The Big Billionaire Page 6

  At that look in his eye, I’m afraid to ask him to elaborate and yet, I can’t quite believe him. Allan, however, doesn’t share my worry. Raising his eyebrows, he grins.

  “Soon, you’ll see.”

  When the bill comes, he pays for it despite my protests. And then, as soon as we’ve stepped foot outside, he takes my hand.

  “What would you say to dessert in a slightly unusual place?”

  I can’t help his smile becoming my own.

  “What exactly were you thinking?”

  Already he’s taking me by the arm, conveying me in the opposite direction we’d come in.

  “It’s better if I show you.”

  And, a few minutes later, show me he does. A red Ferrari pulls up at the corner to take us to wherever it is we’re going. As it plunges through the dark night, Allan probes me with questions.

  “Worst cooking disaster?”

  “When I set my old stove at home on fire trying to make beef flambé.”

  “Worst food ever eaten?”

  “This salmon that gave me food poisoning at Pour Boy.”

  When we arrive there, the questions stop for the time being. All is left for seeing, because this is no ordinary sort of destination. Our Ferrari has pulled up in front of Brooklyn Botanic Garden’s unmistakable sweeping stone entryway.

  To my unbelieving eyes, Allan only pats my hand.

  “You’ll see.”

  And, less than a minute later, I do. Allan gives a half hug to the guard at the entryway, before gesturing me through.

  Once we’re through, Allan drapes his arm around me.

  “You see? I told you—Joe’s an old friend.”

  And then he says nothing more because we’re walking through the lamppost-lit grounds, passing dark huddles of sunflowers, then what look to be proud rosebushes. Everything’s so still in the dark, so calm, with an eerie beauty. The rest of the grounds we pass through in this rapt silence, Allan squeezing my hand every so often, as if to remind me that I’m not the only one taking in this quiet beauty.

  We pass through the Japanese part in the same silence. Once we’ve gotten past the pagoda, Allan stops by the pond, sits down.

  He looks at me as if the moonlight is casting my features into an unusual sort of clarity, it makes me think he can see something that wasn’t there before. For his part, the dark is making his face shadowy, striking, unsettling.

  He advances, closer and closer, and I think I know what he’s going to do, when, an inch from my lips, he whispers, “Person you could talk to, if you could talk to anyone in the world?”

  “My mom.”

  Allan’s face falls, and he turns his face away.

  “Me too, I guess.”

  I search his face, unable to tell if the way my heart is beating is from relief or disappointment.

  “I thought you said…”

  He shakes his head.

  “That was a few weeks ago. She and my dad have been through enough with me. This latest jail stint was the final straw. They’re tired of being hounded by the media, having family friends make vague comments at their expense. They want nothing to do with me now.”

  Seeing my face, Allan shakes his head.

  “I know it seems harsh, but it isn’t. They’ve been trying to get me to slow down for years. They’ve been the ones financing my therapists and spa retreats. We all know what the problem is, though—I don’t want to slow down.”

  Now, I’m the one taking Allan’s hand, squeezing it sympathetically.

  “Ever feel like if you slow down, if you stop for a second, you won’t be able to start up again?”

  My sharp glance at Allan reveals nothing; he’s not looking at me, and he’s completely unaware he said basically what I’ve thought for the past few years now.

  “Yes. It’s why I was so afraid to get away from Geno, from Picklebucket, even for a vacation. I was afraid if I stopped working the fifty-hour weeks, if I stopped slaving over the stove for ten hours a day, I wouldn’t be able to bear going back.”

  At my answer, Allan nods vaguely, though I haven’t said all of it. Not yet.

  “And it’s more than that—it’s the silence too. What I’d start thinking about with all that extra time, about my dad, how I wasn’t pursuing my dream, how I was settling.”

  Now Allan turns to me, takes my hand, a sad light in his eyes.

  “That’s it. That’s it exactly. If there’s too much space, if there’s too much silence, all the things you don’t want to think about find their way in.”

  Absently, he lifts my hand to his lips, kisses it, his gaze still off into the night.

