it made her or how much it put her day in disarray, she’d feel obliged to help. She was the kind of woman who hated to disappoint.

  “And the cups?” he asked, pressing further as they both stepped into the small kitchen area.

  “How should I know?” she answered, flashing wide beautiful eyes. Like her long hair, they were a rusty brown with curiously long lashes, and he loved the spark of anger they held now. “Just look around for them,” she suggested coolly.

  “Help me look.” He was careful not to punctuate any of his words with a question mark. This was becoming a fun distraction and the glasses he was looking for were of secondary importance.

  “I have to go. I have to get home.” Jumpiness fell over her face, and he saw she was near tears. Her eyes glazed over quickly, and her head tipped back as she blinked them away. “I really need to go.”

  His gut sank instantly. This had just changed from a playful game of him testing her willingness to accommodate to something wholly different. He might be a powerhouse in the boardroom, but he was no bully.

  As he stepped aside to let her pass, she surprised him. Pulling a chair over to the cabinets, she climbed up and began poking around for cups.

  “I’ll find them,” he offered, feeling bad for pushing this far.

  “No, here they are,” she said victoriously, sliding a sleeve of cups down from the shelf. The way her face lit with success had him fighting a laugh. A people pleaser was a personality James could never understand. He never worked for someone else’s praise. It never mattered to him what people thought, if he’d made them proud or not. Success was black and white. Or really black and red. You were either losing money or making money. That’s how he measured success.

  Suddenly she was off balance. As she wobbled, he moved closer and extended his arms, ready to catch her romantic-comedy style if she fell. Instead she braced herself against the worst possible thing: the industrial size coffee pot, blazing hot and spitting steam.

  “Shit,” she yelped, pulling her arm away but not quickly enough. He could see the delicate skin of her wrist turning from pink to red.

  “Here,” he instructed, grabbing her hips and effortlessly lifting her small body down from the chair, placing her directly in front of him, practically against his chest. She stared up at him expectantly, both of them breathing the same air for a moment, staring directly into each other’s eyes. Finally remembering her injury, he planted a hand on her hip as he guided her toward the sink. “Run it under cold water.”

  “I’m fine,” she whimpered, trying to shrug him off, but he didn’t let her go. He flipped the faucet on and gingerly pulled up her sleeve. He couldn’t tell what was softer, her skin or her cashmere sweater. Jumping slightly and pulling away when the water hit her burn, he held her there, moving her arm back and forth under the cold stream of water. His body jolted with desire as he stared down at her. “It’s all right. It doesn’t look too bad.”

  “It’s just been a tough day,” she sniffled but then shook it off.

  “That’s not a great sign, considering it’s not nine o’clock yet.” He laughed but she didn’t. The guilt writhed in his body as he remembered she’d probably be halfway home by now if he hadn’t been toying with her like a cat chasing an unwilling mouse.

  He breathed in the fruity scent of her hair and watched her try to gather her emotions up and stuff them down. It was an easy skill he’d mastered, but she wasn’t quite as proficient. “You know what I do on a hard day?” he asked in a husky whisper as he shook the bottle of Scotch in his free hand. Her eyes were fluttering up at him in this take me now gaze that was driving him wild.

  She looked like she needed to feel better. Like she needed this badly. “I drink and find a way to blow off some steam. I’ve got this bottle and an office door that locks.” One raised brow and a flash of his smile was normally all it took. The expectation that her lips would curl into a smile and her body would sink against his was dashed when she spoke.

  “I need to go,” she replied, nearly losing her breath. He saw her chest heave with desire. The idea of her growing warm and wet before his eyes was driving him wild. She was fighting it, talking herself out of it, and that only made him want her more.<
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  “You don’t need to,” he assured her as he took a long hank of her hair and moved it off her shoulder. His thumb lingered, running from her collarbone to her earlobe. “You don’t have to go. That’s not what you need.” Her clothes could be balled up on his office floor, and she could be sprawled across his desk calling out his name. This frustrating day they were having could be put on hold long enough for them both to get some release.

