ALL THAT HE WANTS (Volume 1 The Billionaire's Seduction) (10 page)

“He must be a grade-A doofus,” I said.

Connor frowned. “What?”

“Nine o’clock on a Friday night and still working? Isn’t that what you told me doofuses do?”

He grinned as he recognized his own quote from earlier in the evening. “You realize, by extension, that would make me a douchebag.”

I let his comment hang in the air for several seconds, not saying anything. Then I took a sip of champagne and peered over the edge of the glass at him.
Your move.

Connor laughed. “Sebastian makes considerably more than you do.”

“Yeeeaaah, about that… we’re sitting in a Bentley, drinking Dom Perignon, while you talk to your assistant who apparently works all hours of the night for you.”

Connor raised his eyebrows as though to say,
Yes, and…?

“I don’t know of any VP’s at Exerton who live high on the hog like that,” I finished up.

“Yes, well, I’m a special VP.”

“Special enough to rate a Bentley and bottles of Dom Perignon to impress li’l ol’ secretaries?” I asked, batting my eyes mockingly.

It shouldn’t have bothered me. I should have known better. I mean, really – I had sex with the guy two hours after meeting him. What did I expect, a proposal and a ring?

I should have thought it through before I got in the damn limo – if for no other reason than I wouldn’t have to be thinking through it now. I mean, this guy was gorgeous. He had an incredible expense account. He was driving around in a Bentley limo, for heaven’s sake. He must have had women throwing themselves at him constantly. And any woman who didn’t, he probably just turned up the charm on her and she folded instantly.

Like me.

It shouldn’t have bothered me.

But it did.

He gave me a tight smile that was more of a grimace. “Sebastian’s tales of my past are greatly exaggerated.”

“I’m sure,” I said coolly.

 “Don’t do that,” he said quietly, his face suddenly very serious.

“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Make it like what we did back there didn’t mean something. Because it meant something to me.”

I looked away. I had to – my heart was fluttering.

He probably tells every girl who steps in this limo that ‘it meant something to me,’
I told myself.
It’s just another line.

But it was a good one.

“I’m just being stupid,” I muttered.

“It sounds like you’re having a little buyer’s remorse.”

“No…”

I’m just regretting letting my feelings run away with me.

“It’s just that I can see you using all this,” and here I gestured to the limo, “to impress women so they’ll sleep with you. And I’m kind of wondering if I’m just one in a long line.”

He grinned – which was
not
what I’d been expecting.

“I’ve already slept with you, Lily. If I really was a cad, don’t you think that would have been it? Wham, bam, thank you ma’am?”

Well… okay… he DOES have a point…

Then he reached out, took my hand in his, and stared deep into my eyes. My heart fluttered a little more.

He gestured to the limo with his champagne glass, like I’d done earlier.

“‘All this’ is just window-dressing. You’re the main attraction. When I’m with you, I’m with you. You have my complete, undivided attention. It’s just you… and me.”

“But when it’s over, it’s over, right?” I said with a trace of bitterness.

I didn’t even think about what I was saying; it was like I had just heard a line of dialogue from a movie, not actually speaking the words myself. They just slipped out before I knew it.

As soon as they did, my eyes widened. I expected the limo to slam to a halt and Mr. Connor Brooks to show me the door without further ado.

Instead, he laughed.

Again, totally unexpected.

Then he cocked his head and looked at me, his eyes twinkling. “In order to know that, we have to take the next step, don’t we?”

Another line,
I mumbled inwardly.

But another good one.

He leaned in close, and I smelled that intoxicating scent of his – that masculine, exotic cologne that made me want his arms around my body. “
I
want to. The question is, do you?”

I had a choice to make again – but this time I was slightly more level-headed than out on the curb.

He hadn’t promised me anything except a night. Maybe a weekend.

And it was stupid of me to think I was the only woman he’d ever swept off her feet.

But I’d chosen to go with him.

Because I really, really wanted to, consequences be damned.

Did I still want to go with him, even though he wasn’t promising anything beyond tonight?

Did I still want him to kiss me again?