  “My parents don’t understand that. That it isn’t the constant late nights, drinking, and parties that I can’t take, it’s that—what I can’t bear thinking about creeping in.”

  And then we sit there, hand-in-hand, two sad souls. I wonder what Allan doesn’t want to think about, but his face is turned away, his back half-hunched. Already, this is too much.

  Suddenly, Allan turns back to face me.

  “What do you think of me, Eva?”

  Now his face is insistent, his eyes already darting to mine.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you see me? Am I how you expected?”

  His voice is too loud for the quiet night, making my answer seem even quieter than it is, meeker.

  “No.”

  In the silence, I find the words.

  “No, Allan. You have been nothing how I expected. You’ve been kinder, gentler, more understanding. You’re nothing how I expected.”

  Allan manages a laugh.

  “Just wait until you get to know me better.”

  I shake my head, pull my hand free.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Laugh away serious moments because they make you uncomfortable.”

  When his face clouds over, I realize my mistake. Impulsively, I grab his shoulder and squeeze it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He doesn’t so much as lift his head.

  “Don’t apologize. You’re right. Your honesty is one of my favorite things about you, Eva. It’s refreshing; I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve experienced it. These days, it seems the more money you earn, the bigger a persona you create, the more lies you and everyone around you tell. Honesty is too risky; no one can be bothered with it.”

  With his other hand, he turns my face toward his.

  “Don’t apologize for anything. You are the best thing that’s happened to me, and I wouldn’t for a minute have you thinking anything different.”

  And, once again his face nears mine, his lips too, while his eyes close. I can only wait for it, what I know is coming: his lips on mine.

  Chapter 11

  When they finally meet—his lips and mine—time freezes to watch. The quiet cooing of far-off birds cease; even the wind stops. Everything watches, as his lips meet mine again and again, as his hands slide over my sides, my arms. It’s only when a bird bursts into squawks that we jerk apart.

  Allan stands up, sits back down, then stands up again.

  “Eva, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  He takes my hand, helps me up.

  “I do care for you like that, but until I’ve told you everything, until we’ve launched this app, I…”

  “What, what is it?”

  A tender look in his eye, he kisses me on the cheek.

  “I just don’t want you to ever mistake my affection for you being for anything other than who you are. I want us to keep the app and us as separate as we can. You, for me, are anything but work.”

  As we walk along, I cast him a wry smile.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  He gives me a light slap on the butt, and we laugh into the peaceful night that’s now unveiling an elusive sky of stars, as happy with us as we are with it.

  --

  The car’s waiting for us at the entrance to the garden. Allan ta
kes me home, offers to walk me to my room, but I refuse. We both know what would happen if I agree to that. So, I make my way up to my room and lie down in my bed, unsure what it is I’m feeling. No sooner have I closed my eyes than a knock sounds on the door. I lie in bed for a minute, but the pounding continues. Angel, heavy sleeper that she is, of course, does nothing, while Popper starts breaking into a series of barks. Finally, I peel myself out of bed, cursing Allan. When I open the door, however, I’m face-to-face with Geno.

  His whole face is red, his eyes wild.

  “You…”

  Shocked, I step back, while he advances for me, throwing a waft of whisky my way.

  “Geno, what are you doing here?”

  I’m backed up against a wall, and Geno’s all up in my face, blocking me, his beady eyes burning. I’ve never seen him like this; he’s completely drunk.

  “What am I doing here? What am I doing here? Ha… you stupid bitch, you know exactly what I’m doing here.”

  Popper’s growling and barking. Angel, of course, is nowhere to be seen and won’t be; the whole apartment could blow up and she’d blissfully sleep through it.

  Geno puts both of his hands on my shoulders, pressing his whole body into me.

  “I gave you everything, everything—and this is how you repay me? By fucking me over—literally and figuratively—by fucking that Allan Dane asshole, then sending him after me? By fucking over my business?”

  I’m struggling, trying to push him away, but it’s no use. Geno’s stout body is as good as a rock, doesn’t so much as budge.