  “How do you know what I need?” she asked, with genuine curiosity, not sarcasm. As though she believed he really did have all the answers to her problems. He could see how fast she was breathing, how red her cheeks were. It took great force not to grab her hips tightly again and kiss her while grinding his firmness into her. A tug of her hair, a bite of her lip, that was all he could think of.

  “I make it a point to know what a woman wants and make sure she gets it. Your hard day can be a distant memory.” Like a lightning bolt of reality striking down his excitement, he realized one important question hadn’t been asked. “You don’t work here do you?” Her plans were to go home. That wasn’t something one of his employees would be doing right now. She didn’t have an employee badge, and she wasn’t dressed appropriately for work. The odds were in his favor.

  “I, well of course I do,” she replied quickly, twisting her face up in what he read as sudden anger, though he couldn’t determine the source of it. “Ugh, why am I still here? Mind your own business and take your cups. Get out of my way.” She finally turned so they were facing each other as she made a move to inch by his arms.

  His brows furrowed with confusion. Was she seriously turning down his offer? Dropping the bottle down to his side, he stood up straight but barely made room for her to pass. “What’s your deal?” he asked in a gravelly tone. The urge to back her against one of these walls and kiss her until her lip-gloss smeared blazed through his body.

  He felt himself stiffen uncomfortably against his slacks and adjusted his stance to mask it. She was turning him down. Saying she wasn’t interested and for some reason that made his body respond even more. The stress of this day was coursing through him, and she looked like the perfect release.

  This woman resembled an exotic flower. Her eyes, nose, and mouth all came to a delicate point at their ends, pixie like. Her lips were tantalizingly plump and a flash of a fantasy buzzed across his eyes. She was a mix of sexy and sweet that he hadn’t seen since college. But who the hell was she?

  “Let me by,” she said, flashes of anger dancing unconvincingly at the corner of her eyes. She may have had some place to be, but that didn’t mask the fire blazing between them. He could see it written on her face.

  “Fine,” he shrugged, turning his body sideways so she could move through. He was never one to trap a woman in a room she didn’t want to be in. But in all honestly, he’d never been alone in a room with a woman who wanted to leave him. He did the leaving. Maybe that was why he breathed in this woman’s perfume as she blew by him. Maybe that’s why he found himself fully turned on now. She’d seemed reluctant to face him, anxious to get away. He should have found her rude, but instead it was intriguing.

  “Boy I haven’t seen you shot down that hard by a woman before,” Mathew joked with a wide grin on his face as he stood in the doorway of the break room after the woman had left.

  “Does she work here?” he asked, knowing Mathew would have no more information than he did. “If she works here, I haven’t met her yet,” James snarled, grabbing two of the cups. “But if she does, once I do meet her properly she certainly won’t be taking that tone with me.” What he wasn’t saying was, if she didn’t work for him then she was fair game, and he intended to find out who she was and why she’d turned him down. He intended to have her. Because he wanted her, and he made it a point to always get what he wanted.

  “I don’t know,” Mathew shrugged. “Maybe you’re losing your touch.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to really touch her. If I had, the last thing she’d want to do was run away, trust me.”

  Chapter 2

  “Focus,” Libby kept telling herself as she climbed the stairs to her friend’s apartment. This was no time to be lusting after some stranger. Her life was about to fall apart. Who cares how he’d blocked her path, and she’d nearly melted with desire? If he’d have locked the break room door behind him she might have forgotten every bad thing that had happened that morning. She might have yanked the blinds closed and fallen straight into him. God knows she could use some strong arms wrapped around her right now.

  As she conjured up the thought of him for the hundredth time she felt her body pulse with energy. Best she could tell the man had slid off the cover of a men’s fitness magazine and fallen right into a perfectly tailored gray suit made of the softest material she’d ever felt. His blond hair was styled neatly with gel, his face so cleanly shaven his skin glowed under the harsh fluorescent lights above him. If he stood still long enough he could easily be mistaken for a statue of a Greek god. And though at the time her problems and the burn on her wrist were painfully distracting her, she was pretty sure he’d propositioned her. Wasn’t that what he meant about his office with the lock on the door? She was out of practice dating and a complete novice at hooking up, but surely that’s what he had meant.

