Chased by the Billionaire 1 (2 page)

Since that day I have not felt even the
least bit turned on.

No matter how many precautions I
take—condoms, spermicidal lubes, vaginal foam, the pill—I just
can’t stop thinking about the sight of my best friend’s girly parts
bloodied and distended in excruciating pain.

Like the blaze of a strobe light
flashing over and over and over again in my head.

No matter how hot the guy is, no matter
how much I want to—and good god, how I want to—as soon as the
kissing and the groping starts, I just go cold. My body switches
off and my mind starts running a horrifying baby-birthing
loop.

I looked up when the discreet chime of
the front door tolled.

I blinked.

This was not Franco.

No… it was so
not
Franco.

This man had the Roma’s delivery heated
bag, and a Roma’s t-shirt stretched across his broad, well-formed
chest.

I smiled to myself as he came closer.
Dark, penetrating eyes, long, lovely boy lashes, a pouty, kissable
mouth, and the longish, lustrous hair that made a woman want to run
her hands through it—

Or have it run over her breasts and
down her body as he kissed his way down to her pussy…

Oh yeah, this man was just what the
doctor ordered.

He strode over to me and winked. “Hey
there… I’m Franco.”

I laughed. “No, you’re not.”

He blinked, confusion lighting in his
eyes. Then he smiled, a wickedly sexy smile, showing off a killer
set of pearly whites and sexy dimples.

“
I’m Franco junior,” he
explained. “I’m filling in for my dad for the week.”

“
Are you?” I was already
planning to have Roma’s delivered for the rest of the
week.

“
Yeah, he took my mom on a
second honeymoon to Florida.” He blushed as he talked.

Okay, enough talk.

“
So, Franco. You look… hot.”
I left the word and the innuendo floating in the air.

He licked his full lips and leaned
against the counter, showing off biceps and forearms that obviously
took hours of pumping iron in a gym somewhere. “It is pretty damn
hot out there. They say it’s ninety in the shade.”

I leaned forward, smooshing my boobs
together to show them off to my prospective dry spell
ender.

“
I have a bucket of ice in
the back.”

His eyes dropped to take in the sight
of my décolletage—he sighed.

I stood and started walking back to my
office.

The gallery was quiet, the delivery men
gone, finished bringing in the horrific poultry paintings, and the
offending artist and his boyfriend off to “see the
city.”

I headed into my office and heard a
gasp from behind me.

I turned and found Franco Jr. staring
at the zombie turkeys tearing apart the man with the cornucopia.
The look on his face was disgust and revulsion.

Not the mood I was looking
for.

I clapped my hands together.

“
Franco?”

Franco blinked and shook his head, his
eyes slowly returning to me.

“
Just keep your pretty eyes
right here.” I made a show of patting my nicely curvaceous
ass.

Franco’s eyes darkened as he honed his
gaze in on my perky bottom.

That’s better.

I led my Italian stallion back into my
office, and watched him sagely close and lock the door behind him.
I took off my jacket, leaving on only my camisole, and then leaned
back against my desk and felt my flesh start to warm as he walked
closer to me.

He dumped the heated bag on a chair and
prowled toward me. With a practiced move, he reached over his head
and tugged his red Roma t-shirt off over his head, exposing one
hell of a good body: rippling, bulging pecs; tight, six-pack abs;
and chiseled, rock hard shoulders.

His skin was naturally tanned and there
was a light dusting of black hair between his pecs, and a happy
trail leading down into his tight black jeans.

Yum…

He pushed his long, black, achingly
touchable hair back from his forehead with one hand, causing all
the muscles in his torso to dance.

If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought my sex
drive was making a comeback. My neglected vajayjay pulsed and I
could feel all the heat that was coursing through me start to build
down below.

Good… very good…

I reached out and touched his chest.
His flesh was warm and soft, and as if by chemical reaction my body
flared to life. I wanted him inside me, and now.

I pulled him to me, our lips crashing
into each other, my chest pushed hard against his.

And oh boy… was Franco hard. I could
feel the curve of his thick erection against my inner
thigh.

Something flickered in the back of my
mind, just a twinkle… but it made my fevered skin cool about ten
degrees.

Don’t you dare!
I screamed at the stupid bitch in my head.
I NEED THIS!

I reached down and grabbed a handful of
his young, perfectly hard ass and squeezed. Franco groaned into my
mouth as his hips shot up against my still throbbing
oonie.

His hips undulated as he pulled my hips
tight against him.

I ran my free hand though his
hair.

He reached down between us and started
undoing his belt buckle.

Where are my
condoms?

That thought flashed to all those hours
I had spent clicking and googling contraception methods.

And that made the image of
Susan’s wretched vagina light up like a sign in
Times-
fucking
-Square.

And just like that, I was cold as an
ice cube, all the need and heat and frenzy evaporating in less than
ten seconds.

A tiny, sullen voice
cried,
They are in the top desk
drawer
!

She wept, sobbing and calling out
plaintively.

We were sooooo
close!

I pushed my hand against Franco’s
chest. “This isn’t going to happen.”

He licked my collarbone and went head
first into my cleavage.

I clamped my hand across his forehead
and pulled his head up out of my boobies until his eyes defogged
and he met my gaze.

