Boxed Set: Books & Billionaires Page 13

  “One more night before reality kicks back in,” I struggled when I could talk. I rolled on top of him, reaching down for his still hard member. “Might as well make the most of it then, right?”

  BOOK 4:

  By the Way

  When Clara stands up to the nasty wife of her handsome Billionaire lover, the stakes quickly rise. His wife would do anything to get her hands on Booker’s money. Even kill…

  Will Clara and Booker survive to live happily ever after? The Books & Billionaires romantic saga concludes in By the Way.

  PROLOGUE

  Urgh. Monday morning blues had never been this bad. But then, my weekend had never been spent on my own private tropical island before, either—it was always going to be rough.

  Showing photos to Sandra while it snowed outside almost made up for it: Booker standing bare chested in the sand, the village kids playing, the cave art that had become the island’s saving grace. Each one brought an ooh from Sandra, but meant so much more to me.

  Already I longed to go back.

  I sighed. We’d better start saving.

  Booker was signing the divorce papers today. With them, he was signing a document handing over everything he owned to his wife. I didn’t know exactly how much that was, but it had to be a lot—probably millions, considering the boat and island.

  I didn’t care about Booker’s money, not really. But I did care about dating a married man. Or at least, I’d thought I did. Now I wasn’t so sure—that pre-nup just made me angry: Should either party engage in relations of a sexual nature with a person outside of the marriage, that person will forfeit all wealth, including land, stock, and cash reserves, to the other party; on the proviso that concrete evidence can be presented in a court of law incriminating either the cheating partner or their mistress.

  I’d shrugged, the first time I’d heard it. Booker and I were together, but his wife had a new man too—shouldn’t that cancel each other out?

  “Listen to that last line again,” he’d said. “Either the cheating partner, or their mistress. It only counts if you cheat with a woman.”

  One little line. One crazy, tiny little interpretation that had changed the entire meaning of the contract. I hated Booker’s wife for holding him to it. I hated her for many things truthfully—how she treated Booker, how she took delight in hunting endangered animals.

  Booker strode into the library, distracting me from my thoughts.

  “Did you sign it?” I asked, tentatively.

  “On my way there now. Thought I’d pop in for a little moral support before I did.”

  I guess this must be a big day for him. “You ok?”

  A hand went to the back of his neck. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” He forced a smile. “It’s just… $4.3 billion is a lot to lose in a single day.”

  Behind me, books fell to the floor as Sandra gasped in shock. My own face went white. I’d known he was wealthy, but… “Did you just say billion?”

  He nodded. “Not all cash, obviously. But that’s the value of the assets.”

  “Booker—I never knew!”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered, not really. It will be zero by the end of the day.”

  I shook my head. The thought of his horrible wife getting that much made me feel physically sick.

  “Booker.” My voice came out in a whisper. “Don’t go.”

  The man laughed, mistaking my intentions. “I’d like to stay all day too, but you’ve got work and I’ve got a divorce paper to sign.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.”

  He cocked his head, not quite sure where I was going.

  Where was I going? There’d been something on my mind for a while now. Something at the back of my head that had started on the island, when I’d learned that sometimes you just needed to trust someone. I’d been thinking a lot about that the power of words, and their interpretation too.

  It might be silly but… “Booker, if you had to define the word sexual, how would you do it?”

  He looked to me. “Using as few words as possible?”

  I nodded.

  He grinned. “You.”

  I punched him in the arm. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “What do you mean then?”

  “Well, I guess I was thinking about the terms of that pre-nuptial agreement. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. It says ‘should you engage in relations of a sexual nature,’ right?”

  Booker nodded.

  “Well, what exactly does ‘sexual’ mean?”

  His hand went to his chin. “That’s a pretty hard one to define—sex, I guess? Though Clinton got caught out with that one.”

  “But a sexual act of some sort, right? It can’t just mean ‘holding hands.’”

  Booker looked at me. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Well, I was just thinking. If we don’t admit that we’re having sex, and provided we don’t actually do it in public, how are they ever going to prove that clause in your contract?”

  Booker looked thoughtful. “I guess I just always thought that the two went hand in hand. If you’re dating someone… you have sex with them.”

  He held up his hand, realization dawning in his eyes. “But of course, that’s not true at all, is it? I mean, I’ve got friends myself that are waiting until marriage.”

  “So…” I voiced what was on my mind. “Why do you have to give over your money?”

  Booker’s hand went to the back of his head. “Because my wife knows about you now. She’ll never agree to a divorce without it.” He moved toward me. “And I know how you feel about being with a married man.”

  I walked several paces away then turned to him, hands out. Here it came. The words I thought I’d never utter. “So… what if I told you that I think I might be okay with that?”

  Booker looked at me. “With what?”

  “With you being married. I’m starting to learn that love doesn’t always follow the rules. So maybe I shouldn’t either.” I moved toward him again. “Booker. Don’t divorce her. I know you’ve said you’d give it all up. But you shouldn’t have to.”

