A Forbidden Love (Eligible Billionaires Book 9) (6 page)

How was he sure? Who the fuck knew? But the thought, the knowledge screamed through his brain just as desire throbbed through his cock.

He pulled back and drove forward, her hips matching his rhythm. The tingle in his balls intensified. My God, he didn’t have long. Not long.

“Faster, harder,” she whispered, her legs tight around him. Those eyes, Ilana’s eyes, they saw him, all of him.

He would fuck her hard and fast. Let go of control. Let go of worry, pain. Let go of everything but Ilana. Her nails dug into his back as he sank deeper into her sex.

“Hold on baby,” Devon growled.

He thrust up and deep into her body and she took him. Tightened around him. He was lost. Restraint gone, he pushed deep into her body, the hot wetness clasping around his hard cock. Her body held him tight as he thrust again and again, his balls drawing tight to his body and the heat like white lightning surging up through his legs, gathering in his balls and bursting down his shaft, a violent eruption as he pumped deep into her. Pleasure taking them both under. Orgasm tumbling them into the abyss.

“We’re anxious for you to return to New York,” Anthony said, tugging the cuff of his sleeve.

Devon fought the urge to laugh as he faced the image of his brother on his laptop screen. If spending the last nine days with Ilana in his bed had proved anything to Devon, it was that he wouldn’t be returning to New York. Not to live. For work, when necessary. To visit family, of course. But he intended to build a life here, with Ilana. A life that he hoped would include all the things his brothers had found: marriage, love, children. Wow, when you found the right woman, your thoughts changed. He ran a hand through his hair and grinned. Yeah, Ilana was it for him.

“I’m not sure why you seem”—Anthony scowled—“so happy.”

“Is it such a shock?”

“Not necessarily, but you haven’t seemed particularly happy since the trial. What’s going on?” With his short hair and stiff features, Anthony had always had a middle-aged, serious air, even when he was eleven. Unless he was with Shelly. When Anthony was with his wife Shelly, he actually smiled and laughed. Otherwise, he was a stoic, unsmiling businessman.

“I’m not coming back to New York.”

Anthony’s mouth gaped like an out-of-water fish gasping for air. Devon couldn’t believe it. His uptight, stuffed-shirt, control-freak brother was at a loss for words?

Whether or not his brothers understood, California soothed Devon. He didn’t have to wear the mantle of
Travati
everywhere he went. Hell, in Los Angeles hardly anyone knew who the Travatis were. And who the hell cared? When you had Dillon McElroy and Brad Pitt and the Hemsworth brothers in the same city, nobody noticed Devon Travati.

No, Devon could be anonymous in L.A., and specifically Venice. His self-made billionaire bachelor status didn’t draw a crowd. And after last year? Devon didn’t want a crowd.

“I love Los Angeles, and I really dig Venice.”

Anthony tugged at the knot of his tie to loosen it. “What’s not to like, living the beach bum lifestyle?” He gave Devon a weary look, his tone acid, sarcastic. “But really? What can you expect to accomplish in L.A.? You’re not an actor or a producer. I could
maybe
understand if you wanted to be in the Industry, but L.A.? Really? Aside from film and TV, there’s nothing cutting edge out there.”

“Maybe I don’t want cutting edge.”

Again that same disapproving look, as though Devon were being a difficult teenager. The very idea that Devon no longer desired to take over the world, that he might not need to be the biggest titan of industry on the planet, didn’t compute. For at least two of his three older brothers, telling them that he might want to spend his time and effort doing more than just making more money was like speaking to them in Aramaic.

“I don’t understand.”

Devon smiled, knowing his older brother was having a hard time with this. How could he explain? Devon wasn’t even certain he could articulate what had created the desire gnawing at his soul to give back, to do more, to be more than just his bank account. Testifying in court, having his and his family’s lives threatened, had caused a foundational shift in his psyche, shown him how all his money actually had little to do with what mattered in life. The experience had fundamentally changed what Devon wanted. He could never again define success solely by numbers on a balance sheet.

“Life is about more than making money.”

“More?” Anthony leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. “Okay, a wife and kids, right? Of course. I mean, we all discovered that we wanted that.”