“
I said
, this isn’t going to happen. I need you to leave
now.”

He groaned. “Are you
kidding?”

I wished. “I just remembered I have to
be downtown in twenty minutes.” That was at least a thirty-five
minute cab ride this time of day.

I could see Franco doing the math in
his head. Being a deliveryman made you an expert on transportation
time.

I saw the moment resignation made his
expression drop, so I threw him a bone… so to speak.

I reached over and pulled my purse to
me, deftly finding my emergency stash of cash and handing him two
fifty dollar bills.

“
To make up for your lost
time,” I said and tucked the bills into the waistband of his
jeans.

Franco reluctantly pulled himself off
me and started putting his t-shirt back on, shaking his head the
whole time.

“
Sorry about this.” I was
more than sorry. This hot stud should have blown right through my
little problem.

Hell, he should have been banging me up
against the wall by now!

Franco pulled my order from the heated
bag and gave me another long look. I pretended to brush the
nonexistent wrinkles from my skirt.

“
This is the first time a
woman has paid me
not
to have sex with her.”

Jesus…

I grabbed my suit jacket and started
pulling it on as he unlocked my office door and swung it
open.

As if on cue, Lance was standing there,
hand up as if he were about to knock. His eyes went wide, and an
evil smile slid across his face.

Franco said, “Hey, dude,” and bumped
his knuckles with Lance's as he walked past him.

Lance watched as Franco left, his gaze
running over him like he was scanning him for weapons.

When he turned back to me I had myself
pulled together and was reaching into the box with Lance’s Italian
hoagie in it, going for my half.

“
Where’s Franco?” he asked,
his voice heavy with innuendo.

“
That was Franco junior.” I
took a huge bite of the hoagie.

Lance closed the door behind him,
pulled up a seat and grabbed the rest of the sandwich.

“
So?”

I looked at him with no expression on
my face, simply chewing my sandwich.

“
Don’t be a bitch!” he
crooned, and took a dainty bite of his half of the hoagie. “Tell me
everything. Did he end your curse?”

Curse?
“That’s a hell of a way to say it.” God, I needed a
cigarette!

But I quit six months ago.

I reached for my stash of Milk
Duds.

I know, not the most appealing of names
for candy… but damn, they were good.

Just not good for your
figure, sweet cheeks…

Shut. Up.

“
Well?” Lance scooted his
chair closer, the look of excitement on his face was
priceless.

I sighed and 'fessed up. “No, nothing
was ended, slapped, or penetrated.”

Damn it…

His face fell like a house of cards,
his lip sticking out in the most adorable pout.

“
Stop that,” I scolded,
throwing a Milk Dud at him. “It’s not like he didn’t have sex
with
you
!
I’m
the one not getting
laid here.”

Lance caught the Milk Dud and stared at
it for a moment, lost in thought.

So unlike my mighty gay
assistant.

“
Lance?”

He blinked and then popped the sultry
little chocolate morsel in his mouth, faking a smile. I know Lance,
and he was giving me his best faux smile.

“
Is there something wrong
between you and Churchill?”

He shook his head, “No, everything is
great.”

I gave him my
Don’t bullshit me
glare.

He sighed, reached across the desk and
stole the box of Milk Duds out of my hand.

“
I love him,” he said,
shoving a handful of the gooey candy in his mouth. “Mut… mee affen
ad ex et.”

I blinked. “I’ll wait for you to
swallow that load before I ask you to repeat yourself.”

Lance gave me the finger, and kept
chewing. When he finally swallowed he grimaced and then sighed
again.

“
We haven’t had sex
yet.”

I laughed.

Lance shot me a scathing
look.

I laughed some more.

“
Oh come on.” I leaned over
the desk and stole back my Milk Duds before he ate them all. “I
thought sex on the first date was like the gay standard. Like a
hand shake.”

“
That’s stereotyping.” He
reached for the Milk Duds but I clutched them protectively to my
breasts. “I thought you were above such things.”

I threw a Milk Dud at his head and he
deftly caught it in his mouth.

“
I live for stereotypes.” I
upended the box of Milk Duds—empty. “So how many sexual partners
have you had?”

Lance’s eyes widened.

“
Including blowjobs and
hand-jobs.”

He pursed his lips and sat up straight.
“How many have you had?”

He knew how to play dirty.

“
Fine, we’re both born again
virgins. So how is it you and Churchill haven’t done the deed? It’s
been, what—six months?”

“
Seven…”

Oh…

Lance took a deep breath and looked up
at the ceiling.

“
Okay, but you have to
promise not to let Churchill know you know!”

“
I promise.” I placed one
hand over my heart and one up in the air, as if swearing
it.

Lance bit his lip, looking so young and
naïve.

“
Churchill can’t get it
up.”

I shrugged.

“
And he’s too ill to try…
artificial means.”

“
Oh…” I didn’t need to know
that.

And yet you asked, didn’t
you?

“
His physician says that the
surgery to put in an implant would surely kill him, if not the act
of having… you know, having sex at all.”

I got the picture. If poor… well, if
rich-as-sin yet old-as-the-hills Churchill wasn’t healthy enough to
take the erection pills, or to undergo penile implant surgery, he
certainly wouldn’t last long while having sex.