The Billionaire's Mistress Complete Series: Alpha Billionaire Romance (47 page)

“Here.” He stepped out of the way so I could enter. “Light's on the left.”

I felt along the wall and turned on the light. The room was tastefully decorated with furnishings that were obviously top quality but not ornate. A large bed sat in the middle of the room and a door on the other side was open. The colors were warm and inviting, a perfectly designed guest room.

“That's your own bathroom.” He motioned to the door across the hall. “And there's my room. There's no direct access between the two rooms, but if you need me, I'm right here.”

I took a step and a wave of dizziness washed over me. I reached out and caught the doorframe, fighting to keep my eyes open. I'd already worked a long day and the clock glowing from inside the bedroom said it was past one in the morning. Add that to the emotional upheaval and the physical toll and I was surprised I'd actually managed to make it this far. I looked at the bed. It was only a few feet away, but I wasn't sure I could take another step.

“I've got you.” Rylan's voice was right behind me. “If you permit me.”

I knew what he was asking and I nodded my answer, wondering if he understood how big a step it was for me. Then he pick me up in his arms and carried me into the room. He held me securely, but not so tightly that I felt like he was restraining me. He set me on the bed and immediately took a step back, giving me room to breathe.

“Do you want something else to wear?” he asked. “I can get something out of the dresser and give it to you. I always keep a couple extra pairs of pajama pants and t-shirts in the guest rooms.”

I wiggled my toes, realizing for the first time that, at some point, Rylan had taken off my shoes. I looked up at him and nodded. I wanted the familiarity of my own pajamas, but at least what he had would be more comfortable than the skinny jeans and fitted sweater I'd worn to work today.

He went to the dresser, rummaged for a moment and then came back with a pair of flannel pants and a plain gray t-shirt.

“I'll be across the hall if you need me,” he said. “It's a simple turn lock and there is a key, but it's downstairs. I'll get it for you if you want it though.” He stepped out into the hallway and reached behind him to close the door.

“Wait,” I said.

He stopped, but didn't turn to look at me.

“Will you stay?” I asked. “And sit with me for a while?”

He gave me a soft smile and I saw another glimpse of anger cross his eyes before disappearing into a warm emotion I wasn't going to think about. “Of course. I'll just step out into the hall until you're done changing, then I'll come back in.”

“Okay.” I watched as he closed the door and pulled off my clothes. Everything went into a pile on the floor and then I pulled on the clothes he'd given me. I kept glancing at the door, wondering if he'd do what he'd said. The fear ingrained in me through experience said that he would come back in before I was done dressing and take advantage of the situation. Another part of me thought he'd get tired of waiting and leave. A tiny bit hoped that he'd keep his word. And I wasn't sure which of the three ideas terrified me more.

I slid under the covers and then risked it all. “I'm dressed.”

For one heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. Then the door opened and he came back in. He left the door half open, giving me privacy and an escape route. He started toward the expensive-looking chair in the corner.

“Sit here, please.” I patted the edge of the bed. “It's a strange place and you're familiar.”

He smiled again and came over to the bed. He sat exactly where I'd asked him to and didn't try to touch me. “I'll stay right here until you fall asleep. How about that? And then I'll be right across the hall if you need me.”

“Thank you.” I settled back against the pillows, knowing the exhaustion would take over my self-preservation mode and my eyes were going to close. That was okay this time though. He wasn't going to touch me.

I was safe.

I
wasn't safe
. I was never safe. When I fell asleep, I never knew if I'd wake up in the same place, if I'd be alone or if there would be others with me. In my bed. In another bed. A warehouse. Basement. There could be one or twenty. Old, young, mostly men but there'd been a couple women. Women, like the one who was holding down my wrists while her husband was pumping away inside me, tearing me apart.

They wanted me to scream and fight, and I did what they wanted. I'd heard my mother negotiating with them before they'd come into my room. I'd been pretending to sleep, hoping and praying that this time, it was just a nightmare. That I hadn't heard my mother telling them it would cost extra if they left marks. That I hadn't heard in her voice that she wanted them to agree to pay more, no matter what it did to me.