  He shook his head. “That’s very sweet of you, but you’re forgetting one little problem.”

  I slumped. “What’s that?”

  “My wife’s a bitch. She’d haul both of us before the courts and make us testify under oath that we didn’t love each other.” His hands went to my shoulders, and he looked deep into my eyes. “I couldn’t do that. Ever.”

  I kissed him, then pulled away. I wasn’t ready to give up. Not just yet. “Now you’re the one being sweet. But I think you’re forgetting one little thing yourself.”

  An eyebrow rose. “Oh, and what’s that?”

  “Until that contract is signed, you’re the one with all the money. How long do you think your lawyers could delay things for, if they tried? Months? Years?”

  Booker grew thoughtful. “My wife does have money—many of our accounts were shared. But it’s true, I have the businesses, therefore I’ve got a hell of a lot more. It could work.” He looked to me. “But it would mean hiding… this. What we have.”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. We could be seen in public, we could hold hands, heck we could officially be an item. As long as we don’t have sex in front of a video camera, we’re not in a sexual relationship.”

  “What about kissing? Is that considered sexual?”

  I paused. “I don’t know. I guess we could ask the lawyers. But if Bill Clinton got away with arguing that a blow job wasn’t ‘sexual relations,’ I suspect we’re safe.”

  His arms folded around me. “Would you do that? For me?”

  I nodded. “And to pay back your wife. I’ve never met her and I know she’s a bitch. Let’s drag this out as long as we can—who knows, she might even just get sick of the whole thing and go away!”

  Booker chuckled. “You definitely haven’t met my wife if you think that. But you’re right. Why give her everything that s
he wants on a silver platter? Even if it means one more holiday together, I think it’s worth it.”

  “Just promise me one thing,” I said, snuggling into his chest.

  “Anything.”

  “No more holidays where the secret plan is to blow things up, ok?”

  He burst out laughing. “Deal!” Then he swept me into his arms, dipping me almost to the floor like a damsel from an old-time movie. He kissed me, before swinging me back up. “Let’s do something tonight. To celebrate!”

  “Pizza?”

  He shook his head. “I have something a bit more special in mind. I’ll pick you up at sunset.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  My first hint about our destination tonight was the package waiting for me on my doorstep: a white box with black edging and six letters printed across it—Chanel. I looked wildly left and right when I saw it, first disbelieving that the box was on my actual doorstep, and then disbelieving that it hadn’t already been stolen.

  I opened it as soon as I was through the door, eyes going wide at the cocktail dress that slid through my fingers from within. Dress me up and call me Sally—it was beautiful!

  It felt smooth against my body—knee length, with a cute flared skirt and a layered top. The gossamer outer revealed perhaps just a little more cleavage than I was normally comfortable with, but son of a biscuit I’d look hot! Black Chanel heels lay under it. I pulled them out—I’d never even owned Chanel perfume, now I felt like I was modelling for them!

  My second hint about where we were going was when, just as the light began to fade, I looked over the balcony to see a cherry red Ferrari pull up out the front. I ran down the stairs as fast as I was able to in my new heels.

  “You look beautiful!” Booker exclaimed when he saw me. Then he whistled. “Remind me to take you out more often.”

  “It looks ok?” I asked, patting my hair. “Since you won’t tell me where we’re going, I kind of had to just do something to match the dress.”

  He shook his head. “You did well, Sheets. It’s perfect.”

  “Will I need a coat?”

  He shook his head, taking my arm. “There’s a jacket in the trunk if you need it, but it should be quite warm where we’re going.”

  We walked outside, my shoes crunching across thin snow. Despite the cool weather I wasn’t cold—perhaps something do to with the hot man beside me. “So are you going to tell me, or keep me guessing?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a cocktail party, but I think you’ll like it. Only happens for three weeks a year, and you have to know someone important to get in.” His hand pulled two golden tickets from his pocket, and he grinned at me. “It just so happens, I know important people.”

  * * *

  Even when I was younger, I’d never been a car girl—a teeny-bopper-speed-racer that fancied herself in a black and white checked bikini. I hadn’t been the type to ooh and aah over every V6 that drove by.

  But I knew what a Ferrari was. And I knew as soon as I sank into its impossibly low seats that I was in trouble.

  My hands ran over the leather of my seat in awe. There was something… primal, about sitting in an Italian supercar. Not the leather, though that felt so soft I could be stroking a small animal. Or the smell—which was all new money and old school power. Or even the engine, which purred through my senses like a one ton cat.

  It was the fantasy. It was that sleek red shape and deep bass throb that woke something at the back synapses. Just sitting in a Ferrari made you feel sexier.

  For the first time in my life I knew what all those girls on street corners felt like—because all I could think about was jumping the driver too.

  We motored out of the city and into the darkening countryside.

  I had to do it, it was just too hot a car not to. “How long till we get there?”

  “About 15 minutes, it’s a little out of town.”

  Long enough. Continuing to face forward, my hand closest to him crept into his lap.

  Booker started. “What are you doing?”

