Billionaire Bad Boys: A Collection of Contemporary and Paranormal Bad Boys Page 17

  “Wait.” Liam lunged after her. “I don’t need a moment. Where are you going?”

  Tears forced their way into her eyes. She increased her speed. She didn’t want him to see her cry. “I’m going back to Fleur Rouge, and you can do whatever it is you need to do. We can maintain a show for the public but, other than that, I don’t expect anything more from you.”

  “That’s not why I brought you here.”

  She whirled to face him, grabbing his arm. “Then why did you bring me here?” She spat the words out.

  His mouth fell open. “I only wanted you to…” His walls crashed into place. “I don’t know. I supposed I had one last remaining shred of hope for true love burning in my lifeless heart. It’s extinguished, I assure you.”

  He cast a cold gaze at her fingers, which still clenched around his biceps.

  She released her grip. “Good.”

  She nodded.

  “Fine.”

  She turned, resuming her stride toward the limo.

  “I’ll have them drop you off. I need to take care of something at the racetrack. I peeled off my racing suit in haste to come see you.”

  For a second, his statement wedged into her heart. She paused, thinking of the joy he had exuded. She briefly closed her eyes, shaking her head. When she opened them, she turned to see him studying her. “You’re an extremely skilled race car driver.”

  “Thank you. It’s one of the places they can’t control.”

  “I get it. There are few places I get to be free, as well.” You have no idea how true this is. Growing up as an orphan had left her heart on permanent lock-down. Sometimes she felt as alive as an artificial intelligence humanoid, merely going through the motions to keep her life together and perform her job.

  “I understand. You’re a Weathersby.” He reached for her hand and held it gently, as they strode the rest of the way to the limo.

  When they reached the sedan, the driver stood by its side. Wordlessly, he opened the door for her and Liam.

  She climbed inside.

  Liam followed.

  The driver closed the door behind them. Once he was seated in the driver’s seat, he spoke through the partition. “Where will I be taking you, sir…mademoiselle?”

  “I need to head back to the racetrack. Ms. Weathersby will be taken to Fleur Rouge.”

  The driver nodded.

  Liam closed the partition, trapping them in privacy.

  Once again, they shared quietude, only this time it didn’t feel as thick and ominous. Savannah stared out the window, enjoying the scenery as it blurred past.

  When they arrived at the racetrack, Liam turned to her. “I’m sorry I’m such an ass. You’re a nice girl. You’re not like the others.”

  Her heart softened a bit, turning into more of a thick gel than a solid brick. “You seem unique as well.”

  She smiled.

  “Yeah, uniquely dickish.” He returned the smile.

  She scoffed.

  “Tell you what. Give me another chance to show you I’m a good guy. Let’s meet at The Red Roost. It’s one of my favorite places for a drink. They cater to the rich. There’s a private entrance few know about unless they’re of a certain means, and, they maintain bodyguards discreetly around the bar, so we shouldn’t be bothered with paparazzi.”

  Excitement sparked in her heart again. She quickly tamped it down. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He gave her the address. “Meet me there in two hours. Oh, I nearly forgot.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved a gold-encased smartphone. An elegant C had been monogrammed on the back. “Here. The C is for…well, like it or not we’ll be married soon enough. You’ll soon become a Chartier.” He shrugged, a sheepish expression flitting across his face. “I’ve programmed my number, and Marcus’s…Anyway.” He thrust it in her hands.

  She took the phone, fingering its gleaming cover. “Thank you, Liam.” She gave him a soft-eyed gaze.

  “Christ. You bewitch me.” He placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her close. This time the kiss he bestowed on her was intense. Deep. Almost angry.

  She responded in kind, wrestling with her own confusion, warring with her desire. She loved the taste of him. The feel of his lips against her own. His tongue, plundering her mouth. The power he held in check. The way he overwhelmed her when he let go.

  He pulled back and studied her with hooded eyes. “I’m such a fool.”

  “What? Why?” Her cheeks were flushed with heat as she tried to make sense of his sudden declaration.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. He opened the door, slipped out, and dashed from the car, leaving her dazed in the back seat of the limo.

