Valentine's Billionaire Bad Boys

by M. S. Parker

  “Maybe you should cry,” I said softly. “You’re the one who just lost your mom. I don’t have any rules.”

  To my surprise, a faint smile curled that wicked sexy mouth. “You saying you’d take advantage of me?”

  Something low and deep twisted in my stomach.

  “Might be my only chance. Guys like you don’t tend to waste their time on plain Janes.” The words slipped out without me thinking about them.

  His lashes lowered, shielding his eyes and then he sat up. I had no time to brace myself and ended up on his lap, one brawny forearm pinning me against him. “Plain…” He studied my face, cupping my chin in his hand. “Hey, maybe you’ll never walk down a runway, but with that mouth and those eyes…not to mention your legs…”

  Heat flushed my face. “No, I’m not going to walk down a runway, and I’m fine with that. I know what I look like.”

  “Do you?” He stood up and my weight didn’t stop him at all. Gasping, I wrapped my arms around his neck, half terrified he’d drop me, but he wasn’t even off stride as he turned and moved toward the house. He put me down near the door.

  The word flustered doesn’t apply to me often, but as I stood there adjusting my clothes and smoothing down my hair, I knew that was the only word that would fit. Well, flustered and aroused. I glanced toward my car, the dark maroon Mercedes-Benz the boss had given me when I graduated college. The convertible was my pride and joy, and what I should do was get back inside, drive away, and get control of myself.

  If the boss had his way, this would be far from the last I saw of Adam Dedman, and I needed to have my wits about me.

  But before I could convince myself to do anything even resembling responsible, Adam had the door unlocked, and I was being ushered into the lovely little house.

  Still flustered, I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “It’s like a doll’s house. Or a fairy’s house.”

  A laugh escaped Adam as he came up behind me, his hands going to my hips. “Mom would have liked that. She’s…she was fussy. Female. She’d put on makeup just to go to the grocery store.”

  So did I.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Not a damn thing.” He dipped his head, and I shivered as he ran his nose along my neck. “I bet you shower and slick yourself down with lotion and primp and put on makeup for the same damn reason.”

  I wasn’t going to tell him that for a long while, I hadn’t known what it was like to really be clean. So maybe now I went a little overboard. Instead, I replied, “Again…what’s wrong with that?”

  “Not a damn thing.” He breathed in through his nose, and I closed my eyes because he was breathing me in and it was painfully erotic. My nipples tightened inside my bra, and I clenched my hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. “Look…”

  I opened my eyes, about to ask what I was supposed to see.

  And I saw myself.

  At some point in the past minute or so, he turned us, and I didn’t even remember him doing it.

  There was a round mirror – mirror, mirror on the wall, I thought with a half-mad giggle rising in my throat. It hung by the door, a pretty, silver-plated piece that was perfect for checking hair on the way out.

  Now I could see myself. My face, slightly flushed, more animated than normal. I rarely let myself get animated.

  My eyes glittered.

  No. I wasn’t pretty. I would never be pretty. But I did have nice eyes. “I’ll still never walk down a runway,” I said raggedly.

  “You don’t have to. Striking as you are, people would stare anyway. You look strong…and personally, I think strong is seriously sexy.” He turned me around and nudged me up against the door. “The first thing I saw when I walked into that room at the jail was somebody had the wrong person, and whoever she was, was mesmerizing. Then you turned around, and I saw your mouth…your eyes.”

  He dipped his head, almost close enough to kiss now.

  “Do us both a favor and leave, O. My head is in a bad place, and you’re not too steady either for some reason,” he murmured.

  He was right. I wasn’t steady. In fact, I was as unsteady as I’d ever found myself. This was Adam. The boy I’d longed for who’d turned into the man I craved. The man who starred in my fantasies. The man I wasn’t supposed to touch, yet found my fingers yearning for just that.

  Would it really be so bad to surrender to my need? Just once?