  “Geno, please, I’m not sleeping with Allan, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”

  Geno leans down so that his nose is jabbing into mine.

  “My business, Eva. All the backers have pulled out of their investment because of what you’re doing with Allan and your stupid app. I’ve got nothing now, nothing, you hear me?”

  At this, his grip on my shoulders lets up, his whole body sagging. Seeing my chance, I shove my way free and take off. I’m only a few paces away, when Geno grabs my hand and shoves me to the ground. My head slams off our hardwood floors. I roll onto my back, but Geno’s gone. I can feel something on top of me, and hear something like barking or shouting or crying, but everything, suddenly, goes totally black…

  Chapter 12

  I awake to Allan. He was the one on top of me in the dark, and he’s the one on top of me now, in my bed. Our clothes are off, or maybe they were never on. He’s covering my body with kisses, his hand touching me like he’s never touched a body before, reveling in me, murmuring into my every curve. I close my eyes and open them to Allan.

  Sitting by my bed, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looks worried yet, at my open eyes, happy.

  “You okay?”

  Slowly I nod, wriggle myself upright. Glancing down reveals that I’m in my pajamas, thank God. Although now, in the light of day, with Allan gazing intently at me, they’re more see-through than I remember. I can see the imprint of my nipples. I shift so that the blanket is farther up, over my chest.

  “Here, have this.”

  Allan extends a coffee to me. It’s my favorite.

  “Double-double, how did you know?”

  Allan shrugs, grins.

  “Figured you were like me. The hardest workers always get a double-double.”

  I accept the coffee and drink as much as I can before I have to take a breath. It isn’t too hot, but it’s delicious, already making me feel better.

  Worry is still in Allan’s face.

  “You sure you’re okay? You were tossing and turning pretty violently there.”

  I sneak a look at him to see if he knows just what I was dreaming about, but he looks pretty oblivious. So I shrug, do a mental body scan, which locates only a slight soreness in my head.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Just a bit of a headache.”

  I take another long swig of my cup, then ask him what I really want to know.

  “What happened?”

  A line appears between Allan’s brows.

  “When the driver was about to pull away from your place, Geno stumbled on by. He was piss-drunk and raving, so I followed him. I just missed the elevator, so I was a bit behind him, but when I got here he was… on top of you.”

  His sad gaze goes to me, and I can only stare into my coffee’s murky depths. Even now, as he’s comforting me, I can’t deny what other feelings he’s giving rise to in me…

  “Anyway, I fought him and he ran off yelling some more. I stayed to take care of you. Your friend’s still sleeping. She’s a real deep sleeper, eh?”

  Despite myself, I laugh.

  “You have no idea. We had a burglar come in once, accidentally knock the TV over and shatter it, then run into the wall before running out, and she slept through the whole thing.”

  Allan laughs, then winces. He looks down at his hands, which are bloodied and bruised.

  “Damn, they started up bleeding again—do you mind if I wash up?”

  I sit up straighter, the blanket tumbling off me.

  “No, of course.”

  Allan’s gaze flicks to my chest, then my face. He looks pained, though I’m not sure what for, this time…

  “Before I go, are you sure that you’re okay? That there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

  I shake my head.

  “No, just… go. Clean yourself up. We’ll talk later.”

  And then, once again, he lingers there, his gaze flitting to mine, my lips, me. He’s so close and yet just out of reach. It’s there, all around us. What we both want. What I need, to take him in my hands and cover him with my lips, because, fuck the app and fuck his lifestyle and fuck whoever that woman in the pictures is—I’m attracted to him, Allan Dane, and I can’t help it, I can’t take it, and if I keep resisting it like this, it’s going to drive me crazy.

