Billionaire Romance Box Set: The Billionaire's Legacy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set Page 13

  “Yes, Sir, of course.” The pilot nodded and looked at the co-pilot, who scrambled out of his seat and got onto the phone in the cockpit.

  The tightness in my chest was back, my heart pounding loudly. All I needed to do was get back to Cassie. I needed to get there before it was too late.

  Cassie

  I woke up the first morning Brad was gone with a feeling of emptiness weighing on me before I even opened my eyes. I laid in bed thinking about what Brad and I would be doing if we were on a normal couple’s vacation. My thoughts read like an article I would have written for Destination, and I realized I should be on my laptop writing them down. No reason my fiction shouldn’t turn into someone else’s reality, I reasoned.

  I dragged myself out of bed and stopped at the coffee maker before grabbing my laptop and heading out onto the balcony. I began to type, foregoing checking my email in the interest of getting the ideas out of my head and onto the paper before I forgot them.

  After I drained my brain for a few minutes, I went back into the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee for the day. I stood in the kitchen in my robe, wondering what Brad was doing in Johannesburg. Wondering more how long it would take him to get back home.

  There was a knock at the door and I jumped, the sound scaring me out of my coffee trance.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Open the door, Cass,” a familiar voice said on the other side of the door. I frowned. It sounded like… but it couldn’t be…

  “Patrick!” I exclaimed as I opened the door to a bruised Patrick wrapped up in various casts and bandages. “What the fuck! What are you doing here? Get in here!” I set my coffee down on the counter and guided him in, being careful to avoid jostling his injuries too much. We walked to the couch and sat down.

  I stared at him, feeling both relief and irritation at him for being there.

  “Hey,” he said, winking at me with the eye that was the lesser black of the two.

  “Don’t ‘hey’ me,” I said. “You look like death. How did you convince them to let you out of the hospital?”

  “I’m out AMA,” he said. “Against Medical Advice.” His expression grew serious. “I needed to get here.”

  “How did you even know where I was?” I asked. “And how did you know Brad wasn’t here? How does everyone around here seem to know everything except for me?”

  Patrick ignored my whining and fixed his gaze on me. “Don’t worry about the details. You have people watching out for you, that’s all I’ll say. I’m here because you asked me to look up Mavin Toller. How did you hear that name again?”

  I looked at Patrick, sized up his injuries, and I decided to tell the truth.

  “He was in your hospital room,” I said. “The first time I got there, when you were unconscious, when the nurse said you were probably going to die. I walked into your room, and he was sitting in the corner in the dark.”

  “He was in my room?” Patrick’s expression closed off, but not before I saw a sliver of both surprise and fear cross over his face.

  “That’s not when I found out his name, though,” I continued. “He’s the one who called me, from your phone, I might add, to tell me that you had been hurt. I would never have known if he hadn’t called, and, if something had happened to you…” I trailed off as I felt a lump rising in my throat and I realized, to my horror, that I was about to cry.

  “It’s okay,” Patrick said, reaching his hand out and covering mine with his warm palm. I felt a wave of calming energy move through me. “I didn’t die. I’m tougher than I look.” He smiled, then winced as he shifted.

  “You look like shit,” I said, smiling, trying to keep things as informal, as easy, as they’d always been between us.

  “Mavin Toller is an extremely dangerous man,” Patrick said. “I’ve got some of my team on him, keeping tabs on his whereabouts. He’s still in London, so you’re safe as long as you’re here.”

  “I’m safe?” I asked. “What does this guy have to do with me?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Patrick said, and I could tell from how he answered that it was a question that had frustrated him. “I don’t know which of us he’s after.”

  I paled. “He’s after me?”

  “Honey,” he began, then stopped as his shocked look mirrored my own. “I mean, Cass, I’m here to protect you. Whoever he’s after, if anyone, we’ve got it. No one is going to touch you.”

  I felt a flush rising in my cheeks. He had called me ‘honey,’ and the word had rolled off his tongue so naturally it seemed like it was my name.

