The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy (2 page)

S
he didn’t get it
, and why would she? That just made my task easier. I understood women, got their strange thoughts about men and food and their appearance.

I knew way too much about the affect money and power had on some of them. I knew the grasping and the lies, their need to take. I’d see soon enough if this girl was one of those.

I doubted it. She probably thought she was overweight and boring, wondering why I’m not calling up a showgirl or a model instead of her. By the time I was finished with her, she’d know the truth.

She was luminous, her creamy skin soft under my hand, her grey eyes clear and honest. Her tits jiggled a little with every step, her rounded hips moved with a natural, sensual sway.

Just the idea of getting her naked, seeing all that sweet flesh bare, was enough to get my cock half-hard. She had to be in her mid-twenties, but she radiated innocence. I missed innocence.

Lately, I’d come to crave it, to need the clean feel of someone who wasn’t scheming. I missed people who weren’t trying to get something from me.

I looked her over as she shifted from one foot to the other, too shy to meet my eyes. Delicious. I couldn’t decide where to start—with those soft, full, perfect tits?

Would she be one of those women who could come just from having her tits sucked? From the way she shivered when I touched her, I bet she would.

Or I could shock her, and go straight for that sweet pussy. I guessed it saw little use. If she’d seen a lot of action, she would have been more at ease with her body. This girl was barely a woman, and she had no idea what she was, and what she could be.

I was the man who was going to show her.

I
kept
my mouth shut all the way to his office, not sure what to say. I felt less anxious about being alone with him, at least in the sense of safety. The head of Kane Enterprises wouldn’t bring me to his office if he planned to hurt me.

I still didn’t understand what he was doing with me. I wished I would have had another drink, but I was wobbling a little in my heels, and knew he was right. What I needed was food.

The elevator doors opened to an elegant reception area, done in sleek grey with black and red accents, the same colors as the hotel. Behind the desk sat a gorgeous blonde in a trim black suit, her pale hair in a neat twist.

This was the kind of woman I’d expect to see with Dylan. She was polished, beautiful, composed, and devastatingly sexy. At the sound of the door opening, she came to her feet.

“Mr. Kane,” she said. “Your food will be delivered shortly.”

“Thank you, Cheryl. Please hold any calls.”

I barely caught her nod before he ushered me through the tall, black double doors that led to his office. The single room was bigger than my entire bungalow. His desk was enormous, lacquered black wood with a matching leather desk chair behind it.

A flat screen television was mounted on the wall opposite the desk, viewable from the black leather sofa and matching chairs that faced the window facing the door.

The plate-glass window made up the entire wall, offering a panoramic view of Vegas and the desert beyond. I stopped and stared for a moment, taking in the luxury around me.

“I’d offer you wine,” he said, drawing my attention, “but I think a coffee might be more in order.” He raised an eyebrow, inviting my opinion.

“Please,” I said. Coffee was a great idea. Some caffeine would clear the hot guy haze, and wash away some of the alcohol.

Okay, it wouldn’t do anything about the alcohol, but at least it would make me more alert. I had the feeling I’d need to be alert with Dylan Kane. He pressed a button on his desk phone.

“Cheryl, two cappuccinos, please.” Turning to the couch, he gestured to the comfortable seats. “Please, sit.”

Again, I did as he ordered. What was it about him? I could be a pleaser. I knew that about myself. But normally I wouldn’t be jumping at the commands of a stranger.

I’d maybe obey my boss without thinking. But a man I’d just met? There was something about the way Dylan spoke that captivated me, making me do as he said.

He was a charming man, obviously raised to be incredibly polite. But, though he said ‘please’, it was clear he wasn’t asking. And something about that was intriguing.

Ever since he’d touched my face in the bar, my body had been humming at his presence. I wanted him to touch me again. I knew it wasn’t wise, but I wasn’t sure I cared.

Dylan sat beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him. He leaned back into the couch, one arm across the back, fingertips almost grazing my shoulder.

My shy side, usually in charge, told me to lean forward, out of range. I didn’t listen. I wanted to feel those fingertips on my skin again.

“So, tell me the rest,” he said.

“The rest?”

“You said you had problems. Plural. The thieving ex is a single problem. What are the rest?”

“You really can’t want to hear this,” I said.

“I do. Tell me.”

“Okay,” I said, again unable to resist him. “But you’ll be bored.”

“I guarantee I won’t.”

Cheryl entered with a tray and set it on the table in front of us. I reached for my coffee, cradling the short, white mug in my hands, soaking in the warmth.

