BREATHE: A Billionaire Romance, Part 2 (6 page)

I awoke with him staring at me, and it took me a moment to realize where I was. I was in his bed. When I looked down and saw my naked breast peering out from underneath the white cotton sheet, memories of just a few hours ago flashed in my mind. We had sex.

I had sex with Derek Sholts. I had sex with my boss.

“Enjoy that bone I threw you last night?” he asked, cockily smirking at me.

I snarled and cursed under my breath.

“Excuse me, pig?! Did you enjoy the bone I threw
you?!”

He laughed.

LAUGHED!

“Oh, please, country girl… I rocked your world.”

He was so smug, so ridiculously cocky that I wanted to rip his face off! “I would love to rip that smug little face off and feed it to my country farm pigs!” I bellowed, pulling the cover tighter to me.

“How about you go get showered and run and get my breakfast…if you still want a job,” he said and laughed, throwing the sheets off of himself.

I watched his bare ass as he walked away with a sort of cockiness that I knew he possessed, but wasn’t expecting—not a time like this.

But I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

Instead, I, too, got up and followed him out of the room. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but as soon as my hands came in contact with his flesh, I knew that I had lost my cool. I pushed him into the nearest wall and found myself screaming out at him.

“Go get your own breakfast!” I yelled, my southern accent ripping out of the hole I tried to bury it in so long ago.

His chest had hit the wall—but only slightly—from my heated shove, and when he turned around, I could tell that he was angry. But I didn’t care. And he knew that. Because when his eyes flashed to mine, I could tell that he was reading them.

I was cold, implacable in my disdain.

He muttered something beneath his breath, something that I couldn’t quite understand, and I was sure it was likely a good thing that I hadn’t heard him.

Rather than focus on it, rather than question it further, I shook it off.

I didn’t care.

Fuck him.

Crazily—I’ll admit—I looked down though. I wasn’t sure what it was that drew my attention down towards his member, but my eyes immediately fell there. And when they did, I could do nothing but watch as he began touching himself.

I couldn’t help but watch and instinctively nibble on my lips as he continued to stroke himself. He was growing hard… and I was growing aroused watching him grow hard.

I couldn’t tell you why though. The man was disgusting. The man was a horrible creature in fact. He was manipulative and cruel, but I wanted him…

Man, I wanted him…

I reached out and slid my hands over his hips, and he continued to stroke—faster and faster with every pump.

I looked at him, at his eyes specifically, and never looked away. I was angry, but I also felt overcome with some sort of mentally disturbing passionate desire for him.

I wanted him bad.

And I felt like a total slut because of it.

My hand dipped down to his erection and curled around it, immediately feeling his stomach lurch with a jolt. However, that sort of excited reaction only motivated me further. My slender fingers continued their assault of his hardened shaft, methodically moving up and down its entire length. I gripped, re-gripped, and felt his cock grow even harder the more I pumped.

A long growl escaped from the deepest part of his chest as I continued my ministrations.

I felt his core tighten, and when I looked up, his eyes were shut and his breath was ragged. I knew that he was almost there; I knew it wouldn’t be long. He felt it; that familiar pressure had begun to build, and I smirked at my abilities as the raggedness of his breath began to echo throughout the entire room.

I smiled devilishly as I removed my hands form him, leaving him completely exposed to the air.

“Where are we taking this party?” I asked, with a lot more courage—and lust—than I ever thought possible.

“Right here,” he groaned, moving closer to me.

He pulled me closer by wrapping his arm around my waist. My hand slid up his back, and I caught a whiff of the most incredible smell I believe I had ever smelled on a man before.

He smelled delectable—clean and masculine like soap, vanilla, and musk.

I felt his hard pulsating muscles ripple beneath my touch and immediately felt the incredible rush of an adrenaline pumped arousal like no other. I couldn’t believe I was about to fuck him, fuck him hard, fuck him long, and fuck him so, so good—all over again—especially given how much I couldn’t stand him.

“So you really don't like me…” he trailed.

"No," I said, without missing a beat. But as soon as I watched his expression fall to the floor, I stammered a bit and realized how utterly cruel that was… I hesitated for a minute, “I’m sorry.”

I hoped I sounded sincere. I felt bad that I felt nothing for him, but I hoped the fact that I wanted his body was enough. I didn’t want his heart, not that he would have ever given it to me given his playboy reputation in the first place.

