A Billionaire's Redemption (15 page)

Chagrin rolled through her that he had come to her rescue, even after she’d shunned him and acted like a jealous, immature idiot.

The SUV had made it about halfway back to Vengeance when she couldn’t stand it any longer. She leaned forward and said to the driver, “Could you take me back to Dallas?”

“Back to the fund-raiser?” the guy exclaimed. “I can’t recommend that, ma’am. The press will tear you up.”

“Not back to the fund-raiser. To a private residence. A penthouse with crazy security.”

If the driver knew who lived at the address she gave him, he made no comment on it. The SUV exited Hwy 35E and turned around. In a few minutes, the skyline of Dallas loomed in the distance like a beacon beckoning her home.

Showing up at Gabe’s place unannounced could turn out disastrously. For all she knew, he might want nothing to do with her. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. The anger in his voice message last night still rang in her ears.

But then, why would he punch James Ward tonight for calling her a liar? Did he or didn’t he like her? She hated the confusion roiling in her gut. If nothing else, seeing Gabe tonight should clear that up one way or the other. She hoped.

The SUV pulled up in front of the posh apartment building, and a sudden attack of nerves turned her gut to jelly. Sheesh. She wasn’t some thirteen-year-old knocking on a boy’s door for the first time. Although in point of fact, this was the first time she’d ever knocked on any male’s front door. They had always come to her house to pick her up. She had definitely lived too sheltered a life, and it was high time to rectify that.

She pushed the button beside Gabe’s nameplate in the lobby.
Please be home. Please be home.

Without warning, a deep voice came out of the intercom. “Willa? What the hell are you doing here?”

“How did you know it was me?” she blurted, startled.

“Lobby cam.”

Of course. This was his techno-toy place. “Can I come up? We need to talk.”

“Do we?” he asked cryptically.

Was he going to make her beg? She supposed he had the right after she’d been such a jerk yesterday. But to have to apologize over the intercom, in front of her bodyguard...

A buzzer startled her. “Enter the number 4-9-2-7-5 on the key pad in the elevator and it’ll give you access to the penthouse,” Gabe directed.

“Up in a sec,” she replied gratefully.

She turned to the bodyguard. “Would you freak out if I asked you to stay down here?”

“No, ma’am. I’m familiar with this building and its security system. You’ll be safe. We’ll wait in the car until you’re ready to leave. If you decide to stay the night, text me and we’ll take off. Just let us know what time you want a pickup tomorrow.”

Thankfully, the arrival of the elevator saved her from having to answer that. Her face must be scarlet if the heat in her cheeks was any indication. The bodyguard stepped inside, looked around the conveyance briefly, and held the door impassively for her as she stepped inside and keyed in the code.

“Good night, ma’am,” he said emotionlessly.

The guy said that like he expected her to spend the night. She did have to admit, the idea of making love with Gabe again made her breath come short and her heart pound disconcertingly.

The elevator ride was far too short as she tried to regain her composure and give herself a pep talk. No matter how many times she told herself this would be okay, she didn’t believe it as she knocked timidly on Gabe’s completely intimidating, stainless-steel front door.

Without warning, the door swung open beneath her knuckles, and Gabe loomed in front of her, scowling darkly. He gestured silently with the whiskey bottle in his left hand for her to enter the lion’s den. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Chapter 13

G
abe didn’t know whether to be relieved or infuriated that Willa had shown up on his doorstep like this. He’d planned to spend the evening tying on a good, old-fashioned drunk. To hell with everyone who said a guy shouldn’t drink alone. Besides, he had plenty of ghosts to keep him company. The ghost of John Merris, the father he’d never had and whose standards he’d never quite managed to live up to. The ghost of Melinda, another person he’d never been quite good enough for.

What the hell did a man have to do to win their approval? He’d made a billion bucks with the sweat of his own brow, for God’s sake. Wasn’t that good enough for them? What the hell was the use of having all that money if it didn’t impress anyone? Maybe he should give it all away. Maybe that would impress them.

He snorted as he eyed Willa’s sexy little tush sashaying toward his living room ahead of him. John would call him a damned fool if he gave away his billions. Melinda might be momentarily impressed, but he knew all too well she wouldn’t stay that way for long. She would probably bust his balls for not giving the money away to the right cause.

“Drink?” he asked Willa.

She perched on the edge of his sofa in her linen church-lady suit, straight out of the political fund-raiser fashion catalog. He much preferred the hot copper number from two nights ago. She hadn’t looked like some damned virgin in the backless gown. But in this modest getup, he felt dirty for even contemplating sex with her.

Not to mention the damned outfit made her look about fourteen years old and playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. He had a flashback to when he’d first known her, and how guilty he’d felt about the lecherous thoughts she had inspired in him back then. Since when had he become a dirty old man? He had no business sleeping with someone her age. She ought to be out finding some nice young man her age to settle down with, not wasting her time with an old bastard like him.

“Are you drunk?” she asked when he stumbled on the edge of an area rug.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

She nodded knowingly. “Be careful. Whiskey makes for some interesting true confessions.”

“Confess something to me so I’m not laying out my guts all by myself,” he retorted.

