Filthy Rich Revenge: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book Page 12

  “No more talking, Rebecca. No more questions.” He pushed the shirt from his shoulders, stripped off his trousers and kicked them free. Then he stretched out over her. “Just feel. Feel what you do to me. What we do to each other. This is what’s real.”

  His mouth captured hers and this time she opened to him, tangling her tongue with his as he stoked the fires in her body once more. Part of her was terrified of what was happening, and part of her wanted it more than her next breath. She knew she should go, should shove him away and leave this bed before she lost more than her pride.

  But she couldn’t do it. Her body sang beneath his, wanted his. Seemed made especially for his. She wrapped her legs around him, opened herself to him. He rose above her on his palms, gazed down at her with a look she couldn’t decipher.

  The blunt head of his cock pushed at her entrance. Slowly, he slid inside her. Before he’d gone very far, he withdrew again. He did it over and over until she panted with need.

  “Alejandro, please. Please, I need you.”

  He growled low in his throat, then surged forward in one long gliding stroke. Rebecca cried out with pleasure and shock as he filled her. He didn’t move, though she could feel him pulsing deep inside her.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no, it’s okay. It’s been a long time.”

  His eyes glazed as she moved her hips, learning how to accommodate him again.

  “A long time? You have not—?”

  She rolled her head back and forth on the pillow.

  He looked surprised. Then he looked fierce and possessive. “You should have told me. I would have been gentler.”

  “Ohhh,” she gasped as he pulled out and glided back in. “Noooo, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “Rebecca. Dios,” he groaned, dropping his head. She didn’t know if he meant to say more, if it was agreement or denial, but he flexed his hips and she no longer cared. He moved slowly at first, each thrust measured and sure. Trying not to hurt her.

  But he was so careful she wanted to scream. She ran her hands feverishly down his body, over his biceps, the scar on his side where he’d been gored.

  “Alejandro, I won’t break. Make love to me. Please.”

  His mouth crushed down on hers, their tongues mating while their bodies merged harder and faster. He lost whatever control he may have had, his movements quickening until he was pounding into her with all the passion of a man long denied. She kept a tight control on herself, thought she might hold out forever, but he slipped his hand between them, stroked her where their bodies joined.

  Her orgasm didn’t just slam into her. It stole her breath and brought her up off the bed as she arched into him, sobbing with pleasure. A second later, Alejandro lost whatever hold he’d had on himself, his hips pumping into her harder as he groaned her name half-brokenly.

  He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. She ran her palms down his back, over his buttocks, and sighed heavily. It was a glorious, earth-shattering mistake to make love with this man. She knew it, but she tried to hold the regret and pain at bay as long as possible.

  He’d won. He’d stolen her company, dragged her halfway around the world and stripped her bare, both literally and figuratively. She had nothing left, not even her dignity. Soon he would get up from the bed, look at her with disdain, and order her out of his sight.

  When he lifted himself on his elbows, he was still breathing hard. The look in his eyes was not what she expected, and it ripped her heart in two. Confusion, anger, and passion collided in that one smoldering gaze.

  “Querida,” he whispered. Then he kissed her softly, almost sweetly.

  She feared her heart was lost forever.

  19

  Moonlight drifted through the windows and arced across the bed, waking him. Alejandro lifted his head, momentarily disoriented. Why hadn’t he closed the blinds before lying down?

  It came back to him quickly, crashing into his mind in a series of images and sensations.

  Dios. He turned his head slightly, gazed at the woman sleeping beside him. She’d curled into a ball at the edge of the bed, as far away from him as she could get. Perversely, it angered him. She’d tried to get away from him when they were awake and hadn’t succeeded. In sleep, she won the battle.

  He slipped the covers off and padded to the window naked. His body was satiated in a way it had not been in months. In spite of his feelings for his self-absorbed ex-wife, he’d stayed faithful to their marriage vows until the day the divorce was final. In the months since, he’d slaked his thirst with many, many women. Anonymous, uncaring sex was a balm to his ravaged soul.

  Or so he’d thought.

  Until tonight when he’d lost himself in the gorgeous and willing body of the woman he hated most in this world. For those few hours, he’d forgotten he hated her.

  But he did hate her. He pressed a knuckle to his temple.

  It was all according to plan. Bed her, make her care, ruin her. He owed it to Anya. He would do this for Anya. Anya, who should have lived. Who should have been his and Rebecca’s child.

  He clenched his fist, pressed it to the glass. He had done nothing wrong. He had not miscalculated. Never mind that she’d been untouched for so long, or that she’d seemed to see into his soul in the limo tonight. She was a shallow, calculating bitch. She slept with him now to try and gain an advantage. And how did he know he was really her first lover in a long time? She could be lying, faking. But if it were a ruse, wouldn’t she have told him earlier, tried to elicit his sympathy?

  He took a deep breath, let it out. Sometimes his mind raced between so many possibilities that he couldn’t keep up.

  “Alejandro?”

  He turned and went to the bed. Moonlight limned her features, her messy hair, her kiss-swollen lips. Desire lifted its slumberous head inside him.

  “I am here,” he replied.

