Because He Owns Me (Because He Owns Me, Book One) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

“Adriana,” he said, looking me in the eye for
the first time since he’d sat down.
 
I liked the way he said my name, slow, like he was turning over every
syllable, trying to figure out what they all meant.
 
Something flashed in the depths of his
irises, something intoxicating and unfamiliar, skepticism mixed with
trepidation mixed with surprise mixed with desire.

“What’s
your
name?” I demanded, wanting
him to know that he wasn’t the only one who could ask questions and needing
something to distract myself from the rush of attraction that was pounding
through my body.

“Callum.”

“Callum?”

“Yes.”

I shook my head.
 
“That’s a made up name.”
 

“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me,” he said
sarcastically, like he actually couldn’t give a shit.
 
He reached for his drink and took
another long sip, the sleeve of his shirt slipping up to reveal a tan, muscular
forearm.

“Trust needs to be earned,” I informed him.

He laughed, like he couldn’t believe how naïve
I was.
 
Then he reached into his
pocket, pulled out a leather wallet with some expensive-looking designer logo
stamped on the front and slid out a crisp white business card.
 

He held it out to me, and I took it, my face
burning as our fingers brushed. I’d always been prone to blushing, and with my
fair complexion, it was almost impossible to hide.
  
I hoped he wouldn’t notice, but his
eyes were on my face, watching me carefully.

CALLUM WILDER was printed on the card in a
simple black font. So what, I thought.
 
So he had a card with the name Callum Wilder on it.
 
He probably printed them up and brought
them here so that he could seem suave and cool.
 
And what was with the all caps?
 
Talk about being self-important.

Callum Wilder.

It was just the kind of name a man would make
up in an effort to get women to sleep with him.
 

Of course, that didn’t explain the fact that he
was wearing very expensive clothes.
 
Even someone like me, whose idea of high fashion was Banana Republic,
could tell the suit had had on was expensive.

My eyes ran down the card to the next line.

CEO and Founder, Wilder Holdings, LLC

Wilder Holdings.

I knew that company.
 

Everyone knew that company.
 
They were famous for swooping in and
taking over smaller, failing companies, infusing them with cash and turning
them around before selling them off for a profit.
 

He must have been a billionaire.

I swallowed.

So not only was he extremely good-looking, he
was also rich.

I hated him.

 
“I
believe you,” I said haughtily, handing the card back to him.
 
“You don’t have to prove yourself to
me.”

“I don’t prove myself to anyone.”

“Then why did you feel the need to show me your
business card?”

He shrugged, like it was inconsequential.

His disinterest infuriated me.

His eyes flicked back to mine and he ran them
down over my body, not even trying to hide the fact that he was checking me out.
 
I felt my nipples harden under the cool
air of the club, and I cursed myself for wearing such a sheer t-shirt.
 

“Anyway,” I said, trying to get back to the
task at hand. “You owe me fifty dollars.
 
That’s how much my Ativan prescription cost.”

“Would you like to sit down and discuss this?”

“No, I would not like to sit down and discuss
this,” I fumed.
 
“You owe me fifty
dollars.
 
There’s nothing to discuss.”

“I am not going to pay for your drugs,
Adriana.”

“Those are not drugs,” I said.
 
“Those are prescription pills, the kind
of pills that people take because they need them.
 
The kind of drugs people pay good money
for.
 
Not that I would expect
someone like you to understand that.”

“Someone like me?”
 
He cocked his head, interested.
 
“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you probably don’t have to worry
about stupid things like, oh, I don’t know, healthcare costs, that you probably
enough money not to have to freak out when your premiums go up or worry about
whether or not
Obamacare
is going to be deemed
unconstitutional.”

“The Affordable Care Act already stood up to
the challenges it faced in the Supreme Court.”

“I know,” I said, frustrated, feeling my hands
ball into fists at my side.
 
“That’s
not the point.”

“Sit down, Adriana.”

This time, I sat.
 
I wasn’t completely sure why.
 
It was a reflex, automatic, almost like
he had a hold on me I could resist for only so long.
 
It was like fighting against a wave that
was trying to pull you under in the middle of the ocean.
 
You could try to swim against the
current, but eventually your muscles and your breathing gave out, and you
couldn’t fight anymore.
 
All you
wanted to do was surrender.

Surrender.

The word pulsed through my brain.

“What are you thinking?” Callum asked.

“I’m thinking about how I have no idea what the
hell I’m still doing here,” I answered honestly.

The answer seemed to please him.

“Have you been here before?”

“No.
 
I mean
,
I’ve been to New York before.
 
I live here. Well, I just moved here.
But I’ve never been to this club before.
 
I was supposed to meet a guy here.”

He looked around.
 
“And where is this guy?”

“He, um, had to cancel.”
 
I wasn’t sure why I was telling him all
this, but I had to draw the line somewhere.
 
It was one thing to reveal your date
wasn’t there, but it was another level of humiliation to have to admit he’d
completely blown you off, no text, no phone call, nothing.