They'd agreed and my breasts ached with the bite marks they'd left, but they were nothing compared to what else they were doing. Once he was done, they turned me over and it was her turn. My throat was raw from screaming by the time she was done and he was hard again.

They took turns for hours and when they left, my mom took a belt to me for ruining the sheets. I begged her not to throw away my blanket, the only consistent thing I'd ever had. It had never protected me from the horrors of my childhood, but it had always been there to bring a tiny bit of comfort. I didn't care that it was a mess. She burned it in front of me and laughed when I started coughing and choking from the smoke.

I stayed home from school three days after that one. Mom even left me alone. Or she forgot about me. When I crawled out of bed after two days without eating or drinking, she was passed out on the couch. It was a very real possibility that she’s forgotten about me. She hadn't been giving me time to heal.

When I got home from school after my first day back, the man Mom called Uncle Ronny was waiting. He had another baby doll dress for me. Mom said I should be thankful that I wasn't developing young because once I started getting real boobs, Uncle Ronny wouldn't want me anymore.

I prayed every day that I'd start growing like the other twelve year-olds in my class. Until it happened, I would have to do all of the disgusting, humiliating things Uncle Ronny made me do, things that left me retching and crying... all after he'd left of course. I'd learned the hard way what happened if I threw up when Uncle Ronny was still here.

The memory bled into another, then another.

Fingers, then hands, inside me.

A thick shaft shoved between my lips, choking me.

Hard objects being shoved into me, bottles and sticks, whatever happened to be lying around.

Hands around my throat as I tried to scream.

Gasping for air.

No air.

I was dying...

I fought my way awake, pushing at the darkness, at the past. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, blood rushing in my ears.

I reminded myself that I hadn't died the time my mother had tried to choke me. She'd left my throat bruised and swollen for days, but I'd lived. I'd survived that and more. I clung to that truth as I tried to wake myself up.

I heard someone screaming and knew it was me, but I couldn't stop myself. I was aware that I was dreaming, that the things happening in my head were a mix of memories and the dark imaginings of a mind twisted by the past.

Uncle Ronny had been real enough, but only half of the things in the nightmare had been his particular fetishes. There had been a nameless man in a mask who'd liked the other things. He'd been the one who'd punished me for throwing up.

I kept trying to talk myself out of that space between sleep and waking; the place I sometimes hated worse than the nightmare because I knew it was up to me to get myself out of there and I often doubted my ability to do so. The more I doubted, the longer I stayed.

I was sure this time would be bad, that I'd be stuck in this state for what would feel like years. Then, I heard it.

“Jenna, shh. I'm here.”

That voice.

The voice that broke through my panic before.

“Wake up.”

There were strong arms around me. Arms I recognized. Ones that protected and strengthened rather than hurt and restrained.

“It's okay, Jenna. I'm here.”

The screaming stopped.

Lips pressed against the top of my head.

Soothing noises filled my ears, repeated words being murmured, mixed with nonsense sounds.

Little by little, I felt my muscles begin to unclench and other sensations started to come through.

A gentle rocking motion.

The steady thumping of a heart.

The scent of him, fresh and clean, as if he'd taken a shower before he'd gone to sleep.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay here with you until morning.”

I wanted to tell him he didn't need to do that. He needed his sleep because he had to work tomorrow. I had to work tomorrow, but I wasn't as important. If I fell back asleep, I could have another nightmare. I could get violent. More than once, I'd woken up after a nightmare to find scratches on my arms, or even bruised knuckles. I'd cracked a knuckle once putting a hole in the drywall. I didn't want to hurt him. Especially since I'd given him a black eye the first time we'd met.

The memory made me smile and I heard him sigh in relief.

“That's right. Good dreams now. Go to sleep and I'll be here.” His arms tightened around me for a moment, then loosened.

I pressed myself closer to him, not wanting him to let me go.

“Shh.” He shifted, cradling me against his chest. “I've got you.”

He said he'd stay. He'd respected every decision I'd made about the physical contact between us. He'd never lied to me or gone back on his word. Everything I knew to be true said I could trust him. Even my heart was daring to hope. It was only my instincts that still wanted to push back.

