The Billionaire's Fantasy - Part 2

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Then she stopped thinking at all because he was shucking his clothes and reaching for her, and as his lips found hers again and her legs wrapped around his hips she wasn’t curious about anything but the desire deepening inside her, and how only Jaiven could satisfy it.

Eventually they made it to the bed, a huge king-size affair on the top floor of the house, with skylights above that let in a flood of moonlight.

Louise lay amid the tangled, silken sheets, her legs twined with Jaiven’s, her hand resting palm-down over the thud of his heart. She felt sleepy and utterly sated by sex, and yet at the same time a part of her seemed to hover above the room, taking it all in, marveling at how intimate this all was. How emotional it all seemed.

Just sex, stupid, the rest of her reminded that part, and with a sigh of resignation it came crashing down. She had to go. It was probably after midnight already, and she didn’t relish looking for a cab in this part of the Bronx at such a late hour.

Yet she was so comfortable in Jaiven’s bed, with Jaiven’s body snugged around hers, his breathing slow and easy, his eyes closed although Louise didn’t think he was actually asleep.

“I should go,” she finally said, and began, admittedly only halfheartedly, to rise from the bed. Jaiven just tightened his hold on her and she relaxed back into him even though she knew she shouldn’t. She was pretty sure pillow talk wasn’t part of either of their fantasies.

“Why?” he asked, and she could hear the rumble of his voice through her hand on his chest.

“Because it’s late and I need to cab it back to the Upper West Side. I can’t imagine there are many taxis cruising around the Bronx at one in the morning.”

“If you think I’m letting you go outside and look for a cab dressed in just that coat, you’re crazy,” Jaiven answered. “I could call you a car,” he continued, his arms still wrapped around her. “But I won’t.”

“And why won’t you?”

“Because I like you right here.”

And she liked being here. Too much. So she put up a fight, mostly because it felt like the right thing to do. Draw a line in the sand, as it were: sex, not sleeping. Fantasy, not the all too welcome reality of two warm bodies cuddled together on a bed.

She decided to keep it light. “So, what, you have a fantasy about spooning with a woman in bed while whispering sweet nothings into her ear?”

Louise felt Jaiven’s body tense, his hands still on her bare back, and she realized she’d made a mistake. She’d meant to sound joking but Jaiven had obviously seen through that paper-thin facade to the real and messy emotion underneath.

Because that’s my fantasy.

Except it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be, because she wasn’t ready for a relationship at all, much less with someone like Jaiven.

A man like me.

What had he meant by that, anyway? Someone who collected women’s panties as personal trophies? Your average commitmentphobe? Did it even matter?

Clearly she needed to get out of here before he booted her out. Or before she started begging to stay. Either option was awful.

“Seriously, I have work tomorrow,” she said as she slipped from Jaiven’s embrace. His arms fell to his sides as he let her go, and Louise tried not to let that hurt.

This was about enjoying a fling, exploring some sexual fantasies, she reminded herself as she searched for her clothes. And that was all.

“I think you might run into a problem,” Jaiven informed her lazily. He’d rolled onto his back and lay there with his arms crossed underneath his head, unashamedly and quite magnificently naked.

“The problem being?” Louise asked as she stood there, not quite so unashamedly naked, wishing she’d thought about the coming home part of showing up in a trench coat and heels. The return trip wasn’t nearly as appealing.

“You don’t have anything to wear home.”

“I have my coat.”

Jaiven’s gaze swept over her, and she saw the heat flare in his eyes. It still amazed her that he actually desired her. If she hadn’t seen and felt the proud evidence she never would have believed it.

But maybe that was just because despite ten years to get over it, not to mention all the self-help books on female empowerment and a PhD in the politics of gender, she still felt as if she didn’t measure up as a woman. As a person.

Thanks to a husband who had informed her she didn’t—and had shown her in ways she couldn’t bear to remember—all too often.

But she wasn’t going to think about Jack now. She’d managed not to think about him for ten years. She’d like to keep that trend going.

“I can’t,” he told her, his voice silky, “allow you to leave here in nothing but that coat.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not safe.”

“I was perfectly safe coming over here.”

“It was early evening, then, and you weren’t trawling the Bronx looking for a cab.”

“I thought you were going to call me a private car.”

“I said I could. But I think I won’t.”

She shook her head, exasperated, and yes, still naked. Still feeling a little embarrassed, now that the flood of confidence-building desire had receded. How repressed was she, that she could not hold a conversation in the nude? It wasn’t even just about body image; it was about herself. Feeling exposed. Bracing herself to be criticized or worse. All those old hang-ups were coming back to haunt her now, and she didn’t like the feeling at all.

“I’ll call myself one then,” she told him. “It’s simpler all around if I go now.”

“Really? Because I think it’s simpler if you stay. I can take you home tomorrow, after I buy you some proper clothes.”

“Buy me clothes?”

“Another one of my fantasies.”

“I can’t imagine shopping is one of your fantasies.”

He smiled and, reaching up with one hand, grabbed her own and tugged her back to the bed. “You’d be surprised.”

She eyed him skeptically. “What about buying a woman clothes appeals to you?” She’d let him pull her onto the bed; she’d even snuggled up next to him and arched like a cat as he smoothed a hand over her body. She was completely spineless. And she felt boneless under his caressing hand, everything in her melting with pleasure.

“Well, let me see…” Jaiven cupped her breast in his palm and Louise squirmed with pleasure. “Seeing you try them on, certainly. Taking them off, definitely. And I’ve never actually had sex in a dressing room before. I think that could be a very interesting experience.”

