Valentine's Billionaire Bad Boys

by M. S. Parker

  Chapter Eleven

  Dominic

  Antonio Salvatore had the wrinkled, leathery skin of a man who’d seen a lot of years. He also had the wide, easy smile of a man who’d spent a lot of those years laughing.

  As he sat rocking on the chair, he looked at me with eyes that held no hint of the laughter though.

  “Some bad things were happening about that time, Dominic.” He nodded and went back to staring out over the waters of the Atlantic. “Lots of bad things. A few of us…” He paused and looked back at me. “Us workers, you see. Some of us thought something was wrong. One girl, she went to the police. She went to boarding school in France and ended up getting sent back. She had a little girl, lived with a boy she’d met from Brooklyn. But only for a short while, then suddenly, she was back in school. The boy from Brooklyn was gone and her daughter…I don’t know if she ever saw her daughter again. Made a lot of people afraid to say anything.”

  Aleena put her hand on my knee, but I barely felt it.

  Antonio continued, “I always figured they had some cops involved to help smooth things over. People like us, people see through us, and so we see a lot.”

  “What happened?” I asked. “Antonio, what do you know?”

  “Nothing for sure.” He shrugged and went back to staring out over the water. “It all ended a few years after they adopted you.”

  “Was there anything going on when I was adopted?” My voice was even, a miracle.

  Antonio pressed his lips flat. “I don’t like to do this. I really don’t.”

  “Antonio—”

  The old man turned, reaching for a book he had on the table next to his chair. Inside it was a folded up sheet of paper. He handed it to me without a word.

  I unfolded it and stared, confused. The picture was of a young woman. Attractive, with sharp features and intelligent eyes. “What…”

  “Her name is Cecily Cole.” Antonio looked at me as I raised my head.

  Shit.

  Cecily Cole was a name both feared and worshipped among the social circuit. An heiress, she’d lived and partied hard as a teen, taking herself to the brink of total disaster. Now she was a crusader of sorts, and she scorned New York society with a zeal that made them almost slavishly devoted.

  “Is she involved in…whatever this was?” Considering her prominence, I hoped not.

  “You could say that,” Antonio said. “She got into drugs when she was young. Twelve or thirteen, I’ve heard talk. Ended up living the wild life. When she was nineteen, she was found in a compromising position with a U.S. senator and ended up pregnant. Naturally, it was all her fault—that nineteen year-old troubled girl.” He let his voice clearly say how he felt about that blame.

  My skin went cold and I shook my head. “What…”

  “My sister was her nana. Took care of her from the time she was a baby. Was there the night she went into labor. They let her stay with Cecily, because it calmed the girl, you know. But the next day, she was given her walking papers…she’d hoped they’d let her stay and take care of the baby. But they told her the baby was being put up for adoption.”

  I swallowed, hard and fast. “Okay. So…she put me up—”

  “No.” Antonio opened the book on the table and handed it to me, pointing at a paragraph at the top of the left page.

  –The day I lost my baby was the day I knew I had to turn my life around. He died in my womb. I never got to hold him. Never got to see him. I never even got to hear him cry, because he was born lifeless, thanks to the abuse I’d heaped on my body over the years.

  I grabbed the book and read that paragraph, over and over.

  Finally I hurled it against the wall and surged upright. Aleena went to catch my hand, but I shook her off. I didn't want to be touched at the moment. Wheeling around, I stared out over the water, but it did nothing to calm me.

  Nothing.

  I turned back to Antonio. “What's all this about? Do you know anything or not?”

  “My sister, Isabel, was in that room when Cecily's baby was born. A private doctor was brought in and Cecily was sedated, heavily. Then a C-section performed. A healthy, living baby boy was delivered, Dominic. My sister was there.”

  He gestured at the book. “Isabel is dead now, a heart attack, just a year before that book was released. But my sister wouldn’t have confused a living, crying baby boy with a stillborn.”