  “Are we safe to go to breakfast?” I said suddenly, standing up. “I’m suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic.”

  Patrick smiled and stood up, more slowly and with more effort than I had. “I love a woman who doesn’t scare easy,” he said.

  I let the comment slide and we walked downstairs and out of the hotel into the street. “There’s a place close to here,” I said. “I haven’t been there, but Brad…” I paused; mentioning his name in front of Patrick seemed wrong somehow. “Brad says that they’ve got really amazing breakfast.”

  “Let’s give it a shot,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  We found the restaurant and were seated right away. Brad was right, the food was delicious, and it was fast. We had ordered and were served within just a few minutes, and the breakfast plates the server set down in front of us were heaped with eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast.

  “What a solidly American breakfast,” Patrick said wryly, staring at his plate.

  “This looks like the most amazing food I’ve seen in ages,” I said, digging into the hash browns. I ate in silence for a few seconds before I realized Patrick wasn’t eating. I looked up at him, my mouth full of bacon. “What?” I mumbled through my food.

  He grinned. “Nothing. Just… watching you appreciate fine dining.”

  “Fuck you,” I said. “I’m starving. And, according to you, each meal I eat could be my last, so I’ll be enjoying every bite, thank you.”

  His expression darkened. “Don’t joke about that,” he said in a low voice.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, swallowing a bite. “I really am. I know, it’s not funny and it’s nothing to joke about. Remember, I was the one who saw you when you weren’t even able to say your own name. How shitty you feel now is nothing compared to how you must have been feeling when I had to look at you. I was terrified.”

  “I’m sure you were,” he said. He reached his hand across the table. I looked at it, and looked back at him. Time seemed to stop for a moment; at least my heart skipped a beat. I put my hand in his. “I’m grateful you were there, and I’m sorry you were scared. I’m going to make sure you never have to be that scared again.”

  “Because you’re NCA,” I said firmly, “and because it’s your job.”

  “Exactly,” he said, giving me a long look. I ignored the flush rising in my cheeks as he pulled his hand away and picked up his fork, stabbing it into his eggs.

  “I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  I looked around and pointed to the back of the restaurant near the kitchen. “It looks like that’s the way,” I said.

  “I’ll be watching,” he said. “And if you’re not out in five minutes, I’m coming in to get you.”

  “Ohh, what a turn on,” I joked, in spite of him needing to continually remind me of how un-funny this situation was.

  “Don’t test me on it,” he warned.

  “Okay, okay!” I said. “Chill out. I’ll be back in four minutes and fifty-nine seconds.”

  I grabbed my purse and walked toward the bathroom, feeling Patrick’s eyes on my back the entire way.

  The bathroom was a single toilet and sink in a space the size of a small closet. I sighed, thinking that I would never get used to non-American bathrooms, and I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t need to actually go to the b
athroom; I had needed to get away from that table, away from Patrick, away from his looks and his hands and his protection. I took some deep breaths and splashed some water on my face.

  I was about to open the door when there was a sharp, loud knock.

  “I’m coming, chill, Patrick!” I said as I opened the door. My mouth dropped open to gasp, or maybe scream, but I got neither out. It wasn’t Patrick at the door; it was a man whose face I couldn’t see. He had a black hoodie on, and the hood was pulled over his face. What I could see was a gun in his hand, pointing directly at me. It didn’t look like any gun I’d ever seen, not that I’d seen that many in my life, but I still recognized it for what it was… and I knew I was in trouble.

  “Come with me, or I’ll shoot you right here.”

  Cassie

  I woke up and stretched, then got out of Brad’s bed and walked into his kitchen to make some coffee. It was undeniable that staying at his condo was better than the hotel. Even though the hotel had endless amenities, Brad’s condo was completely decked out in everything I could have ever asked for, including a housekeeper whose job it was to make me breakfast, though I’d told her several times already that it wasn’t necessary. And, it just felt like being home, far more than sleeping at the hotel.