“But here we are…” he sighed.

“Yes… here we are.”

He walked over to me and hooked his hands under my arms and raised me—almost effortlessly—off the floor.

“That can never happen again!” I screamed out, breathlessly, my chest heaving with everything that it was worth. And honestly, I knew it sounded cruel, but I didn’t care.

“What are you saying? It wasn’t good?” he smirked, cockily.

“I’m saying I must be a huge floozy if I was arguing with you one second and the next jumping your bones!”

“Floozy? Jumping bones? Who are you?” he laughed, smugly.

“My mama says floozy all the time!” I retorted. It was true, that’s what my mother always called promiscuous women, and there was nothing wrong with that word. It was far more appropriate—to me—than many of the other names that were uttered for such a lady.

“Most people—normal people—just call them sluts….” He sighed, sitting up on the bed to watch me dress.

I covered myself, trying to keep a little bit of modesty about the situation, but the sheet wasn’t really covering as much as I had hoped, but then again, I was incredibly flustered, and a whole heck of a lot embarrassed. It made my movements scattered, clumsy even. I really didn’t have enough brain power to function properly, let alone cover myself while trying to function. But I hated the word “slut,” especially when I knew I had just been one.

“I am not a slut!” I screamed, throwing my head back to face him. I was hoping that the look of disgust on my face would be enough to scare him, or at the very least shake him up a bit.

But it hadn’t worked.

Not that I should have been surprised. Nothing worked on him. He had no emotions; he was like a robot. And the more I focused on that fact, the angrier I got. I actually was beginning to think there was good to him, but the night had clearly shown otherwise.

I was mad. So mad, in fact that I felt my fist clench, and before I knew it, I had drawn it back with my arm and launched it directly at and into his jaw.

He groaned as his head snapped to the side, obviously shaken from my punch.

I had never hit a man before; hell, I didn’t think I had even hit anyone since eighth grade in the school yard. A girl named Little Jo—who wasn’t so little—picked on my best friend at the time, and I let her have it…

And honestly, that was the last time I ever hit anyone…

I couldn’t believe I hit
him
. Of all people, I hit
him
. I couldn’t believe I had stricken him. I hit a sick man! A sick, douchebag, of a man, but a sick man nonetheless.

He was definitely mentally ill if he thought that I was going to just take all the shit he was spouting and not get upset about it.

“Wow,” he whispered, holding his jaw.

“I should go,” I said, tears threatening to pour as the consequences of my actions began flooding my mind. I kept thinking of all the “what ifs” involved with hitting my boss… and the bad karma and juju associated with hitting a person with cancer.

And they weren’t good.

So without any sort of thought, or any other word, I made it to the door…and then I screamed, “And don’t have Jim fired!”—as I flung the door open and exited.

Out of Derek Sholts’ penthouse suite and out of his glorious side of town.

I didn’t show up for work the next day, and I knew that he would notice, but I also knew that there was no way in hell that he could blame me.

The fact of it was, I knew that by not showing up I was in danger of losing my job. But I really didn’t care.

Instead, I stayed in my pajamas and sat on the couch. I was going to live Polly’s life for one day, and I smirked as I watched the TV. It was the first time in a long time that I actually got to watch something—not that there was anything on, though…

I flicked from channel to channel, wondering what it was that Polly actually did all day if the selection of shows was that lacking. However, then I remembered, she cammed, and played video games. Maybe that—although I wasn’t sure how—kept her preoccupied most of the day.

I groaned with every click. It was like the shows went from bad to worse as I continued going up. And just as I made my way to some sort of soap opera type thing, I heard a noise—faint but sure—come from behind me.

I turned, and there she was—a messy haired Polly, clad in pajamas very similar to the ones I had on. Pink shorts and a white tank.

“Hey…” she trailed, speaking up for the first time in a long time.

“Hey,” I said in return, sort of unsure of where this was all going.

“I just wanted to say that I just got off the phone with my agent, and I got the job.” She was excited about getting the job, I could tell, but she was also sighing in defeat.

She walked to the couch, plopping down beside me just before resting her head on my shoulder.

I wasn’t sure if it was the morning and my brain hadn’t jump-started yet, or if it was the fact that I had been flipping through mindless television, but I couldn't for the life of me even know what job she was talking about. My brows twisted in confusion.

