Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males (50 page)

He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe how
silly she was being.
 
Then he came
toward her, slowly this time.
 
When
he reached her, he pushed a stray strand of hair off her face and then kissed
her.

His mouth was warm and sweet.
 
He tasted like danger and excitement,
and her mind screamed at her to stop, that he wasn’t good for her, that she was
going to regret this.
 
But her body
silenced those thoughts, her desire for him growing as the kiss deepened.

When he pulled back, she kept her eyes closed
for a moment.
 

When she opened them, he was turning on the
shower.
 
Steam began to fill the
room, the hot water beating a steady rhythm against the tile.

“We need to get you out of these clothes,” he
said, grabbing the bottom of her sweater.
 
He pulled it up just an inch or two, then pulled her close, his fingers
sliding up under the back of her shirt, stroking her bare skin softly.

The air was getting warmer, and the steam from
the shower began fogging up the mirror.

“I can’t… I mean, I need to make sure I don’t
get my wrist wet.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said.
 
He pulled his own shirt off and tossed
it on the floor.
 
His chest and
torso were lean, strong, and cut.

He moved back toward her, lifted her arms up,
and pulled her sweater completely off.
 
Her bra came next, and he let the anticipation build, unhooking it
slowly, letting the cups rest on her breasts for a moment before tugging it
down.
 
Her nipples hardened under
his gaze.

He racked his eyes up her body, like he was
savoring every one of her curves. He kneeled down in front of her, then
unbuttoned her jeans and pulled the zipper down with agonizing slowness.

When her pants were finally down around her
feet, he bent her knee slowly, pulling her legs out one by one.
 
Her skin flamed under his touch.

His hands moved back up, from her ankles to her
calves to her thighs to her hips, his touch warm, his fingers causing jolts of
electricity any place he touched her.
 
When he got to her panties, he slid his fingers under the waistband and
pulled them down slowly, inching them over her hips and down past her knees.

He hadn’t even really touched her yet, and
she’d never been so turned on in her life.
 

His pants came next, followed by his boxers.

He led her to the shower.
 

“Careful,” he said, as she stepped inside.
 
“You need to stay out of the spray.”

He took the spot closet to the faucet.
 
She was facing him, her back to the
opposite wall.
 
Water pounded down
over his back, and droplets bounced and danced around the shower stall.
 

He grabbed a bar of soap and slid it over her
collarbone, his touch soft and gentle.
 
He continued, moving down over her shoulder, her elbow, her arm.
 
The whole time his eyes were on hers,
stoking her arousal.
 
By the time
he’d done her other arm and moved to her stomach, she had to bite her lip to
keep from moaning out loud.

He dropped and kneeled in front of her, taking
his time.
 
The pulsing water from
the shower head pounded off his muscular shoulders as he slid the bar of soap
up her legs, starting at her feet.

Then he stood up.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

She did as she was told.

He took a bottle of shampoo down from the shelf
and squeezed some into his hand.
 
He
massaged her hair, letting his fingers push into her scalp.
 
Her body instantly relaxed.
 
The shampoo smelled delicious, like
grapefruit and honeydew.

She could feel him, hard against her back as he
washed her hair.

When he was done, he pulled the shower head
down and rinsed her off from head to toe, then reached over and shut the water
off.

The bathroom was completely steamy now, both of
them soaking wet.
 
Somehow he’d managed
to keep her the water from getting on her wrist.

“See,” he whispered through the steam.
 
“I told you I’d take care of you.”

***

He gave her a t-shirt to sleep in, then set her
up in the guestroom with a fluffy down comforter, plenty of ibuprofen, and a
glass of water.

Then he shut the light off and told her to get
some sleep.

She lie awake for a while, her heart pounding,
listening to him downstairs doing the dishes and locking up for the night.
 
She was sure he would come for her, and
she tried to keep from falling asleep.
 
She wanted to be awake to savor every delicious moment of the wonderful
ecstasy that she knew was sure to come.

But when his footsteps finally came up the
stairs, they moved past her door and into his room.
 
Crushing disappointment bloomed in her
chest, and she was sure she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. But she did.

She awoke the next morning, confused.

Looking around the room, she remembered what
had happened last night, and she slid the covers up over her head. Regret
washed over her like a wave.

Jesus
Christ, Lindsay, how could you have been so stupid?

She listened for any sounds of life from the
house, but there were none.
 
Then
the sound of an ax came through the window.
 
She peeked outside.
 

Chace was working on the fence.

He’d piled the rotted wood into a pile in the
middle of the yard, and was hacking it up with an ax, his muscles flexing under
the strain.

She watched him for a moment, then decided she
would go home and make some coffee.
 
She would bring him a cup to thank him for taking care of her.

She wouldn’t run away and hide from him, like
she thought last night meant something more than it did. She would be friendly
and polite.

She hurried down the stairs and out the door.

