BILLIONAIRE (Part 6)

BILLIONAIRE

Part
6

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by
Juliette Jones

Copyright © 2013 Juliette Jones

All rights reserved.  No part of
this work may be reproduced, distributed or scanned in any electronic or
printed form without permission. 

BILLIONAIRE is a work of fiction. 
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.  Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely
coincidental.

Cover art photo used under license
from Shutterstock.com

First Edition: September 2013

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BILLIONAIRE (Part 6)

Lila

We
were back in New York.

After
the night flight and the cocooning extravagance, time was loose, almost
lyrical, like my life had become a particularly sweet song that I had to stop
and just appreciate every now and then.  Two weeks in Paris had bonded me to
Alexander irrevocably.  Our connection was forged, deeply and sublimely, by a
mutual need that had taken over every aspect of my days, and my nights.  He
rarely left my side.  His presence had become my compass.  His touch drew me
like nothing I had ever experienced.  And his dedication to my every whim was a
luxury I knew was dangerously addictive.

I
had no need for a watch or to even be aware of the day or the hour.  The
schedule my former life had been ruled by seemed petty and distant.  All I
could comprehend now was the comfort I was still adjusting to.  I opened my
eyes to unshadowed late-morning light, stretching like a cat, naked under the
plush quilted mounds of the duvet and the Egyptian cotton sheets whose thread
count was probably in the six-digit neighborhood.  I let my hands search the
cool, unoccupied half of his California king-sized bed.

“Alexander?” 
I sat up, and the covers fell to my waist.

He
was lounging in a leather chair next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed
only in jeans, his feet propped onto a zebra-patterned ottoman.  His MacBook
was perched on his lap and his black hair fell in half-curled fronds over his
forehead.  Something about the disheveled state of his too-long hair, the tanned
hue of his muscled torso and the safari theme provided by the
what-I-could-only-assume-was-authentic animal skin furniture made him look
rugged and edgy.  Despite his riveted concentration to the screen of his
computer, his eyes swiveled to me slowly.  To my face, and the mussed mane of
my blond hair.  To my naked breasts.  Back to my face.  His expression was
laced with that lazy, arrogant manliness I loved about him.  A stranger would
have construed the look as unapproachable, almost cold.  I knew better.

“You’re
working?” I asked.

I
was mildly peeved by this.  After the uninterrupted hedonism of Paris, I was
used to having him all to myself.  To his undivided attention.  The minute we’d
cleared the Charles de Gaulle runway, he’d started stealing moments to check
emails and read stock reports.  I’d been happy enough to catch up on some sleep
and leave him to it, but now, I was well-rested.  And he looked too delicious. 
All those burnished muscles and shadowed stubble.

Alexander
paused before giving me an oblique reply: “I’ve been away for almost two
weeks.”

“I
know,” I said, hearing the churlishness in my voice.  He heard it too and his
mouth twitched as he stared at me.  Then his attention returned to his computer
screen.

It
had been a topic we’d avoided almost completely.  I’d tried to bring it up once
when we’d first arrived in Paris, then again in some romantic little bistro on
the Left Bank.  Both times, when he’d dismissed my question, abruptly changing
the subject, I’d silently agreed: it hadn’t been the time or place to get into
the nitty gritty of our work schedule, once we finally returned to reality.  In
those halcyon days, reality had seemed a million miles away.

But
now, reality was upon us.  It was shining its blue light onto the planes of Alexander’s
sculpted chest, flickering its insistence across his perfect face.  For some
reason, this made me feel uneasy.

I
gave him a minute to finish typing his sentence, or whatever it was that he was
doing.  Then I lay back into the pillowy nest of Alexander’s bed, rolling
languidly across the expanse of it and displacing the covers in the process.  I
stretched again, wholly aware that Alexander was now watching me from under the
fall of his thick hair.  I was on my stomach and I arched my back and lifted my
hips as I rose from the bed.  The carpet was soft and cushioned under my feet. 
I stood in front of the window and its outrageous view, feeling like an
Olympian goddess surveying the land of the mortals.  It was indescribably
empowering, this feeling: of nakedness and wealth and a pronounced degree of
removal from all the worry and mundanity of hardship.  Nothing felt as good and
as safe as this buffer Alexander provided.  Anyone who ever said money couldn’t
buy happiness was deluded.

I
padded over to him, closely circling his chair as I coiled a finger through the
coarsely silken locks of his hair.  “What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“Your
work can’t wait until Monday?”

“There
are a couple of issues at Jake’s company that need attention.  I’ve put it off
long enough.”  There was a curtness in his tone that was new.  He was
conflicted.  Pressing concerns at his companies had been cast aside for me and
me alone, for more than two weeks.  I knew this was unprecedented.  Alexander
had never taken a day off in his life until I’d walked into it.  I could have
felt flattered, or empowered, and I did.  Not only that, but I felt
possessive.  I was too used to owning his time completely; it was all I’d ever
known of him and I was more than a little reluctant to give him up like this,
even for a few hours.

“So
we’re working today,” I commented blithely.

His
dark eyes conveyed no emotion aside from a simmering, corralled lust.  “
We’re
not working today, no. 
I’m
catching up on a few emails today, and I
might spend a few hours in my office this afternoon. 
You’re
relaxing. 
And tonight, we can go out somewhere.  If you want.”

“I
don’t need to relax.  There’s only so much relaxation one person can handle. 
I’ve relaxed more in the past two weeks than I ever have in my life.”  It was
true, depending on how you defined ‘relaxation’; a lot of it had been
relaxation of the strenuous and somewhat kinky variety.  Either way, my
frustrations were on a roll.  “When do
I
get to start working?”

