Authors: Maddy Raven
The Billionaire's Alibi
Copyright 2014 by Maddy Raven
TITLES AVAILABLE FROM MADDY RAVEN
Available in 2014 from Maddy Raven:
The Queen and the Honey (Beauty Awakened #1)
The Princesses and Their Slippers (Beauty Awakened #2)
The Coffin and the Kiss (Beauty Awakened #3)
The Knight and His Brother (Beauty Awakened #4)
The Bride and the Blackness (Beauty Awakened #5)
The Princess and the Crown (Beauty Awakened #6)
The Sister and the Seven (Beauty Awakened #7)
The Raven and the Riddle (Beauty Awakened #8)
The Billionaire’s Alibi
The Proposition (The Billionaire’s Alibi #1)
The Contract (The Billionaire’s Alibi #2)
The Scandal (The Billionaire’s Alibi #3)
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“WILLIAM Henry Harper!” a voice called out from behind him. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
He dropped a wad of cash on the bar. Grabbing the rum and cokes he paid for, he spun around slowly. He knew that voice, but he didn’t particularly want to speak to its owner at that moment.
“No story here,” he told Morgan, one of the writers at Zoey Fromme. “Just a guy buying two drinks.” He glanced down. “So you can put your little iPhone away.”
“Who are you here with?” she asked, not moving an inch.
“Come on—it’s a Friday night. Don’t you have something better to do than spy on people having more fun than you?”
called Spy Bar.” She nodded at the sign stretched across the wall behind him.
“I’m sorry.” He grinned at her, determined not to show how much she irritated him. “I meant, don’t you have anything better to do than stalk people who don’t want to talk to you?”
Morgan Cummings had been hunting his story for several months now, ever since his father Henry Harper had announced that Will would be taking on more responsibility at Harper Global to prepare for his ascension to CEO. Thanks to her, his quiet life of clubbing with people in his inner circle had become public knowledge—and the public didn’t seem to like what they saw.
“It’s a job, so don’t take it personally,” she said indignantly. “And unlike you, I actually like what I do, despite its lack of a silver platter.”
He liked his job too, working under the COO of one of the largest snack companies in the country. But he also liked to play hard when the week was over—something he was trying to do, if Morgan would leave him alone.
“Lots of good things come on a silver platter.” He held his arms out, a drink in each hand. “If you’ll excuse me…”
He turned around and headed toward his table, not bothering to look back. He knew the doe-eyed, opportunistic reporter well enough—he could picture Morgan following after him, shoving her way through the crowd.
She caught up to him and grabbed his elbow. “You won’t even give me the name of tonight’s date?”
He glanced down at her; she stared back at him hungrily—though not for his body, which he would have appreciated. No, that hunger was reserved solely for his story, and nothing turned him off more than an eager journalist digging for dirt.
“No idea what you’re talking about.” He scanned the crowd above her head. He wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, but he wanted to send her a message—that her tabloid reporting of his every move didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said, yanking his elbow again. “Tall, redhead, wearing that slinky black dress with no back?”
“Now, why would you be asking me that? If you think I’m here with someone, why not introduce yourself to her and get her name on your own?”
Morgan grit her teeth and glared at him. “I can’t get anywhere near her and you know it.”
“Oh, right,” he nodded, as if it had just dawned on him. “You reporters don’t get paid very well, which makes it difficult to get past the velvet rope.” He smiled at the bouncer standing next to the entrance to the bottle service and walked right past him, leaving a fuming Morgan behind in the middle of the club.
“A gentleman would invite a lady to join him,” she shouted after him over the din of the vibrating music.
“I would,” he replied over his shoulder, “but I know all about your disdain for silver platters.”
He would never give her entrance into his world, and not just because Morgan would blog all about it the next day. The bigger issue was that she was petite, brunette, and squawky, like an obnoxious parrot—not exactly his type of girl. So why give her the time of day?
Jaycee, on the other hand, was exactly the kind of woman he wanted to spend his time with. He sat down across from her in their booth and poured the drinks into one of the empty glasses still sitting on the table.
“Ready for a threesome with molly?” he asked. He dug into each of the emptied drinks, the ice cubes clinking against each other, until he found what he was looking for: two pieces of ice, each housing a small plastic-wrapped bag with a little blue crystalline inside.
Jaycee flashed him one of her signature dimpled smiles. “So it’s true,” she said. “They do serve a special brand of rum and coke here.”
“Only the best for the best.” Jaycee wasn’t the type of girl he would bring home to his parents, especially when they kept harassing him to settle down and put all of the Morgan-generated negative press behind him. But then, he made sure he never needed to plan for introductions. Women who dated him knew the drill—they were given one night of intimate, adoring perfection with a handsome, wealthy man in exchange for being beautiful, charming, interesting… and most importantly, distracting.
