Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 5

“Shh! Wait.” He whipped his head around, glancing toward the door. “Did you hear that?”

  Ari listened, her heart hammering in her chest as the unmistakable sound of footsteps approached the door.

  For a moment they remained still, their bodies entwined, everything inside her pulsating and tense.

  And then the world went white.

  The door flew open, flooding their dark hideaway with harsh, accusatory light.

  “You gotta be kidding me.” The security guard stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other on his cell. Shooting them a look that could cut glass, he spoke brusquely into the phone. “False alarm. We’re good.”

  Relief flooded Ari’s limbs. Turned out there was a huge difference between the idea of getting caught having sex in someone else’s closet, and the reality of it. Thank God the guard hadn’t called in the cavalry.

  “I thought I made myself clear before,” the guard said.

  “That’s right. You did.” Her man fumbled with his pants, blocking Ari’s naked body from view. “But don’t worry. I can explain everything.”

  The guard laughed. “Pretty sure I don’t need a diagram, sir. Now get dressed, hang up those coats, and get the hell out of here.”

  He slammed the door shut, giving them a few final moments of privacy.

  Bathed again in darkness, fumbling around for their clothes, Ari and her man could only laugh.

  “I knew you’d get me into trouble,” he said, smacking her playfully on the ass.

  “Me? You’re the one who dragged me into the closet and—”

  “And what, love?” He pulled her to his chest again, his hand dipping between her thighs. She’d managed to put on her bra and dress, but her panties were MIA, giving his teasing fingers easy access to her aching core.

  “And touched me,” she whispered. He ran a finger along her clit, sliding down toward her outer lips.

  “Where did I touch you?” Gently he slipped two fingers inside, pumping her with slow, deliberate thrusts. “Here? Like this?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “Right there.”

  “God, you’re so wet. If this was my penthouse, I’d have you tied up and spread out on my bed by now, begging me to eat this pussy again.”

  Ari whimpered, her legs shaking as he brought her right to the brink. The guard was probably just outside the door, but she didn’t care. Under his expert command, she was weightless, totally free.

  “We’ve got fifteen seconds, maybe thirty before he comes back,” he whispered, running his tongue along her lower lip as he stroked her pussy with his hand. “Can you come for me that quickly?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Please touch me. Make me come for you.”

  He thrust in deeper, pumping her with his fingers, his thumb rubbing her clit faster and faster, heating her flesh. She opened her mouth to moan, to scream, to let it all out, but he silenced her with his hand. She took his thumb in her mouth and sucked, her tongue stroking him as he finger-fucked her harder, faster, and then—

  Oh, God! She came undone again, legs shaking, her cries of pleasure muffled against his hand. He took his thumb out of her mouth and kissed her, hungry at first, and then soft, a gentle brush of lips that sent aftershocks throughout her body.

  Who is this man?

  When they finally opened the closet, they were the picture of composure.

  Well, other than the post-orgasm glow, and the sex hair, and the missing undergarments…

  The guard, who’d been waiting not-so-patiently across the hall, shook his head.

  “Christ, mister,” he said to her man. “You drop two large on a painting of wet grass, and you can’t afford to take her somewhere nice?”

  “Maybe for our next date,” the man said. He slipped his arm around Ari’s waist, guiding her down the hallway that led back to the penthouse entrance.

  The guard followed close on their heels. “A hotel? There’s lots of ‘em in this city.”

  “Good call,” the man said.

  “Maybe a cruise? Ladies love that shit.”

  “Thank you for your input.”

  “Anytime,” the guard said. They’d reached the entrance, and he punched the button to call up the elevator. “Now get the fuck outta here. And have a lovely evening.”

  Ari and the man laughed the entire elevator ride to the ground level, all the way through the lobby, and out onto the sidewalk, where they nearly collided with a hot dog cart.

  “Could this night get any more perfect?” the man asked, beaming at the cart’s telltale red-and-yellow umbrellas. To Ari, he said, “Tell me you’re hungry, and tell me you like hot dogs.”