  I was surprised when I walked into the dining room and saw his laptop sitting, open, on the table. When Brad hadn’t been in bed that morning, I assumed he’d already gone to work. I held my coffee still in my hands and I looked around, listening for any sounds.

  “Brad?” I called out.

  Mrs. Wheeler, the housekeeper, poked her head out of Brad’s study. “He had to run some errands, Ma’am; he said to tell you that he’ll be back later. Did you want me to make you some breakfast this morning, Ma’am?” The look on her face was so hopeful I had to smile.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Wheeler. I’m just going to have my coffee for now. Did Brad say when he’ll be back?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Mrs. Wheeler shook her head. “Mr. White just said to tell you he wouldn’t be gone all day.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.” Mrs. Wheeler disappeared back into the study, and I returned my gaze to the computer. I walked over to it, all the while glancing around the room looking for cameras, microphones, some sort of equipment that would rat out to Brad that I was even thinking about sniffing around on his computer. It wasn’t as though I wanted to snoop. More and more, I wanted to find evidence to disprove the things Patrick had said about Brad. Things that implied I needed protection from him, that suggested he had stolen my passport. If I looked at it that way, looking on the computer was for Brad’s benefit and for my own.

  I put my hand on it and lifted the lid, sure it would be under password protection, and, of course, it was. I wouldn’t have the first clue as to what Brad’s password would be, but, of course, I tried the obvious ones. All the basic passwords like 123456, BradWhite, and, of course, Legacy. Nothing worked. I sighed and closed the lid. Without the password, his laptop was nothing more than a paperweight, and a temptation.

  I took my coffee to the sun room, a corner room of the condo that had been designed to be an outdoor oasis on the 30th floor of his building. Brad’s condo was the corner unit, and the sun room had two windows encased floor to ceiling in glass, and the ceiling itself was fully glass, giving a view of the sky. It was an incredible room; I’d never seen anything like it before outside of magazines.

  I called my editor, wincing as I imagined how annoyed she’d be that I was still in London. I had been emailing regular articles to her, but, still.

  “I have someone here who’s helping me with my passport,” I assured her. “I’m sure it’s not going to take much longer. I’ll be home before you know it.”

  “Who’s helping you?” she asked.

  I hesitated. “Um… Brad White.”

  “Bradley White?” she exclaimed. “Of Legacy? That Bradley White? Billionaire Bradley White?”

  “That’s the one,” I sighed.

  “Why is he helping you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “We have… sort of a… thing going, I guess.” I rushed through the end of the sentence. It was the first time I’d acknowledged that Brad and I were dating to anyone.

  “Can you get an exclusive?” my editor asked, ever the businesswoman.

  “I can try,” I said. And I was immediately ashamed of myself. I hadn’t thought about approaching Brad as a journalist beyond that first interview in Belize. I wondered what would happen if I wore my journalist hat around him now… what would happen if I asked him some pointed questions about his past, about his money, about whether or not he had any secrets.

  “Do what you need to do,” my editor said. “And, when you’ve done it, get the fuck back here already; the place is basically falling apart without you.”

  I assured her that I would be back as soon as my passport was straightened out, and we hung up. I stood in the living room and thought about Patrick saying that Brad had stolen my passport. He seemed so sure… but, then, Brad had given me the number of his friend at the embassy. I hadn’t managed to get ahold of him yet, but that didn’t matter.

  As if he had a direct link to my brain, my phone pinged. I looked down at it; it was Patrick.

  Wondering if you had the chance to give our conversation some thought.

  I sighed, my stomach doing the same flip-flops it did when we were at breakfast. I shook my head to try to get the thought of him out of my head. The fact was that he was incredibly good looking. Far beyond what I was willing to admit to anyone except my deepest self. I didn’t know what to do about it aside from just acknowledging it. Yes, he was hot. So what? I was dating Brad, and Patrick was looking to put him in prison for God knew what. Talk about sleeping with the enemy. I had to figure out a way to cut all ties with Patrick, that was the plain truth of it all. If Brad found out I was talking with someone from the NCA, well, I could only imagine how angry he’d be.

