Money Shot (58 page)

“Well, that was something,” he said instead, a large exhale following his words. “Better than getting scratched by your cat, I’m sure.”

Jasmine shot up, the image of her big fatass flopping over at his food bowl invading her mind. “Shit! Did I feed the cat before I left?”

“I dunno, did you?”

“I’m serious!”

Ethan, still trapped in most of his clothing, sat up and ripped his shirt off.
Hello there again!
Where were those abs twenty minutes ago? How dare he keep them hidden and
her
blindfolded for the fun? “Why the hell would I know that? I’ve been out of the house since seven this morning.”

So much for the role-play.

“But…” Jasmine grabbed her phone from her scrunched up pocket and texted Belinda, the housekeeper at the house in the Hills she shared with Ethan, her billionaire boyfriend of the past few months and the one who had this bright idea to try some role-play scenarios outside of the home.
“Did the cat get fed?”
she texted, before letting her phone fall to the side. She turned over and threw herself into her boyfriend’s arms, burrowing her nose in his bare chest that smelled of expensive cologne.

She wasn’t content until she got a text back saying the cat was currently sprawled on the marble floor in the foyer, swishing his bushy tail back and forth while airing out his kingly kitty goods. That didn’t answer her question, but it at least told her that what she feared most—the cat starving—was not an issue.

“See? Worried for nothing.” Ethan coiled his arm around Jasmine’s shoulders.

“Guess I was too excited to come down here and see how the night played out.” For days they had been talking about their fantasies, and Jasmine let drop that once—just once—she would like to pretend that their relationship started because
she
approached
him
instead of the other way around that past January. Of course Jasmine still wanted the rough and ready way Ethan tended to make love, but for one night she was going to pretend she had no idea it would happen. Going back to naïve Jasmine, however, was not easy. Particularly when she walked into the hotel lounge where they agreed to meet and she found him sitting there, looking as disgustingly handsome as ever. “How’d I do seducing you? Minus the part where you made a stupid prostitute joke.”

“Uh huh.”

“What do you mean
uh huh?
”

Ethan yawned. No, she was losing him! “You got me in bed, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if that’s because it would end that way or not or…”

“You told me play hard to get, didn’t you?” The standoffish billionaire who fell for Jasmine’s charms in the span of one evening. Assuming he, of course, was not necessarily interested to begin with. “Next time I’ll start flattering you the moment you walk through the door. How’s that?”

“I mean, you should do that anyway… by the way, these are real, right?” She gestured to the ruby jewelry he had given her over the months.

“Of course. I was merely teasing you.”

Since Ethan was starting to drift off to sleep, though, Jasmine quickly changed subjects. “I love you.” She’d find out if he were paying attention soon enough.

Ethan opened his eyes, breathed deeply, and pulled Jasmine on top of him, her hair creating a soft veil around them. “And I love you. Even if you’re trying to seduce me with stories about your violent cat.”

“What else would I lead with? My beautiful looks?”

“Next time.”

Oh, there would definitely be a next time. Only next time Ethan was going to do the seducing again. Because who didn’t want to be seduced by a billionaire?

Jasmine and Ethan originally appear in THE BILLION DOLLAR CONTRACT by Cynthia Dane

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Chapter One

I always dreamed of visiting Paris. You hear about how it’s the sexiest city in the world and, even if you totally believe it, it’s still just words. It’s still just words until you step foot out of your hotel and see the history in the graceful arches of Notre Dame, hear the buzz of passionate accents rise and fall, feel the uneven cobblestone streets underfoot, smell the freshly baked bread at every corner, and taste the pain au chocolat.

Oh, the pain au chocolat.

I never knew the gigantic hole in my life until I had my first pain au chocolat two days ago. Some French culinary wizard came up with the perfect combination of flaky crust and doughy inside with melted bits of chocolate.

I didn’t know the translation but I felt comfortable with a literal take. Pain of the chocolate. Like the pain in your soul as the last delicious morsel leaves your fingertips. Knowing you’re one bite closer to being finished.

We still had a few days of vacation left, but I already missed them. I missed them while eating them.

It was that bad.

I love food.

And I luuuuuv pain au chocolat.

Paris overwhelmed me. On its own, it would have been more than I could ingest.

But it wasn’t on its own.

He
was here too.

Add
him
to the equation and the result was something that defied math. It was nature. That chemical signal that skirts right by your conscious thoughts and dives down into your gut.

Down into your panties.

My body vied with my good sense for control, for direction. It wanted to do things I knew were wrong. Things I knew were immoral or unethical, or just bad somehow. But a growing part of me didn’t care. That part just felt. It wanted.

It wanted
him
.

Jacob MacCormack.

Or Jake, as he insisted family and friends call him.

My soon-to-be-stepbrother.

What messed up twist of fate made him so gorgeous, so hypnotic, and so my almost-stepbrother?

Figures.

Maybe I was destined to be a crazy, old cat lady. I loved cats. I could see that reality. I hadn’t had much interaction with the opposite sex in my exactly nineteen years. It was cool at first. Like I was saving myself for Mr. Right.

But the cool factor was wearing thin, and crazy cat lady approached.