  “Starving, and I love them.”

  “Then allow me to buy you dinner. Surely our friend the security guard would approve.”

  He ordered sodas and two jumbo hot dogs, all the fixings, just how Ari liked them. Ari didn’t see Davidson’s driver anywhere—he’d probably show up later—so with dinner in hand, they crossed Central Park West and headed into the park toward Strawberry Fields, the incessant hum of traffic soon muffled by the trees. They found an empty bench across from a young guitarist entertaining a small crowd with an old Grateful Dead song.

  “Tell me,” she said to her companion as he wolfed down his hot dog. “How does a proper English bloke like you go from spending two million on a piece of art, to eating a dirty water dog in Central Park with me?”

  “Charmed life, I guess.” He blotted his mouth with a napkin, and then flashed her that panty-melting grin. “But you left out the whole middle part of your story, love.”

  “Oh? Which part was that?” She took a bite of her dog, wrapping her lips around the end of it.

  “Yes, exactly that part,” he whispered.

  “You’re the one that left something out. Something out of me.”

  He leaned in close, his lips buzzing her ear. “I can fix that right now, if you’d like.”

  A shiver raced down her spine, settling in her core. Everything felt much more intense without her panties, and between her thighs was a pool of molten heat, still aching for his undelivered promise.

  “Not at the dinner table,” she said, shoving in another bite of hot dog to avoid saying something she shouldn’t. Something like, Take me home and fuck me. Right now.

  “You’re lucky I’m enjoying this gourmet dinner so much,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  After dinner, they stuffed a few dollars into a coffee cup for the singer, and then wandered along the path, snaking deeper into the park. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves overhead, the night air cool and refreshing on Ari’s bare shoulders. It wasn’t yet the height of summer, when the city nights became unbearably sweltering and sticky, and so the park was full of people—couples on dates, bike riders, street performers. At eight o’clock in New York, the evening was still young, and she was relieved she’d made her escape before Davidson’s driver showed up.

  But as much as she’d enjoyed the spontaneous turn of events, it wasn’t long before Ari had exhausted safe topics of conversation. She still wouldn’t reveal her name, or allow him to reveal his. And she certainly wasn’t going to invent some intricate story about her family, the perfect New York childhood she’d never had.

  Even with his arm around her waist, Ari felt the distance growing between them, the walls rising up around her heart. Her body still longed for his touch, her ultimate desires unfulfilled, and she saw the same look in his eyes—dark and sensual, wondering if they might pick up where they left off in the closet. But she never should’ve let it go that far in the first place. It was a bad idea, and bad ideas usually lead to worse ones. Deadly ones.

  She hated cutting the evening short when it still had so much potential, but for now, with no foreseeable way out of the life her father had given her, she didn’t have a choice. People could get hurt. She could get hurt.

  Back on Central Park West, Ari turned to face him, sliding her hands into his thick, soft hair. He looked at her cu
riously, a playful question lingering in his eyes.

  Will you stay, or will you go?

  In that moment, a new weight settled on her heart.

  Regret.

  Ridiculous as it was, Ari suddenly wished she belonged to him, this gorgeous stranger. That they knew each other’s stories, that their histories were intertwined. That they always shared hot dogs and listened to musicians in the park on Sundays, and then they went home together, fed the dog, put on their favorite jazz playlist, and had deliciously naughty sex all night long. No interruptions. No hurt. No regrets.

  But that fantasy was crazier than the one that had started this thing.

  There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, fucking a hot stranger in a penthouse closet…

  “Thank you for dinner,” she finally said, breaking the spell. She gazed into those honey-brown eyes, unable to look away. She wanted to remember them, remember him gazing at her with smoldering, unchecked desire even as he sensed the inevitable goodbye. “I do believe you’ve changed my mind about these events, Stranger.”

  “Likewise, my troublesome, insatiable wife.” He kissed her deeply, both of them savoring the sweet intensity. God, they’d been so good together…

  No.