Here
I was, naked, mussed-up from sleep and a sexual marathon that was as energetic
on the twentieth day as it had been on the first.  I was also marginally turned
on.  Too satiated from sleep and sensual satisfaction to be frenzied about it,
my desire for Alexander was so thoroughly ingrained in me by this point that
just touching his hair was enough to kick start the gentle pulse, the latent,
secret heat.  I thought about taking his laptop and setting it aside, unzipping
his jeans, climbing onto him and straddling his hips.  Working him.  Taking his
growing, hardening length into my hands.  My mouth.  Insisting that he give me
everything.  But I was irked by the way his eyes kept glancing at the screen. 
And his dismissive tone bothered me.  Maybe I’d
already
started working,
several weeks ago.  Maybe
this
was all he intended for me to do: to
service his whims when he was in the mood.  I knew enough about his body
language to read his disengagement.  I grabbed one of his shirts that had been
flung over a chair.  A white button-down made of thick, expensive cotton.  I
wrapped it around myself and it hung to the tops of my thighs.  “Can I take
some notes for you,
boss
?  You’ve only put half of my skills to good use
so far.”

He
looked up at me, and his annoyance gave way to a light, exhaled chuckle.  “Come
on, Lila.  Don’t get all petulant over a couple of emails.”

“I’m
not
petulant
,” I said.  Petulantly, yes.  For good reason.  “I’m
supposed to be your assistant, remember?  Or have you changed your mind about
that?”  I knew I was overreacting: I was almost hyper-aware of my jealousy, or
whatever this was.  Maybe because I’d given up almost every facet of my
pre-Alexander life at the drop of a hat for him, as soon as he’d snapped his
fingers.  I’d been ridiculously willing to step into his world and leave all my
baggage behind.

Alexander
got to keep his baggage.  He got to run his company and live in his apartment
and have dinner with his brother and his employees.  He didn’t have to give
anything up because all the good stuff was his.  His company, job, apartment,
money.  His hotels and jets and chefs and doormen.

All
I had was him.

Nevermind
that all I
wanted
was him, but the scales felt decidedly uneven.  Not
only that but a creeping suspicion that he no longer wanted me to work for him
was becoming more and more obvious with each passing day.  And he still hadn’t
answered my question.  His attention was once again diverted to his damn
computer screen.

“Alexander?”

“Hmm?” 
Typing.

“I’m
going to take a shower and get dressed,” I said, in full challenge mode.  “Then
we’ll go to your office and you can start teaching me how to help you run your
empire.”

He
typed a few more words.  Then he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers
together behind his head.  It was several seconds before he spoke, but when he
did, his dark eyes stared into mine.  “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?” 
I knew exactly what he’d been thinking about.  If I hadn’t been so incensed, I
might have acknowledged a flicker of pleasure at my ability to read his mind
and predict his thoughts.  Our searingly intimate time together had given us a
familiarity that was unusual.  But I was glaring at him when I replied.  “About
what?”

He
cagily avoided the central topic.  “There’s a private gym and a Jacuzzi on the
twenty-fifth floor.  Great views.”

“I
don’t do gyms.  I do yoga.”

This
information seemed to distract him for a few seconds.  “Then sit in the hot
tub.  I’m sure we can locate a personal yogi for you at some point during the
week.  As long as there’s no tantric activity involved.”

His
light joke was wasted in my current state of mine.  “I don’t feel like sitting
in a hot tub.”

“Of
course you do.  Everybody does.   Go and pamper yourself for a few hours.  This
won’t take too long.  Then I’ll take you out to dinner, wherever you want to
go.”

“I’ll
tell you what,” I began, pulling on the short skirt I’d worn the day before.  I
buttoned the middle two buttons of his shirt and tied the front into a knot to
create a half-shirt that revealed the pale skin of my stomach.  “I might go and
get some fresh air.  Since you’re working.  We can meet back here later on.  Or
we can meet at the restaurant.  Tell me which one and I’ll see you there at …
how’s seven?  Or would eight be better?”  I pulled on my new, killer Balenciaga
boots.  I still couldn’t believe how beautiful and comfortable they were.  Pure
wearable art.  I wanted another pair.  Or two.  Not because I was feeling
particularly materialistic but because I wanted to spend time with Alexander,
as we had the first time he’d taken me shopping, lavishing me with his
full-blown, magical attention.  “I’ve always wanted to go to Nobu,” I added,
gaining momentum, smoothing and fluffing my hair into place.  “Do you think you
could get us in there on such short notice?  With all your mogulish,
billionaire connections?”

I
was surprising even myself with my light yet surly bitchiness.  This would rile
him.  He hated the thought of me venturing out into the streets without him.  I
wasn’t sure why, but in all the time I’d known him, he’d been insistent about
being with me whenever we’d left the apartment or hotel.  Of course it was a
scenario that couldn’t sustain itself.  He could hardly follow me around like a
jumped-up bodyguard once we returned to our normal lives and work schedules.

Alexander’s
expression darkened.  “No,” he said.

“No? 
No what?  No, you don’t want to go to Nobu?  Or no, you can’t get us in with only
a few hours’ notice?”

“I
want you to stay here.”

It
was exactly the reaction I’d predicted.  I didn’t feel at all proud of the
small surge of triumph I experienced at his command, but I knew I’d gotten to
him.  I kept my tone light.  “As long as you’re working, and you don’t need me,
I might as well keep myself busy.  Maybe I’ll go meet Eva for a coffee.  I
haven’t seen her in so long and I know she’s dying to hear about Paris –”

“No,
Lila.”