  As she watched him jog away, she shook her head. I’m the one who’s a fool. I’m starting to love you, Liam Chartier. And, like all my loves, it will never fulfill me. It will only end in heartbreak. Because no one—except maybe Adam—can love Savannah Summers. Especially once they find out I’m an imposter.

  18

  A couple of hours later, sitting in the darkened Red Roost bar, Savannah’s thoughts whirled around the memory of Liam’s sudden kiss. The tinkling of glassware and quiet conversation created a soft lullaby background.

  He’s so confusing. One minute tender and soft; the next, demanding and cold. I should probably thank him for his coldness. It will make it easier to leave him when this is all over.

  She’d picked out an over-the-top, sexy blue dress to wear tonight, complete with fuck-me stilettos. Donning the costume had helped her attain a measure of professional distance from her emotions as if she wore a suit of armor. She nursed a glass of red wine as she waited for him. Her new gold smartphone rested on the bar next to her. She glanced at the time. He was only fifteen minutes late, so…

  “Nice phone.” A handsome hipster bartender interrupted her from the other side of the bar.

  “Excuse me?” She lifted her head and studied him for a second.

  His dark brown hair had been shaved on one side. The other side hung down to his chiseled jaw. His ear bore one gold hoop with a cross dangling from the bottom. A tattoo of a snake wrestling with a skeleton slithered along his neck. The overall effect was one of roguish mischief and good times if you dared.

  “Your phone.” He pointed at it. “I said, nice phone.”

  “Thanks. It’s new. My fiancée gave it to me.”

  He whistled, picking up a glass from the previous occupant of the adjacent stool. He wiped the surface of the bar with a white rag. “He must love you.”

  “Oh, don’t assume anything.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh.

  “Relationships,” the bartender said. “They can be complicated, am I right?”

  He chuckled, placing his rag behind the counter.

  “For sure.” Savannah toyed with her coaster, twirling it round and round.

  He placed his palms on the bar on either side of her, leaning forward. No doubt he had a bird’s eye view of her cleavage. He dropped his gaze, licked his lips, then met her eyes with his. “If it gets so complicated, you find your needs aren’t getting met…”

  He waggled his eyebrows.

  “What?” She scowled. “Call you? You want to put your digits in my phone in case?”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He held his palms up. “You’re beautiful. You have a fiancée who gives you gold encased phones. I’m only a bartender. I’m out of my league with you.”

  She relaxed slightly. Actually, you look exactly like the type I’ve messed around with, but I can’t break role. She thought about the handful of hookups she’s made over the years. A few fucks, a few empty promises, and they always ended. One guy had the decency to tell her why.

  “You’re really pretty, but…you’ve got too many issues, Savannah. All I want is a good time.”

  It had stung to hear, but it was the truth. She’d cast her heart in the solidity of his words and refused to get her hopes up with anyone.

  “Still, I’m told I give
a good ride.” The bartender chuckled. “Who’s your guy? Maybe I could arm wrestle him.”

  She fixed her gaze on his, assuming an air of superiority. “It’s Liam Chartier.”

  The bartender stiffened. He took a step back. “Whoa. Forgive me. I had no idea who I was flirting with. You must be Naeva Weathersby. I read about you on some gossip site. Not that I read those,” he said his cheeks turning crimson. “I was dating a girl and she…”

  “No worries,” she said, interrupting his backpedaling. “That’s me.” She sipped her wine.

  “Don’t tell him I came onto you, cool? Again, please accept my apologies.” He took another step back, nearly colliding with the back counter.

  “Why the sudden change of heart?” Her eyebrows stitched together.

  “He’s got a reputation as a hot head. Let’s leave it at that. He sits in that back corner…” He pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “And broods a lot. When he’s not snapping someone’s head off or issuing demands.” He ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “We cut him a lot of slack here.”

  A man called from the other end of the bar. “A little help at this end, please.”

  The bartender hustled away, leaving her to her thoughts.