Devon shook his head. “Yes, but not just that. More than that.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

“Do you ever project your thoughts forward to say…when you’re eighty, and think about what you’ll call a success when you look back over your life?”

“Eighty? God, no.” Anthony shuddered. “Who wants to be eighty? I don’t even want to be forty. What the hell? Are you depressed? You know, there’s medication—”

“I’m not depressed,” Devon sighed. “I just want to be a part of something with a bigger goal than profit. We’ve made money. We’ve made so much money we could be our own country. Our children, our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren are set for life, even if none of us ever made another dime.”

“Bite your tongue.”

Devon smiled.

Anthony bristled.

“I don’t think the endless pursuit of money is what I want anymore, and that includes running the hospitality division of Travati Financial.”

“Stop.” Anthony held up his hands. “You went through a traumatic event. That changes a person. Your testimony, the threats against all of us, the near abduction—”

Devon’s stomach pitched forward and his throat tightened. None of his brothers ever brought up the attempted kidnapping. Not once. Sergey’s last attempt at revenge, his final fit of rage before the feds had begun to dismantle the remnants of his criminal network. Security had apprehended three armed thugs in the lobby of Justin’s building, headed upstairs to the penthouse. Aubrey, Max, the baby—even Shelly and Gwen had been there. All in harm’s way, because of him. His fault. All of it. Sergey had been behind bars, and yet he’d gotten close to destroying the next generation. Devon would never forgive himself for putting his family at risk.

“After all that, it makes sense that you’re questioning your life and your work, but you shouldn’t just quit. Don’t let them make you run away. Don’t resign, don’t stop being a Travati.”

“I can’t exactly stop being a Travati.”

“Really? How exactly does this family define itself?”

“Through our work.”

Anthony nodded. “Through our fearless success.”

“I’m not afraid. And I still want success, but my definition of success has changed.”

Anthony glanced away. His nostrils flared. “Okay, say you stop defining yourself through your work and you stay in
California
away from your family. Have you really considered what you’re giving up? Who you’ll hurt?” He turned back and aimed a piercing stare at Devon through the screen. “You’re giving
us
up. All of us. So you can swim in a really cold ocean, watch waves, look at the sunset, and define your own ‘success.’”

Devon sighed. Yes, being away from his family was difficult, especially now that it was growing. He knew part of the price of staying was not seeing his brothers’ kids grow up.

“You’ve been gone close to a year, and I thought that would be long enough. Maybe it’s not, but don’t throw away your life in New York, your entire career, just because you like Venice.”

“That’s not it.” At least not anymore. He felt a pull to be in this place. A pull to settle in, really be a part of the community. A pull that overwhelmed any urge he had to return to Travati Financial. He didn’t want to work in a suit and live in a high rise and go to clubs and restaurants and make money by being out every night. And now ... if he was completely honest with himself, another pull he couldn’t explain and maybe didn’t even understand had taken hold of him…the pull to be with Ilana.

“Look, stay a little longer then. Make Venice your second home. Do what you need to do, but let Justin know you’re coming back to New York. Okay? He’s driving us fucking nuts with his worrying, and he keeps crunching the numbers over and over again. I’d like to be able to tell him to just shut the fuck up because you’ve got it under control and you’re going to be back on such and such date.”

Devon sighed and shook his head. It was like they’d never talked about his plans for economic social activism, what he wanted to try to do out here. Anthony hadn’t truly heard a word of it, and neither had Justin. Maybe they thought if they kept saying the same things to Devon over and over again that eventually he, the youngest brother, would give in to what they wanted. But he wouldn’t. Venice was now home. He wasn’t sure how a place felt right so quickly, but this small town beside the ocean did.

“I wish I could tell Justin that, but Anthony, I don’t think that I can.”

*

“I thought I’d find you ladies here.”

Ilana’s toes curled and heat burst through her body at the sound of Devon’s voice. She looked up from where she sat on the art room floor putting together a kid’s easel toward the front door. God love that man. He walked in with takeout bags in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.

“Seriously,” Amelia whispered, “you have to keep this one. He’s amazing.”

Ilana nodded. Devon was amazing.