I was exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally. My defenses were down and I couldn't fight anymore. And, if I was honest with myself, I didn't want to fight. I was tired of fighting. When I woke up tomorrow, I'd probably be back to my normal self, pushing people away and keeping up the walls I'd built over the years.

For tonight, however, I would sleep.

I
slept
and didn't dream. No nightmares, no dreams. Just blissful rest.

I woke slowly, but it wasn't that strange, sluggish feeling I usually had when I woke up after being asleep for only a few hours. I felt rested. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened. It wouldn't last, I knew, but I planned on enjoying the moment.

Then, the events of the previous night came flooding back to me and my eyes flew open. It hadn't been a dream. I was really in a guest room at Rylan's house. My face flooded with heat as I remembered asking him to stay with me. At least it looked like he'd lied and left after I'd fallen back asleep. That was good. I didn't want to wake up in his arms. It would've been too weird. Like we were in some sort of relationship where we were sleeping together... literally.

A noise from my left drew my attention and, as I turned my head, I saw Rylan hadn't left after all. He was there, just stretched out and fast asleep. At some point in the early morning hours, either I'd pulled away or he'd let me go. My cynical nature said he'd let me go, tired of me, but I knew it was more likely that I'd pushed him away in my sleep.

He looked younger asleep. I'd read somewhere that everyone did, but I wasn't sure I agreed with that. Whatever anyone else looked like when they slept, Rylan did look younger. I imagined this was what he must've looked like back in college, when he'd first started Archer Enterprises.

His dark hair fell across his forehead and I started to reach for him, my fingers itching to brush it away from his face. I hesitated before I touched him, then told my misgivings to shut up and pushed back his hair. It was just as soft as I remembered. Before I could stop myself, I ran my fingers down his cheek, giving myself permission to enjoy the moment before he woke up and things went back to the way they had been.

The tip of my index finger hovered over his bottom lip. It had been almost a month since we'd slept together and I still couldn't get the memory of those lips out of my head.

I didn't understand him. In my experience, there were two kinds of men in the world. The ones who took what they wanted from me and the ones who looked the other way. Rylan was neither. He'd never forced anything on me or from me, and he hadn't dumped me at a hospital and walked away. No one would've blamed him if he'd just called for an ambulance when I'd passed out. I certainly wouldn't have. I would've been grateful that he hadn't tried anything or left me in the elevator. This... this had been above and beyond. More than I'd ever expected anyone to do for me. He wasn't like any man I'd ever met before. Any person of either gender... except Lily.

As I often did when I thought of her, I put my hand on my hip. Beneath the comfortable flannel pants was a lily tattoo. No one had ever asked me about it, and I wouldn't have told them if they had. The pain was still too fresh.

Officer Lily Wright had been one of the people on the task force who'd come into my house that night. I'd been thirteen, underfed and terrified. I'd lashed out when one of the police men had tried to touch me and the only other woman present had given me such a look of disgust that I'd cussed her out. Lily had been the only one who'd cared enough to put her arms around me despite the filth I was covered in. She was the first person to show me true kindness and not expect anything in return. The only one who hadn't been paid to do it – until Rylan. My social worker and therapist had been good, but I'd always known I was their job. Lily had only been on site for crowd control. She hadn't needed to come to me, comfort me.

She'd stayed with me in the ambulance and at the hospital, holding my hand the entire time. She'd stayed for nearly twenty-four hours, and then she'd come back every day to visit until it was finally time for me to be released. That day, she'd brought me a lily and given me her card. She'd told me she'd always be there when I needed her. All I needed to do was call.

She'd kept her promise for two years. And then some bastards in a turf war had gunned her down. Hundreds of people had attended her funeral and the nineteen year-old who shot her got life in prison, but that hadn't been much comfort to me. It still wasn't. Those first two years in and out of the hospital, in group homes and talking to psychiatrists who kept wanting to put me on meds... I never would've gotten through any of that if it hadn't been for her.

“You look thoughtful.”

I jerked my hand back, hoping Rylan hadn't see or felt me touching him. He smiled up at me, but his expression revealed nothing. I pushed myself back and up, putting space between us as he sat up.

“I should get going.” I looked at the clock for the first time. “Shit! I really do need to go!”