  She picked up her phone and her wine and made her way to a nearby booth. Thirty minutes passed. She accepted another glass of wine from the now-contrite bartender. She couldn’t believe how his tune had changed when he found out who she was supposedly engaged to. If she’d been her ordinary self, he would have persisted until she walked out or gave in. And why do they need to cut Liam a lot of slack? Because he can be a dick or something else?

  She checked the time again. She watched people. She sipped her wine. An hour went by. He seemed eager to meet. Did he get scared? She pushed to the back of the booth and rang him. No answer. She tried Adam’s number.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “I’m still waiting on Liam. Have you heard anything?”

  “Not much. I’m with Marcus and Dr. Douchebag. We have some people checking into the Abernathys. They’re exploring some leads I winnowed out of the doctor. While we’re waiting, Marcus is pretending to be nice. Dr. Douchebag is milking his newly manipulated status by pretending to be friends with Marcus. They’re going over old times. I’m watching them drink. I hope you’re having more fun than me.”

  “Not really. I’m worried I blew it again. I might have scared him off. He’s like a hot and cold faucet, I tell you. Only one faucet scalds, the other comes out ice cold.” She glanced up, hopeful, as the door opened.

  A couple staggered in, leaning on each other.

  She slumped in her seat. Damn.

  “Keep waiting. The rich live by their own rules. Oh—here’s a bit of gossip to cheer you up.”

  “I doubt if I’ll be cheered, but tell me.”

  “Ambrosia just left. She stopped by in a superb mood. Apparently, you’re the buzz of the Diamond Club.”

  “Me? Why?” She pondered what she might have done.

  “After you left the club, Ambrosia said Monique begged Master Steele to rough her up. Word is, he’d been so gentle with you, he was ready to get crazy. The Strumpet ladies don’t understand his behavior with you. Said he’s completely different.”

  “Maybe after all this is over, I should ask him to marry me. Do you think he’ll change his ways?” She chuckled.

  “Who knows. I kinda doubt it, though. Supposedly, he came back into the Strumpet club like a hell horse. Monique did all kinds of kink with him. Let him mess with her—boss her around. After that, Marcus said, and I quote, ‘she was a wildcat in the bedroom.’”

  “Ew, that makes me sick. I hate being with Master Steele. I hate having anything to do with Monique’s letting go. Did you know my dear, loving Liam requested I be trained by him?”

  “Yes, these billionaires are pretty fucked up. I can’t wait to get back to my girl and my kids and anything that resembles normal life.”

  Pangs of envy sliced into Savannah’s heart. “You’re so lucky, Adam. I’m jealous. But I wouldn’t wish that away from you for the world.”

  “Thanks, girl. I want you to have that, too. You’ll find your true love in this life, I know it.”

  She sighed. “We’ll see.”

  “If I wasn’t with someone…” Raucous laughter erupted through the phone like Adam was in a crowd. “Christ. I need to see what they’re up to. Hang tight, girl. He’ll be there. If he’s not there in ten, call me.”

  “Okay. Later.” She disconnected the phone.

  If he wasn’t with someone, what? She smiled at the idea of being with Adam as more than workmates. They adored each other. He was handsome as hell with a fit body and a kind disposition. They looked out for one another. He was such a constant in her life she couldn’t imagine being without him. But now she had to deal with her pretend reality and woo a billionaire—who had apparently ditched her.

  After another forty-five minutes, she readied to leave. Her phone rang in a lilting tone right as she made the decision.

  She seized it and slid the connect icon. “Hello? Liam? Is that you?”

  “Ms. Weathersby?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “I’m a friend of Liam’s. I’m afraid he’s taken ill and won’t be able to meet you. He sent his apologies.”

  “He what? What’s wrong with him? Where is he?” No one responded. “Hello? Are you still there?” She slammed her phone on the table top with a loud thwack. “Goddamn it!”

  The hipster bartender looked over. He frowned, then, turned in the opposite direction, no doubt to get far away from her.

  She flipped his back her middle finger. I scared Liam off. I spooked him. I moved too fast. She fished a few bills from her purse and dropped them on the table. Or, maybe he’s in trouble. Then, she rose and hustled from The Red Roost.

