The billionaire's mysterious lady

Episode 6

He leaves the room, presumably to call his driver, while I pace the living room, my attention divided between my friend and him disappearing upstairs. Do hotel suites have an upstairs? Apparently so. I mentally muse to myself while I look around his lavish suite until he appears in front of me again and he hands me a card.

His business card.

“What's this for?” I ask suspiciously, but not completely unaware. My eyes flick towards the door, praying that his driver arrives soon and stops whatever madness is about to materialise.

“I feel awful that this has happened here. I would really like to make it up to you. Dinner…maybe?” I let out a nervous laugh, and he steps back slightly, frowning.

Is he serious? He can’t be serious!

“You're joking, right? My brother is lying there broken, in your hotel room no less, and you want a date?” I shake my head for emphasis, but I know I am in trouble.

I knew it the first moment my eyes met his, and the moment he touched me. The moment I felt an attraction that I have never felt before. I had made it my life's mission not to depend on anyone but myself. I had become disjointed from reality and felt safe in my absolution. I know if I agree to this, my walls will be penetrated, and there will be no coming back from it.

“Sorry, no. I just want to get my brother home safe.” I hand his card back to him, praying he will take it without issue.

He looks at me like I have just spoken a foreign language. Something tells me that this man is not used to being told no. I take another glance around the room and realise the world's successful and wealthy are most likely never refused anything they want or desire.

Well, tough s**t!

The doorbell pierces through the tension hanging thickly between us. The door opens, and we are still standing in a face-off, staring at each other, neither of us wanting to back down. His driver; tall, stocky built and appearing to be in his fifties, walks over to the sofa and gently picks Maxwell up. Castro gives him a look, and he leaves the room, carrying him without so much as a second glance my way.

“Please keep my card.” His eyes are full of determination, and the sharp, chiselled lines of his face are taut.

He isn’t asking me; he’s telling me.

I shake my head again because his intentions are clear, and I want no part of whatever he is promising. What I wanted, wouldn’t be what he wanted, and I could never lower myself to be a rich man’s plaything. My dignity might have been stripped from me forever, but I’ll be damned if I allow someone to take my pride.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you even care?”

Without answering, he ushers me towards the door. Placing his hand on the small of my back, the heat spreads through me again like liquid fire, eviscerating everything in its tracks. His brow raises, and he eyes me up and down, deep in thought, before picking a jacket off the rack, then following me out too close for comfort.

We approach the lift, and my blood runs cold, as though a bucket of water has just been thrown over me. A cold sweat overcomes me as we stand in silence waiting for it to arrive. The bell dings and the doors open, relief and sheer dread fill me simultaneously. As uncomfortable as lifts make me, it’s nowhere near as uncomfortable as being in his haughty sight. Still, I’m safe in the knowledge that within minutes, I will never have to lay eyes on him again.

The doors open and I enter cautiously. I practically jump for joy when he appears to remain outside the box. The doors then start to close, and with a sigh, he shakes his head. Reaching his arm out to stop the doors, he steps in, filling the small space in front of me. I stare at his back, pretending not to be affected by this new turn of events. I only hope he doesn’t notice my skin starting to perspire alarmingly.

“To answer your question, Miss johnson, I care because I don't like to see young men and women hurt.” The words are blunt, honest and straightforward, but they cut right to the heart of my soul.

Old memories bounce to the surface, while we ride down all ten floors. I can't bring myself to look at him, and the feeling is mutual apparently since he is staring straight ahead. It’s disturbing, even to myself, that I want him to catch my desirous gaze in the mirrors, but his eyes never deviate.

When the doors open at the lobby, he gently places his hand on the small of my back, and yet again, the powerful current runs through me as soon as his skin connects with mine. I want to run and hide, but he keeps his hand firmly in place, leaving me with nowhere to turn. A small shiver runs through my limbs, and I bite down on my lip. I can’t let him see how much he affects me, so I endeavour to compose myself the best I can and hold my head high.

Proceeding through the lobby in silence, there are more people down here now. I glance over to the rude man on reception, noting the look of shock on his face when he sees Castro’s hand on my back.

Who the hell is this guy?

Chancing a peek at him, he exudes confidence like I have never seen before. His demeanour could even be classed as bordering on arrogance. I stare, captivated until his eyes lock with mine. I quickly turn, knowing I have been well and truly caught.

The front doors are opened for us, and the doorman tilts his head at Castro in acknowledgement. The cold, icy night air assaults my senses, and I shiver as the wind chill picks up, and an unforgiving breeze wraps around my uncovered, naked arms. Castro drops his head down to me with a knowing smirk. Clearly seeing my aversion to the cold, he removes his jacket and wraps it around me.

“Thanks,” I say, holding it over my shoulders, acutely embarrassed that I am silly enough not to bring a coat and that he feels obliged to take care of me. I have no right to ask him to care, and I sure as hell don't want him to. I already made my thoughts on that subject known to him upstairs.

Walking towards Castro’s driver, I notice a porter getting into my car, which is still parked at the front entrance - with my keys still in the ignition. The porter then comes over, takes the car key off the ring and hands the rest back to Castro. I watch the man walk back to my car as Castro folds my flat keys into my palm, clamping his over mine for longer than necessary. Thanking him, I climb into the limo, and he bends down to eye level. His face is now softer looking, and he even appears to be smiling a little.

“Your car will be here for you when you come to collect it.” He reaches out his hand and lightly brushes my cheek. A shiver ripples through me again, and I can no longer deny that I feel something. He closes his eyes slowly, appearing to absorb the moment, but when he opens them again, his expression is back to firm and stoic, and his jaw is tight. He closes the Ferrari's door, still looking past the darkened windows and straight into me.

The car pulls out onto the street, and I’m compelled to look back. I stare at him, in all his beautiful, masculine perfection, as he stands tall and proud outside the entrance, watching as we drift further away.

I let out a long overdue sigh and lean over to Maxwell, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. He f***s up - a lot - but I love hIm like a that. He lets out a content sigh, and I stare into the privacy screen numbly. Pulling the jacket around my body, I sniff the exceptional fabric longingly. He does smell good, but this feels better.

I know from the horrors of my past the only person I can rely on in this world is myself, and this, whatever it might have been, would only lead to pain and destruction.

Or maybe it would have been something else entirely? Something amazing, something I deserve, perhaps?

What on earth am I thinking? I have nothing to compare anything to! But what I wouldn’t give to feel his hands on me, just once more...

Or his lips on mine…

I slowly close my eyes and savour the image. My brain is bombarded with visions of Mr Desmon, his beautiful eyes, and strong, muscular body. My imagination is now running away with me, as I think of all the things I really want to do to him. I don’t even know where half of this is originating from, considering my self-imposed celibacy. All I know is that I shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts, yet I’m unable to rein in the sensations that he has helped to restore life to inside me.

Leaning back into the supple leather seat, I put my hands in the pockets to warm them. My fingers connect with something stiff and square. I tentatively pull it out and realise he has discreetly given me back his business card. I chortle; the arrogant swine knew exactly what he was doing when he brought his jacket with him.

Years and years of building myself up, and hardening my emotions, have just wilted spectacularly in the space of less than an hour. All because a man, a handsome man, has just entered my stratosphere. I flip the small card through my fingers, tracing my thumb across the black embossed letters and numbers.

I can feel my world tilting into the unknown already.

I knew tonight was going to be bad. I’m definitely in trouble.