LOVE AND HATE (A Billionaire Romance) (10 page)

BOOK: LOVE AND HATE (A Billionaire Romance)
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I laughed as the elevator doors opened. Peter let us know the limo was waiting outside. “Not even close.”

I was fine. It was Serena I was worried about. Once she burned through what she had, she’d start going after our parents. With the merger, I could funnel money to her and keep her from heading to Mom and Dad for handouts. Without the merger, someone was going to have to make some lifestyle changes.

My chauffeur opened and closed the doors for us, and Mackenzie slid in, gawking at the plush, dove grey interior.

“Drink?” I offered.

“That would be nice. Gin and tonic?”

I loved gin and tonics. A lot of people my age didn’t appreciate the drink nearly as much as I did. “Worried about malaria?”

She laughed. “You can never be too safe.”

I made the drink at the little bar as we crossed the city.

“So who’s going to be there that I’m supposed to impress?”

“Good question. Percival Hall. His daughter, Marguerite, is the artist.”

Mackenzie laughed. “Is she any good?”

“I’m not an artist, so I couldn’t say.”

“Oh, come on. You have some sense of taste. I’m sure you can tell if something’s pleasing to the eye or not. Do you like it?”

“I’m sure someone likes it.”

“You’re really putting me through the paces, huh?”

The comment ignited something deep and low in me. I’d love to put her through the paces, maybe like I had in the box at the club. I ran my gaze over her tits and thought about what I’d like to do to them.

“What if I act like a total bitch and royally screw things up for you?”

“You’re out over a hundred grand, and I don’t get my merger.”

“You’re not worried about that?”

“A hundred grand is a lot of money. Or so I hear. Are you going to screw me over?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

She wouldn’t. I knew it. Our eyes locked, the gaze held, and I broke away first, not feeling great about how we’d gotten here. The idea had seemed like a good one at the time, something to impress Ryan. Something to get back at Mackenzie for trying to ruin me for a paycheck. She didn’t even know me. I could feel her stare on me for a few beats longer, and she turned out the window.

“I always wonder who is in limos when I pass them. You can never see in the windows, though. It’s so mysterious.”

“Mostly boring people with too much money to burn.”

“Duly noted.”

The driver stopped in front of the Coventry Gallery and let us out. Mackenzie paused, took a breath, and worked to compose herself. “Let’s go.” She took my arm with a light touch. I led her inside.

Mackenzie

 

One thing was clear the moment we crossed the threshold into the gallery. Marguerite Hall was a terrible artist who never, in a million years, would have had her own show if her daddy wasn’t rich. She used bold, discordant colors and blocky, blunt strokes. If I squinted and thought my most generous thoughts, I could imagine what she was going for, but mostly her work was just bad. The opening painting struck me as blatant rip off of George Rodrigue’s Blue Dog series, though this dog was mottled-pink, orange and yellow, and looked rabid.

I leaned close to Scott. “Are you punishing me?”

He leaned in to me. “Yes, obviously. But not with the art. Is it bad?” His breath was hot in my ear.

I stifled a laugh. “It’s abysmal. She’s got no eye for color, she’s—”

“Marguerite!” Scott interrupted in a booming voice. “You get more and more talented every year.”

The artist stood before us, waif-thin in a gown that accentuated her gauntness. Half her head was shaved, the other hung long beyond her shoulder, and she’d colored that half in streaks of purple and bleached blonde. Heavy eye make-up distracted from anything else about her face. She held a hand out for Scott to kiss, and I could see her fingernails were false, black talons. No wonder her art was so shitty; it had to be hard holding a paintbrush.

“Congratulations, darling,” Scott schmoozed. “Please meet my wife, Mackenzie.”

I shook her hand, which sat in mine like a cold, dead fish. “It’s a pleasure,” I lied.

“Mackenzie has an art history degree. I’m sure the two of you will have loads to talk about.”

“Oh, what was your medium?”

“Uh, history. The Renaissance period.”

“Isn’t that kind of pedestrian? Do you paint? Sculpt? Draw?”

