Because He Steals Me (Because He Owns Me #6) (6 page)

My knees went weak and I melted into him as he took over everything, every sense, every sensation, every feeling I’d ever had.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathless.

“God, I want to fuck you,” he said. His hand was still on the back of my neck, rubbing my skin softly, moving my hair off the back of my neck as a breeze blew by.

“Take me home,” I murmured. “Callum, take me back to the apartment.”

The desire burned in his eyes and he rubbed my neck harder.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby? Your ass getting spanked again, feeling my hard cock down your throat.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Yes, sir.”

His grip on my neck tightened, and his eyes hooded as he leaned in and kissed me again. Then he pulled back. “Not yet, baby,” he said and grinned wickedly. “First I’m going to wine and dine you.”

H
e took me to Brooklyn.

The sun was setting as we drove over the Brooklyn Bridge, the soft rays casting stripes of light across the inside of the car.

“Brooklyn?” I asked skeptically.

“There you go, calling me a snob again,” Callum teased. He shook his and downshifted into a lower gear. I knew nothing about driving a standard transmission, but something about how he did it was a turn on, the power and rawness of his movement, the flex of his tan forearm peeking out of the sleeve of his shirt.

“I didn’t say you were a snob!”

“You were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Then why did you say ‘Brooklyn’ like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you couldn’t believe I would dare to take you out of Manhattan.”

“How much did those shoes cost, Callum?” I asked, pointing at the shoes he was wearing.

“Two thousand dollars,” he answered automatically.

“I rest my case.”

“Because I own two thousand dollar shoes I can’t go to Brooklyn?” He shook his head. “You really have a lot to learn.”

“About money?”

“No.” He smiled. “About life.”

He took the first exit off the bridge before heading down Old Fulton Street toward the East River and parking the car near the entrance to Brooklyn Bridge Park.

“Are we going on another picnic?” I asked, delighted. I was thinking about that day we’d had lunch together in Central Park, buying food from a stand and eating on the grass.

“Something like that.”

He got out of the car and walked around to my side, opened my door and helped me out before pulling me close.

“Jesus, you smell good,” he murmured. He closed the door behind me and then put his hands on either side of me, pinning me back up against the car. His hand snaked up under my skirt. My clit throbbed as he pushed against the vibrator that had been inside of me all day.

“Callum,” I whispered.

“Yes, baby?”

“Are you going to… I mean, I want to …”

“You want to fuck?”

I nodded.

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He grinned. “I am going to fuck you, baby. I’m going to fuck you hard and make you sore. But first I’m going to take you on a date.”

He wrapped his hand around mine and led me down the street.

With every step, I could feel the vibrator inside of me.

He knew it, too, and he loved it, loved torturing me the way he was.

We walked through the entrance of the park and began heading down the winding cobblestone paths that wound through the greenery.

I clutched Callum’s hand, not wanting to talk, not wanting to ask him where we were going or what he was planning. Usually, I didn’t like surprises, but today, I wanted to be surprised.

A moment hung in the air between us, the perfect kind of moment that was filled with anticipation, the kind of moment where nothing could go wrong. The air was warm, the sun was dipping down over the East River in the distance, and we were flanked by the Manhattan Bridge on one side and the Brooklyn Bridge on the other.

As we walked, the joggers and picnickers and touristy families began to thin out, and we came to a huge carousel that was sitting at the far end park, the horses wooden and painted in shades of intense pastels – blues, greens, pinks, yellows.

“What is this?” I breathed.

“Jane’s Carousel.”

“And we’re riding it?”

He grinned. “If you want to. I was thinking we could have dinner first.”

As we walked closer, I noticed there was a building made of glass next to the carousel. Callum led me inside.

The space was wide open and huge, the kind of space that must have been used for weddings and events, the kind of weddings and events that cost tens of thousands of dollars, the kinds of weddings and events I would never be invited to in a million years.

But today there was just one table, a table set for two, with a red rose on one of the plates.