  Tomorrow, I might not ever see him again. He may refuse James’s invitations. This may be my only chance to be with him like this.

  I took a deep breath as I decided to simply go after what I wanted, just this once. I pressed my hands to his chest, felt the thunder of it beneath my palm. Proof that he needed me as much as I needed him.

  “Then maybe you won’t be too pissed off if I take advantage of you,” I breathed, the words almost a whisper.

  He blinked once. “Is that what you want to do? Take advantage of me?”

  “Does that idea bother you?”

  He eased closer, his mouth just a breath away. Then that gloriously crooked grin was back. “Hell, no.”

  I grinned back and cupped his face with my hand. “Good.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reaper

  She tasted like cinnamon, cream, and coffee.

  I hated cream in my coffee, but I might just start taking it just to remember this moment, how O tasted when I kissed her that first time.

  One hand fisted in the short dark hair, I pulled her head back and deepened the kiss.

  It wasn’t enough, but until she was naked, wrapped around my dick and moaning my name, it had to be enough.

  Maybe not even then. I might have to have her three or four times before it was enough.

  Her hands slid under my shirt, and I broke away to get some distance. She mewled under her breath, but once I peeled the shirt away, she seemed to appreciate it. Then I went to work on her clothes, a white silk blouse that made her golden skin gleam warm and soft in comparison. Her bra was a lacy, silky confection that covered her small but perfect breasts. I was right – she was every bit as strong under those boring clothes as I knew she would be.

  Taut muscles flexed in her arms as she reached for me, but I caught her hands, guiding both of her wrists up over her head. “You’re too impatient.”

  Shifting both of her wrists to one hand, I placed the flat of my palm against her torso and stroked down. Her abdomen flexed. Her eyes gleamed, brilliant blue, then her lashes fluttered down as she arched into my touch.

  When I reached the button on her plain black skirt, her eyes widened a fraction, then she bit her lower lip, letting it roll out as I tugged the zipper down.

  Slipping my hand inside her waistband, I found silk panties…then silken wet woman.

  “You wear all these boring, straight-laced clothes, and silk and lace underneath. I’ll have a hard time looking at you without wondering just what you’re hiding underneath those prim outer layers. And I’ll get so hard, everybody will notice.”

  Her cheeks flushed the prettiest pink.

  Then she whimpered, tightening around me as I slid two fingers inside the snug sheath of her pussy.

  I withdrew and did it again, harder this time, twisting my knuckles so she would feel everything. I found the rough patch and stroked while my thumb circled her clitoris.

  I took her mouth, swallowing her moan, holding down the writhing body that was arching and spasming under my hand. She was there. I felt the muscles clenching, her breathing growing more labored. The intensity in her face and eyes. That’s why it surprised me when she caught my wrist just before she went over the edge.

  “Not without you,” she panted, pushing my hand away.

  I tried to ignore her. I like to think that I’m a gentleman – well, at least when it counts – and I don’t like to get a woman to this point and stop.

  But she pushed against my shoulders, and that’s one thing a man doesn’t ignore.

  He
r hair tumbled across her forehead, and she stared at me, her breath coming in hard pants, her bright eyes nearly eclipsed by her dark pupils.

  “I don’t have anything,” I said bluntly.

  “Oh.” She licked her lips. Then she shrugged. “I do. My…um. I have a bag in my trunk.”

  Once she said those words – two magical words – I do – I twisted my wrist inside her panties and elicited a cry from her. I didn’t quite bring her to orgasm, but I had her damn close, leaving her on the edge yet again. When she opened her eyes, I picked her up and carried her to the guest bedroom just off the front door before heading outside to her car.

  She was still looking a bit dazed two minutes later when I came striding back inside and tossed the bag down on the bed next to her.

  “Get them,” I told her, nodding to the bag.

