I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (11 page)

“If you’re acting like this because you’re jealous of Johnson, Trevillo, I’m telling you the truth, I don’t love him,” she whispered. “It’s you. I want to be with
you
. Not him.”

Trevillo decided the woman had either lost a screw, or she was sniffing Johnson’s coke. Why in the devil’s hell would
he
be jealous of that corpulent piece of shit?

Clutching onto his lapels, she pleaded, “Please, you have to believe me, baby.”

Again, he wasn’t in the goddamn mood for this nonsense. He had a headache that wouldn’t subside, and this deluded woman was making it worse.

“Sarah, listen to me, I don’t care about you and your husband, get me? Don’t. Care.” He peeled her fingers off his jacket. “Whatever we had going on, it’s done. I’m bored with it. So please, just go. Any discussion we have after this will be solely work-related.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned and strode dismissively back to his desk. When he sat down and looked up, Sarah was throwing daggers at him with her eyes.

“You better not be fucking that girl, Trevillo. Or I
promise
, I’ll have the both of you fucked up.” Then she turned and stormed from his office.

Relieved of the nut case, Trevillo reclined back in his chair, tossed an arm across his face, and resumed his contemplation. Still contemplating. Since Saturday morning, he’d been goddamn contemplating.

The last thing he remembered after being screwed into drowsiness by Krissan Kingston on Friday night was falling asleep with her small body draped across his. Thinking to himself how deep he was feeling her. How much she made him want to give her everything. Make all her dreams come through. Yeah, being inside her was
that
good. Made his brain all warped and incoherent. Made him say things out loud that was supposed to remain in his head. Things he’d never said to a woman before.

He’d known. He’d known since they had lunch at Skylark that day, if he touched her, he’d be ruined. And he’d told himself he wouldn’t pursue her anymore. But after a week of not being able to dispel the images of her exotic beauty from his mind, he’d found himself on her doorstep.

On her doorstep!
Him.
Trevillo Nelson!

Swear to God, all he’d planned on doing was grabbing a few drinks and try to get to know her a bit more. There was something enigmatic about her, something she had hidden. On the outside, she was virginal. But when she opened her mouth, she was something fierce. High contrast.

Yet, it made her so damn intriguing. She was straight as an arrow and held nothing back. If she was angry, she showed that she was angry. If she was annoyed, she showed that she was annoyed. And when she was aroused, sweet fucking hell, it was all there, reddening her cheeks and darkening her eyes.

Her eyes
, the dreamy look they got whenever she was aroused. The way she looked up at him as if he were a God. As if she were in awe of him. Damn if that didn’t send his brain into overdrive, his dick in a frenzy, and his heart on a marathon.

Krissan Kingston was what he’d never known. And it made him crave her. Want more of her. All of her. Everything.

So, true, all he’d planned to do was have a drink and talk. Nothing else, he swore it. But then … she bit him.

Then …

She bit him harder.

All plans got shot to shit after that. He’d wanted her immediately. Wanted inside her. With a need he’d
never
felt before. The need was too urgent. Too wild. Too … much. Just too much. And surprisingly, it scared him. Him, Trevillo Marco-Dean Nelson, got scared by his hard-on.

He’d fallen asleep with wild thoughts of all he wanted to do to, and for her. But when he woke up the next morning, he was alone in bed, and the angel’s feather was nowhere in sight. He almost thought he dreamt the whole thing, because he refused to believe he’d been fucked into oblivion and then ditched.

Never in a million.

For a few minutes, he’d made himself believe the night before was a dream, because that night, the things he’d felt, had been too good to be reality.

Until he went out on the balcony, saw the two wine glasses and had to accept the night had been real. That he
had
been screwed and ditched for the first time in his life.

Unfuckingbelievable.

Since then, he’d been contemplating. Whether he should go after her or not. He was reluctant because of the alarming pull he had towards her. The way he found himself unable to forget her. The way his cock grew rock-hard each time he remembered being inside her. The way he was just always … thinking … thinking … thinking about her. He couldn’t stop himself.

But as much as he was reluctant, he
wanted
her. He wanted to go after her. He wanted to make her his. Never before had he wanted to own anyone. His style was borrowing women who were already owned. But now he found himself wanting to possess this girl and lock her away. From the eyes of anything with a dick.