“I’ve imagined doing some very kinky things with you in bed, over the years.”

He stared disbelievingly, shocked out of his buzz. “No way.”

“Way,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I fantasized about sleeping with you pretty much all the way through high school. And truth be told, through college, too. You thoroughly messed up my social life.”

Son of a
— Who’d have guessed? Sweet little Willa Merris had harbored naughty thoughts of an older man? Tsk, tsk.

“Drink?” he asked her.

“No, thanks.” She said that like she could use a little liquid courage. But hey. If she didn’t want it, that was her call.

He made his way to the wet bar where he pulled out a double old-fashioned glass, stabbed it into the ice maker and poured a few fingers of whiskey over the ice. Damned women. Made a man drink politely. Out of a glass instead of straight out of the bottle. He carried his whiskey over to the sofas and sank down cautiously on the one opposite Willa.

“Why are you here?” he asked baldly. He winced at the lack of subtlety in his voice. If he wanted to remain rational, he’d probably had enough to drink.

“To apologize for yesterday. For refusing to take your calls. I overreacted.”

“To what?”

“To you calling Melinda your wife.”

He frowned, confused.
Huh?
“I’m drawing a blank here. Help me out. What the hell are you talking about?”

“When the police called to tell you they had a video, you called her your wife. Not your ex-wife.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what had your panties in a wad?” he exclaimed. “The cop on the phone called Melinda my wife and it was easier not to bother correcting him. The FBI analyst made the same mistake, too.”

“What analyst?” Willa asked. She added in quick concern, “Is Melinda all right?”

She sounded like she genuinely gave a damn about Melinda’s safety. He knew plenty of women who would have secretly been rooting for his ex to die horribly, and clear the way for them. Not that Melinda was actually in the way...

...Right? It had been years since they divorced. He was over her, even if he hadn’t gotten into any serious relationships since then. He’d been too busy getting rich and letting the money fill his bed with beautiful women to get serious with anyone. No need to settle down. He had all the time in the world to do the whole commitment and marriage thing. Except now he’d blasted past age forty and his window of opportunity was starting to close. What if he never found the perfect woman? Was he doomed to live out his old age alone and bitter?

Damn, he’d forgotten how maudlin whiskey could make a man. The young beauty seated across from him was certainly ripe for the picking. She would make some man a hell of a wife. She was sweet and smart and a lady in public. And in private, she was another story, entirely. His body stirred with lust at the memory of the wildcat she’d been in his arms two nights ago. Once she had let go of her inhibitions, she’d been all the woman a man could ask for and more. He had to admit, it had made him feel damned good that he’d been the one to unlock her sensual side like that.

At the moment, her lips were pursed, her arms folded across her middle and her legs crossed primly at the ankles. Her body language screamed that she wasn’t even remotely thinking about sex right now. She was probably wallowing in disapproving thoughts of how he was going to hell for getting drunk.

“I don’t care if I go to hell for indulging in a little whiskey,” he announced.

She shrugged, apparently unfazed. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, I wouldn’t call you actually drunk. You’re only mildly buzzed. You might have a headache in the morning if you don’t drink a little water before bed, but that’s about the extent of it.”

Now where would John Merris’s shockingly sheltered daughter learn to gauge a drunk so accurately? “John Merris was a drinker?” he asked, stunned.

“More often and more heavily than you might think,” she replied grimly.

Well, hell. Now he felt bad for drinking in front of her. He set his glass down on the coffee table in sudden distaste. “Why did you get all upset over me calling Melinda my wife?”

That brought spots of color to her already pink cheeks. “I was in bed with you for goodness’ sake. Why do you think it upset me?”

“Enlighten me.”

“I like you.”

Ooooh-kay.
“And?”

She huffed. “And I was jealous. I was mad at the thought that you still have deep feelings for her and think of her as your wife, not your ex-wife.”

He frowned.
Did
he still think of Melinda as his wife? He tried to imagine her sleeping with another man to see how he would react. Not only did no anger or hurt stir in his gut, but he couldn’t even conjure up an image of Melinda with any man. All that came to mind was some poor schmuck on his knees in front of her while she wore a latex jumpsuit and snapped a crop against her boot.

Maybe that was what broke them up. He’d refused to be her lackey the way she wanted him to be. He’d insisted on being his own man, heaven forbid.

Thank God Willa wasn’t that kind of woman. She’d liked it when he took charge in bed. The simmering lust in his loins heated up a little more.

“Look, Gabe. I think it’s decent of you to still care for Melinda. It dawned on me last night that she may not have any other family to look out for her. She’s a human being, after all, and it’s not her fault some nut job kidnapped her. The fact that you put up the reward money and you’ve been pushing the cops so hard to find her is noble.”

Noble or sycophantic? Had he let go of his obsession with pleasing Melinda or hadn’t he? When John Merris had rejected him, had he been so needy that he’d turned to the next impossible-to-please control freak he could find? The thought sickened him vaguely. He was his own man, dammit. Had been for years. But who’d have guessed those ancient apron strings would be so hard to cut? He ought to walk away from Melinda and let her stew in whatever mess she’d landed in.

