Boxed Set: Books & Billionaires Page 7

  “Clara-”

  “Get out.”

  “Clara, please.”

  “GET OUT!” I screamed. My finger stabbed toward the door. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  He stood, face like stone, and walked out the door.

  I reached for the business card in my pocket. Then I picked up the phone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

  “Booker don’t, please. This was a mistake.”

  “You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken.”

  I sighed. Maybe it had been a bad idea to meet at the library. I had forgotten how embarrassing Booker could be. “Do you always quote the books you read?”

  “Only when I’m trying to impress someone with the fact that I’m reading Pride and Prejudice because it’s her favorite book.”

  It had all seemed so simple—take back control of my life. Teach Booker the consequences of breaking the rules.

  But then the private detective had knocked on my door in the middle of the night, looking as fresh as a daisy and as hungry as a shark.

  “Thank you for inviting me over. You’re doing the right thing. Nobody deserves to be treated the way he’s treating you.”

  “He’s actually been kind of sweet. All week he’s-”

  “Yes, yes. But you’re forgetting that you’re the victim here. He used you, then tried to cover it up. Did Clinton get away with it? Did Schwarzenegger?”

  “Umm.”

  “Exactly. They each cheated on their partners, and they each had to pay. Might I add that the partners got very handsome rewards for their honesty, too.”

  I’d told him very firmly that I didn’t want money.

  “I know. You’re doing it because you’re angry. He practically raped you!”

  “No, that’s going too far. He did nothing of the sort.”

  “It was worth a try—would have made the case stronger. But we’ll make it worth your while anyway.”

  “Maybe… um, maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”

  “Nonsense. You can’t back out now. You’ve already admitted to it.”

  I’d shaken my head, confused. “Yes. But, I was angry when I called you.”

  The Private Investigator had put his hands on my shoulders, leaning in so close I could smell the onion on his breath. “You don’t want to back out of this now. It wouldn’t be good for you.”

  “Is… is that a threat?” I’d tried to pull away.

  His hands had gripped my shoulders, keeping me where I was. “Of course not. Blackmail is a federal offence which carries serious jail time. I’m merely pointing out that Perjury is a jailable offence too.”

  “We’re not in court.”

  “Not yet. But my client is a very powerful, very angry woman. You might want to ask Mr. DeVale about her hunting habits. And what she does to people who get in her way.”

  He’d smiled at me then, a shark in a salesman’s suit. “Look, there’s two ways to do this. One of those ways involves both your names being dragged through the mud. The other involves you getting everything you want. The end result is the same in both cases. Be smart, please.”

  The anger had burned too high—unsustainable for more than the time it took to make the call. But I’d still found myself texting Booker with trembling fingers. I’d still found myself wearing a wire in my cleavage; the microphone recording to a USB on my back.

  I could feel it there now, as I stood before him. “Booker, you need to go. Your wife-”

  “A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.”

  “Booker, I’m serious!” I thought back to the private detective. To his greasy, gropey hands as they strapped on my wire. “I… can’t do this.”

  He moved closer. So close that I could smell his cologne. So close I could kiss him, if I but tilted my head. “But I think you can. ‘You have taught me to hope,’” he quoted, “‘as I have scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I know enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it frankly and openly.’”

  The reply sprung unbidden to my lips. The heroine’s reply, from the book. “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that.” I trembled as I spoke the next sentence. “After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”

  His hand rose to cup my face, to tilt it toward him. “What we did was so beautiful I dream about it nightly. Tell the whole world and I wouldn’t care.”

  “Do you mean that? Really mean it?”

  “Yes. Love knows no rules, Clara. I know you’ve felt it too.”

  “But I always follow the rules,” I whispered. “And you’re married.” Always, it came down to this. The stumbling block I could never, ever, get over.

  “By the letter of the law, I am. Yes. But not by its heart.” He took my hand and placed it against his chest. I could feel it beating within. “Everything I’ve ever done, ever since I’ve met you, has been for you. There is nothing more important—not money, not land, not life itself.”

  He took a deep breath. “I know this is my last chance Clara. You’re my angel. A Goddess gracing the earth. And I want you to know that if you walk away, I won’t be angry. If you truly can’t break free of the rules you’ve chained yourself in—rules that are right in technicality only—then I know I’ll only hurt you more by forcing you against them. I want you to be happy. More than anything.”

  His hand went to the back of his neck then, and he laughed. “God, look at me—the romantic fool. You’ve done this to me. This and your blasted books—Pride and Prejudice has a lot to answer for.”

  In the book, the blame was equally shared. Elizabeth who had the pride, and Mr Darcy who had the prejudice. It occurred to me that here, I was the one with both. I looked at him, and in that instant I knew so much.

  I knew I loved him. More than anything. More, even, than the rules themselves.

  And I knew I’d ruined it. My only chance at happiness, and the wire burning between my breasts had swallowed every word, churning his declaration of love through the sausage grinder of deceit, spitting it out on the other side as something I knew he’d never be able to swallow.