Especially from her so-called brother who clearly wanted to fuck her. He couldn’t figure out if Krissy was oblivious to his desires, or just not acknowledging them. Either way, Trevillo hoped nothing would come of it.

It was Monday afternoon, and Trevillo was still contemplating.

To chase her or not to chase her?

That was the question …

T
he chimes above the salon door went off as I pushed it open. Marsha glanced up at the sound and waved me over to her station where a client was walking away looking satisfied.

Marsha Rickettes, a thick-legged, big-booty, hazel-eyed Armenian with black bobbed-hair, had been my best friend for four years now. She swore like a sailor, never beat around the bush, suffered from neurosis and was straight-up awesome.

She was one of Jahleel’s random hookups who wanted ‘more’. And when he’d treated her in true Jahleel fashion, she’d taken it harder than all his other girls — like, breaking-dishes-over-his-head, slashing-his-jeep-tires and threatening-to-cut-his-balls-off hard — and I felt sympathetic enough to empathize with her, which resulted in us becoming close friends.

I tried convincing Jahleel to make things up with her, to give her a chance, but all he did was turn her into an Again. Same treatment repeated. Yet, the martyr Marsha was, she kept going back for more.

After a year during which she claimed she was over Jahleel, she found a rich douche to knock her up. I referred to him as Prime Douche, because, well, who gets a woman impregnated, then leaves her a quick three months after the baby’s born without explanation?

That’s what Marsha told me, at least. Even though I found it odd and out-of-the-blue, considering the fact that he flat-out loved Marsha. At the news of her pregnancy, Prime Douche bought her this hair salon to jump-start a career in what she did best — hair, nails, and make-up — and then he’d gone ahead and bought her a house. Talk about an overly excited soon-to-be dad! Every step of the way, he’d been there at her beck and call, one hundred percent supportive. Then baby Claire came, and poof, Prime Douche was gone. Like smoke. Not a trace of him left behind.

Marsha smiled at me as she withdrew a tail-comb from inside the wide pocket of her apron and tapped on the back of her chair. “Sit. How shall I chop you up today? Rihanna? Miley Cyrus? Pink?”

Plopping down into the chair, I answered, “No idea. And that’s a first. How about an Amber Rose?”

Marsha whacked me with the comb. “Hell no! You crazy, bitch?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Think I’m having a Britney Spears moment.”

Fastening a cape around me, she swiveled the chair around and stood behind it looking at me in the mirror with her mouth twisted to one side; the concentrated expression she got whenever she was deciding on what to do with a client’s hair. She brought a hand up and around to the overgrown bangs and ruffled them with her fingers.

“Okay,” she began, decision made. “I’m gonna make these heavy bangs thinner and higher so your eyebrows are visible. Then I’m gonna fade down the back and the sides, low, but not too low. Then I’ll re-shape your eyebrows into sharp-elbows which will make your features more striking, especially when you smoke your eyes. No celebrity copy this time. Today I’m gonna do Krissy K, cool?”

Rolling my eyes at her, I sat back and let her work. She didn’t know how honest I’d been about having a Britney Spears moment. Over the past week, since I did the famous Krissy K sneak out, to a certain Trevillo Nelson this time, I was going insane.

Unhinged. Unfocused. Daydreaming. Guilt-ridden.

Never
before had I given a second thought to my one-nighters. But this time wasn’t the case. This time I wanted more. I wanted more of Trevillo. I wanted to go a second time and maybe even a third. I wanted to make him an Again.

Since last Friday, I fell asleep each night thinking about how earth-shattering sex with him had been. The image of him tensed and tight with pleasure and arched up off the bed was burned into my mind and wouldn’t leave. The sound of him roaring like the freakin’ king of the jungle as he came wouldn’t leave my ears. The all-masculine smell of him wouldn’t leave my nostrils. And I wanted more. Much more.

Nevertheless, I fought to keep a distance. Besides, he didn’t seem to care that I’d left. With his last whispered words about how he wanted to make me his and give me everything, one would think he would’ve cared, even a modicum, that I left. But I, long ago, learned lessons from other people’s mistakes and knew men will issue sweet promises before they taste you. Then whisper sweet wishes post-coital. But after it all wears off, those sweet words become bitter as gall, as men so often seem to forget all the bullshit they utter in the throes of passion.