“The rest isn’t as big a deal. My old boss, who I loved, took another position and her replacement started this week. He’s -” I paused, looking for the right word. “ – miserable, repellent, and lazy, to be honest with you.”

“Has he been giving you trouble?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed the same way they had in the bar, showing him for the predator I knew he was beneath the charm.

“Not much. Yet. But I have a bad feeling he will. He stands too close. And he’s too touchy.” I shuddered at the thought of those pudgy sausage fingers gripping my shoulder the way they had this morning.

“Name?” Dylan asked, pulling out his phone.

“What?”

“Give me his name. First and last. The ex as well.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to check into them. The first step to dealing with a problem is information.”

“You don’t have to do anything about this,” I said, desperately. What was going on? This was a little weird. “These are my problems. I don’t expect you to get involved. It’s nice enough you got me coffee and some food. You really don’t need to look into Frank or Steven.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Give me the names.” His green eyes bored into me and my mouth opened involuntarily.

I gave him the names. As he typed into his phone, the door opened and a uniformed waiter pushed a cart into the room. Dylan said, “On the table, please.”

Without looking at either of us, the waiter said, “Yes, sir.” and began unloading the plates. As he whisked the covers off, delicious scents sent my mouth watering.

One plate held what looked like steak tartare with tiny diced onions and capers. It was one of my favorites. Another held a selection of olives and cheese with colorful pieces of bruschetta.

The last had toasted brioche rounds with crème fraiche and caviar. I hadn’t had caviar in years, but the last time I had, I’d loved it. My stomach growled, and I flushed.

It always embarrassed me, feeling overweight and eating in front of people. I’d grown up with my sisters questioning every bite I put in my mouth. The idea of eating in front of Dylan, easily the most handsome man I’d ever met, paralyzed me.

Somehow, he knew exactly what to do. Lifting a square of toast heaped with shaved beef tartare, he held it in front of my lips.

“Open,” he ordered. I did. The flavor hit me first. The rich, meaty taste of the beef, the crisp bite of the capers and the pungency of the onion danced over my tongue. Then his touch settled into my consciousness.

I chewed and his fingers rested on the sensitive skin beneath my chin. He trailed one finger down my neck, stopping to slide under the wide strap of my dress, stroking my shoulder.

I’m not sure how I swallowed without choking. It was the smallest of touches, no more than a fingertip, and I was shivering, my body on sensory overload. Between my legs, the heat transmuted into a familiar moisture.

He was getting me wet just by caressing over my shoulder. Unreal.

I didn’t protest when he slipped one of the caviar rounds into my mouth, this time sliding his touch along my lower lip as he pulled his hand back. My brain was firing on all the wrong cylinders.

I was ready to run, or ready to lay back and spread my legs. I made the mistake of meeting his eyes and all thought shut off. A piece of bruschetta later, Dylan handed me my coffee and sat back.

“The coffee isn’t the right compliment for the flavors,” he said. “But I thought you needed it more than wine.”

I swallowed and managed to speak, “Thank you. The food is wonderful.”

“I enjoy eating. So do my guests, so I make sure everything is top quality,” he said, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Now, any other problems?”

“It’s nothing worth getting into. Really.” I was outright lying. My last unspoken problem felt like the biggest. It was also really embarrassing.

At least it would be, if I had to admit it to Dylan. It would be over in three days. I could get through three days.

“So there is something else. Tell me.”

I resisted him this time. “No. Honestly, I’m fine. I appreciate all of this, but I don’t understand why you’d help me. You just met me.”

His eyes reminded me of a wolf’s as they rested on my face, meeting mine, before sliding down to stroke over my body. Possessive. Confident. Predatory. I was way out of my depth.

“I want something from you,” he said, bluntly. “Something only you can give me. Tell me what your last problem is, and we’ll see what we can work out.”

I couldn’t speak. He wanted something from me? I didn’t have anything. No money. Not since that bastard had cleaned me out.

And Dylan Kane could hardly need money. Ditto for accounting services. He probably had an entire floor of accountants tallying up all his cash. How could I give him anything?

“I don’t -” That was as far as I got before he took my hand in his, his thumb stroking over my skin in slow swirls.

“Just tell me.” His eyes bored into mine, compelling me. I wanted to tell him. However, I didn’t want to see him laugh at me, either.

“I -” I stopped, not believing I was going to talk. Then my mouth opened again, and I started to speak. “I don’t have a date to my sister’s wedding. She’s a huge bitch, and if I show up alone, she and my other sister will make me miserable. I was supposed to go with Steven, but…”

I trailed off, unable to meet his eyes, utterly humiliated. Why had I given in? I peeked up at him, expecting to see scorn, or worse, pity. Instead, he was smiling, a wide, open smile that lit his green eyes and was oddly triumphant.

