I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (6 page)

“The fuck you been?” Zane asked, a half-naked busty, brunette grinding her ass on his lap.

“Father Reproach,” Trevillo spared.

From the ice-bucket on the table in front of him, he shoveled some ice into a highball glass and poured himself a Patrón Platinum. Taking a sip, he nodded in appreciation at the off-dry taste on his tongue then leaned back and looked across at Zane who’d dropped his head back, loudly groaning as the brunette wrapped her long-nailed fingers around his throat and squeezed, cutting off his air while she gyrated against him.

Without his brother’s or his sister-in-law’s knowledge, Zane Zekiel and Trevillo had been friends for about six years. They’d met at a club similar to this one in New York and quickly learned they were both members of the same clubs around the world. Their tastes were similar, but Zane was more extreme with his need for pain; whereas, Trevillo leaned toward small stings of pain.

Even though Trevillo enjoyed having pain inflicted upon him, he still dominated in the bedroom, relinquishing power only when
he
wanted to. But Zane craved extreme, bloody pain and preferred to be dominated.

Together they built their own exclusive club, Red Veil, open to discreet, elite members only. Moguls and magnates with statuses and reps to protect, but wanted to live out their fantasies without judgment.

Red Veil was a three story building, and the top floors were where all illicit and circumspect acts happened. The walls where members hung out were covered in deep red, creating a dark, hidden atmosphere. Every few seconds, flashes of neon-blue, yellow, and red rotated – encouraging impulsive behavior.

The entire bottom floor was luxury apartments used by the club girls. They gave their girls shelter, cars, allowances, and whatever else they wanted; the only requirement was to make themselves available whenever they were needed. For pleasure, or for pain.

The door to the V.I.P box opened, and his other two buddies, Nardo and Mark, strolled in with two giggling nude girls in tow, glistening with sweat, skin red with welts. Nardo and Mark both bumped fists with him as they passed by and took seats at the other end of the room. The V.I.P box was wide and spacious, suspended in the air, surrounded by one-way glass granting a view of the entire club.

Zane popped his head around the girl straddling him and arched up a brow. “You gonna be sitting there all fucking night, or you gonna grab a bitch and have some fun?”

Trevillo ignored him and took a long sip of his Patrón. Truth was, he wasn’t sure what the hell he needed at the moment. His head was, all of a sudden, in a rather conflicted space.

Ever since he’d laid sight on that petite, short-haired blond a few weeks ago, he’d been fucked. Every suck-off he’d ever gotten after that, he found himself imagining it was her plump, red lips wrapped around him. Every orgasm he’d had after that, he found himself imagining it was her he was buried deep inside of. He couldn’t fathom what the hell was happening.

She was all kinds of incompatible for him: she was young, she was tiny, delicate. Too delicate. He’d ruin her.

Though, something about the way she looked at him told him she was delicate to the eye only. He sensed there was a monster crouching behind that small frame of hers. And he found himself wanting to strip her bare, tear her open, and murder that monster for her. So she could float freely on the wind like the delicate angel’s feather she was.

He wanted her.

Badly.

But he was afraid to take her. He would only destroy her: set the tip of that soft feather on fire and watch it burn to ashes. He would burn the feather of an angel and piss God the hell off. And that’s when he’d really be deserving of the name Hellion. That’s when his inevitable journey to hell would take off full fucking speed.

Sipping at his drink, he got up from the couch and strode around the room, scanning the girls out in the club through the one-way glass. He was searching for someone around five feet two inches in height. He was searching for someone dainty, with a super-slim waist, full breasts and a shapely ass. He was searching for someone with plump, cherry-red lips, a slim, long neck, and red-painted fingernails.

Fuck, he was searching for
her.

After about ten minutes of scanning the club of girls from left to right, without so much as a jerk-reaction from his cock, he concluded the angel feather’s allure was inimitable. Dozens of the most enticing women were sauntering around his club, yet he couldn’t find one he thought could match her. She was unique, like all angels. She couldn’t be replicated.

At that moment, he decided the angel’s feather would soon be
his
feather: the fiery red feather of a demon’s wing.