At twenty-six, he was seven years older than me. But in the six months or so since our parents started dating, he immediately cast me in the role of baby sister. Like I was in diapers sucking my thumb.

It really pissed me off.

Partly because I don’t need another older sibling. My sister Katherine was plenty bossy to go around. She left our home in Los Angeles two years ago to study in Barcelona. It was supposed to be a semester abroad thing. Then she met Raul and two years later, it looked like she might be there to stay.

I missed her. Terribly.

Not her bossy bullshit. By my sister.

I was happy she couldn’t make it to Paris though. I knew that’s selfish, but I didn’t want her treating me like a baby around
him
. He didn’t need any encouragement.

It was like he took pleasure in pissing me off. I wouldn’t have cared, except that I wanted him to like me. Like me as an adult.

A not-stepsister adult.

Fat chance of that.

I wasn’t worldly like the rotating harem of supermodels he brought to family dinners. Dad and Brigette, his mom, insisted we have them a couple of times a month, whenever Jake and his older brother Callum were back in the states on business. Our parents wanted all of us to get to know each other.

To feel like family.

The only problem was that we were already grown up and, besides, I didn’t want him to think of me as family. His idiot brother Callum was another matter. I already thought of him as an annoying older brother. He bulldozed through family dinners like only an oldest sibling can.

I missed Katherine not being around for those. I was outnumbered and outgunned. Not to mention feeling fifty pounds overweight standing next to their tall, leggy, beanpole dates.

Ugh.

I wasn’t anything like those skin and bone, half-starved creatures. I had curves, lots of them. Even at nineteen, I filled a dress to stretching seams and spilling bosom.

Jake never even stole a glance, as far as I could tell. I just wasn’t his type.

It was infuriating.

So it was a huge surprise when Jake invited me to join him for a trip to Paris. A birthday present for me. A business trip for him.

Dad had embarrassingly talked about how I’d dreamed of Paris for years. It sounded so girlish. So idiotic next to Jake and Callum who flew around the world attending to their growing business.

It was nice of him to offer. And I wasn’t too proud to accept the invitation. When I heard Callum and Brigette would be busy elsewhere, that made it all the better.

The chance to have him alone.

To show him who I really was. Not the awkward adolescent who sat quietly listening to Callum and he swap tales about the glorious future of their partnership.

Aegis Power Unlimited.

I googled it.

Something to do with next generation sustainable power. A bunch of gobbledygook about replacing oil and taking us into the twenty-first century. I didn’t understand, but it was obviously huge because I saw it on the Fortune 500 list.

I knew nothing about their business and so didn’t have much to contribute. And between the two, the discussion rarely strayed anywhere else for long.

But Paris would be different. I would make him see me as the woman I was. Make him see beyond the label of baby sister that he’d already pasted across my forehead.

Even if I could make him see me, really see me, could I ever have a place in his universe? He certainly didn’t advertise any celestial openings.

Besides, what would our families think? I wished I could sink the idea, but part of me wouldn’t let go.

Part of me didn’t care what anyone thought.

None of it mattered.

His attention was occupied by a million things. What could I offer that he couldn’t already have? He didn’t strike me as the type to have unfulfilled wants. That just wasn’t the reality of a billionaire.

I needed a supernova event. Something to blow him away. Something beyond what his harem already offered.

The problem was, as a virgin, I had no idea what that might be. He and his bimbos were in a different league. A different world.

I didn’t know what yet, and I only had a few more days to find it.

Chapter Two

It had been a perfect birthday. We met up after his last meeting of the day. I was strolling through the lush gardens of the Rodin museum when he called. He met me there an hour before our dinner reservation. I thought the audio guide was informative, but Jake proceeded to take me on a personal tour that sounded like the long deceased sculptor was his best friend.

Rodin loved to produce. Jake talked about how he used tons of helpers to do his work for him. He would come up with a little mini-design version and then have an assistant do the big version for him. Then he would take all the credit for it. I thought it was straight-up cheating. Jake thought it was good business sense.

Different worlds.

The grave sculpture he, or his lackeys, did for him was crazy. It’s this huge black granite thing that arched over his grave and had worlds and worlds of little creepy beings doing different creepy things. Creepy. But beautiful too.

We arrived late for dinner and were ushered to a table in the corner. Jake sat with his back to the wall. He surveyed the room like a king in his court.

I never expected to have birthday dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in Paris. I tried to change his mind, but Jake insisted and I’d yet to win an argument with him.

L’Arpege was a three-star Michelin rated restaurant located in the government district. We sat at a small round table with high back comfortable chairs. A bright white, stiff tablecloth covered the table and draped over the sides. The dining room was small, intimate. Maybe ten tables total. It was quiet and elegant. Old world elegant. Very conservative. Not flashy or too modern like the tragically hip restaurants back home in Los Angeles.

Light, sweet smells drifted through the room. Men in suits and women dressed to the nines surrounded every table. Conservative nines. They chatted in hushed tones, sipped at glass after glass of wine.

My dress was definitely the outlier on the sexy end of things. I didn’t care. It wasn’t for them.

It was for him.