  Ari broke their kiss. “Alas, the honeymoon is over.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” He hooked his fingers in the sash of her dress and said plainly, “Come home with me tonight.”

  I would fucking love to.

  “Go home with a stranger?” she teased. “On a school night, besides? That’s rather naughty.”

  Never before had she felt such a palpable battle between the angel and the devil on her shoulders, each one making its own extremely compelling case.

  “I promise I’ll be a very, very good boy,” the man said, pressing his lips to her neck.

  “A good boy? That doesn’t sound like fun at all.”

  “I was being a gentleman.” He moved up to her ear, leaving a trail of kisses on her skin. “I don’t think you’re ready to see my bad side.”

  Fuck. Ari was so ready to see his bad side. To see any side.

  But she just couldn’t.

  “Enticing as your offer sounds,” she said, pulling away and putting a little distance between them, “I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

  And she was, too. More than he’d ever know.

  “In that case,” he said, “I do hope our paths cross again soon.”

  “Perhaps.” Then, flashing a final mischievous grin, she held out her hand. “I need my panties back, thief.”

  “Your panties? Ah, now that’s where you’re mistaken, love.” He tapped his breast pocket and gave her a wink. “These belong to me now.”

  “Fair enough.” She captured his earlobe between her teeth, whispering hotly against his flesh. “Since my pussy belongs to you now, too.”

  Chapter Eight

  By the time Ari awoke in her late father’s Park Avenue penthouse the next morning, she had sixteen texts and four voicemails from Davidson, each one more frantic than the last. Psycho.

  She clicked the remote to open the blinds, welcoming the early morning sunshine into her master suite. Davidson’s messages had a way of sucking all the heat out of a room.

  I trust you didn’t run into any complications last night.

  Surprised not to see you after the event. My driver tells me you weren’t there.

  Hey. Call me. I just need to know you’re okay.

  He practically owned her, and they both knew it. The fact that he still tried to play the concerned friend card was a total mind-fuck.

  Just how he liked it, the bastard.

  No problems, she replied. Sorry to go off grid. I was exhausted last night. Crashed early.

  His response was instantaneous. Lunch at 1, usual place.

  It wasn’t a request. It never occurred to Davidson that she might have other plans. A doctor’s appointment. Errands. Or, God forbid, a lunch date with someone she actually liked.

  Looking forward to it! she replied. Despite her frustrations, it was better for everyone if she stayed in Davidson’s good graces—especially when she planned to deliver bad news.

  After tossing and turning all night, Ari still hadn’t found a way to soften the blow about last night’s failure. She’d been at the penthouse for hours, and all she had to show for her efforts were sinfully aching breasts and a missing pair of panties—definitely not the kind of information she’d be sharing with Davidson.

  God, last night…

  Harmless fun. That’s all it was supposed to be. Some dirty, seductive talk and a little rough sex to make her forget her problems—and to make her mystery man forget he’d seen her snooping in the study.

  She certainly wasn’t supposed to wake up thinking about him, replaying all the ways in which his incredible touch had made her come more intensely, more passionately than anyone in her life. And they hadn’t even gotten to the real good stuff.

  He’d bought her a hot dog, for God’s sake—with onions. The least sexy food on the planet. Yet here she was, getting hot and wet again at the memory of his voice. Her toes curled as she fantasized about his expert command, the confidence with which he’d taken her in the closet. Fierce, determined. A man who could make her laugh one minute, bring her to her knees the next. A man who knew how to handle her, how to give her exactly what she needed…

  Don’t go there, Arianne.

  She threw off her duvet, shaking off the lingering memories as she headed for the shower. Last night was over—it didn’t matter. That man, like so many good things in her life, was already the past, gone before she’d even had a chance to know what she’d be missing.

  Right now she had more pressing matters to deal with, like figuring out how to handle Davidson.