For whatever reason, I didn’t want Scott to find out about my drawing. I’d spent years wanting to be a comic book artist before my dad and older sister convinced me to get my accounting degree and find a real job. Looking at Marguerite, I was glad I had.

“No, I like to read about the paintings and learn about them. I don’t have a creative bone in my body.” That part, at least, was true. Art, music, especially writing were all an uphill slog for me. Still, when it came to drawing, I put in the time and practiced. Someday I might win the Powerball and could be a decent background artist for DC or Marvel.

The thought hit me like a lightning bolt. I hadn’t thought of this in these terms before.
I’d won better than the Powerball
. I glanced at Scott and smiled at him. My warmth clearly put him on edge because he gave me a nervous half-smile in return.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked.

The question shocked him. “Gin and tonic. Please. Thank you.”

I walked to the open bar and ordered the drink. I glanced at Scott, who stood talking to a white haired man who’d looped his arm around Marguerite’s waist. Probably her father, the one Scott was so hell-bent on impressing. Wait, no, definitely not her father. The old man leaned in, kissed her hard on her painted lips and slapped her ass as he sauntered away.

“Are you Mrs. Creed?” A voice purred in my ear.

I turned on my smile. “I’m keeping my maiden name, Taylor.”

“But you are her?”

Like our artist friend, this woman was also too thin. I’m a size four and felt like a cow in here. This lady had the benefit of looking like she’d spent way too much time in the sun, and her fake tits were ridiculous on her tiny body.

“I’m Giuliana PostvanderBerg. I know you’re new to all this.” She waved a hand, and a diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet swung on her wrist. “You just let me know if you need anything, and I’m happy to help.”

“That’s really sweet of you. Thank you.”

People crapped on the rich all the time, but honestly, everyone here seemed pleasant enough. I felt bad for judging her fake breasts so harshly.

“Scott and I go way back,” she informed me. “I know him quite well and may be able to offer you my unique perspective.”

Oh. Oh! My cheeks reddened, and I was grateful Scott’s drink was in my hand. “Thanks,” I muttered. She laughed at me. I wanted to tell her that her perspective probably wasn’t too unique. Scott had probably slept with half the women here. She blew air kisses at me and drifted off into the party. I hurried back to Scott.

“Were you talking to Giuliana?”

I handed him his drink, still blushing. “Yes. She seemed super nice. Told me to let her know if I needed anything.”

“Watch out for her.”

Nasty, creepy fingers of jealousy walked down my spine. Stupid, I told myself. This wasn’t even a real relationship. Playboy Scott Creed had almost definitely banged half the women in this room. What did I care? I was here for the money. And maybe another chance in bed with Scott. But mostly the money.

He walked me around the room and finally deposited me before Percival Hall. The man looked nothing like his daughter, barrel chested and snooty as heck. I imagined him with a pith helmet hunting big game in Africa, loads of servants doing all his dirty work.

We stood in front of what I can only imagine was a self-portrait—the artist depicting herself in shades of purple. The dark triangle of pubic hair stood out in sharp contrast to the pink of her nipples—the only color she’d chosen other than purple.

“Married, eh?” I nodded enthusiastically. “How’d you meet?”

“At a bar,” I offered truthfully.

“Set up by some mutual friends who thought we’d have a lot in common.”

Percival chuckled. “And what do you have in common?”

“Oh, loads of things,” I said. “I love art, just like Scott. I like—”

“Gardening. Hiking. The great outdoors.”


Madmen
,” I filled in, happy to help. Percival looked at me like I was a madwoman and he’d never heard of the show.

“She’s a fascinating conversationalist, this one,” Scott supplied.

“You two will have to come out on our yacht soon.”

It was April, and we lived in New York. I had no interest in shivering on a boat in the harbor.

“We’d love to. Next weekend?” Scott asked. I groaned inwardly.

“Perfect. We’ll meet you at the usual spot.”

“Sounds good, Mr. Hall. I look forward to it.”