  I deleted Patrick’s message and went back to the bedroom. I spent some of the morning doing some writing, and then I went for a walk. I couldn’t get over the air in London; it was thick and wet, not like New York air at all, though a person could use the same adjectives. It had a smell and a quality all its own, and I found myself getting sleepy as I walked through the grey early afternoon. When I got back to the condo, I laid down on the bed and took a nap.

  I was with Patrick, walking in a field. I had the distinct impression that we had teamed up, journalist and NCA agent, looking for something important. Crop circles, drug activity, terrorism, something. Except we were holding hands. Every once in a while, our shoulders brushed together; it took me a few times before I realized he was doing it intentionally. I looked up at him when he did it again; he grinned down at me with his dimples. Then, he leaned in and kissed me. It was far more sensual than I could have imagined, and I gave myself over to him. I wrapped my arms around him and he drew me close to him, his hands around my waist. He lowered me gently to the ground, the grass of the field soft beneath us, and he kissed me passionately as he laid on top of me. I could feel his hardness pressing against my hip, and he began to move up and down, grinding against my body.

  “Ohhh,” I groaned.

  “Hey, baby,” a voice said. Confused, I looked at Patrick as he faded away. I slowly awoke and opened my eyes. Brad lay on the bed next to me, his face hovering over my own. “Must have been a nice dream.”

  I smiled. “The best,” I said, and I snuggled in close to him. I was wet, aroused, and I knew that, while I may dream about Patrick, my real interest was with the flesh and blood man that was here, ready for me. At least, I thought so.

  I leaned over and met Brad’s lips with mine. I was still a little groggy from my nap, but my mouth knew exactly what to do. I felt his tongue exploring mine, pressing against it, circling it with the tip. Each breath brought more excitement, more energy, into my body. I rolled on top of him and sat, straddling his hips. I smiled down at him; his eyes were kind, and I knew that he w
asn’t dating anyone else. That part I didn’t have to worry about one bit; he was all mine. And I was all his. I pulled my shirt off over my head and pressed my biceps against my breasts, pushing them together to create more cleavage than I had naturally. He reached his hand to my hips and lifted me, quickly shimmying out of his jeans. I smiled at his penis, hard as ever, standing out at a ninety degree angle from the rest of his body. His boxers were tented like crazy, and I pulled them down past his knees and over his ankles to release his cock. Rather than let him enter me immediately, I slid my body up his, pressing his cock between my breasts.

  He groaned and looked down at me. I pressed my breasts together, creating an enclosed space for his cock, and I began to move up and down, pulling and stretching his cock as I titty-fucked him. Every few moments, I broke away from him and took his cock into my mouth, wetting it with my saliva and tasting his pre-cum.

  “Fucking Christ, Cassie,” he groaned. “It’s the middle of the fucking afternoon!”

  “And?” I said, pausing to look up at him. “Your point?”

  “I barely know my own name,” he moaned, “never mind a point to anything. Oh! My god…” He closed his eyes as I gripped his shaft with my hand and began to suck the head of his cock hard, creating a vacuum with my tongue and lips. I could feel that he was close, and I knew I could finish him off there, but I wanted him inside me. I wanted to feel him there.

  Keeping my hand on his shaft, I slowly shifted upward and positioned his cock just beneath the entrance to my pussy, which was dripping wet. As I slowly lowered down on top of him, replacing my hand with my vagina, he groaned softly. His hips began to buck involuntarily, and I settled my weight on him. I put my hands on his chest and I started to move, rocking back and forth, up and down. I moved faster and faster, thrusting against him, feeling energy building in my clit as I pulsed my hips into his.

  “Oh fuck, Cassie, I’m gonna…” and he exploded in me. I felt the surge of hot cum move into me, and the heat pushed me over the edge into my own orgasm. I cried out as the sensations poured over me, my muscles contracting and twitching.