  She clutched the sheet to her. The scent of sex clung to her. To him.

  A new thought prickled at the back of his mind. Something he should have thought of long before now. Sweet God in heaven, he’d forgotten to use protection. What was wrong with him?

  “I should return to my room,” she said, unaware of the stark fear snaking down his spine.

  “No.” The word came out coldly. She seemed to shrink in on herself. “Are you protected, Rebecca?”

  Her head quirked to one side. “What? Oh, yes. Yes,” she said more firmly. “I’m on the pill. I thought you knew.”

  “How would I know?” he asked, stupefied that she would think so.

  Her chin lifted. “I thought your private investigators told you.”

  “It was not that kind of investigation,” he defended. Still, relief threatened to liquefy his knees. Madre de Dios, gracias. This was the first time he’d ever forgotten to take precautions. It was not at all like him, but he chalked it up to the mental exhaustion of dealing with so much angst and drama tonight.

  On the heels of relief came a surge of lust so strong he felt it from his scalp to his toes. A second later, he peeled the sheet from her grasp and laid her back on the mattress, his hands skimming up the insides of her thighs, pushing them apart.

  “I’ve been dying to taste you again. I will wait no longer.”

  He loved her soft cries and moans, the slick sweet taste of her, the way she arched off the bed and screamed his name when she came. He didn’t let her stop at one climax. He spread her wide and laved her with his tongue until she was panting and moaning again, until a fine sheen of moisture glistened on her skin, until his name was a hoarse cry on her lips.

  And then he was inside her, losing himself as he thrust hard, again and again, unable this time to be gentle. He had no control, no finesse with this woman. He came in a hot hard rush, groaning and gasping like he’d run a marathon, then rolled to the side and gathered her against him.

  They lay on top of the sheets. Her body twitched every now and then, aftereffects from the powerful orgasms he’d given her. It m
ade him feel possessive, proprietary. His fingers trailed up and down her arm almost absently.

  “Who had you watched, Rebecca?”

  She jerked in his arms. She must have been nearly asleep, but now she grew rigid, her body vibrating with a different kind of tension. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I want to know.”

  She pushed away from him, rose up on one elbow beside him. Her nipple brushed his arm and he felt the jolt all the way to his groin.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. You don’t really care. All you’ll do is be smug.” She traced a finger around one of his nipples, followed it with her tongue. A ploy to distract him.

  But her words pricked him. He told himself he didn’t care—but he wanted to know anyway. It fed his need for control.

  “Was it a lover?” He spat the word.

  She lifted her head. “No.”

  “A rival?”

  She laughed bitterly. “If you count yourself, then yes.”

  Who else would possibly want to investigate her? Who could hurt her so badly by spying on her?

  It took a moment, but then he knew. “Family?”

  She stiffened, and he had his answer.

  He twined his fingers in her hair, drew her down to him. Kissed her deeply. “You can tell me, querida. I want to know.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping before she fell back on the bed and put an arm over her face. “Fine. What does it matter anymore?”

  But she didn’t say anything for so long he thought she must have fallen asleep. He bent to kiss the soft skin of her breast. She let out a little sigh and he rolled her nipple between his lips, sucked it into a sharp peak.

  “I can’t think when you do that,” she breathed.

  He propped himself beside her, fingers stroking little circles on her skin. “Was it your father?”

  Truly, he couldn’t see anyone but Jackson Layton hiring a private investigator to follow his daughter around. And he didn’t entirely disagree. He could imagine doing the same thing if Anya had lived. Anything to keep her safe.

  “Yes.” One word, nothing more.

  “You will not tell me more?”

  She shook her head, her eyes tightly closed, and he felt the sting of disappointment. She’d told him nothing at all. Once, she would have told him anything he asked.

  That time was gone forever. It was just as well. He did not need to feel pity for her. It clouded his judgement, and he couldn’t afford to let that happen. He would soon dispose of her business and send her back to New York.

  But until then she was his—and he wasn’t going to waste time talking about feelings. He had better ideas for what to do with Rebecca Layton. Ideas that didn’t involve anything other than her naked and begging for his touch.

  He slid his fingers between her legs and into her wet pussy. She gasped and his dick grew hard. When her eyes opened, they dropped to his groin and then lifted to his with a greedy light. “Again?” she whispered.

  “Again,” he told her. “And again.”

  She opened to him and he slid home, groaning with the rightness of it. It would be a long time before either of them slept again.

  20

  The next morning, Alejandro’s business necessitated a return to Dubai. There was a break in the standoff over permits, but he needed to be there personally in order to ensure the smooth resolution to the problem. The last thing Rebecca expected was to be ordered to accompany him. In truth, she hadn’t known what to expect after their night together.

  “You are my mistress,” he said when she asked why he wanted her to go.

  She nearly choked on the word. “Mistress? Until a few days ago I was the president of a major international hotel chain.”

  “Sí, until a few days ago.” He tossed something into his briefcase, then speared her with a silver glare. “And not so major, no?”

  The barb hurt. “Does this mean you’re considering selling Layton International’s stock to me?”

  He’d told her in the pool that night that he would consider selling the stock if she slept with him. Well, she had, and though she hadn’t done it for that reason, she was just pissed enough to remind him of it.