  She licked her lips and did as I said while I kicked off my boots and wrestled open my belt and jeans. I could pick a lock, defuse a bomb, and if I had to, I could start an IV. But in the past few minutes, my hands had become so clumsy, I was having a hard time unbuckling my own damn belt or dealing with my zipper.

  O reached for me and brushed my hands away.

  The foil packet lay next to her. “There better be more than one,” I said. If there was only one damn rubber in that bag, I’d have to make a run to the store.

  “There’s more than one.” She tugged my zipper down. She looked so unbelievably erotic, sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing that dowdy black skirt, her sexy silk panties visible through the opening and nothing else. Her shoes had fallen off. Her nipples were tight and swollen, and her eyes were fogged with hunger.

  I don’t think there was ever a time when I wanted to fuck a woman as much as I wanted to fuck her in that moment.

  Nudging her hands aside, I finished the task and grabbed the rubber.

  I came down over her as she lay back and scooted farther up onto the bed, but I didn’t let her go too far. Grabbing the hem of the skirt, I pulled it down, pausing to kiss her hipbone, the soft skin above her knee, her calf. “You run, don’t you?”

  “Ah…yeah. Run, swim.”

  I figured as much. Her shoulders were almost as defined as her legs. She could have been a warrioress, stately and powerful. No…she wasn’t pretty. That was too boring a word for her.

  Sliding my hand up the back of her calf, along her thigh, I cupped one taut ass cheek in my hand and squeezed before levering up onto my knees. She watched as I tore the rubber open, then slowly let her gaze slide down.

  I had next to no modesty in me. A lifetime of playing sports, then serving in the military had stripped it away, and being a lover – an avid lover – of women had taught me to appreciate the fact that I was strong and fit. But I’d never appreciated it quite so much as when O’s mouth parted and her beautiful eyes went a little darker. The pulse in her neck seemed to race faster as I wrapped my hand around my cock and stroked up, then down, pumping a few times before I rolled the rubber on.

  She looked up at me, glassy-eyed when I covered her.

  Angling my hips, I pressed against her slick folds, and she whimpered, biting her lip as I breached her tight entrance.

  “Bite me instead.” I flicked my tongue against her lips.

  She did – sinking her teeth into my lower lip as I sank into her. She clung to me, her nails penetrating my skin as surely as I penetrated her. And when she was completely impaled on me, it was about the closest I’d ever been to perfection.

  But then I moved.

  And it got better.

  She lifted to meet me as I thrust back in, tightening around me as I withdrew. I shuddered, sweat already forming on my brow.

  Hot, breathy little moans escaped her lips, and I swallowed them all down, only dimly aware that I was making some crazy noises myself.

  She’d told me she was going to take advantage of me, and I told her I didn’t mind.

  But suddenly I was thinking maybe I should.

  Because I was already in way, way too deep…

  Then she wailed as her body shuddered beneath me and nothing else mattered. She clenched down so tight around my cock that I couldn’t think or feel or see anything but her.

  I didn’t want to think or feel or see anything but her.

  When she cried out my name, I knew I was in trouble.

  * * *

  At eight-thirty-two, the doorbell rang.

  We were out of rubbers, and if life was fair, that doorbell would be some magical condom-delivering fairy.

  But then again, if life was fair, I wouldn’t be in Ohio because my mom wouldn’t be dead. I’d be back in Coronado. Two of my best friends wouldn’t be dead either because we’d saved some high society bitch who hadn’t wanted to be saved.

  So…life wasn’t fair, and the person who’d just rang the doorbell a second time wasn’t there to deliver a box of condoms.

  Or pizza. I could use a pizza.

  I hadn’t eaten much since I’d gotten to Ohio, and for the first time, I was actually hungry.

  Next to me, O made a low, grumpy noise. “It’s not my house. I don’t have to answer that, do I?”

  “No.” Something soft and sweet moved through me, and I shoved it aside because I couldn’t do soft and sweet. I didn’t even know what in the hell was going on with my life, and I didn’t want to feel that vulnerable with anybody, much less O. But I couldn’t keep from smiling as I stroked a hand down her hair and got up.