“Perfect,” he said, turning my hand over in his so he could rub his thumb into my palm. “That’s the easiest to solve. I’ll be your date.”

“What?” Not the answer I was expecting. I don’t know what I thought he’d say, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“I’ll be your date. And in return, you’ll do something for me.”

“What?” I was turning into a broken record. Half-horrified and half-curious, I said, “What could you possibly want me to do for you?”

His grin deepened, turning predatory and a shade more triumphant. Still holding my hand, he reached for my arm with his free hand and tugged me closer. My body heated at his sudden proximity.

Leaning in, he whispered, “I want you in my bed. For as long as I’m your date, your body is mine. You’ll give me anything I want, Leigha. And in return, I’ll solve all your problems.”

“I can’t do that,” I whispered back.

“Why not? Don’t tell me you don’t want to see what it would be like.”

“I don’t know you, and I don’t have very much experience. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

My brain stuttered for something else to say. I couldn’t do what he was suggesting. It was ridiculous. It was absolutely insane.

But it was also probably the only chance I’d ever have to see a man like this naked. It’d be my only chance to see what sex would be like with a man who knew what he was doing.

I had no doubt that Dylan Kane was a master in bed. He’d only touched me a few times, all innocent, and I was wet and quivering. How would it feel to be the focus of all his passion, to have him order me to do something, knowing I would obey?

I felt another rush of liquid heat between my legs. I was under no illusions that this would be an equal partnership. He would be in charge. He’d own me.

Since I was old enough to think about sex, I’d had an active imagination. I’d lie in bed at night, fingers between my legs, my brain spinning fantasies of beautiful, masterful men and obedient women—sheiks and their harems, lords and serving girls.

Men like Dylan, and women who were shy and eager to please. Once I grew up and entered the real world, it was a depressing disappointment to learn that men like Dylan were rare creatures.

I’d settled for tepid, average sex, and not much of that. This might be my one chance to experience something else.

Except, the whole idea was crazy. Then, I imagined walking into the restaurant on Dylan’s arm and seeing my sisters’ jaws drop. Sensing my indecision, Dylan leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

“You don’t need to know what to do. I’ll be in charge,” he said. One hand rested on my bare knee and slid easily up my thigh, his fingers inching under the hem of my skirt.

My brain was on overdrive, afraid to say yes, afraid I’d say no. My own natural shyness combined with arousal had me frozen, unable to act.

I stuttered, “I’m not like the women here. I’m not skinny, or -” A hard finger landed over my lips, cutting off my words.

“Don’t tell me what you aren’t. Don’t compare yourself to other women and think you’re not good enough. I know what I want. I want you. Are you saying I have bad taste?”

His question seemed absurd. Dylan Kane, have bad taste? The Delecta was known for its beautiful decor, its exquisite artwork. His casino, his office, his clothes, everything about him screamed good taste.

“No,” I whispered, my lips pressed to his finger.

“Then don’t insult yourself. Ever.”

I nodded, my lips rubbing his skin. A devil in the back of my mind told me to reach out the tip of my tongue and taste him. He was so close. Instead, he pulled back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I think this would be easier for you if you had a sample. It’s hard to decide when you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“A sample?”

“A kiss,” he said.

A heartbeat later, his mouth was on mine--soft but insistent, stroking my closed lips gently before coaxing my mouth open. His hands came around my back, pulling me into his chest and pressing his body to mine.

Heat and hard muscle had my head spinning. Dylan’s warm, spicy scent clouded my brain. He started slow, coaxing me with brushes of his tongue to mine, until I arched into him, eager for more.

One hand dropped to my hips, urging me to move. Before I knew it, I’d shifted to straddle his lap. The hand on my hips dragged up my skirt until my ass was bared.

His fingers sunk in, pulling me closer. The hard, thick length of his cock was between us, putting the perfect pressure on my wet pussy. My soaked panties slid against my hot flesh as I moved against him, too aroused to be self-conscious.

He fed on my mouth, his kiss no longer gentle or slow. I didn’t want gentle anymore. I wanted his lips, his hands, and his cock. Arching my breasts into his chest, I moaned, lost in the sensation of his mouth on mine, his hand on my ass.

The other hand was at the zipper at the back of my dress, then at the bodice, freeing one breast. He released my mouth, pulling back enough to see me. This time, it was Dylan who moaned.