With one last swallow, he knocked back what was left in his glass and walked back across the room. Slamming the glass down on the table with more force than needed, he ignored the grunts and groans coming from the other end of the room where Mark, Nardo, and the two women they’d entered with, were engaged in a mini orgy: one girl getting drilled from the back by Nardo, as she licked the other girl, who was giving Mark a blow-job.

Retrieving his jacket from the armchair, he shrugged it on and announced, “I’m out.”

“The hell?” Zane said. “Dude, you just got here!”

“Yeah,” he replied, wrenching the door open. “Not in the mood tonight. Lates.” He was out the door before any of them could say anything to stop him.

Trevillo wove through the club, peeling off each girl who tried attaching themselves to him like a magnet, grabbing his crotch, and begging to be the one to make his night one of pain or pleasure. Once he finally managed to get into the elevator, he pulled out his cellphone and pressed the number assigned to his favorite girl.

“Hola, Devil Boy,” she answered. “Como estas?”

He wanted to give her an equal greeting and even inquire about the status of his baking niece, but he had more important, urgent, somewhat scary and insane matters on hand.

“Remember what I told you in your poolroom during your short break-up with Love?”

Axia laughed. “The ‘confession’ of which you threatened to burn my gym down if I dare told anyone?”

“Yeah. Well, I think I found the person … ” He hesitated. “The one I want to experience it with.”

“Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

On a sigh, Axia offered, “Trev, you can’t just ‘choose’ someone. It doesn’t work that way. It just has to happen, take you by surprise. In such a way you won’t even know it until you’re balls-deep in.”

Trevillo scoffed. “That’s what the universe says. But I’m
me,
remember? I spin in the opposite direction of the world, while everyone else spins with it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Axia, I
have
been ‘taken by surprise’. And I’m telling you, even if she doesn’t choose me,
I’m choosing her.
”

A
t an open corner in one of the penthouse shells at Skylark, I sat cross-legged on some old newspapers laid out over the coarse floor, sifting through boxes of fabric and rug samples as I tried to find the perfect match to my design drawings.

Being a half-finished building, the atmosphere at Skylark was noisy and dusty, with the ever-present smell of dry cement, dust particles perpetually floating on the air, the headache-inducing sounds of drills and pounding hammers, and rowdy workers jeering and joking around. The typical.

Seeing that none of the samples in the boxes suited my needs, I sighed and began tossing them back inside, deciding I’d just have to make a stop by Leenie’s Fabric World. I closed the boxes, stacked them atop each other, and snatched up my handbag. Standing up, I turned and collided straight into a impenetrable wall of male.

I should’ve looked up, or muttered an ‘excuse me’ and carried on about my business, but I did neither of those things, because without looking up or second-guessing, I could tell whose body it was.

How? Well, the scent this body exuded was trapped in my nostrils, in my senses, for the past three weeks. An unforgettable scent of raw masculinity, new leather, masculinity, an undertone of olive-scented bar soap, and more
masculinity
. Ever since I’d sucked it all in with one sharp breath the last time this body was mere inches away from mine, the scent has never left my mind.

So, I just stood there, frozen, inhaling a replenishment of the scent that’d haunted me for weeks, enough to last me for the next couple of weeks, maybe even months — it was
that
overpowering,
that
strong,
that
unforgettable.

The hard chest that my nose was pressed up against reverberated as the owner asked, “You okay, Miss Kingston?”

Was he serious? Did I look like someone who was
okay
? Of course, I wasn’t! I’d never be ‘okay’ whenever he was in close proximity. Around him, I tended to get inexplicably aroused to the nth degree, speechless, paralyzed. He had this strange and novel effect on me. He was big and imposing, with eyes that seared, and he smelled
too damn good
. He was a lot to take in. A lot. So much so that he made me feel as if I’d never before realized what a
man
was.

“Uh, yeah. Just heading down to Leenie’s Fabric World to view a few fabric samples,” I told his chest. “I’ve been having a hard time finding what I want.”