But Willa was right. Melinda was a human being. He couldn’t turn his back on her in her time of need. It was common decency to see this thing through.

Surprised at Willa’s altruism, he replied, “It’s good of you to understand. She and I haven’t had anything between us since long before we divorced. But she’s got no one else. Her brother’s her only living family, and he’s in jail for the rest of his life. I didn’t have a choice but to step up and help out.”

He was a cad for taking credit for such noble motives. But the way Willa’s eyes softened and warmed toward him, how could he not do it? He’d do just about anything to make her look at him like he was some kind of hero.

“And about tonight,” she said softly, snapping his attention sharply back to her, “thanks.”

“You’re not mad at me for punching Ward?” Melinda would have had a fit and called him a Neanderthal for acting out on his violent impulses.

“Mad?” she exclaimed. “I’m just grateful I was there to see it! I wish I could do the same.”

“You can. You just need to learn how to make a proper fist and put your weight behind it.” Inspired, he stood up. “I’ll show you now.”

* * *

Across town, her nemesis stewed. Funny, but Willa didn’t even know she had a nemesis. But she would, soon enough. That was a promise.

Willa Merris would get hers, all right. That bitch thought she could sic her toy boy on decent, upstanding members of the community and get away with it? Someone needed to take her down a peg or two. Hell, knock her off the damn pegboard.

Uppity bitch.

Pain would be hers. Panic. Suffering. Death.

Definitely a knife. Peel her skin like an orange.

* * *

Gabe was mesmerized as Willa smiled up at him and rose to her feet. He led her over by the windows where there was open space for them to maneuver.

“Rule number one,” he lectured, “never stick your thumb inside your fist. Curl your fingers and keep your thumb outside your fist so you don’t break it.”

She nodded in concentration, getting into the spirit of the thing, and rolled her fists into experimental balls.

“Rule number two,” he said, warming to his subject, “keep your fist aligned with your arm bones. If you cock your wrist and really put force into your punch, you’ll break your wrist.”

He showed her how to punch her left palm with her right fist to get the feel of how the energy traveled down her arm. After a minute, she nodded and held up two credible fists in front of her.

“And now to put your weight behind it.” He showed her how to punch off her back foot, leveraging her entire body weight into the thing. She didn’t get it right away, though, and he moved behind her, put his arms around her and guided her body through a slow-motion punch.

She felt so good in his arms, he could barely focus on the task at hand, though. And she smelled good, too. That intoxicating gardenia scent of hers swirled around her. It made him think of southern belles and hot, lazy summer nights. And sex. Smoking-hot, mind-blowing, toe-curling sex with a lady turned wildcat.

She relaxed back against him, her body going limpid in his arms. Memory of that body by turns taut and boneless against his surged through him. His head lowered and his mouth found the shell of her ear. She inhaled on a sexy little gasp as his lips brushed across it. Her hips rocked back, pressing against his exquisitely uncomfortable groin. He groaned under his breath as lust pounded through him.

She turned in his arms, and suddenly the prim-and-proper lady gave way to the siren. She kissed him so deeply his head spun, promising delights that would beggar the mind. And he had just enough whiskey in his system to ignore the little voice in his head warning that the two of them still had things to work out before they fell into the sack again.

He didn’t have to drag her up against him. She was already there, pressing herself into him, her arms twining around his neck as if she couldn’t get enough of him. His hands slipped under her linen suit, shoving the pesky thing off her shoulders. The white silk of her entirely too prudish blouse at least had the good grace to cling enticingly to her curves. He cupped her breast through the sleek fabric and she moaned softly, arching into him even harder.

He didn’t deserve her. He ought to let her go. She was young and had her whole life ahead of her. And he was a half-drunk old man who had no business taking advantage of her. Not to mention she’d had an upsetting encounter with James Ward just a few hours ago. She needed time to recover, and any half-considerate bastard would keep his hands off her tonight. But damned if he could stop himself.

He did promise himself to go slow with her. To be gentle and let her call the shots. It was a flimsy compromise between his conscience and his lust, but it was the best his impaired judgment could manage under the circumstances.

He untied the annoying bow at her neck and worked his way down the row of buttons that guarded her virtue like tiny, plastic sentinels. The silk fell away beneath his fingers, and he inhaled sharply at the fragile lace bra that came into sight. The naughty beneath the nice of it made his knees go a little weak. Or maybe it was just all the blood pooling in his groin that made him light-headed.

Willa returned the favor and unbuttoned his shirt with gratifying haste. He’d already shed his jacket and tie when he got home. He led her toward the sofas as they mutually stripped each other, he dragging her skinny skirt down over her hips while she fumbled at his trousers eagerly.

He groaned as her hand dipped inside his briefs, clasping him boldly and fanning the inferno that was his desire. She bumped into the back of the sofa, and he kissed her deeply, invading her mouth with his tongue the way he wanted to invade the rest of her body. Her hands shoved impatiently at his remaining clothing, and he stepped out of the puddle of wool. He eased her sexy little panties down and cupped her core, all but scorching his fingers on her eager heat.