  “Dominic…”

  Dazed, I looked over at Aleena. She had her tablet out, but I didn’t want to see whatever it was. I just wanted to take off, walk. Do something. Anything to empty my head.

  “Dominic!” She walked over to me and shoved the iPad into my hands. “Cecily names the senator she slept with. Look at his picture!”

  I looked down.

  Then staggered back.

  His hair was brown, unlike mine, but other than that, we might as well have been made from the same mold.

  “He…”

  I cleared my throat. Okay, so if that was the guy who got Cecily Cole pregnant…

  I looked back at the picture I held in my hands.

  “Is she my mother?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Aleena

  When we left Antonio’s, Dominic asked me to drive. We hadn't wanted anyone to know what we were doing so we hadn't had one of the drivers take us. I was beginning to wish we had.

  Dominic sat rigid and unyielding in his seat for the first five minutes before reaching into the interior pocket of his suit and pulling out a phone. He was so quiet, so closed off.

  I’d never been so worried about him. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. The first ten minutes or so stretched out without me saying anything.

  He was actually the first one to speak, gesturing toward the exit for Philadelphia. “Take that one.”

  “Ah…aren’t we going home?” Confused, I shot him a quick look before changing lanes. Several horns blared and I clenched my teeth as I forced my way through another lane of traffic. I was once again reminded why I didn't want to drive in New York City. Jersey was bad enough.

  “We'll need gas soon. Once we fill up, I’ll take over driving.” He spoke in a neutral, business-like voice, the way he’d talk to a stranger.

  I just nodded and took the exit. Once the attendant had finished pumping the gas, we traded out, Dominic taking over the driver’s seat as I slid into the passenger side. My concern for him grew as we drove on in silence.

  Finally, I asked, “Where are we going?”

  Dominic just shook his head.

  Normally, time with Dominic moved by too fast, but these minutes dragged out indefinitely. He didn’t speak. He hardly moved, other than what was needed to drive.

  It was unsettling and it occurred to me how used I was to seeing him move. Or having him touch me. The brush of his hand on my cheek, or even just resting it on my knee, but he was on lockdown now, sitting behind the wheel, jaw clenched and shoulders tight. I thought the lightest touch would make him shatter.

  Or explode.

  “Do you want to talk about this?” I asked him softly.

  “No.”

  I tried not to let the sharp word hurt. “Okay. When you’re ready, I’ll listen.”

  I looked out the window, watching as we rolled into Philadelphia. The city was still unfamiliar to me. I’d only been there a couple of times now, but it was a nice city. I liked the history of it and it was a friendly enough place. It wasn’t home, but I liked it.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I can find out information on Cecily Cole. See if we can figure out how to set up a meeting between the two of you. I'm—”

  The words came to an abrupt halt in my throat as he pulled the car up in front of a hotel. It was an elegant, glamorous sprawl of metal and glass, a familiar one. Masque Philadelphia. The hotel we stayed at when we’d gone to Philadelphia not long ago when he had been looking to take over Devoted. Dominic’s hotel.

  “What are we doing here?”

  Dominic didn’t say an
ything. He climbed out and tossed his keys to the valet who greeted him by name. Again, no response. As he strode inside, I trotted after him to catch up. Then I crashed into him, because he’d come to an abrupt halt, just inside the doors.

  He was staring at a massive banner, draping down into the open-air atrium from several stories up. The banner was huge, taking up two full levels. It was completely dominated on one side by a woman’s face.

  On the other side, there was a symbol. I only recognized it because I’d seen it earlier, when I’d done my quick search on her back at Antonio's place. Overlying the symbol were the words: Our children are our future. We owe them better.

  Cecily Cole was a striking woman. I could see that as I gazed up at her enlarged image.

  Suddenly, the pit of my stomach dropped out as I realized what was going on. She was an activist and a philanthropist. This was some sort of gala, probably a fundraiser for one of the youth charities she either ran or endorsed. Judging by the people gathered around us or lining up near the escalators to go down a level toward the ballroom, this looked to be some sort of formal affair too.

