The Billionaire in Her Bed (Worthington Family) Read online

  She took a step toward him. “Not wasting any time, I see.”

  “I told you.” The shirt hit the floor next to the tie, and he started on his pants, sliding his belt from its buckle. “I’m not waiting one second longer than necessary to fuck you.”

  “Then I’d better get naked.” Her fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress and pulled it down. She could feel his eyes on her as she slipped it off her shoulders, wriggled it down to her feet and kicked it to one side, leaving her standing in front of him in only a lacy black demi bra and a thong.

  He stood and shucked off his pants, his hungry eyes continuing to roam over her. “Come here.”

  She returned the favor, her gaze eating him up like he was a decadent, seductive desert, yummier than the chocolate almond cake that sat all but forgotten on the counter. Christ, he was magnificent, all lean muscle and smooth skin. “Make me.”

  “So that’s how you want to play it.” He lay on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. “I didn’t know you liked it rough.”

  She didn’t, but now that he’d mentioned it, the idea of shifting the balance of power in the bedroom, letting him take the reins, had a certain appeal.

  She spotted his tie out of the corner of one eye and bent to pick it up.

  Looping the silk around her neck, she moved between his splayed legs, putting her hands on his shoulders and bending over to whisper in his ear. “I want you to blindfold me.”

  …

  Beautiful. Sexy. Confident.

  Those words barely scratched the surface of the exquisite creature standing before him, loud and proud and so damn perfect he ached to touch every inch of her. But it wasn’t the pouty breasts that hung inches from his mouth or the neatly trimmed landing strip of dark hair pointing the way to the promised land that wrecked him.

  It was her vulnerability. Knowing she trusted him enough to relinquish control had him teetering on the edge.

  He felt a momentary pang of guilt. He didn’t deserve her trust. But that was going to change. He had a new plan for Candy Court, one that had started forming as he’d watched the residents come together to make Chris and David’s wedding day one they’d never forget. A plan he hoped would help Brooke overlook the fact that he hadn’t been entirely truthful about his identity or his intentions. Once the ink was dry on the contracts and there was no way Dupree—or anyone else—could sneak in under the wire, he’d lay all his cards on the table and tell her everything.

  But he didn’t have to wait until then to prove himself to her. He could start earning her trust now by giving her what she’d been brave enough to ask for.

  “Are you sure?” He fingered one end of the tie around her neck.

  She took it off, placed it in his open palm, and closed his fingers around it. “I’m sure.”

  He gestured to the bed. “Lie down.”

  She obeyed, lying on her back.

  He joined her, straddling her hips. “Ready?”

  She nodded. He lifted her head and secured the blindfold. “Too tight?”

  She drew her lower lip into her mouth. “No.”

  “Trust me. It’ll be good.” He dipped his head to her neck and dragged his lips along her collarbone. His hardening dick brushed her soft folds, already wet with her arousal. Torture. Sweet, fucking torture. “Eliminating one sense heightens the others.”

  “You don’t say.” She shivered as his mouth opened to softly suck the skin at the top of one breast between his teeth. “Tell me more.”

  “I’d rather show you.”

  His hands cupped her face, and his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that was both passionate and possessive. He coaxed her lips open, and his tongue swept in to tangle with hers. He kissed her for long, leisurely minutes until they were both panting and desperate, then gentled the kiss and pulled back.

  “You taste fucking amazing.” He pressed a kiss to her jawline. “Here.”

  Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her hands fisted in the rumpled comforter. His mouth moved to her breast. He swiped the nipple with his tongue. “And here. Sweet. Clean.”

  She gave a soft moan and arched beneath him. “I didn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That not being able to see you would be so…”

  “Yes?” His hand joined his mouth at her breast, his fingers working in conjunction with his lips, toying with her nipple.

  “Frustrating.” Her hands tightened their hold on the bedspread. “Intense.”

  He lifted his head to look at her. “Good intense, or bad intense?”

  “Good.” She sighed. “Definitely good.”

  “It’s about to get better.”

  He slid down her body until his head was level with her belly and his hands were on her inner thighs. His tongue circled her belly button as he pressed her legs apart. “Does it turn you on, not being able to see what I’m doing? Not knowing where I’ll touch you next? Whether I’ll use my hands or my mouth?”

  She moistened her lips and nodded.

  That was all the invitation he needed. He didn’t waste any time tasting her intimately, using the entire length of his tongue to devour her in long, slow strokes.

  “So wet,” he murmured against her, adding a finger, then two, moving them in and out as he sucked on her sweet spot. “So tight.”

  She writhed beneath him.

  He raised his head and let his eyes roam up her body, soaking in every lush, lovely inch of her. “I need to be inside you.”

  “Yes,” she panted, pressing her hips up to meet his probing fingers. “I want that, too.”

  He rolled off her and reached for a condom on the bedside table. In seconds, he’d rolled it on and was back on top of her, his aching dick poised at her entrance.

  “Now.” She hooked one leg around his waist. “Please, now.”

