New York Billionaires Series

Then a muffled sound echoes in the hallway. It’s coming from Victor’s bedroom. I walk closer on bare feet and stop right outside his closed door. On my phone, I dial 911 and keep my finger over the call button.

My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest, a thousand possibilities racing through my head. Is there someone in there with him? Is everything all right?

I turn the handle and push his door open.

Victor’s large bedroom is cast in shadows. The king-sized bed stands in the middle, and only one figure is outlined on it, covered by a single thin sheet around his hips.

He hasn’t drawn the drapes and there’s enough light from the city behind to see his pained expression. He turns over, another low, agonized sound escaping his lips.

He’s having a nightmare.

I’m locked in indecision on the doorstep. The one thing I can rule out is calling 911. But from what I know of Victor, he would not appreciate me seeing him like this, not to mention waking him up.

Weakness, I’ve found, is one of the many things he hates.

I turn to leave. But then he gives a hoarse scream, this time into his pillow, and it twists my heart. I have to wake him up.

I leave my phone on the floor and hurry across the soft carpet. Dressed only in the oversized T-shirt I always wear to bed, I crawl onto his California king.

“Victor,” I murmur. “Victor, I think you should wake up.”

He stirs, twisting onto his back. His eyes rove beneath his eyelids. I put a hand on his chest and find it clammy to the touch.

“Victor,” I say.

“No,” he mutters, legs moving beneath the sheet. His knee hits my shin with agonizing strength. “No!”

I grip his shoulders and shake him. “You have to wake up. It’s not real, it’s only a dream.”

His body stills and I soften my hands, moving them up to his cheek. His hair is damp where it sticks to his sweaty forehead. “Victor, you’re okay.”

His eyes open and blink. They take a moment to focus before settling on mine. “Cecilia,” he says. His voice is hoarse.

“Yes, it’s me. You’re okay, you know.”

He looks down at my hands on his chest. I’m about to lift them when he moves, pulling me against his chest. Through the thin fabric of my T-shirt I can feel the pounding of his heart. It mirrors mine.

“What are you doing in here?”

“You were having a nightmare. I… I heard you.”

“You heard me,” he says. “All the way into your bedroom?”

“Yes.” I don’t want him to retreat, though, so I turn and kiss his neck. His pulse thunders beneath my lips.

“I’m fine,” he says. His hand smooths up my back, and finding the hem of my T-shirt, slips inside of it. It’s warm as it strokes up my spine. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He kicks off the sheets and shifts my hips against his, to where I learn that Victor St. Clair sleeps naked. “No.”

I lift my head and kiss him. The racing of my heart turns into something else, and trapped against my stomach, he grows long and hard. He doesn’t want to talk about it, all right. His free hand curves up my thigh to the elastic of my panties and tugs them down.

He turns me onto my back and I arch mine, letting him peel the T-shirt off. A strong hand tugs at my nipple. The raw need he’s exuding has me more than ready, and he discovers the same thing, fingers teasing between my legs.

We don’t speak as he fits himself against me and pushes inside. I lock my legs around his hips, arms around his neck, and hold him as he speeds toward release. It doesn’t take long. He collapses on top of me with a groan and I close my eyes, gripping him tight in every possible way.Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

His weight feels delicious and even sweaty he smells good, of man and soap and Victor. He kisses the spot right beneath my ear, pressing his lips to my skin for so long that it feels like an apology for the frenzied, hurried sex. Sorry.

I run my hand up his muscled back. Forgiven.

I don’t return to my own bed that night, instead remaining curled up in his arms, and we both drift off to sleep.

“I can’t believe it,” she says. “I mean, I know we haven’t signed anything yet, but still. I can’t believe it!”

“You’d better start.”

“But I mean-oh, thank you so much, Steven. Have a great evening.”

My driver tips his head in Cecilia’s direction, a faint smile on his lips. “You too, ma’am.”

“Goodnight,” I tell him. He nods and closes the car door behind us. I wrap my arm around Cecilia’s waist. She’s wearing heels, and even if they aren’t that high, the leaves on the sidewalk can be treacherous.

She leans into my touch. “I know you’d rather it be you, but… I hope you understand why I have to accept Carter’s offer.”

“I understand,” I say, and I mean it. While I’d rather it be me she’s coming to for money as well as guidance, she wants to stand on her own legs. Keep what distance she can between us. Her company will last longer than a year… and our marriage won’t.

The happiness in her voice is enchanting.

“He said you pitched to him,” I say. Unwelcome jealousy burns in my chest. It has no place here. It’s me she’s going home to. Hell, it’s my rings she’s wearing on her finger.

She nods. “I did, right after dinner. Rather unprofessional, perhaps, at a party.”

“It was just a quiet dinner at Tristan’s. Business makes sense.”

“Carter said my start-up sounded exactly like the thing he’s been looking for.”

I press the button for the elevator, my arm still around her waist. “Carter’s good at what he does.” I can hear the obvious reluctance in my voice.

“I have a business! I have an investor! Oh, I can’t believe this is happening. I’ll soon have a launch date. Within a few months, I might have clients. Can you believe this?” She shakes her head, dark curls flying. Her eyes are lined with elegant sweeps of makeup, but it doesn’t take away from her natural beauty. It just makes her more striking.

I tip her head back and kiss smiling lips. She tastes sweet, like white wine and elation.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’ve been bragging.”

Stupid, endearing humbleness. I grab her hand and lead her into our apartment, straight to the hidden wine cooler in the kitchen.

“Bragging,” I say, opening the door. Bottles of champagne stare back at me. “Do you remember where you put the saber we got as a wedding gift?”