  I might have started to laugh hysterically if I had the chance, or the time, but I already knew what would happen. This fancy party of hers was about to be crashed...by her son. The one she thought had died at birth. What a crazy twist of fate had brought her here, to her son's hotel.

  Security wouldn’t throw him out. Not Dominic Snow.

  I mentally groaned as I heard somebody greeting him, and me, from several feet away. “Mr. Snow! Ms. Davison…I didn’t know we were expecting you today…”

  His voice got lost in the rush of noise as Dominic started to move forward, focused on nothing but the image of the woman staring down at him from two stories over our heads.

  Our children…

  That had to hurt so much.

  I shot a look at the woman I recognized from the concierge staff and shook my head, then I rushed after Dominic.

  “Stop.” I caught his arm and squeezed gently.

  “Let go.”

  I'd heard that tone of voice before, but never directed at me. I pushed aside the stab of hurt. I couldn’t imagine how much pain he was in. I couldn’t imagine how he was feeling, but in my heart, I knew this wasn’t the way. He had to want to know his mother and I couldn’t imagine her not wanting to know him. But he couldn't do it this way.

  As he tried to shake me off, I tightened my grip. “Not like this.”

  “I’m going to see her. I have that right.” He didn't even look at me.

  “You aren’t wrong. I’m not arguing that.” I squeezed his arm again and stepped in front of him. I put my hand on his cheek. “But look around you, baby. Look.”

  His jaw flexed as he finally looked down at me.

  “What do you think she’s doing? Who do you think she’s doing this for?”

  Some of the steel left his spine and I heard a ragged intake of breath. I dared to move in closer, dared to let go of his arm and take his hand. “This is all about you. She turned her entire life around because of you, to make up for what she thought she had done to you. She blamed herself for you dying when you were really stolen away. Neither of you are to blame for that, but all of this…she’s done so much good and it was all because of you.”

  He was staring at the floor now, shoulders rising and falling raggedly. “Aleena…”

  The pain in his voice made me wince. “Let her do what she came here for. We’ll find her. You’ll talk to her. But don’t just crash in there like this. Yeah, you deserve to know her, but she’s spent her life missing you. You’re going to knock her off her feet when you do this. Don’t do it in a room full of strangers.”

  * * *

  Dominic and I ended up in the executive offices normally used by the hotel manager. In news that surprised me not at all, there were no rooms open at the Masque. The hotel manager apologized effusively, so much so that I felt bad for him and tried to assure him that he didn’t need to worry about it.

  As he backed out of the office, amidst his third apology, he promised to send up dinner and a bottle of Dominic’s favorite scotch.

  “Could I possibly offer anything else?” he asked, hesitating.

  “Ah…a dress? Something black and formal?” I asked, looking down at myself. “Fast?” I looked at my beige heels and made a face. “Shoes too?”

  He peered at my feet, then ran his gaze up and down my body. There was no lust there, only a practiced eye. With a smile, he accurately guessed the sizes I'd need. “Give me thirty minutes, Ms. Davison.” He flicked a look at Dominic’s averted back. I shook my head.

  He nodded and left without another word.

  “You flustered him,” I said.

  Dominic didn’t respond. I moved toward him, uncertain if I should, but needing to touch him, to try to offer some sort of reassurance. Even as I was lifting a hand, he turned, catching me in his arms. He pulled me tight against his body and his mouth came down on mine, hard and demanding. I clung to him as he kissed me, as his teeth sunk into my bottom lip hard enough to make me gasp.

  He tore his mouth from mine. “Make me stop thinking, please. Even for just a few minutes.”

  “Whatever you need.” I glanced behind me. “The door…”

  He let go, his fingers lingering at my waist for a moment. I hurried over to turn the lock and when I turned around, he was there, his pants already undone, his cock thick and hard.