  Tugging on a pair of pants, I headed for the door.

  I could see a shadow there so whoever it was, they weren’t leaving.

  Out of habit, I checked everything about the room, although as O had said, it was a doll’s house. I’d installed a security system for Mom, and she lived in a nice neighborhood.

  Still…who would be here?

  I opened the door and found myself staring at a stranger who wasn’t a stranger any longer.

  Even if I hadn’t met him just a few hours ago, I’d know him anyway.

  The same dark brown eyes, their shape almost exactly like my own. The familiar nose. The tall frame and broad shoulders.

  “Well, I guess showing up twenty-nine years late to the party still counts as showing up,” I said caustically.

  He inclined his head.

  And that’s when O stepped into the room…wearing nothing but my t-shirt.

  When she saw my father – her boss – she went dead white.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reaper

  I wanted two things.

  I wanted to know where in the hell O was, and why she hadn’t called me back.

  And I wanted the sun to come out.

  Maybe that counted as three things.

  Right now, I’d just be content if the sun would shine while we buried my mother, but that wasn’t going to happen either. I could hunt O down after the funeral, but there wasn’t a thing I could do about the lack of sunshine.

  Mom had loved sunny days, working in her garden or just sitting on her porch and reading a book.

  But the damn sun refused to come out.

  Surrounded by strangers, I stood there at the side of the dark, ugly pit they’d lower her into, and the press of bodies around me made me feel claustrophobic. I skimmed the crowd, my gaze lingering on the few familiar faces. There weren’t many. My gaze bounced off the old guy standing on the outskirts.

  He hadn’t stayed long last night, hadn’t said much.

  He and O hadn’t spoken more than a few words either.

  Now he stared at me with an intensity that even those around us noticed.

  Everything inside me relaxed when a hand slipped into mine.

  I didn’t look over. I’d sensed O’s presence just a moment earlier, but hadn’t wanted to look away from…

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to call him. I can’t think of him as my dad,” I said as somebody from the church stepped down, and another woman took her place and began to speak about my mother.

  “I call him
James.”

  After a moment, I nodded.

  “Where did you go?”

  But she just shook her head as the woman at the small podium began to talk.

  Then it was my turn.

  I was wearing my dress blues. Mom had always loved the dress uniform. The collar around my neck felt like it was choking me, and if one more of the nurses made eyes at me, I thought I might lose my fucking mind.

  I ignored them and sought out something else to focus on and found myself staring at O. So I talked to her. I told her about my mother, and when I stepped away, people were crying.

  The voice of the preacher was an incessant drone in my ear, and I tuned him out, tuned out everything as I thought back over a hundred memories.

  We’d gone to an air show and seen the Blue Angels. As soon as we were back in my mom’s car, I told my mother I wanted to do that too. She’d hugged me and said, “If that’s what you want, then do it.” I was eight at the time.

  One of our neighbors had served in the Navy during World War II, and she’d let me go over and talk to him. At first, he tried to talk me out of it, but when he realized how committed I was to joining up, he started to tell me stories. I was fourteen when he died, and it was the last time I could remember crying. Until today. I’d broken down and bawled like a baby that morning in the shower.

  Mom standing out in the crowd, looking so proud after I’d finished training.

  Her voice on the phone when I’d call home after we’d get back to base.

  The way she’d looked at Christmas a couple of years ago when I bought tickets for her and her best friend to take a trip to Hawaii.

  Then it was over, and I had to keep standing there. I was like a robot, I stood there as everybody came up and offered their sympathy, and I was still standing there long after everybody left. The driver from the funeral home had finally approached, and I was an asshole, telling him to go fuck himself. Idly, I thought maybe I should call and apologize. Mom was just barely dead, and I was saying things that would have made her want to slap me.