  Out on the busy sidewalk, with night draping the city in mystery, she scurried toward the street, bumper to bumper with vehicles. She lifted her hand for a cab.

  A bright yellow taxi pulled over.

  She hopped into the back, gave the driver the address to Fleur Rouge, and then settled into the seat as away they went.

  The entire trip back to the penthouse, she chided herself for pushing Liam. When they reached the address, she was fuming, certain she was to blame for scaring Liam away. She handed the driver her credit card.

  He slid it through the processor and handed it back.

  She signed. Then, she fished in her purse for cash, giving him a generous tip, before exiting the vehicle. Why not? I’ll only be a billionaire for another week or so if we get lucky.

  The cab sped away.

  She turned toward the manor, ready to stomp inside.

  A huge fireball of light lit the sky. Seconds later, a deafening explosion ripped through the air. Savannah screamed, clapping her hands over her ears. She looked up as the top two floors of the manor—her top two floors—blasted into a destructive maelstrom of shattered glass and debris.

  19

  Glass, wood, metal, and glowing cinders rained down around the Weathersby Manor like a freakish hailstorm. As she raced for cover, she threw her arms over her head to avoid being bashed by falling timber, shards of glass, or stone. Black-tinged flower petals drifted to the ground, like dead fairies. Debris battered the sidewalk in a cacophony of sounds. Her sense of time and place did a sudden mind-warp, making her wonder if she was back in Mosul, witnessing an ISIS suicide bomber blowing up a building.

  Flames licked the night sky from the top of the manor. Smoke streamed in billowing plumes. All the windows of her beautiful fantasy oasis had been blown out. The stone and metal frame that once housed elegance, now lay exposed, mangled, and shattered. Her beautiful Fleur Rouge had been demolished.

  Neighbors gathered, pointing, and staring.

  Unable to make haste in stilettos, she kicked off her heels and headed for the steps. I’ve got to get to Adam. As she hustled along, she grabbed her p
hone and dialed 911.

  “Please state your emergency,” the operator said.

  “It’s my house. It’s been blown up.” She gave the address as she jogged toward the entrance.

  Inside the manor, she tossed her phone on the side table in the foyer and hustled deeper into the house.

  “Adam!” she screamed. “Adam!”

  A woman dressed in chef’s attire ran toward her. Her face was ashen. “Ms. Weathersby. This is awful. Horrible. I was down in the kitchen, and it just went off. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  Savannah grabbed her by the shoulders. “You must be Claire.”

  She nodded.

  “Where’s Adam? Where’s my bodyguard?”

  “He’s in your penthouse. With Mr. Weathersby. And that doctor fellow.”

  “Get out of here, immediately. Get yourself to safety.” Savannah pushed past her and headed toward the elevator to the penthouse.

  Outside, distant sirens began to wail.

  “No, no. Don’t use the elevator. It doesn’t work. I checked already. Use the back stairs. It’s how I get through the house.” Claire pointed down the hall. “Through the kitchen.”

  Savannah raced through the kitchen and ran for the stairs. She took them two at a time, talking herself out of her worst fears. “Don’t be dead, Adam. You’re a capable agent. You’ve dealt with worse. Please don’t be dead.”

  She passed the first landing, where Marcus entertained. Her lungs heaving, she kept on, fueled by fear and adrenaline.

  Overhead, loud noises boomed, as if the ceiling was collapsing. “That’s probably Adam making his way out. Come on, Adam. You can do this.”

  Outside, sirens shrieked like banshees, alerting her the fire department had arrived.

  She passed the second landing, where Marcus probably entertained in other ways, of the sexual kind.

  As she approached her front room landing, smoke clotted the hall. The servant’s door had been blown open and lay at an odd angle along the steps. She pushed it aside. Clapping her hand over her mouth to keep from inhaling the smoke fumes, she continued, skirting indistinguishable debris. Her eyes stung. Her next footfall broke through a weakened step. She yelped and grabbed the handrail. Steadying herself, she crept up the last few stairs. When she got to the top, she eyed what was left of her penthouse.