  Her search of the study last night may have been deliciously interrupted, but she’d seen enough to know that the family had nothing to hide—they were broke. Wouldn’t make a difference to Davidson, though. Every time Ari turned up empty-handed—something that was happening more and more lately—he accused her of holding out on the crew. Of dishonoring her father’s legacy. Of not having her head in the game.

  The thing was, nothing could be further from the truth. She was all about the game, just like her father had taught her.

  But ever since her father died carrying out the biggest heist the crew had ever planned—ever since Davidson had forbidden her from looking for the man who’d double-crossed them—maybe Ari just couldn’t play by the same rules anymore.

  “Someone had a good night.” Tasha Howard, Ari’s 19-year-old sister, breezed into the kitchen with a grin that lit up the room, her blond ponytail swishing across her shoulders. “And that someone needs to spill it.”

  Ari’s cheeks burned. “If you call schmoozing with a bunch of museum stiffs a good night, I feel sorry for your future boyfriends.”

  “Are your pants hot?” Tasha asked. “Like, on fire?”

  Ari nearly choked on her coffee. “Excuse me?”

  “Because you’re such a liar!” Tasha poured herself a coffee, dumping in about half the sugar bowl and enough milk to turn it beige. In a singsong voice, she said, “I know your faces, Ari. And that is not the face of a woman who spent the night on the clock.”

  “You’re a regular private eye, aren’t you?”

  At the huge granite-topped breakfast bar, Tasha took the seat next to Ari, stirring her coffee with trademark Tasha exuberance, spoon clinking against the mug like a bell. “Was he cute, at least? What’d you guys do?” She took a sip of coffee, and fixed Ari with a penetrating glare. “I’m not leaving this room until I get the scoop. Starting with the dude’s name.”

  I need more coffee for this conversation…

  Unlike Ari, Tasha was an open book. She talked in her sleep, sang in the shower, thought and daydreamed out loud. She did everything out loud, full blast, no holding back. Ari admired that about her, but it also made her feel like a fraud. There was a lot of information T
asha didn’t know about Ari’s life, and as much as Ari loved her sister, she needed to keep it that way.

  The girls had different fathers, and since Ari’s mother split when she was young, she didn’t even know Tasha existed until their mother had tried to get some money out of Ari’s father.

  When he finally broke the news that Ari had a younger sister, she was unfazed. She was twelve years old, and her father and the crew were the only family she’d ever known—the only ones she needed. Besides, it’s not like her mother wanted anything to do with her. As far as Ari was concerned, her mother could take her new family and go straight to hell.

  But about a week after her father’s death, Tasha showed up unannounced on Ari’s doorstep, shivering and hungry, eyes wild with the kind of desperate, bone-deep fear that no 14-year-old should ever know.

  Of course Ari didn’t recognize her, but in her backpack, shoved in with a bunch of tattered clothes and a dog-eared romance novel the girl had found on the bus, was an envelope with Ari’s name and address. The letter inside was from their mother.

  It was full of bullshit about wanting a better life for Tasha, about how wrong she’d been to keep the sisters apart, but the truth was much more sinister. Mom was using again, and her dickbag junkie boyfriend-of-the-month had driven Tasha to the Greyhound station in Jacksonville that morning, getting her a one-way ticket to New York. “Don’t come back,” the boyfriend warned. “You’ve upset your mother enough. Nothing left for you here.”

  “I understand if you don’t want me,” Tasha had said to Ari. “But maybe I could have a sandwich or something? Then I can figure something else out. Please—I just need to eat.”

  Ari’s life may have been fucked up, but she’d never been hungry. In that moment, it didn’t matter that Ari was born into a life of crime, that Tasha was a stranger, that her own mother was a stranger. Ari vowed right then and there that as long as she was alive, her sister would never know that kind of helpless fear again.

  Five years on, she was still doing her best to keep Tasha safe, to give her a good life.

  Unfortunately, that required a few little white lies. And a few major ones, too. About Ari’s job. Her boss. Where the money had come from.