To make love to me again?

Consequences be damned?

Oh, HELL yes.

I’d gotten carried away before, that was for sure. And I wasn’t a girl who got ‘carried away.’

But I wanted to be.

Especially if
he
was the one doing the carrying.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He smiled and leaned in further.

“Good,” he whispered back, then kissed me again, so soft and sweet I could have stayed like that forever, with his lips brushing across mine.

Except a voice over the speaker system broke into the moment.

“Hope I’m not interrupting, boss, but we’re here.”

Connor leaned back and sighed.

“Damn his fast driving.” Then he pressed a button on the console. “Would you get the lady’s door, Johnny?”

“Sure thing.”

And seconds later, the limo door to my left opened.

When I saw the guy who had opened the door, my first impression was
Suit and tie – way EXPENSIVE suit and tie.

My second impression was
Huh, Asian guy.

My third impression was
Holy CRAP, he’s got a GUN!

It was just a glimpse, but I saw the holster under the Armani jacket, and the flash of grey metal. Then the jacket resettled and the gun was gone.

I froze on the seat, terrified.

I don’t like guns.

I’m especially not fond of strange men with guns.

He looked down at me and extended his arm to help me out of the limo. He was young and handsome, probably Japanese, late 20’s, with longish hair that covered his ears and a neatly trimmed goatee with mustache.

When I didn’t take his hand, he smiled and looked over the roof of the car. “I think the lady’s scared of me, boss,” he said in a flat, midwestern accent.

“And well she should be. You’re a very scary person,” Connor agreed. He sounded like he was already outside the car.

“That’s what you pay me for,” the man laughed.

I glanced over – Connor’s door was open. I could see him standing next to it, his body visible only from the knees to his chest.

“I’ll… get out on that side,” I squeaked, and quickly slid across the seat.

As soon as I was out of the limo, Connor gave me a disapproving look. “You’re not racist, are you?”

“No!” I cried out, shocked. “No. But – ”

Here I leaned in, stood on my tiptoes, and whispered as close to his ear as I could. Which was more like me whispering into his shoulder.

“ – he’s got a gun.”

Connor’s head dropped back and he roared with laughter. “That’s it?”

“Isn’t that enough?” I fumed.

“Well, he
should
have a gun – he’s my personal bodyguard. Has been for three years.”

I stared at him, then looked over the limo’s roof.

The driver smiled at me. “Not that I
need
a gun.”

“Lily, let me introduce Johnny Shuto. Not his real name, but that’s what I like to call him.”

I frowned.
Not his real name? ‘Not that I NEED a gun’?
This was terribly confusing.

Before I could get any answers, we were interrupted by new voices.

“Hello, Mr. Templeton! Do you have any luggage?”

I looked over to see two crisply dressed valets in white uniforms standing by Connor’s elbow.

That was when I looked around and gasped.

The Dubai.

It was the newest – and most luxurious – hotel on the Sunset Strip, and it had only been open for a few months. Apparently the rooms had been booked solid for six months. Anh and I had watched some E! Channel special on it so we could see all the starlets and their dresses when they showed up for the red carpet gala opening.

And there was the red carpet beneath my very feet. Velvet. Fifty feet of it, leading to an ornate doorway of gold and glass.

Somebody on the special had said that the red carpet was replaced every six hours so that it was fresh for new arrivals.

Anh and I had scoffed at the time. Rich douchebags and their freakin’ overkill.

Now, up close… it just looked glamorous and beautiful.

As did everything else.

The valets’ uniforms. The sheltering ceiling over the circular entrance drive, with its softly glowing lights. The beautifully manicured flowering bushes lining the red carpet.

And the guests and their cars.

The circular driveway was filled with two limos, a Lamborghini, a Ferrari, an Aston-Martin, and three BMW’s.

The men walking towards or away from the cars ranged from extremely handsome to fat and toadlike, but they all looked quite rich. The younger and more handsome guys could get away with expensive T-shirts and high-dollar jeans; the toad-faced ones were dressed in top-dollar suits.

But the women with them… wow.