  His eyes burning into me, he backed me up against the solid oak of the door and reached down, dragging my skirt up around my waist. He lifted me, one arm bracing me against the door, the other moving between us to pull aside the crotch of my panties.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t…I have to be inside you,” he said, his voice raw. He stared at me with broken eyes and I put my hand on his cheek.

  “Whatever you need.”

  He thrust inside me and I swallowed a cry. I wasn’t ready for him and I bit my lip as he began a slow, devastating invasion. His cock rasped against folds just barely wet and then he withdrew. He surged in a little deeper and I took him better because I was wetter now, but not enough. Then he started all over again.

  It was intimate and raw and powerful and I clung to him, whispering small, meaningless words as I encouraged him to take solace in my body. His mouth ate at mine, his teeth nipping my lower lip, his tongue thrusting deep and echoing the rhythm of his body.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Mr. Snow. I have—”

  I moaned.

  “Ah...Mr. Snow?”

  “Leave it outside the door.”

  Dominic's voice was harsh and I had no doubt the manager knew exactly what we were doing. But I didn't care. I had nothing to be ashamed of. The man I loved was hurting and I was comforting him. There was no shame in that.

  Dominic slammed into me harder, his eyes as dark as a night sky. “I love you,” he said. His fingers twisted in my hair and he dragged my mouth back to his. “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you.” I bit his lip, felt him stiffen, felt his cock swell. “You know I do. I love you. I want you.” I twisted my fingers in the hair at the base of his skull. “You're mine.”

  He groaned, then, started to come.

  I wasn’t there yet and I writhed against him, desperate, but he was there, taking care of me. He pushed his hand between us, stroked my clit in quick, hard strokes.

  I whimpered and jerked against him as he shoved straight up in me, impaling me on his cock as he emptied himself inside me. And then I was right there with him.

  * * *

  When we opened the door, I had a neat, black formal waiting for me, along with a pair of elegant heels with sparkly little straps that winked in the light. The dress was simple. It clung to my curves and fell straight to the floor. I had no jewelry and had to rush through washing up in the bathroom, but it would have to be enough. I knew Dominic wouldn’t be content to wait for long, but once I dressed, I’d told him to trust me. I as
ked him to give me thirty minutes to go out and try to make this go as smooth as possible.

  I guess he knew the same thing I did—if he kept staring up at the massive banner, he wouldn’t be able to wait, so he stayed in the office as I slipped out, leaving him to sip on his scotch and stare at the food neither of us had been able to eat.

  As I made my way into the main lobby, I mentally prepared myself for what I might say and how I could make this happen. If positions were reversed, and somebody was trying to get to Dominic. How would they make that happen? Through me, I realized. That meant I needed to find Cecily Cole’s people. Her assistant, secretary, PA, whatever term she used, whomever she had with her.

  Plan of action set, I scanned the crowd. One of the gala organizers caught sight of me and started to hustle my way. Clearly, my quick clean up wasn’t passing muster. A moment later, I was about ready to kiss the hotel manager, because a member of hotel security cut the woman off and spoke to her quietly. She gave me a disgruntled look, but walked off. I smiled at the security guard, looking professional and competent in his black suit. He tipped an imaginary hat at me and resumed his post.

  I was about ready to whip out my phone and do a Google search—who is Cicely Cole’s personal assistant—when I caught sight of a small, but heated discussion taking place near the main doors.

  It was quieter out in the lobby now. I could hear a dull roar coming from inside the ballroom, which meant the party was probably revving up. A trim, elegant woman with snow white hair and razor-sharp cheekbones was speaking to a stocky, squarely built man in a discreet suit.

  I studied him for a long moment and then looked at the woman. She bore a striking resemblance to Cecily. The cheekbones, the facial structure in general, although this woman looked as though she never smiled. There was an older gentleman with her who looked…faded. Graying, tired and weak, like there wasn’t much of him left.

  They faced the square, solid man with an air of indignation. He smiled politely back at them and shook his head.