I’d seen firsthand the smoothness, suaveness, gentleness with which Jahleel treated women before he had them. Once he tapped them, he was a Grade-A asshole.

Therefore, I wasn’t in the least bit surprised a week had passed, and Trevillo hadn’t tried reaching out to me. Fine by me. Really. After all,
I
was the one who ditched him.

Now, if only I could get myself to stop thinking about him every second, every minute, every hour of the goddamn day. Wishing I had more of that tongue. That delicious, expert tongue.

Stop, Krissan. Just freakin’ stop!

“Huh,” Marsha mused above my head, her mouth twisting to the side as she eyed me with suspicion in the mirror.

“Huh, what?”

Wagging the scissors in her hand, she replied, “I’ve never seen that look on
you
before. But I know it. Perfectly. Oh, boy, do I
know
it.”

“What’re you talking about, Marsh?”

Narrowing her eyes further, she stated, “Someone’s gotten to you.”

When I swallowed and made no attempt to refute, she began jumping up and down. “Finally! Dear God, finally!” Then she abruptly stopped jumping and glared. “Krissy K,
please
tell me you didn’t do a runner?”

Overwhelmed, I brought my hands up to cover my face and screamed into them, not caring about the other patrons in the salon. Feeling a tad better after that release, I removed my hands from my face and looked at Marsha in the mirror, who was now full-on scowling. “It’s driving me crazy.
Crazy
, Marsh. Please don’t rub in.”

Marsha’s lips flattened, and without another word, she resumed her task at hand. Whenever she was pissed, she had to be given a few minutes to cool down; otherwise, the subject responsible for her anger would be bombarded with a slew of profanities and threats severe enough to inflict bodily harm. So I kept quiet and waited for her to simmer.

A few seething minutes later when she swiveled the chair around to trim my bangs, she asked, “So, who was he?”

Sure, she’d simmered down. But I knew when I answered that question, she was going to go ape-shit on me. “Um … Trevillo Nelson?”

Marsha stilled for a quick second, then, surprisingly, she continued trimming the bangs and asked in a casual tone, “Trevillo Nelson, as in, real estate tycoon? Owner of that large company you work for? Hot, brooding, six three hunk who has a five star hotel in almost every state and country?
That
Trevillo Nelson?”

My reply was hesitant. “Y-yes?”

“Oh. Okay.”

There was something off about how calm she was being about that piece of information. Marsha didn’t do calm. However, she quietly trimmed my bangs for the next ten minutes, then swiveled the chair back around to the mirror. Before I knew to shield myself, a wide-tooth comb whacked my skull.

“Ow!”

The comb came down hard on my arm this time, again, and again. “You are one fucked-up bitch, Krissy K!” She whacked me again. “Fucked. Up!”

“Stop hitting me,” I whined, rubbing my arm.

“Girl, I wanna
strangle
you!” she yelled. “Who the hell pulls a runner on a man like Trevillo Nelson?! You that stupid?”

Hearing this, the others in the salon zoned in on me, eyeing me and shaking their heads as if thinking to themselves that I was indeed an idiot. “Would you keep your damn voice down,” I hissed at Marsha.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, and said, “Okay. I’m calm. But tell me, why did you do that? Especially since it’s so obvious you like him.”

“Marsh, be realistic here. What would a man like him want with me other than sex? He’s not — ”

“Did he say outright that’s all he wanted? Or did he act like a
man
and treated you like a
woman
?”

“The latter?” It was half-question, half-answer.

“News flash, Krissy K, men like Trevillo Nelson have the world in their hands. That means,
all
the bitches in it, too. A man like him wouldn’t need to sweet talk you to get laid. If all he wanted to do was fuck, then he’d let you know that’s all he wanted. If he wanted more from you than your vagina, then he would treat you like someone
with
a vagina, not treat you like
a
vagina
.
Believe me,
I
should know.”

Glaring back at her in the mirror, I challenged, “If that’s the case, then why hasn’t he come after me?”