Callum raised his eyes at me skeptically.
 
“So you know what goes on in a place
like this?”

“Yes, of course,” I lied.
 
What was he talking about, a place like
this?

A waitress appeared seemingly out of nowhere
and set a fresh drink down in front of Callum.
 
“Can I get you anything else, Mr.
Wilder?”

She was practically salivating at the sight of
him.
 
She was pretty, too, with
auburn hair and huge boobs and a tiny little waist.
 
He must have been a regular here for her
to know his name.
 

But Callum kept his gorgeous blue eyes on
me.
 
“No, thank you,” he said to the
waitress, his gaze never leaving mine.
 
“But my friend Adriana will have a seltzer with lemon.”

“I don’t like lemon.”
 
We were friends now?
 

“Lemon is good for you,” he said, nodding to
the waitress to go and get my drink.

She scurried off.

Callum stared at me across the table, the sides
of his mouth sliding up into a knowing grin.
 
He said nothing to me, and I shifted on
the booth nervously.

“Are
you…
I mean
,
do you come here a lot?” I asked.
 

“No.”

“So you’re not a regular here?”

“I’m here because I’m thinking of buying this
place.”

“So you can infuse it with cash and fire
everyone before hiring new workers who will work for half the money?”
 
I scoffed, hoping to make it clear to
him that I knew exactly the kind of company he ran.

“
Ahh
, you’re familiar
with my work, I see.”
 
He seemed
pleased and not embarrassed in the slightest.

“If you want to call it work.”
 
The waitress returned with my drink, and
I went to take a sip.

Before I could, Callum had slid around the
booth so that he was sitting right next to me.
 
He was so fast, so close, that my heart
began to beat hard in my chest.
 
The
smell of his spicy aftershave filled my nose.

“Do not drink that,” Callum said, removing the
drink from my hand and setting it down on the table.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Never drink from a glass you haven’t seen
poured,” he said.
 
“Don’t you know
the statistics on women getting drugs slipped into their drinks?”
 
He shook his head.
 
“It’s sickening.”

“You made me order that drink!” I said.
 
“And besides, I want it.
 
I’m thirsty.”
  
It wasn’t true.
 
But for some reason, I wanted to show
him up, wanted to make him see that I wasn’t going to just do whatever it was
that he said.
 
He was so
bossy.

I reached over and picked up the drink and
brought it to my lips.
 
But he
grabbed my wrist, stopping me.
 
He
took the glass out of my hand and set it back down on the table.

He slid his own drink across the table so that
it was sitting in front of me.
 
“You
can have some of mine.”

“But I haven’t seen that one poured either,” I
said, proud of myself for not falling for one of his tricks.

“Fair enough.”
 
He picked up the glass and took a long
drink, letting drops of water pool on his bottom lip.
 
Then he leaned over and brushed his lips
against mine without asking. It wasn’t a kiss exactly – it was too short
and soft for that.
 
But it was the
promise of one.

 
Heat
roared through my body like a searing furnace.
 
He tasted like lemon and soda water, and
something else, something sexy and dangerous.
 
Blood pounded in my ears, and the beat
of the music pulsed through my body.
 

Callum leaned in close to me.
 
“Do you know what goes on in those rooms
back there, Adriana?” he whispered, indicating the rear of the building, where
an open archway led to a hallway that ran perpendicular to the restaurant.

“Yes,” I lied, my voice cracking.

“What?” he pressed.
 
His hand reached up and pushed my hair
off my shoulders, his fingertips brushing lightly against my neck.
 
He was so close to me I could feel the
heat radiating off his body and I could still taste the lemon on my lips.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

He gave me an amused smile, then slowly and
sensuously reached down and undid the top button of my shirt.

I gasped as his palm slid down over my
cleavage, the tip of his finger slipping briefly under the lace cup of my bra.

My first instinct was to pick up the drink that
was sitting on the table and throw it in his face.
 
But a second later my outrage melted
away, replaced with a delicious warmth that raced through my body and settled
between my legs.

I willed myself not to moan.

I turned to look at him, and his eyes searched
mine, like he was looking for any sign that I was going to fight against this,
that I was going to admonish him for unbuttoning my shirt out here in front of
everyone without even asking me.

But I didn’t say a thing.

“Good girl,” he said, nodding in satisfaction.

He took another sip of his water, then got up
and threw some bills down on the table.

“Come,” he said.

“What?” I asked, my head spinning from what had
just happened.

“We’re going back there.”
 
He tipped his head toward the back
hallway.

Do you know what goes on back there?
 
he’d
asked me.

What
did
go on back there? I
wondered.
 
Sex?
 
Drugs?
 
Rock n’ roll?
 

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head.
 
“I’m sorry, but I can’t go –”

He slid back into the booth, took my cheek in
his hand, pulled me close so that I was sure he was going to kiss me,
really
kiss me this time.
 
But he stopped
just short of my lips, but stayed close enough that when he began to talk, I
could almost feel his lips brush against mine.