  My hands began to tremble. He was the one. The one I could break the rules for. And I didn’t deserve him. I had to tell him. He deserved, at least, to hear my betrayal in person. “Booker… I-”

  “Clara. I know.”

  “No you don’t!” I exclaimed, suddenly angry. “That’s the whole point! I’m not who you think I am—I’m not an angel. I’m not a Goddess.”

  “You are.”

  “Three years ago Booker. Three years ago I cheated on another man I loved. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?”

  “I’m to say. I won’t let you get bored with me. I won’t give you a reason to cheat.”

  I burst into tears. “You’re wrong. I already have.”

  “Really?” He raised an eyebrow, his hand stretching toward me. Then he reached down, and plucked the microphone from between my breasts.

  “Are we talking about this?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Booker, I’m so sorry. What I’ve done is unforgivable. I need to go.”

  I tried to walk away but he caught my arm, pulling me back. “Wait. You don’t understand.”

  “I do.” I said, turning to him. “And I’m sorry Booker. You’ve been so good to me. You’re perfect. Perfect in every way. And I’ve… I’ve fudged it up big time.” Tears began to well. Three years I’d waited for happiness. And then, when it was presented on a silver platter, I’d dashed it to the ground for money and spite. “I don’t deserve you. But, the recordings, I want you to know I’m not going to
give them to her.”

  Booker’s hand went to the back of his neck. And then he pulled out his phone. “I need to call my wife.”

  I leapt to his arm before he could dial. “Wait! I said she doesn’t have them!”

  Against everything I expected, he pulled me to him, kissing me savagely. I stumbled backward in shock, then looked around quickly. We were in the library, after all.

  “I’m not angry at you,” he said. “I’m angry at myself. I’ve let this go on for far too long.”

  He dialed a number quickly, and I heard a female voice answer. “Stacey? I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said. “You win. I’ll sign the documents tomorrow.”

  More noise from the other end of the phone.

  “Yes. Everything. It’s all yours. It’s worth nothing without love. I hope you realize that one day.” The call ended with a click.

  He put it away as I stared at him with open mouth. “What did you just do?” I whispered.

  “What I should have done a long time ago. Stopped hiding.”

  “But… your money!”

  His hand went to my chin, stroking it, and suddenly it was as if the storm clouds lifted. He smiled. “My dear, you’re the one that taught me the value of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I was trying to do wasn’t working. What is life, if you’re not living? What is money if you’re not happy? I don’t care about any of that. I care about you. And I don’t want you to walk away. Not ever again.”

  I looked up at him. Into his strong face, his piercing eyes. “Can we really make this work?”

  In answer, he leaned down and kissed me.

  We parted with a whisper of breath that trailed across my upper lip, giving me shivers. I had goosebumps all over my body. And suddenly the past didn’t matter. For either of us.

  I didn’t care about what had happened three years ago. He didn’t care about what had happened three seconds ago. The emotion in his eyes mirrored mine—all that mattered was one more kiss.

  I took his hand, leading him deeper into the stacks. And then we were kissing again, deeply, like we’d never kissed before; the passion of new lovers, the confidence of old. I knew this man, though I’d only known him one night. I could read his desire for me in the way his hands roamed my body, in the quickness of his breath, in the urgency of his mouth on mine.

  His hand reached for my waist, running up the side of my dress until it reached my breasts, caressing them, cupping them roughly through the smooth material. His other hand slipped down to my legs, sliding up, pulling the skirt with it.

  I wiggled from his grasp. “Not here.”

  “I want you. Right now.”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t. Not with other people so close.

  “Come with me,” he said urgently. He pulled me swiftly toward the front door, and then as Sandra looked on in shock, lifted me giggling into his arms to carry me out the internal doors and down the hallway. We stopped beside the still unfinished café. A quick jingle of keys, and then we were tumbling through it, kissing once more.

  We were in a world of books and forest; green vines and potted trees, recycled timber and recycled books. Tables lay between ferns. Books lined the walls everywhere plants didn’t.

  “Booker, this is beautiful!”

  He pulled me to him, swinging the door closed with a leg, then pushed us both back until I was pressing against a table. His hand went behind me, fiddling, and then my dress was sliding downward, pooling against the cool countertop. “You’re beautiful.”

  The fabric slid like silk down my legs as I wiggled myself briefly off the table. I flicked it off, one foot at a time.

  My bra was next, short work for his deft fingers, the lace catching on by breasts until, shyly, I pulled it from my body, one arm protecting my modesty.

  Gently, he peeled it away. “I want to see you, my goddess. All of you.” My breasts sprung free.

  With their release fell the microphone. It dropped to the floor. And suddenly I no longer felt erotic. I felt dirty. Could he really forgive me? Could I ever forgive myself? I wanted to kick it, stomp it in furious anger.