“It’s a restaurant?” I asked as Callum pulled my chair out for me.

“Tonight it is.”

I sat down and he took the seat across from me. He poured me a glass of water from a crystal pitcher filled with water and slices of bright yellow lemon.

“This is amazing,” I said, looking around and taking it all in. The East River shimmered in the distance, seagulls flew overhead, and the night air brushed against my skin.

Callum reached across the table and took my hand in his, brushing my knuckles softly with his thumb. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

A second later, a tuxedoed waiter set two plates of food down in front of us, each one filled with prime rib, carrots and snow peas, and baby red potatoes.

The waiter disappeared before I could thank him.

“I cancelled the appetizers.” Callum picked up his napkin and set it in his lap.

“Why?”

“Because I want to fuck you more than I want some bullshit shrimp cocktail.”

I grinned. “Shrimp cocktail is so overrated.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

We began to eat, talking about everything and nothing the way we had that first night at his house in Florida – sports, movies, books. He told me about what he’d been doing down in Florida, about how he’d been invited to become a partner in Tampa’s new major league baseball team, the Tampa Bay Pirates.

“Are you going to do it?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded me over the table. “I bet you’d look sexy in a baseball jersey.”

I blushed at his compliment. He reached over and began pouring me more water, and his sleeve slid up a bit, exposing his wrist. There was a tiny cut on the back of it, the only mark in his otherwise flawless skin.

It must have happened this morning when he’d gotten cut with all that glass.

The thought, the remembrance of it, sent me crashing back down to earth. I’d been trying to pretend this was a normal date, that I was out with my sexy billionaire boyfriend for a romantic dinner. But Callum wasn’t my boyfriend. And this wasn’t a date.

I took my last bite of steak and then swallowed.

“Callum,” I said. “When you said you had a lot of enemies this morning, what did you mean by that?”

He finished pouring my water, and there was no visible reaction on his face, but when he straightened back up and began to talk, I could tell he was doing his best to keep his voice controlled and even.

“In my business, emotions tend to run high.”

“You mean the business of firing people.”

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, slightly amused, like I couldn’t possibly begin to understand the nuances of what he did.

“Well, that is why people get upset with you, isn’t it?” I pressed. “Why you have enemies so upset they’d throw a brick through your window?”

“People tend to make emotional attachments to things that aren’t real, Adriana. And when those things get taken away from them, they tend to react with hostility.”

“You mean things that aren’t tangible.”

“Yes. But also things that aren’t real.”

“Expound on that thought, please, Mr. Wilder.”

“Jobs.”

“Like I said, they aren’t tangible.”

“Yes, but some of them also aren’t real. The companies I take over are on the brink of going bankrupt. The people I fire were going to lose their jobs anyway. I give those people a severance package and keep the people I can use. I’m
saving
them. But they don’t look at it that way.”

“Well, yeah, because they have strong feelings when it comes to their jobs.”

“Their jobs aren’t real.”

“To them they are.”

“Exactly my point,” he said, grinning at me like we’d been in some debate and he’d just won. “To
them
they are
.
But it’s all perception, and all perception is based on emotion.”

“So you’re saying emotions aren’t real.”

He looked at me but didn’t answer, like I was child he didn’t want to disappoint too much. A strange feeling settled in my stomach as I realized he didn’t want to disappoint me not just in a general sense, but about him
specifically.

“Adriana…” he started, and I clutched my napkin in my lap, regretting that I’d brought up anything having to do with emotions. I didn’t want to hear whatever excuses or platitudes he was going to give me about how he didn’t do emotions, didn’t go girlfriends, or anything else he might say that would send daggers through my heart and keep me awake at night.

But his phone rang then, and he reached into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled it out.

He checked the caller ID, and frowned. “It’s Rose.”

“Oh.” Rose. The women he’d slept with, the woman he felt responsible for, the woman who’d come to his apartment and shot up in the bathroom before I’d found her half dead on the floor. “How is she doing?” I asked politely.