“In a dressing room?” Louise’s voice ended on a sigh as he bent his head and applied his mouth to her breast. “Is that really a fantasy of yours?”

“It might be now. I have a lot of fantasies when it comes to you, Louise.”

Which seemed incredible, if he really meant it. Maybe it was just the Jaiven Rodriguez version of pillow talk.

And yet, Louise thought before her mind blurred completely, it seemed that flattery would get him everywhere.

Chapter Five

HE’D NEVER HAD a woman stay the night before. He rarely brought women back to his place; the penthouse suite of The Black Book had always suited his purposes admirably.

He was breaking a lot of his rules when it came to Louise Jensen, Jaiven thought ruefully, and not without a small surge of alarm. Rule breaking was dangerous. It could crack open things inside him that made it easier to care, and he couldn’t care. Didn’t want to go down that damaging path. He’d been there before and he’d prefer not to have a return trip, thanks very much.

But he didn’t care about Louise, he decided as he gazed down at her sleeping next to him, her knees nearly brought up to her chest, one hand flung up by her face. He didn’t know her well enough to care about her. They’d had some glorious sex and very little conversation, and that was exactly how he liked it. No danger of falling for someone when you had no idea what was going on in her head.

Except somehow the sex was revealing more of Louise, and maybe even more of himself, than he’d expected, or was comfortable with. Telling someone your fantasies was a little exposing, even if he hadn’t meant it to be. And finding out what Louise’s were…

He didn’t think he’d ever forget the look of panicked determination on her face when she’d thrown open her coat. Or the glare when he’d asked her if she wanted to remove it.

The memory made his mouth twitch in a smile. She’d been magnificent, in all sorts of ways, last night. He hadn’t enjoyed himself, and not just sexually, in a long, long time. He’d actually had fun.

Which made breaking the rules justifiable, in his mind. He was enjoying himself, and he was pretty sure she was too, and yet neither of them were going too deep or engaging emotionally at all.

At least not much.

All right, so he was starting to see how the sex—and the fantasy—was liberating for Louise. How she needed to reclaim her confidence, her boldness and sass. He wondered why and when she’d lost it.

And as for him—she brought up all sorts of feelings in him: protectiveness and admiration and a sense of pride that she needed him, at least for this. But she didn’t really know him, and it needed to stay that way.

Because if she found out…

Well, he just wasn’t going to go there. Ever.

So it was fine, he decided as he smoothed his hand down Louise’s back. She had the softest skin he’d ever touched. Totally fine and completely under control. And he was going to enjoy his time with her to the hilt.

He’d start by waking her up—and he knew just how to do that.

* * *

Louise woke to Jaiven nuzzling her neck. It was, she decidedly hazily, a very pleasant way to wake up. The next half hour was even more pleasant.

In fact, pleasant didn’t even begin to cover it, she thought when they finally made it downstairs in search of some breakfast. Sex with Jaiven was unbelievable. Incredible. Addictive.

It was going to be hard to give up, she acknowledged, whenever that happened. Probably pretty soon, judging by Jaiven’s track record. She doubted he’d been with a woman for longer than a week. They’d had three days, if she just counted the times when they’d seen each other. That meant possibly just four more encounters. Four more fantasies, if she could think of that many. Maybe Jaiven had something up his sleeve, or maybe he was bored with her already.

He hadn’t been bored a few moments ago, but he’d rolled away from her pretty darn quick and said he was starving.

Now she slid onto a high bar stool as Jaiven moved around the breakfast bar to a state-of-the-art kitchen that looked as if it saw little use.

“I hope you like eggs,” he said as he rummaged through the fridge.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the only thing I make.”

“You’re going to cook me breakfast?” She was, stupidly of course, touched.

He poked his head around the stainless steel door of the refrigerator. “I did promise you breakfast.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “Coffee and a bagel, I thought.”

“I’m out of bagels, but you can have toast with your eggs.”

“You’re too kind,” she teased, and hooked her bare feet around the rungs of the stool, propping her chin in her hands as she watched him cook. She wore one of his T-shirts that came to midthigh; he wore only a pair of navy boxer briefs, leaving the rest of him quite gloriously bare. She’d had ample time to explore his body over their past few encounters, and besides the tattoo and the once-broken nose she’d seen a long, puckered scar along his abdomen. It added to his rough, rugged sexiness, but now she wondered about it. About him.

“So how did you get that scar?”

He glanced down at his middle as if checking it was still there. “This? Really bad shaving accident.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Seriously.”

“You’re always so serious.”

“It’s a serious scar.”

He shrugged, his broad back to her as he cracked eggs into a bowl. “Stupid accident, that’s all.”

She heard the faint note of repression in his voice even though he spoke casually, or tried to. Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about his scar. Apparently even that was too personal. Too emotional, maybe. It made her wonder all the more, which of course was both dangerous and stupid. She shouldn’t have engaged him in conversation at all, she supposed, but you couldn’t have sex while making breakfast, and she wanted to talk. She wanted to get to know him just a little, whether that was stupid or not.

“I have a scar,” she said suddenly, and then wondered why on earth she’d mentioned such a thing. She certainly didn’t want to talk about that.

“I know you do,” he answered. He turned back to her with a glint in his eyes as he tossed the eggshells into the trash. “It’s tiny, though, right by your eyebrow.”

She felt as if he’d suddenly swung a magnifying glass onto her. “I didn’t think you’d have noticed.”

“I’ve noticed everything about your body, Louise.” He stirred the eggs and then poured them into the frying pan heating on the stove. “So how did you get it?”