  His expression was so cold she had to suppress a shiver. “It means you are my mistress, nothing more.”

  Her amazing lover of the night before was gone. In his place was the ruthless businessman who’d stolen her company. In the stark light of day she had to wonder how she’d managed to forget all the hurt and betrayal long enough to fall into bed with him. To repeatedly and enthusiastically have hot, sweaty, dirty sex with him. To moan his name and crave his body.

  Because you are a weak-willed woman. Rebecca gritted her teeth. Those were her father’s words long ago, not hers. But they still hurt, especially in light of everything that had happened last night when her willpower seemed to desert her entirely.

  When they landed in Dubai that afternoon, a black Mercedes limousine met them at the airport and ferried them to the resort Alejandro had recently bought on the Jumeirah coast. It wasn’t as grand as some of the other hotels, but his plans to expand it would make it one of the top destinations in Dubai. If the permit situation was resolved.

  A man in a tuxedo hurried forward to greet them when the car doors opened, snapping his fingers at a bellhop who leapt into action to collect their luggage from the trunk.

  “Señor Ramirez,” the man said as Alejandro stepped from the car. “We are so pleased you are back with us again. Your suite is prepared. Shall I make reservations for dinner or will you be dining in?”

  “In the suite I think, Ali.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The suite was truly gorgeous. Situated on the top floor, the view of the Persian Gulf was spectacular. Rebecca walked onto the balcony and stood near the railing as the breeze ruffled her hair. She gazed out at the sparkling blue water, the ship traffic, and the glorious sail-like structure of the Burj Al Arab hotel silhouetted against the hazy sky in the distance.

  Palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze near the beach. Directly below her was the pool. Guests dotted the chairs while waiters moved back and forth between them. Behind her, she could hear Alejandro on the phone. He didn’t sound happy.

  It was strange, almost exhilarating in some respects, to be here and not be the one working on the problems at hand. Not that she wasn’t working. She had her phone and laptop, and she was still—so far—in charge of day-to-day operations at Layton International. But to not be the person fielding the frantic phone calls about permits and construction issues was bliss. She could see the area where the construction cranes sat silent. No trucks moved, no workers shouted instructions, nothing happened inside the fenced site. Every day was money. Alejandro could afford a lot, she was sure, but at a certain point he would need to cut his losses.

  She went back inside. A bank of windows ran along the front of the suite. Automatic blinds closed with the press of a button, though they were open to allow the afternoon light inside. A plush living area contained a couch and chairs, a bar, and an entertainment system with a flat screen television. There was a dining area near one window. The bedroom had a giant king-sized bed piled high with pillows, but it was the sunken tub in the bathroom that caught her eye. The floor was marble. Marble columns surrounded the tub on four sides, making it seem like a Roman bath. A peek inside told her there were jets. Heavenly. Maybe she could have a nice long bath while Alejandro went to meet with government officials.

  He came into the bedroom as she was leaving the master bath. He wore a dark polo shirt and khakis, and his hair was mussed. He’d been raking his hands through his hair again, no doubt the result of his phone call. Perversely, she wanted to smooth it back into place.

  “It meets with your approval?” he asked, nodding toward the bathroom.

  “It’s nice.”

  “Merely nice?” He seemed a little irritated.

  “No, it’s very nice.”

  His face darkened. “It is spect
acular, far better than many of your own hotels. Which I will rectify, I assure you.”

  She stamped down on the hot anger rising to the surface. He was baiting her. He’d had bad or frustrating news and he was taking it out on her. Amazingly, the realization only made her calmer. “Of course, Alejandro.”

  He stalked closer. “You are making fun of me?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He trailed tanned fingers down the vee of her blouse, toyed with the top button. “Take this off.”

  Her breath shortened. The anger she’d stamped down deep was beginning to bubble again. “I’d rather not.”

  “And I say you have no choice.”

  She drew herself up and leveled him with her best glare. “There is always a choice, Alejandro. I choose not to be ordered around like a pay-by-the hour hooker. If you need to sell a hotel or two, or dismantle Layton International and scatter it to the wind to punish me, then indulge yourself. You can’t control every single minute of my life with your threats. Save them for the big stuff.”

  His face was dark, unreadable. And then one corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. It was like sunshine breaking through after a violent storm—and completely not what she’d expected. “You amuse me at the oddest moments, bella.”

  He caught her around the waist, tugged her against his body. “My meeting has been moved to tomorrow morning and I find I have many long, empty hours to fill.” He dipped his head, touched his lips to her nose, her cheeks. “Help me fill them, yes? I want to taste you again, Rebecca. I want to spend the afternoon in bed with you, fucking like the world could end before nightfall.”

  She shivered at the vision of what that meant. His mouth between her legs, driving her into a frenzy. The thrusting of his hips as he drove into her. The shattering orgasms. She wanted it all, and yet she was mad too. Her blood hummed, but not entirely with anger.

  “I’m not an employee when we’re alone like this. You can’t order me around in the bedroom like it’s a boardroom.”

  He kissed her hard, let her go when she melted against him. Always dominating, this man.