“She’s better,” he said. “I visited her earlier.”

I nodded, trying to stop the bite of jealousy I felt at this revelation. I wasn’t even allowed to talk to Isaac, and yet here Callum was, going to visit a woman he’d slept with.

“You should answer it,” I said.

“No.” He shook his head and sent the call to voicemail. “I’m out with you. And you deserve my undivided attention.”

After a moment, he stood up and crossed the table to me, held his hand out. “Come.”

“What about dessert?”

“Fuck dessert.”

I stood up and he pulled me to him, crushing me against his chest. He lowered his mouth to mine but stopped short of kissing me.

“I want to kiss you,” he growled.

“So do it.”

“If I kiss you, I’m not going to be able to stop.” His index finger traced my jaw, his touch igniting my body like a firework. “I’ll have to undress you. And then I’ll have to fuck you.”

I stayed quiet, half hoping he would do it.

Instead, he took a step back and then began leading me toward the carousel. “Come on, Lemon,” he said. “It’s time to go for a ride.”

T
he carousel was beautiful, all old horses made from hand-carved wood, their soft pastel manes illuminated under the gentle lights that shone down from the circular track overhead.

Callum led me around the platform until I picked my horse, a white one with a turquoise mane. He helped me up onto it, and immediately, as if out of nowhere, the merry-go-round began to spin.

“How the hell…?” I looked around for whoever had turned it on, for whoever knew to start it as soon as I got on. When I saw no one, I looked at Callum accusingly.

He held his hands up in mock confusion. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I guess they just knew you wanted a ride.”

He was standing next to me, one hand on the small of my back, but I shook my head and pointed to the horse next to mine.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Please? You have to ride with me, otherwise it’s not the same.” I puffed my lip out. “Don’t you want to make me happy?”

He groaned. “I cannot be seen on a pink horse, Adriana.”

“No one’s around. You’ve bought the place out. No one will see you.” Now that the idea was in my head, I was attached to it, wanting to see him on that pink horse.

He rolled his eyes, sighed, and then climbed onto the horse.

I loved the way he looked, this gorgeous, powerful billionaire in his tailored suit and two thousand dollar shoes riding a pink horse. He was my own knight in shining armor.

“I’ve never been on a carousel before,” he mused as we went around and around. The sun had completely set now, and the sky was starting to turn a brilliant shade of plum.

“Never?” I asked, surprised. “Didn’t your family ever go to amusement parks?”

“No. My family wasn’t the amusement park type.”

“What type were they?”

“The type who never had time for things like amusement parks.” He shrugged before I could say I was sorry, making me think that his response was an automatic one. “It doesn’t matter. I left when I was fourteen.”

“Where did you go?” I leaned down and wrapped my arms around the horse’s mane as it moved up and down and around and around, the wind blowing against my skin. I made sure to keep my tone light, trying not to show a trace of judgment. Not that it was difficult – I didn’t judge him. I wanted to know everything about him, every dark, damaged thing, every twisted, messed up secret he held inside.

“To my best friend’s house. Brendan. His family took me in.”

“Is that why... is that why you started drinking? So you could forget about what was happening at home?”
Don’t look at him,
I told myself.
Don’t look at him, or he’s going to shut down.
But I couldn’t help it. I needed to see him, needed to see his face.

I turned my head, but I could only see his profile. He was holding onto the pole of the horse, gripping it tightly and staring out across the East River at the twinkling lights of the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance.

“No.” He shook his head. “I started drinking to fit in with Brendan. His family was loving and supportive, but they were also alcoholics.” His profile was so strong – his brow, his jawline, the curve of his lip. And yet I could see the pain reflected there, could hear the rawness of what he was talking about in the sharp edge that had crept into his voice. “I had to cut them out once I got sober.”

My heart clenched as I thought about Callum having to turn his back on the only family he’d ever known.