“I shouldn’t have blamed you,” she continued. “If I didn’t get the job, it would have been my fault. Not yours for not showing up…” And then it clicked. She meant the job she auditioned for weeks ago, the one from the night Derek told me he had cancer.

“I’m sorry, too. I should have been there.” I was sincere in my apology. I really had felt terrible that I hadn’t gone, and beyond that, even more terrible that I had forgotten about it after Derek told me his secret.

“I wanted you there, and I was hurt… work has never come first when it came to me and your family.” I could tell just by looking into her eyes that she was sincere and that she really had been hurting. However, I also knew that before this job, she and I were struggling to make ends meet. And now I didn’t even know if I had the job anymore…

“I know.” And that’s all I could say before the door sounded to a knock from the other side.

I groaned. I knew who it’d be.

“Want me to answer it?” Polly smirked. “I’ll deck him for ya.”

I laughed. I knew she actually would have had I asked her.

“No,” I replied. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

And with that I walked off towards the door and opened it,

“I really wanted to talk to you!” he said, hurriedly as soon as the door flung open. It was almost as if he was scared that I was going to slam it back in his face. And I’ll admit, I wanted to.

“Let’s go to the fire escape and talk.” I shrugged, barely even looking at him as I made off towards the kitchen window.

I didn’t check to see if he was behind me. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a demand. And if he hadn’t followed me out there, then the truth of the matter was that I wasn’t going to talk to him.

I climbed out the window and onto the metal surface below. The wind was chilly, but honestly, I knew I’d probably need it to calm me down after talking with Mr. Sholts.

He climbed out just behind me, and immediately I felt my blood begin to boil over again.

“Go ahead. Talk!” I snapped, crossing my arms in front of my chest, as he looked off the fire escape to the street below.

“Did you take me out here to push me into the street?” he joked.

However, I didn’t laugh, and I didn’t smirk. I stood there, holding my ground. I wasn’t in the mood to laugh.

“Look, I—” He looked to his feet and then up again, and I wondered if it was because he was afraid of heights. I knew that he could see the street below through the tiny lattice design in the metallic surface. I clenched my jaw tighter, remembering the beautiful night on the beautiful lattice boat, angry that everything seemed to remind me of how wonderful and magical it all was. “I don’t know how to apologize.”

I looked at him, unblinking, holding my breath.

“I’ve never done it before,” he continued.

How could someone have gone throughout their entire life and never apologized to anyone? It didn’t make sense.

“But I am sorry. I really am.” He reached out for my forearm, but I backed away, my back hitting the railing of the fire escape. “I shouldn’t have even remotely insinuated that you were a slut.”

He was right. He shouldn’t have, but part of me wondered if I had been so upset because somewhere in the depths of my mind I actually felt like one, myself.

“You were right.” I sighed under my breath.

“No!” he yelled. “I wasn’t!” His face was stern, but his eyes were sad. They were red, and droopy, and moisture seemed to creep up in the brims. “You’re wonderful, and sure we had hot, passionate, angry sex, but that doesn’t make you a slut!”

“What does it make me then?”

“Human,” he said simply. “Don’t question yourself. You’re one of a kind.”

“I have never done anything like that,” I said, my own tears threatening to pour.

“I know.” He walked closer to me, hesitating in his steps. He was slow, making sure that he was allowed to move closer. “I’m begging you, please…give me one more chance.”

I sucked in a deep breath, as he closed the distance between us and grabbed my forearms gently, moving them to the side.

I felt the rush of heat envelop me as he stood barely an inch away. He lowered his head to gaze into my eyes.

“I beg of you…one more chance. If I mess up again, feel free to never speak to me for the rest of my life. Plus,” he added, “I told Jim’s manager to give him a promotion.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the addition. Yet, I couldn’t let his decision to be kind to Jim dictate my stance on everything else. However, at the same time, he was begging me for forgiveness. Who was I to turn him down? Who was I to turn down a sick man? And I guess, what was one more chance when I had already given him so many?

I sighed. I hated the pity card, but I
did
pity him. I sympathized with him more than I had ever sympathized with anyone. And I knew right then it was likely due to his charm. He was charming; that much was certain.

“Okay,” I said, my hatred for him decreasing a bit.

But what I knew now—more than ever—was that for some crazy ass reason, I didn’t hate Derek Sholts.

Not by a long shot.