  She closed her eyes before knocking on Jessica’s door and imagined what would have happened if she would’ve said yes. Libby never indulged in anything impractical. She never put her own desire ahead of the people in her life and what they needed. And right now those people needed her to not get fired from West Oil, even though the situation was complicated. Sleeping with that man, as good as it would have been in the moment, wouldn’t have accomplished what she needed, what everyone else needed from her.

  “Libby, you can’t be serious,” Jessica griped in an exhausted voice as she leaned her head against the frame of her front door.

  “You know I wouldn’t be here this early if I wasn’t in a bind. I’m desperate.” Libby batted her long lashes and clutched her hands together. She was not above begging.

  “I just got off work on the movie set like two hours ago. I’m a zombie right now. What could be so important?” The bags under Jessica’s brown eyes and the smear of her mascara made a compelling case for Libby to feel bad about waking her. But there wasn’t much room in her gut for guilt; it was nearly full to the top with anxiety already. What else were best friends for if not to save you from near disaster?

  “I got an email from James West, Jr. this morning saying there was a staff meeting, and I have to be there. I’m freaking out.” Libby ran her hand nervously through her long brown hair and swept it over one shoulder. The thought of how the stranger had moved her hair to the side, exposing her neck, flashed through her mind. “Like an idiot I went to the office to try to find my way around, and I realized everyone was dressed professionally. I went in looking like this.” Libby gestured down at her casual clothes as though she were wearing a dirty pillowcase and holey leggings, rather than the jeans and nice sweater she had on.

  “You’re not seriously going to go to the meeting are you?” Jessica asked, finally stepping aside and letting Libby into her small studio apartment. Jessica slid her thin frame back onto her bed and patted the edge for Libby to sit down. There was no couch, no dining room table; this was the only place to settle in. But Libby didn’t have time to sit.

  “I have to go to the meeting,” Libby spit out anxiously. “The email specifically said no one was exempt, and not attending could result in immediate termination. I can’t get fired.”

  “You don’t really work there,” Jessica argued into her pillow. “You’ve been collecting a paycheck from them for the last five years, and you’ve never stepped into the building before.”

  “That’s not true,” Libby reasoned. “I’ve been in the building before. That’s where I met with JW the first time, and I was in there again a half hour ago.”

  “Sorry, what I meant to say is you’ve never actually done a s
titch of work for the company, but you’ve been taking their money. Now the old man had a stroke and the son is calling you in for a meeting. You can’t go. What if they want the money back? Does the new guy know anything about your arrangement? It’s not like you had a contract written up.” Jessica rolled over and pushed her messy black hair out of her eyes. “Just go home and see what happens.”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t. I need the money,” Libby said, flopping onto the bed. “If there is even a chance I can keep this going longer I need to. My mom is depending on me. So is my brother. Please help me.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Jessica asked, Libby’s pleas finally breaking down her hesitation.

  “Make me look like an executive assistant,” Libby begged. “You are one of the best makeup and costume design artists in Texas. Work your magic on me.”

  “Libby,” Jessica sang out sadly, “a nice suit and some pretty makeup will not be enough. You are a middle school drama teacher between jobs. You are not an executive assistant in a multi-billion-dollar company.”

  “It’s not my fault schools keep cutting the arts. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m an actress. A starving one maybe but an actress all the same. So I will act the part. I just need you to make me look the part. For all I know this is just some welcome meeting for the new boss, and I can slip back into oblivion and collect my pay check.”

  “And you’re fine with that? You, in good conscience, can keep this charade up?” Jessica was on her feet now, flipping open chests full of makeup and hair styling products. She might still sound reluctant, but Libby knew she’d have her friend’s help now.

  “Please help me,” Libby moaned. “You know this wasn’t my idea. I was twenty years old when this was all decided. If I had a say this wouldn’t have been my choice. But now it is what it is, and I have to keep it going for as long as I can without another job. You know what happens if this money stops coming.”