***

Chace had been up since four in the morning.
 
He’d tossed and turned, not able to
 
get the picture of Lindsay standing
there in the shower, completely naked and completely vulnerable, out of his
mind.
 
Her skin had been wet and
supple, the air hot and steamy.
 
He
could tell she was turned on -- hell, he’d been turned on, too.
 
More turned on than he’d ever been in
his life, in fact.

Her body was lush and gorgeous, with curvy hips
and full breasts, her stomach smooth with just a slight curve.
 
It had taken every ounce of his
self-control to stop from going to her room last night.
 
But he’d forced himself to stay away.

The way she’d been looking at him last night,
when she’d finally dropped the sarcastic façade, had made his heart ache.
 
She was too good for him.
 
There were secrets buried deep inside of
him, along with a white hot anger that pulsed through his soul. He’d hurt
Lindsay once, and he would do whatever it took not to do it again.

The problem, of course, was that he couldn’t
seem to stay the hell away from her.
 
Every time she was around, he began to feel alive again, for the first
time in as long as he could remember. But he didn’t deserve her.
 
After what had happened, he didn’t
deserve to be happy.

At six am, he’d finally dressed and headed
outside, deciding he’d get to work on the fence.
 
He needed the physical release.
 
It was cathartic.
 
As he worked, his nervous energy began
pouring out of him.
 
With every
swing of the ax, every hit of the hammer, every whirl of the saw, he felt some
of his frustration drain out of him.

It was a symbol, he decided.
 
He’d put this fence up between them,
build it as strong as he could, and then he’d forget about her.
 
No crossing the fence.
 
No crossing the line.
 
He didn’t care what was going on next
door – from now on, it was none of his business.
 

He heard her before he saw her.

The rustle of leaves was the giveaway, and when
he looked up, she was walking toward him.
 
She was wearing tight jeans that encased those gorgeous curves, her hair
long and loose around her shoulders.
 
A tight, dusty pink sweater completed the look.
 
She had a smile on her face and two cups
of coffee in her hands.

He instantly wanted to kiss her, and the
thought made him angry.

“Hey,” she said.
 
Her voice was soft, polite.
 
She held a cup of coffee out to
him.
 
He looked at it, his breathing
accelerating.
 
He struggled
internally – half of him wanted to take the cup from her, smile, and
thank her.
 
Maybe even blow off
going into the restaurant and take her upstairs instead.
 
But the other part of him -- the dark
part, where his worst thoughts about himself lived -- wanted to lash out, to
tell her to stay far away, and blame her for making it so damn hard for him.

His eyes met hers, and he saw the hope there,
saw that she wanted him to be happy to see her.
 
For a moment, he allowed himself to
believe it could work.
 
He’d explain
it all, then beg her forgiveness for blowing her off last year when they’d
first me.
 
She was a good, kind
person.
 
She’d understand.

But then he thought about the pity he’d see in
her eyes and the look of sadness that would come over her face.
 
The one thing he didn’t want was for her
to feel sorry for him.

So he turned away.
 
It would hurt her, he knew, but in the
end, it would hurt her more if he let her in.

“You shouldn’t have made that coffee,” he said,
and swung the ax over his head and down onto the rotted wood.
 
“Your wrist isn’t ready for that.”

“It was fine,” she said.
 
“I was careful.”

“You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

“I just said I was careful.”

“I already had coffee,” he said.
 
“But thanks.”

“You can never have too much coffee,” she tried
one more time.
 

But he shook his head.
 
“I have to go into the restaurant soon,”
he said.
 
“I can get more there if I
need it.”

“Okay.”

She stood there for a moment, looking small
against the slanting morning sunlight.
 
The urge to gather her up in his arms overtook him.
 
But it wasn’t good for her, or for him.

So he kept quiet until finally, she turned
around and starting walking back toward the house.

***

Tears were pricking against the back of her
eyes, tears of embarrassment and shame.
 
How could she have been so stupid?
 
What had she been thinking, trying to bring him coffee like that?
 
What did she think was going to
happen?
 
That they were going to
have breakfast and chat like old friends?
 
They weren’t old friends.
 
He was a man who couldn’t be trusted, a
man who’d been reckless with her heart, a man who acted like he cared when he
really didn’t.

He was a horrible person, she thought as she
crunched through the leaves, her embarrassment turning to anger as she
went.
 
Red, hot, flaming anger that
pulsed through her whole body.
 

And before she knew what she was doing, she was
turning around and stomping back to the middle of her yard.

“You know,” she said, “you’re a real
asshole.”
 
The words surprised
her.
 
But if Chace was surprised, he
didn’t show it.
 

“Yeah,” he said, and swung the ax down.
 
“Took you long enough to figure that
out.”

The response infuriated her.
 
“Are you kidding me?” she raged.
 
“That’s all you have to say for
yourself?
 
It took
you long enough to figure it out?”