He stepped back two feet, giving me sufficient space to breathe. “What
do
you want, Miss Kingston?”

Given enough breathing space to get my blood oxygenated and my brain functioning, I tilted my head back and met his ever-heated blues. His face was eerily serious, and I couldn’t tell if this was one of those times where he hated me or was lusting after me. I never could tell, because he would flip from lust to abrasiveness in a nanosecond. “Nothing complicated. Just a sample … .er,
simple
piece … .” As his brow started to arch, I swiftly added, “Of fabric, that is.”

His eyes smiled. “Nothing complicated. I like that.”

What the hell were we talking about? And what was he doing here, anyway? There was no need for him to be on site unless there was a major problem, and so far, there weren’t any. As per usual, I had everything under control.

But I wasn’t about to question his purpose for being here. It was his work site. He could pop up whenever he felt like it to see who was slacking off and who wasn’t. Even though I was pretty sure he had bigger steaks to flip on the grill. Like the current construction of his hotel downtown, for instance.

“Gotta run,” I muttered, stepping around him.

“I’d love to take you,” he offered.

“I have a car.”

“I know that.” He sounded irritated.

“It’s just fabric sampling,” I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

Eyebrow raised, he shot back, “And helping you choose fabric that will be going into
my
building isn’t important?”

“Yes, Mr. Nelson, but — ”

A big, warm hand wrapped around my wrist and propelled me forward, cutting me off, and I struggled to keep up with his long strides as he started towards the elevator. “Miss Kingston, never in the history of my work life have I offered an employee my assistance with a job I’m paying
them
to do. You’re insulting my benevolence by rejecting my offer.”

Well,
that’s
for rejecting
me
the other day in your office.
“Mr. Nelson, I — ”

“Please,” he cut in smoothly, as he ushered me into the elevator, “Call me Trev.”

At that, my eyebrows reached my hairline, and I stared incredulously at him as he punched the floor button. Being so familiar as to call my boss’s boss’s boss ‘Trev’ wasn’t something I’d be comfortable with. It would be out of place. I barely knew the man.

“I don’t think so,” I definitively told him. “I won’t feel comfortable doing that.”

He turned to face me, and I almost stopped breathing. In the confinements of the elevator, his imposingness seemed magnified. And I wanted to be swept up in those arms and crushed against that firm body of his.

Today he wore a navy-blue suit, sans necktie as usual. His raven-dark hair still hadn’t made up its mind which direction it wanted to go.

“Try it on. See how it fits,” he encouraged in a low voice.

“Huh?”

“My name. Try it on. I’m hoping it’ll fit you comfortably, because I’d like to try on Krissy.”

“Well, you
can
call me Krissy. But I — ”

“
Try it on
,” he urged.

This was so not going to fit. “Trevillo,” I said, and yes, it felt freakin’ awkward.

His lips tipped up in a half-smile and, slowly, he shook his head from side to side and dragged out a “No.”

Wanting to grin at how sexy he looked when he smiled and acted so … normal, I bit down on my lip.

He reached out a hand toward my face as if to touch me, but then he pulled back. “Stop holding back and try on my name,
Krissy
.”

Freeing my lower lip from the clamp of my teeth, I breathed, “Trev.” And by gad, did it fit! So goddamn perfectly, I had to say it again. “Trev … ”

This time I got a full-fledged, Colgate-advertisement, I’m-a-big-kid-now smile. Jesus, why did he have to look so damn good?

Whereas, he made me speechless and paralyzed with his serious, intimidating side, when he smiled like this, I had an entirely different feeling: a heart-racing, veins-pulsing rush that made me want to climb up his body and suck his tongue from his mouth.

“How does it feel?”

Batting down the urge to roll my eyes, I replied, “I’m sure you can already tell. You’re not a novice, and I’m not that hard to read.”

The elevator doors slid open and, still smiling, he wrapped his hand around my wrist once more and pulled me out of the building.

Hiding a smile of my own, I wondered if I just made it to being ‘eligible’. If so, I hoped he knew I meant it when I said,
nothing complicated.
A sample was all I needed.