“I figured with only thirty-six more hours to go you two would be hard at it, and that you probably hadn’t eaten. So here I am with dinner.” He already knew her so well. She and Amelia had been working since practically dawn, and what had she eaten? A muffin, maybe? At least she didn’t have to contend with being hobbled any more—her ankle had healed up nicely, and she had given up the crutches days ago with her doctor’s blessing.

“Thank you.” Ilana dusted her hands on her pants, stood up, and tilted her head up to kiss him. So effortless being with him, kissing him. It was like they’d fallen into a relationship without even trying.

“What’d you get?” Amelia asked, liberating one of the bags from Devon’s hand as he nibbled on Ilana’s bottom lip.

“Mexican.”

“Oooo, love it!” She extracted the other bags from his grip and toted them to the kitchen table.

Devon slid his arm around Ilana’s waist and steered her into Amelia’s wake. “I’m also here to help,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Teleconference, meeting, and now I’m here.”

Ilana smiled, thankful that he was here now. “I’m worried we won’t be ready.”

Devon paused and looked around the room. “Oh, you’ll be ready. You may not sleep much, but you’ll be ready.”

Her phone dinged with a text alert, and she pulled it from her pocket. A message about a delivery? “Amelia,” Ilana called, “did you schedule a paper delivery?”

Amelia ducked back out from the kitchen. “Oh right, forgot to tell you, The Legend Gallery is donating loose art paper and sketchbooks. Probably that.”

“Okay.” Ilana creased her brow. “Well, the driver just texted to say he’s out back right now.”

“Let’s get it before we eat. Won’t take long, right? Besides, we’ve got a man to help us too. How much paper can it possibly be?”

*

“Oh my God.” Ilana covered her cheeks with her hands. “How much paper is this?” A huge truck half full of paper products was parked in back of the building. “Is this all for us?” Ilana looked at the driver.

He shrugged. “It’s the only address I got, lady.”

“Where are we going to put all this?”

“Amanda just texted me back.” Amelia stared at her phone screen, dazed. “She said they bought what they thought would be six months’ worth.”

“Six months’ worth? For what—three thousand kids? Just…wow.” Ilana was beyond grateful for Amanda’s generosity, but where would they put all this paper? “We’ve filled up the upstairs storage with supplies already. Where are we going to put it all?”

“There’s one open spot,” Amelia said, grimacing. “Well, not really
open
, but maybe with some floor space that can be spared. Combined with the room left in that back cupboard in the kitchen…”

Ilana sighed. “Fine.”

“What’s the spot?” Devon asked, hopping up into the back of the truck with the driver.

“Second floor, across from the library,” Ilana said.

Devon frowned. “Isn’t that your apartment?”

“It’s the only place with any room. I don’t have much furniture, anyway. It’s not huge, but there’s room to store some paper.”

“Hmm.” Devon grabbed a dolly and started loading boxes. “Okay, if you say so.”

Ilana nodded, even though she didn’t love the idea either. Really, what else were they going to do?

Forty-five minutes later, Ilana couldn’t see her bed over the boxes stacked from floor to ceiling in her studio apartment. “Um, can we make a pathway?” she squeaked.

“Maybe in a week?” Amelia said. “We’ll go through the paper fast, I’m sure. Especially the first week. Everyone gets their own sketchbook, and we’ll have these boxes gone super-fast. Come stay with me ’til then. And look, you can still get to your dresser.”

Not exactly the solution Ilana had hoped for. She sighed. Living above the Enrichment Center was supposed to save money and make life easier. She could roll out of bed in the morning, put on clothes, and be at work two seconds later. Now, her apartment had been turned into a storage closet and she was homeless.

“Thanks,” Ilana said. “I’ll think about it.” Dinner, although cold, still waited for them downstairs. “Be down in a minute.” She walked to her dresser and turned toward the windows. Nope. Couldn’t see the view, at least not really. It had been replaced with a vista of Strathmore boxes piled floor to ceiling instead.

“I know where you should stay.” Lost in her gloomy contemplation of the wall of paper, Ilana hadn’t heard Devon come back up the stairs. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, his breath tickling her ear. A tingle threaded through her blood. She pressed back against his body and, oh yes, he was hard. He was always hard for her. His lips found her neck.