The Billionaire's Promise (BDSM Erotic Romance) (His Submissive, Part Eight) (4 page)

I walked into the conference room with two minutes on the clock, knowing that all the chairs in the room would be occupied except for the ones near the door. It’s what I was going for, needing to be far enough away from Jacob that I could try and focus on the meeting and not the stifling tension between us.

I didn't take Meg's advice, though I'd gotten crazy close to going back to the penthouse and empt
ying my heart. But when I hit midtown and a bus with Rachel's face plastered on the side huffed and puffed beside me for a good mile, I just couldn’t bring myself to face him.

I
'd zipped to the suburbs, dreading walking up the steps to my parent's almost as much as talking to Jacob. I felt like everything would be scrawled over my face and Mom would gnaw at me like a dog with a bone until I broke. But she just gave me a hug and left me with my thoughts--which was almost worst.

I barely got three full hours of sleep, waking up intermittently, drenched in sweat,
not escaping even in dream. Rachel’s twisted smirk, the tightening of Jacob's muscles when he realized that I would hear what she had to say haunted me. Devils, guilt, and hurt had me tossing and turning all night and not even a venti mocha with two extra shots was enough to help me fake that I was more than a zombie.

I
lowered myself in a chair near the door and even though I knew I’d regret it, I raised my eyes. Jacob's icy glare found me and softened like the seafoam that caressed the shore. His lips parted slightly and in that moment, everything hung on what he mouthed next.

I'm sorry.

I ripped my eyes from him, guilt making me fidget uncomfortably in the confines of the leather chair. There was no ridding myself of the weight of it, no balancing act or body contortion that helped me relax; not when I was face to face with a hundred reasons why I should have answered his calls. Because he was the love of my life. Because people made mistakes. Because it was hypocritical of me to force him to carry this cross when he forgave me for my wrongs. Because a lack of sleep looked good on him. Because the dark shadow of hair highlighted his angular jawline and the cadence of his voice, deep and slightly gravelly, made me think about lazy mornings in bed.

Hi
s hair had a slightly mussed look, begging my fingers to roam through the dark locks as I moved closer. Closer--it was like he was a damn city away and all I wanted was to press my body against his.

It was the longest meeting of my life.

When the last idea was tossed around and the final client plan hashed out, I was the first to stand up and take a step in his direction. I didn’t miss the flicker of heat in his eyes but it was snuffed out as one of the publicists stepped in his path. I stood there awkwardly, worrying that the smile was pulled to tightly on my lips, that my black pencil skirt and emerald green blouse were somehow transparent and everyone could see exactly what Jacob Whitmore did to me--swollen nipples, sopping panties and all.

I had to sink my teeth into my botto
m lip to quiet the laugh when I saw how he kept trying to extricate himself but people kept popping up with questions and issues. I brought my hand to my neck, massaging the kinks from sleeping on my old bed. After experiencing Jacob’s bed, everything else was like sleeping on the floor. And now I was back to thinking about beds and the man that kept stealing lusty glances at me. God, I wanted to be tied up and tied down, needed his tongue on my flesh--

“Wanna grab a cup of coffee?”

The question jolted me from my fantasy and I turned toward the voice, sure the invite was directed to someone other than me. Missy was standing a few feet away, her tight features more relaxed than usual because of the soft brown braid that spilled over one shoulder and the light makeup on her face. She was even wearing a blush colored blouse and wide leg trousers instead of her usual tailored, dark colored suits. But a makeover was one thing--talking to the chick she’d had it out for since day one was truly bizarre.

I tilted from Jacob, eyeing her skeptically. “Coffee? Me and you?”

She raised an eyebrow before gesturing at the absence of anyone else in our near vicinity. “Yes.” Her lips spread into a grin, finally realizing the obvious. We weren’t friends--why would she want to do anything with me that wasn’t absolutely, positively necessary? “I haven’t been the nicest person to you, have I?”

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Rec
ord scratch. Did Missy Diaz just apologize to me? I almost pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t slumped over in my chair in the back, out cold.

“No pressure. If you aren’t interested--”

“Are you kidding? I’m riveted...and also worried that you might put something in my coffee.”

She laughed, her face lighting up. “I heard you were funny.” She shrugged her shoulder. “You know what, nevermind.”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting to walk away from this white flag even if I was a little suspicious. I paused at the door and saw Jacob was still deep in conversation before I let her lead the way. “I could actually go for a cup.”

By the looks that were thrown our way
as we walked to the elevator, I wasn’t the only one surprised we were side by side by choice. I awkwardly reached for conversation topics to alleviate the silence.

“So I’m pretty excited about
working with Mia Kent.” I mentally facepalmed. Mia was first on the docket, a newly twenty-one actress who had her start in kid-friendly fare. But after she hit eighteen and had a couple of projects bomb, she’d been on a publicly documented downward spiral. From shaving off her signature blond locks, piercing every visible surface, and making a series of really bad and permanent choices in both the tattoo and romance department, she was sinking fast. While a lot of Whitmore and Creighton's clients just wanted to maintain their image, there were others that came to us to save it. Mia, unfortunately, was in the latter category.

“I didn’t mean that nearly as insensitive as it came out,” I said, stepping in the elevator and suddenly wanting this whole coffee break to fastforward.

“I know what you meant,” Missy said, stepping in after me and punching the floor number. “I took my little sister to one of her concerts a few years back. A stadium full of squealing teen girls was not my idea of a good time,” she shuddered, “But her show was actually really entertaining. You could tell she loves being up there and adores her fans.”