  He stared down at her, watching her face as he slid inside her. His hips began to move, and Brooke wrapped both legs around him, urging him forward.

  Eli pushed into her, setting a slow, steady rhythm. She met each thrust with a move of her own, bucking and writhing underneath him. Her nipples brushed against his chest, and his jaw clenched as he gradually picked up the pace. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm as he plunged into her over and over, withdrawing every so often to tease her with the head of his cock before thrusting into her again.

  He stilled with his cock buried deep inside her. “Tell me what you need.”

  “You know what I need.” The edge in her voice made his balls tighten.

  “Maybe.” He swept a hand up her body to cup one breast, brushing his fingers over the nipple and watching it harden. “But I’d still like to hear it. You know, to be sure I’m getting it right.”

  “Oh, you’re getting it right.” She let her head fall back against the pillow, extending the long line of her neck. “Trust me.”

  He moved to the other breast, giving it the same treatment with the same result. “Tell me.”

  “Jerk.”

  “Yeah.” He removed his hand and stared down at her as she undulated against him, willing him with her body to finish her off. “But I’m the jerk that’s going to give you what you need.”

  She let out a stifled moan.

  “Why so shy all of a sudden?” he teased, reaching up and flicking one end of the tie covering her eyes. “You didn’t have any trouble asking me to blindfold you.”

  “Fine, you win.” Her head thrashed from side to side. “I need to come. Like, now.”

  “Ask, and you shall receive.”

  He moved inside her again, leaning back enough so he could watch his cock disappear and reappear. There was nothing more erotic than seeing them connected in the most intimate way possible. When he felt her start to spasm around him, he reached down and whipped off the necktie.

  She turned her head and buried her face in the pillow.

  “Don’t hide from me.” He brought a hand to her face and turned it back to him. “I want to see the look in your eye
s when you come. They get all wide and dreamy, and your mouth forms this perfect little “o,” like you’re surprised every time it happens. It’s a huge fucking turn-on.”

  Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking up at him as she trembled and shook with the force of her orgasm. He followed right after, spilling his own release inside her. When he was done, he rolled to his side, taking her with him. She laid her head on his shoulder, the rapid rise and fall of her chest gradually slowing as she recovered.

  “So, now I know.” One leg tangled with his.

  His breath caught at the openly possessive move. “Know what?”

  “What all the fuss is about.” She sighed and snuggled into him. “You were right. It does heighten all the other senses.”

  He smiled against her cheek as he stroked her hair and back. Her stomach rumbled, and he laughed. “Hungry?”

  “Well, we did work up an appetite.” She eyed the plates on the kitchen counter. “And there’s three perfectly good slices of chocolate almond cake practically within arm’s reach.”

  “I suppose you want dessert in bed.”

  “I wouldn’t object.” She raised her arms above her head, stretching like a cat and bringing all her fun parts into contact with his—breasts to chest, wet heat to hardening cock. His recuperative powers were strong with this one.

  He bent to nip her lower lip. “How do you feel about food play?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite.” She smoothed a hand down his belly, letting it rest on the curve of his hip, tantalizingly close to the V that led to his groin. “Pun intended. But only on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  In one swift, sudden move she flipped him onto his back and climbed on top of him, giving him a perfect view up her sleek torso to her ripe, round breasts. “This time you wear the blindfold.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Ginny dropped her pocketbook on the floor, slipped off her coat, and slid into a chair opposite Eli at Dean & Deluca, a steaming cup in her hand that he knew would contain her beverage of choice—a half-sweet, non-fat caramel macchiato. “You haven’t set foot on the island for weeks. I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”

  He hadn’t been counting the days, but now that he thought about it, Ginny was right. Thanks to email, texting, and Skype, he’d been able to keep tabs on things without having to return to Manhattan since moving into Candy Court. And more surprising, he hadn’t missed it one damn bit.

  He smiled and sipped his way-less-complicated dark roast, black, with his usual two shots of espresso. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

  “No.” She blew across the top of her cup, making waves in the thick foam.

  He put a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

  “You’ll get over it.” She licked some of the foam from the rim of her cup and drank. “Your absence hasn’t gone unnoticed. People have been talking.”

  “I didn’t expect it would.” He set his half-empty cup down on the table with a hollow thunk. “What people?”

  “Simon. I don’t think he’s buying my story about the Tibetan monastery.”

  He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. “You seriously went with that?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Hard to prove one way or the other.” She patted her silvery gray hair and loosened a button on her cardigan. “Then again, I didn’t think you’d fall off the face of the earth for two months.”

  “Last time I checked, Brooklyn’s still on terra firma. And it’s not like we haven’t been in constant contact.”

  “What’s so important you broke your self-imposed exile and dragged me out of the office in the middle of the workday?” Ginny asked, clearly anxious to get to the purpose of their tête-á-tête. “Do you have a lead on our mole?”

  “I was going to ask you that same question.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing yet. Mr. Spock should be sending me a status report any day now.”

  Eli raised a brow. “Mr. Spock? What is this, Star Trek?”

  “Do you read my emails?” She clucked her tongue at him. “Gordon Spock. He’s the private investigator who’s been following Dupree.”