A couple of silicone goddesses in low-cut club dresses. A woman I was pretty sure I’d seen on the cover of Vogue. A girl younger than me, slumming it in sunglasses, baseball cap, torn jeans and a T-shirt, who might have been a famous singer (and the new favorite prey of the
paparazzi).

I was suddenly feeling very insecure, very inadequate, and
very
out of place.

There were also two women ‘of a certain age’ walking with the older, uglier men – but though they weren’t young, they definitely had plastic surgery and diamonds on their side.

Connor was talking to the valets about luggage.

“Actually, yes – Johnny, could you pop the trunk?”

Wait – something didn’t seem quite right.

“Did he just call you ‘Mr. Templeton’?” I whispered to Connor.

“I think he has me confused with somebody else,” he whispered back. “Don’t blow my cover, okay?”

“Uh… okay…” I muttered, wondering if this was part of Sebastian’s ‘by any means necessary’ directive. Although the name ‘Templeton’ seemed strangely familiar, and I couldn’t quite pin down why.

The trunk popped open and Johnny walked around to the back.

“Let them get it,” Connor said. “Except for the laptop.”

Johnny nodded, grabbed a computer case, and then stepped aside. The valets pulled three suitcases out of the trunk – one in simple black leather, the other two a matching Louis Vuitton set – and put them on a gleaming cart.

Johnny grinned as he approached us. “You’re not going to freak out again, are you?”

As I answered, I noticed that I had unconsciously edged closer to Conner. “I just… don’t normally have men with guns pulling me out of limos, that’s all.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment. “And here I was thinking it was my intimidating good looks.”

“Ha!” Connor said, then motioned towards the entrance. “Shall we?”

Johnny nodded and walked ahead of us towards the lobby entrance.

Connor took me by the hand and pulled me protectively to his side as we followed along behind.

Another smiling valet opened the door. Johnny stepped through and scanned the lobby, his eyes darting quickly across the faces within. Then he nodded imperceptibly and stepped to one side so that Connor and I could move past him.

The entire time, Johnny’s hand was on his abdomen, level with the single fastened button on his jacket.

Never more than five inches from his gun.

I shuddered.

The lobby was magnificent. Opulent. Luxurious. Take your pick of over-the-top adjectives.

The floor was white marble inlaid with darker patterns of black – maybe obsidian? I had no idea. But the effect was beautiful.

The chandeliers were round, massive bodies made up of tiny frosted glass cylinders that diffused the light and transformed what could have been cold and imposing into warm and sensual. They looked like grape clusters of long, glass tubes, if that makes any sense. Or a collection of glass Pan pipes (you know, what the little faun guy plays in Greek paintings?) with light spilling out of them, rather than sound.

Throughout the lobby were plush leather chairs arranged in small enclaves around short mahogany tables. Here and there a few people waited, texting on their smart phones or reading their iPads. Others held cocktails and glasses of wine as they chatted and laughed. On all sides were gorgeous arrangements of orchids and exotic plants – real ones. Nothing fake in here (except some of the women’s boobs). It was like somebody had transported parts of a jungle into the midst of the most luxurious waiting room imaginable.

Connor led me along the red carpet, which extended into the lobby and all the way up to the reservations desk on the opposite side. As we passed, I noticed a few heads swiveling around to look at us pass. A couple of mouths fell open. Not everyone, but enough to make me wonder. A lot of the less obvious gawkers were women, whom I guessed were checking out Connor (and which sent an unexpected stab of jealousy through me). The ones whose mouths dropped open, though, tended to be men. And not guys who made my gaydar ping. It was like they were seeing an unexpected celebrity walk into the room.

Something is very weird here…

We approached the reservations desk, which was a gorgeous slab of marble trimmed with what might have been gold. I told myself that wasn’t possible… but at a place called ‘The Dubai,’ you never know.

The woman behind the counter was a stunner. With her smart, perfectly white business suit and her flawless olive skin, she looked like she had just walked out of the pages of Italian
Vogue.
Again, I was jealous and felt… well… inadequate, to tell the truth.