“Well,
if we’re having Mia Kent confession time, I still put her ‘Songs for the Broken Hearted’ CD on when I want to hate the world and rock out.”

Missy hummed a few bars, moving her head to the beat. “She had some great songs on that.” The doors retracted. “She’s so talented. I haven’t enjoyed the things I’ve read about her over
the past year, but it’s like—“

“Y
ou can’t look away.” I finished for her sadly.

“Wel
l, I’m excited about working with her too,” she said, pulling open the door to the cafe, sending the warm aroma of coffee beans crashing into my senses.

I could just stand in the door and inhale that scent all day. The sound of the card reader dinging reminded me that
was gonna be the only way I’d get any caffeine since I’d forgotten my ID badge in my office. “I’m gonna run up to the office and get my badge.”

“Coffee’s on me.”

I shook my head slowly. “That’s nice--” Never ever thought I’d ascribe ‘nice’ to Missy Diaz. “--but I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s just a cup of coffee, Leila.” she said dismissively, staring at the menu.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been rude to me since the day we met,” I said feeling dormant anger stir in my gut. “Like we can gossip and chat and you can buy me coffee like we’re cool.”

She glanced at me over her shoulder, dark eyes glittering like the Missy I knew and couldn’t stand. “I’m trying to let bygones be bygones.”

“And I’m trying to tell you that I don’t know why you’re being nice to me, but I don’t really trust you. I’ll have coffee with you, sure. But I’ll buy it myself. I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“Everything alright in here?”

We pivoted toward the voice, even the barista. Jacob stepped into the room, buttoning the front of his jacket, zeroing in on Missy even though his question was a general one.

Mi
ssy let out a strangled chuckle, taking a step in my direction. “Leila and I were just having a cup of coffee.”

She gave me a wide eyed ‘
right?’ but I remained quiet. The more I thought about her change of heart, the more I wondered if something else was going on.

My silence was all Jacob
needed for his voice to harden to stone. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

The sugary sweet became pop rocks as she gave me a final glare and sauntered out of the room. Jacob walked to the counter where the young coffee slinger was frozen like a deer in headlights. He pulled a fifty out and stuffed it in the tip cup.

“Take a break.”

The kid sc
urried out without another word, still wearing his apron. Jacob walked smoothly to the door and engaged the lock.

I swallowed, figuring out this was less saving the damsel in distress and more
forcing me to talk to him. “I’m pretty sure that’s a fire code violation.”

“Nothing short of a fire will get you out of this room until I’m done with you.”

So he was holding me hostage. Even though I stood my ground, stubbornly turning my back to him, my heart raced excitedly as I glazed over the variety of surfaces that begged for some tender, love, and sex.

Damn it, I was still mad at him but I couldn’t stop my
traitorous body from responding to his like we were made for each other. Drawing the same breath. Feeling the electricity when he turned me back to face him. Gazes molten with carnal need.

“I missed you last night,” he said, his voice low and sultry. “I forgot how lonely the bed is without you.”

I shrugged his hands off, regaining control and kicking the desire to the backseat. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try and be romantic and sweet after what you did.”

He locked his jaw. “Rachel and I...that feels like a million years ago. She means nothing to me anymore.”

I flicked my hair over my shoulder angrily. “Nothing to you ‘anymore’--so you’re admitting that she did mean something to you. Admitting that you lied to me when you made it seem like it was strictly a sex situation.”

His body tightened defensively. “I think ‘lie’ is a very strong word.”

“What words would be accurate?”

“I may have just...left out the entire truth.”

Was he being serious? “I’m pretty sure not telling the whole truth is the definition of lying. When I did it, you had the right to be angry but when you do it, it’s in the past and I should get over it.”

“The situations are not the same and you know it,” he said te
rsely. “Rachel and I dated over a year ago and yes, we were close and things got said. But that was long before I even knew you existed. I was very much in the picture when you...” He stopped abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling, exhaling before continuing. “What you did doesn’t matter because I forgave you. Another key difference.”

“You think I like this?” I said shrilly, feeling the fight drain from me. “That I don’t want to just say that it doesn’t matter? I don’t care that you dated people before me. It’s that you
loved
her, Jacob. You were serious about her and you lied about it.”

“
I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest, but I had my reasons.”

I put my hand on my hip
, not letting him off that easy. “I’m listening.”

He stroked his chin then winced like he’d just thrown back a shot. “It’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it.”

His eyes settled on
me and for the briefest moment, I saw a retort ripple there but he surrendered with a sigh. “I told you how we were together right after my dad died. I was a fucking mess--I’d spent years hating the man, remembering all the things he’d missed, all the things he might as well have been absent for because he made it no secret that he longed to live another life. A life with Allegra.”

I remembered the story. Carlton Whitmore falling for a local girl while filming a movie
in Italy and pursuing her relentlessly--despite the fact that he had a wife and son back in the states. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d brought Jacob to Italy, playing house with Allegra until she got tired of living a lie. If things were bad for Jacob and Alicia before, they were intolerable after Carlton lost her.

“She told me she loved me and I froze, re
membering my mother and father,” Jacob continued. “I replayed how she’d say the words and he’d crush her with silence or a pity kiss or some obscenely expensive piece of jewelry. I didn’t love Rachel, Leila. But that hopeful look in her eyes…I couldn’t stomp that light out. I couldn’t hurt her. So I said it back.”

“You
didn’t love her,” I said slowly, peering at him uneasily.