  “Yes, I read your emails,” Eli insisted. “I’ve been a little busy lately.”

  “Busy? Or preoccupied?”

  “Busy.” He repeated the half-truth. Ginny didn’t need to know how much time he’d been spending with Brooke. Or what they’d been doing. “With the Candy Court project.”

  “I’ve seen the architect’s renderings.” She blew into her coffee again and took another tentative sip. “Very ambitious.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He bent down and picked up a long cardboard tube from under the table. “There’s been a change of plan.”

  He popped the cap off one end of the tube and slid out a rolled-up sheet of paper. He moved his coffee to one side and spread it out on the table.

  Ginny fished her reading glasses out of her purse, perched them on her nose and squinted down at the drawing. “What’s this?”

  “Like I said, a change of plan.”

  The furrows in her forehead deepened as she studied the sketch in more detail, her finger tracing the clean lines. “Are you sure about this?”

  “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.” The words left his mouth freely, easily. He was sure. Damn sure. He’d spent the week and change since the wedding working with the architect on the new drawings. He’d thought Eli was nuts, too, scrapping everything and starting from scratch on a design that wouldn’t be anywhere near as profitable as the one they’d first agreed on. But for the first time in his business career, this deal wasn’t about profit. It was about people.

  Or, more accurately, one particular person.

  “What gives?” Ginny stared at him like he had three heads and a tail. Maybe a set of wings, too. “Where’s the real Eli Ward and what have you done with him?”

  “He’s sitting right in front of you, wondering if you’ve gone completely insane or you’re suffering from caffeine overdose.”

  “I’m serious, Eli.” She peered at him over her glasses, her voice gentle but firm. “This is nothing like what you originally had drawn up. If you do this, you’ll be leaving a lot of money on the table.”

  He shrugged and stared down at his loafers. He hadn’t worn them in weeks, yet for some reason, he’d felt compelled to put them on today. Same with his freshly pressed button-down and flat-front khakis. Hell, he’d worn a goddamn tie. Like putting on armor to do battle.

  He retrieved his coffee and took a sip, savoring the taste and feel of the hot, dark liquid as it ran over his tongue and down his throat. “Money isn’t everything.”

  “Now I know something is wrong. You’re not sick are you?” She reached across the table and put a hand to his forehead. “Oh my God, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re dying. You’ve got six months to live, and this is some sort of last ditch effort to make peace with your maker.”

  “It’s nothing that melodramatic, I swear.” He finished his coffee, crushed the cup in his hand, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “Besides, aren’t you the one always telling me the best things in life are free?”

  “Yes. But I hadn’t realized you were actually paying attention.” Ginny’s glasses slipped lower on her nose, and she pushed them up with her index finger. “Dare I ask what—or who—is responsible for this remarkable transformation?”

  The answer to her question was obvious, but it wasn’t one Eli was ready to give, even to the woman who’d become almost a mother to him. What he shared with Brooke was too new, too fragile, too uncertain.

  “The building doesn’t need to be razed, it needs to be restored.” He tapped the drawing. “High ceilings. Exposed brick. Natural wood beams. If we do this right, it’ll appeal to everyone from baby boomers to millennials. We’ll be at full occupancy before the paint is dry.”

>   “Fine.” Ginny took off her glasses, snapped them shut and stowed them in her purse. “Don’t tell me who she is. I’ll figure it out eventually. I haven’t worked for you for eight years without learning a few tricks.”

  He rolled up the plans and slid them back into the tube, glad to be done with the sensitive subject of his love life. At least for now. “Any word from the title insurance company?”

  She pulled a manila folder from her pocketbook. “I’ve got the preliminary title report right here, along with the FEMA flood map and a summary of the applicable zoning regulations and permit requirements from the city planning department.”

  She slid the folder across the table to him. He opened it and leafed through the documents. “Good work, Ginny. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of.” She stood and started to put on her coat. “Oh, I sent your tuxedo out to be cleaned so it will be ready for the silent auction next week.”

  The auction. Shit. He’d all but forgotten about it. “Thanks. You’ll be there, I hope.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I know how important Geek Girls is to you and Paige.” She hitched her purse over her arm. “Will you be bringing a date?”

  He rose to join her, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “Nice try, but you’re not going to worm it out of me that easily.”

  “Ah-ha.” She jabbed a finger at him. “So, there is something to worm out of you.”

  Damn, the old bird was good. He slung an arm around her considerably smaller shoulders and steered her toward the door. “If there is, I’m not going to let it slip at a black-tie benefit with the grand dames of New York society looking on. Those women scare me. They’re the real gossip girls.”

  Part of him—a big part—wanted nothing more than to stroll into the fundraiser with Brooke on his arm. But there was no way he could invite Brooke without blowing his cover, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet.

  He would be. Soon. Very soon. He just hoped when that time rolled around she’d be willing to listen to him.

  …

  “We’ve got trouble.” David burst through Brooke’s door, tanned and refreshed from his honeymoon and waving one arm excitedly.