The women he dated weren’t stupid; they knew that getting attached or expecting any commitment from him was futile. He was the playboy, the fantasy—when the morning dawned, the fairy tale ended for them and he was on to the next diversion that could keep his mind off of
He didn’t think about her much anymore. It had been nearly four years since the murder, four years since she walked out of his downtown condo and toward the train station after their 3am fight. He had offered her a ride, but she had been too angry with him to take it, and he had been too angry at her to argue. He’d stayed up playing video games into the early morning hours to let off steam, which meant he was awake and alert when he received the call from her devastated parents.
He had never forgiven himself, and now, her younger sister was coming to town for the weekend, texting him earlier in the day that she wanted to meet up. There wasn’t much of a choice there—though he wanted to avoid her at whatever possible cost, he had to say yes.
“Will.” Jaycee snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Are you even listening?”
“Of course,” he said, refocusing his eyes on her. Her hair was a brilliant red and her freckled face only made her milky skin look even paler. And those green eyes… why was it that redheads always seemed to have such electrifying green eyes? As they bore into his, he couldn’t help but think about the night he had planned for them. “You have my full attention.”
“Good,” she said, though those eyes betrayed her, revealing her true feelings. Women like her weren’t used to men ignoring them, so when men did, it shook them to their cores. The most beautiful girls masked the most fragile egos, he had come to learn over the past four years. He could see her confidence faltering as she continued her story about one of the senator’s sons she used to date. This time, he laughed in all the right places, teased her charmingly, and offered the perfect blend of jealousy and carelessness to make her feel wanted. Because, damn it, he was
William Henry Harper. He was a performer, and his routine was simple, consistent, and effortless. He had a reputation to protect.
When the ice cubes finally melted, freeing the last ingredients for their ecstasy cocktail, they tossed them back and drank a bit longer. Twenty minutes later, he invited her to the hotel room he had booked for them in advance, just as planned.
The sequence was all part of his Friday routine. First, he wined and dined his date. Then, he took her to a club where she could get into party mode. The combination of sweating bodies, a fast beat, and sensual moves put women in the mood for sex like nothing else.
Next came the drugs to loosen her up and free her from inhibitions. Some women were familiar with one-night stands, but for many, it was their first time sleeping with a man they barely knew. He wanted to make sure it was memorable, that he was memorable.
The finale happened in the hotel room. When they finally made their way upstairs, unlocking the door to the suite he had picked out especially for her, he didn’t hesitate—he grabbed her waist and pressed her against the wall, hard, like he’d been wanting to do all night. A woman liked a man who couldn’t keep his hands off her. She wanted an animal in the sack, but her kind of animal—one that could play rough, but wouldn’t actually bite.
He didn’t feel any bra or panty lines through her dress, so he moved straight to the bed.
They tumbled onto it, and he let his eagerness show as he slowly shimmied her dress down her body. She was only the third redhead he’d ever been with, and he was dying to see what her pale, voluptuous frame could offer.
As he slid the dress over her feet, he moved on top of her, massaging and sucking each of her nipples, letting her moan with pleasure as he slowly made his way down. She was smooth and hairless between her legs, just the way he liked it, and he bent his head to taste her. The fastest way to get a woman wet was to use his tongue, he had found—and the move had the added benefit of making her feel more vulnerable, which made the sex infinitely better for her.
He unbuttoned his shirt himself, then his pants—he let himself struggle with the button with just the right amount of nervousness to make her feel like she was the first woman he’d done this for. Predictably, she reached up to help him, wrapping her hand around his dick, helping him grow. He needed the help whenever he took X, but the benefit was that he could last much longer when he was peaking.
He groaned as she helped him slide inside her. When he penetrated her, he groaned louder, finally feeling the soft wetness he’d been longing for all night. The first time having sex with a woman, especially one as beautiful as Jaycee, was always fun and exciting, which was one of the reasons he never did it more than once. By the second or third time he had already gotten what he wanted; after that, his interest quickly wore off, and sex became just sex.
He didn’t see the point of spoiling their one incredible encounter with dozens more that would at best be good, at worst, mediocre.
He had read once that every time a person remembered something from their past, they rewrote that memory with their current knowledge, experience, and emotions. Having sex with the same person day in and day out seemed a lot like rewriting a once-good memory with a degraded version, over and over again.
He reached down under his stomach and ran his finger along the top of her clitoris. He had learned through experience that women often needed an extra touch to writhe underneath him the way he liked them to. He rubbed her in slow circles as he fucked her, and her breathing grew heavier, hitching as she arched her back. She was into it, he could tell—and it only excited him more.
Rising together with her, both under the influence, was his favorite part of evenings like this. It reminded him that he was William Henry Harper, heir to a billionaire fortune and one of the richest young bachelors in all of Chicago. He could make his friends envious; he could make women scream his name. And when he turned 30, he would take over his father’s empire and show the world what he was really made of. He would show them that he wasn’t just a spoiled rich boy who had gotten to where he was through luck. He would show them that he was an entrepreneur and business mogul to be reckoned with.