We turned away, and he leaned close to me. “Let me do the talking. Especially to him.”

“I’m a great conversationalist. My talents can’t be wasted like that.”

“If he thinks this is a scam, he’ll call off the merger.”

“Why would he think it’s a scam?” I made doe-eyes at him.

Scott gave a frustrated sigh, and I stood up on my toes and nipped at his lip. I could see the fire ignite in his eyes, and he kissed me so hard my teeth hurt.

“Follow me,” he commanded.

I wasn’t about to argue with that tone. He led me to the gallery’s second floor and around the back to one of the two single-occupancy bathrooms. He held the door for me. “After you.”

Jesus, the bathroom was nicer than anyplace I’d ever lived. Well, until now, I guess. The sink was an ever-running fountain that made soothing water noises. Everything looked clean enough to eat off of.

Scott picked me up and sat me on the edge of the fountain sink, then disappeared in the ample folds of my skirt. His fingers found my panties and pushed them to one side before sinking into my wetness.

Oh God, I’d missed his touch. He knew exactly how to stroke me, to flex his knuckle and torment my G-spot. His tongue found my clit as he plunged fingers in and out of me in even, timed, strokes.

Then, oh my goodness, his pinky played around my ass. Wow. He made sure everything was nice and slick and wet before gently entering me, and I saw stars. The trifecta of sensations was way, way too much for me, and I came on his fingers and face, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t cry out.

He stood up, hiked my dress out of the way, and undid his pants while I was still struggling to catch my breath. His big cock stood at attention, ready and delicious. He plunged it into me.

I held tightly to him as he thrust into me, panting in his ear, trying to be as quiet as I could. He felt so good in me, like our bodies were a positive and negative that fit together flawlessly. I saw stars as he fucked me on the sink, as he wrapped his arms around me, picking me up and holding me tightly to him, bouncing me as he penetrated me. I clung to him, pressing my face into the soft skin of his neck, smelling his cologne and, underneath it, the masculine smell of his sweat.

Someone knocked on the door.

He paused for a beat, then pounded into me with renewed vigor. I could feel the muscles of his arms tiring, and he set me on the floor. Turning me around, he flipped the long skirts of the dress up over my back. He bent me over and used his foot to spread my legs. Yes, yes, yes, to whatever he wanted to do to my body. He bent over me, hot mouth on my trembling snatch, drinking my juices once more. He kissed and licked my ass, and an excited trepidation washed over me.

With a grunt he plunged back inside me, filling my pussy, and at this angle, he was in deeper than I’d ever felt him. If he hadn’t felt so good it would have hurt. I braced myself against the sink, holding steady as he pounded me. In contrast to his frenzied thrusts, gently, he worked his thumb into my ass.

I went wild for him. I cried out—I couldn’t help it—and I heard someone knock on the door again. I froze.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice was husky with lust, and I let my legs spread a little more, wanting to accommodate everything he had to give me. The disparity between his gentle thumb and the violence of his cock titillated me. Every nerve ending burned hot for him, cried out for him, needed and wanted everything he had to give me. His strokes grew more calculated, and I knew he was close. I was, too.

“I’m coming,” he panted, and all I could do was nod as I felt his hot seed splashing inside of me. I came, too, crying out with a passionate yelp. The walls of my hot pussy trembled around him, fluttering with bliss. He caught me as my knees threatened to give out.

“Easy, girl.” He talked to me like I was a horse. In that moment I was just happy to be his.

Another knock. “You must be almost finished?” Giuliana. Shit.

“One minute,” Scott panted.

Scott

 

I washed my hands and face as Mackenzie cleaned herself. We’d done a good job not messing up her hair and makeup, so I was pretty impressed with myself. I regretted washing off the intoxicating scent of her, but it was necessary. She finished fixing herself and stood demurely behind me. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had a dreamy, satisfied look. I kissed her. I probably shouldn’t have—fucking was one thing, but when we kissed, it touched a different part of me.

BOOK: LOVE AND HATE (A Billionaire Romance)
3.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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