  I raised my foot but Booker stooped to catch my calf. He bent to one knee. “No Clara. Now is not the time for anger. If this is what it took for us to be together, then so be it.” He pulled my shoes off, kissing each foot gently as he did. “I’ve made my choice. And I choose you.” Then he began to kiss slowly upward, lips pressing softly against my skin, tickling the underside of my knee, traveling ever further up. He kissed my hips, then my waist. Then my breasts. And then he was at my neck.

  My head tilted backward, opening myself to him. I’d tried being angry. I’d tried being guilty. Now it was time to finally be free.

  I felt his kiss on my collarbone. Then hot breath as his lips moved to my neck. He bit me, gently, just once. The move felt inexplicably familiar. Goosebumps broke out down my side.

  His hands moved to my breasts, kneading them. I could feel them pressed between his fingers, the gentle caresses alternating with rough pressing. It felt… good. It felt like I was his to do with as he wanted, as my body could make him mine.

  He pinched a nipple, a sharp sensation that sent a thrill of exquisite pain through me; then covered it quickly with his mouth, sucking the brief, pleasurable ache way. Again it felt familiar, the memory of a beautiful pleasure I was to experience once again. My loins began to ache. I wanted him so badly.

  One hand moved lower, his mouth continuing to suckle my breasts, and my senses split; electricity building within my bosom, the skin over my thighs goose bumping in anticipation of the hand moving slowly toward it. It reached the space between my legs. And suddenly I knew why this felt so familiar. Why it was so exquisitely exciting.

  I’d read it before.

  I gasped as his hand began to circle. “The book!”

  His lips left my breast to rise and kiss me on the mouth. “I was wondering if you’d read it,” he said with a grin. “You know what comes next then, don’t you?”

  I nodded, breathless, as he slid slowly to his knees.

  “And does that please you?” His lips grazed my flesh, sending shivers shooting through my body.

  I reached down to grasp his hair, then pressed him in to me. Yes. It pleased me immensely.

  I gave a small moan as he set to work; mouth nuzzling into me, sending shivers through my body with each tiny flicker of his tongue. I widened my legs and the small flickers became longer rasps as he sensed my enthusiasm deepening.

  And then I felt his hands on my thighs, slipping up my smooth skin. I looked down in time to see his head lift off, a finger sliding into his mouth, wetting it. The head returned; the finger followed. I felt it at my edges as his lips kissed my pearl above, each circle a hint at the indescribable pleasure to come, each kiss a burst of electricity through my body. And then, in one smooth motion, his finger entered me all the way. “Son of a Biscuit!” I groaned. My hands moved to grip the table behind me, legs in danger of buckling. “That feels so good!”

  He began to pump faster; his arm working in time with his mouth, building the most delicious feeling in my legs that I thought must soon escape and flood my body. It was like the friction had produced a tiny spark that was now arcing back and forth between my hips, growing stronger with each second, with each movement of his hand and tongue.

  I pulled him up. “I want you. Now.”

  His hand remained inside when he stood. “Time enough for that later. We’re following a storyline here, remember?” The other hand slipped to the hair at the base of my neck. His lips locked with mine. Then he tugged, sharply.

  I groaned into his mouth. “That wasn’t in the book,” I panted.

  “Sometimes, stories change,” he growled. Then he kissed me savagely, and it took my breath away with its ferocity.

  His hand began to move again with forceful, powerful motions. Motions that said he wouldn’t be denied. That I should hold on for the ride.
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  And the small arcs of pleasure suddenly doubled in size, becoming balls of electricity that zinged around my body. It felt like my hair must be standing on end—my toes were certainly curling.

  He moved faster, and then faster again; my breathing following suit until I was gasping, eyes wide with each thrust of his fingers and each sharp tug as he kissed my lips and exposed neck.

  “I’m close. So close,” I moaned.

  His hand left my neck to find my pearl once more. He kissed me again, and then pinched it sharply. The effect was electric. I’d never experienced this… this pleasure and pain, all wrapped up so tightly that I didn’t know which was which. I liked it.

  He was pressing me into the table behind us now, or perhaps I was collapsed against it. The only thing I was aware of was him at my hips—the movement inside me. My emotions were awhirl. I couldn’t think straight. Time was bending.

  And then all of a sudden he dropped to his knees, and his face was pressing into me once more, and he was kissing me with his fingers still inside; the most delicate of licks to counter the rapid motions just below.

  I couldn’t help it; the spark had become a lightning bolt. I threw back my head and screamed my pleasure as electricity arced through my nerves, sending my vision white, making my body helpless. I could do nothing but hold on, the lightning a wild, untamed thing controlled entirely by the man below.

  His fingers held me upright until my body finally stopped shuddering. And then he withdrew, and my legs couldn’t support me anymore. I slid to the floor, struggling to breathe.

  “Bow my legs and call me Bambi,” I struggled out when I could talk. “If this is what it’s going to be like when we’re together, I need to start going to the gym.”

  “Did you like how that story ended?”

  I climbed shakily to my feet, nodding.

  “Yes. Very much. Although you got one thing very wrong.”

  He looked at me quizzically. “And what’s that?”