  “You just keep your eyes on the road,” I said. “We don’t want any accidents now.”

  By touch alone I found the zipper of his pants. I inched it down, pulling free the quickly hardening bulk below it. For once, I’d taken him by surprise, and I enjoyed the sensation of him growing firmer as I held him. It was like those videos of trees growing by time delay—the trunk pushing ever higher, growing thicker every second.

  A car flashed past unknowing, and I stole a glace. His member was standing at glorious hardness behind the steering wheel, rising tall and erect from his clothes. And I’d done nothing except hold him! The thought sent a thrill through me. Just wait until I really got started!

  I began to stroke slowly, careful not to move my shoulder—the Ferrari was getting enough attention already as it zoomed down the road; we didn’t want to give anyone a reason to look closer. Booker let out a murmur of appreciation, one hand reaching blindly for my breasts as he drove. I paused to slap it away. “Bad boy, you’ll ruin the dress.”

  His hand went back to the steering wheel reluctantly.

  “You just keep your eyes on the road.”

  I continued to work him slowly, looking straight ahead, as if we were both out for an evening drive and my hand wasn’t wrapped around his gear stick.

  But it was. I could feel his soft, velvety skin as my hand moved up and down. A smooth shaft that rose high in the air. The head, with its supersensitive skin. His breathing started to get heavier as my strokes took effect.

  My breathing was getting heavier too.

  My seatbelt unclicked as it got darker and the roads quieter, and I swiveled in my seat to face him. Booker glanced at me briefly, the car swerving slightly, and I bit my lip. This was fun! I swapped him to my other hand, then leaned into him to kiss his neck. The car jerked forward, Booker’s foot pushing reflexively down on the pedal before bringing it back under control.

  Ahead, the white headlights of his Ferrari lit a winding country road; white snow piled high on either side of the car. The bare branches of trees curved in and out of sight, heavy with snow, as he drove, and I stroked. Where were we going?

  I looked down at him, and suddenly decided I didn’t care—I was having fun right here, anything else was a bonus. My hand began to twist on his shaft; turning in one direction as it rose, then in the other as it came back down.

  Booker’s breaths were a pant. His hand slid into my lap, pushing under my skirt briefly to feel the heat between my legs. “What say we stop this car?”

  I shook my head, returning his hand to the wheel. “You’ll ruin the dress. Why don’t we leave that for our way home?” My hand continued to rise up and down. I nuzzled his neck again. “And it will be fun, I promise. We can go to a lookout like we’re teenagers again. I can straddle your lap, and then…”

  I began to stroke faster. Booker groaned.

  A bead of moisture appeared at his tip. I wiped it away with my thumb, sending shivers through him, then added the motion to my actions; my thumb rolling over the top of him each time I crested his tip. Twist and then roll. Twist and then roll. Booker’s breathing was soon strained, his eyes fixed desperately on the road.

  I could tell he was getting close.

  “Does the seat go back in this thing?” Before Booker could answer I had found the lever, and then my seat was as far back as it could go.

  I lowered myself to my knees in the leg space I had created, facing him across the center console.

  “What are you doing now?” he asked.

  My head lowered into his lap. “What do you think I’m about to do?”

  I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and didn’t wait for a response; my mouth sliding down over his shaft to wet it. When I came back up, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. I leaned up to kiss him on the cheek—he acted tough, but sometimes he was so cute!—then returned to begin bobbing up and down in earnest.

  The car picked up speed, a mirror for
his arousal, a deep throb climbing from the floor into my whole body. It felt good, and I considered actually telling Booker to stop the car before deciding against it. We had somewhere to be, and I just knew I’d rip the dress—better to wait till the ride home.

  My tongue resumed its rolling, lapping up his shaft to caress his tip; curling around his head before sinking my whole mouth down on him. Up, down, up, down. I felt Booker’s hand rest briefly on my head, a gesture of encouragement, and I began to move faster, sucking myself down; gripping the base of his shaft as I pulled my lips back up.

  “Babe. We’re two minutes away; you’d better come back up.” Booker’s voice was strained, a herculean effort of concentration.

  Two minutes hey? Let’s see what I could do in two minutes.

  My mouth moved even faster, hands now sliding up and down as well.

  “Clara, we’re almost there,” Booker said urgently, panic rising. “What are you doing? Come up!”

  I giggled. “Making sure you go from almost there to there.”

  He groaned in pleasure as I gave him a hard suck.

  “Oh god—I think you’re going to do it, too!”

  My fist was slipping up and down in a flurry now, my head hovering at the tip to lick the moisture beading away from him. I sensed us turning off the main road as Booker groaned. The engine revved as his foot misjudged the peddle. Almost there.

  My lips lowered back over him. I sucked, hard, and slid as far down as I could. His hand went to the back of my head and I felt him suddenly swell at the back of my throat. Yes!

  I came back up just as he released with a cry, my lips remaining around his head to collect his hot load on my tongue. I swallowed as the engine began to slow and then rose quickly, hand dabbing delicately at my lips.