  But Allan only gets up with a jerky robotic movement and strides off into the bathroom. Then the sound of water starts, and once again I’m left filled with an arousal that can’t be satisfied. And yet, I tumble out of bed, steady myself on the wall. My legs push forward with a force I can’t help, with an impulse I can’t resist. At the door, Allan meets me. Naked, with his clean hands he cups my face and presses his lips to mine. A shiver runs down my spine. Together, we flow back to the bathroom, leaving a trail of my clothes in our wake. Inside, the water’s still running and his fingers are over my front, gripping my tits, shoving me into the shower. His eyes lock on to where his hands are, mesmerized as he massages them.

  “These curves of yours…”

  Slowly, unhurriedly he kneads my breasts, as if it’s some sort of meditation, while my whole body is buzzing with pleasure. His lips trace my jawline, while his hands slide down, oh-so-slowly, reveling in every fold of my flesh, every groove. Somewhere there’s water on me, on us, water running, but I can barely feel it, hear it. All I can feel is him, his hands, grasping my ass, massaging it, his lips on me, his tongue dancing and twirling with mine, him. Someone that sounds like me is moaning, but they can’t help it. Oh fuck, does it feel good. Some voice somewhere is reminding me of something, something that I forgot, that I once knew. It doesn’t matter. The shower’s off and done, but we’ve only gotten started.

  He pulls me back into the bedroom, and we flop on the bed together. There, curled into each other, we kiss each other up and down, every inch of the other’s body.

  He murmurs, “So long, I’ve wanted this for so long,” or maybe it’s me. We’re locked in a rhythm, a rhythm that has my kisses zigzagging down his torso, slipping by the hardest part of him of all, teasing him. They go everywhere around his dick, the groove where his groin meets his leg, his balls, under his sack. His balls I slip into my mouth, one at a time, then both, while he paws at my head. When I pull back, he moves my head where he wants it. And I happily comply. His dick is my thick lollipop, as I flick my tongue over its length, up and down, up and down. I rub my lips into it, then, all at once, gulp i
t down. It fills my mouth fully, hitting the back of my throat, but I’m only getting started. As I lift my lips partway up his shaft, right underneath I lock my hand around it and move it in tandem, all of me dedicated to it, part of it, this rhythm, this im-fucking-possible-to-stop rhythm that has my pussy tingling as if I’m the one getting sucked off. Up and down, jerk and suck, I go, all the while as his dick grows harder and harder, his breath more ragged. Until I’m sucking and jerking as hard and fast as I can, and he’s groaning, grabbing my head and moving it even faster and I’m nothing, obliterated into this rhythm, this mouth, this hand, this up-down, up-down, more, more, more, more and Allan’s pouring his “more” into me, groaning with it, shaking with it and, finally, emptied of it. Afterward, we’re only a joined hand clasp, curled up on the bed where I’ve dreamed this very fuck so many times, where my dream finally came true. Or at least part of it. I don’t have to wait long for the rest of it to come true. Only a few minutes of our fingers continuing the dance, our lazy kisses keeping on, and then he’s on top of me, pressing into me just how glad he is that we’re doing this. He pauses only to get a good look at me.

  “Fuck are you hot.”

  And then his lips are locked around one tit and then the other, his hands sweeping down to feel just how much I’m enjoying this. His fingers move deftly, masterfully. He pulses in me at the same pace he sucks, and I’m twisting, hardly able to take it already. But he makes me take it, yes, he sucks my breast harder, fingers my pussy faster, digs his dick into me deeper, until I’m moaning for it, begging for it, the dick, and now he’s taking out a condom, opening it and putting it on, then finally slipping out his finger and replacing it with what I really need, with what I’ve wanted all along. And now the rhythm’s taken over again, and he’s pressing his hand over my face to quiet the howls, his dick is plowing into me, while my pussy grasps back just as eagerly. We’re one movement, one forward urge, one in and out and in again. He flips me around and starts going at it doggy-style until we’re at the edge, shaking and incoherent with it. He pauses only until I groan for it, and he gives it to me, grabbing my ass, fucking me harder and faster than ever before, until I’m cumming, we’re cumming, he in me and me on him, both of us together, one deliverance, one nirvana of an orgasm, over and off the edge, up and up and up. Until all that’s left is our bodies shaking with the memory of it.