He glanced over his shoulder and laughed, a genuine sound that managed to stop my frenzied movements. “I think your boss can excuse you.”

I started to shake my head as I walked around the bed and began picking up my clothes. “I don't want anyone thinking... I mean...”

“You'd rather both of us go in late, you wearing the same thing you did yesterday?” He raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused at my stammering.

I glared at him. “I'll go home and change first.”

“You wouldn't make it back to your place and then to work until after lunch,” he reasoned.

I threw down my clothes, annoyed. “Then what do you suggest?”

He folded his arms behind his head. “Well, considering I've already sent in an email saying that, due to us having to work late on a security glitch, I was giving you today off and I was going to take a day myself, I'd say the first thing I suggest is that you relax.”

“You sent an email,” I said.

He nodded and sat forward. “Last night while I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“Because you knew then that neither one of us would be getting much sleep?” I felt a tinge of heat in my cheeks and refused to let my mind go where that question wanted to take it.

“Because I knew then that you needed to sleep without worrying about going in to work.” He paused, the expression on his face sobering. “And because I wanted to talk to you and this seemed like the best way to make sure you didn't have any excuses to avoid me.”

“I haven't been avoiding you,” I argued.

“Good,” he said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. At some point, he'd changed into pajamas similar to mine.

I wondered if he wore them all the time or if he slept in less...

“Aside from pajamas, I usually try to keep some clothes people can wear in a pinch. Generally, it's my sister or Zeke.” He stood and ran his hand through his hair as he yawned. He motioned toward the bathroom. “Towels are already laid out. Take your time, find something to wear and then come downstairs. Bottom of the stairs, turn left and keep going straight. You'll end up in the kitchen. We'll talk over breakfast.” He looked at the clock again. “Or brunch, more accurately.”

He didn't give me a chance to protest, to tell him that I was perfectly fine taking a cab back to my place and we could talk business at work tomorrow. My stomach twisted as the thought occurred to me that whatever it was he wanted to talk about probably wasn't work-related. He hadn't said so. In fact, he'd deliberately called us off work so we could talk here. If he hadn't been such a gentleman last night, I would've suspected he had something devious in mind.

What could he possibly want to talk about, I wondered as I went into the bathroom. It would've been a master bath in most houses. Marble countertops. Double sink. Large bathtub on one side and a glass-enclosed shower on the other. I wanted a nice long soak in water hot enough to make my skin pink, but I went for the shower instead. The more I put off the talk, the more anxious I would be.

I showered quickly, appreciating the assortment of available shampoos and soaps he had set out for his guests. Well, not him personally, because I assumed he had a housekeeper who did all of that, but the fact that he was willing to spend money on varieties of quality stuff for guests was nice. I chose lavender and let the scent soothe me as I cleaned up. When I was done, I headed into the bedroom and over to the dresser. I cringed as I looked through the selection there and in the closet. It wasn't that the clothes were tacky or cheap, they were generic. I shrugged. It didn't matter. They were clean and it wasn't like I was actually going anywhere.

I pulled out a pair of men's jeans – there was no way I would wear one of the dresses in the closet – and then cuffed the pants until I could walk. They hung dangerously low on my hips and if they fell even just a bit more, they'd show my lack of undergarments, but I wasn't planning on doing any sprinting or jumping jacks, so I figured I'd be fine. I was starting to get a bit chilly, so a hoodie came next. I didn't pick the biggest one because I would've been swimming in it, but I didn't choose the smallest either. I wasn't wearing a bra and didn't feel like making that public knowledge. Once I washed my face, dressed and ran a brush through my hair, I knew it was time to head downstairs.

I glanced in the mirror as I passed. I didn't wear make-up at home and there were plenty of times I lounged around in comfy clothes like these, sometimes even sans bra and underwear. I just never let anyone see me like this. Although, I supposed, after last night, this wasn't really a big deal.

I followed his directions and by the time I had gone a couple feet from the stairs, I could just follow my nose. Something smelled delicious. When I entered the kitchen, I was greeted by a sight I'd never thought I'd see.

Rylan was cooking. He was standing at the stove, wearing an apron and doing something with an omelet. There was a streak of flour on his cheek and his feet were still bare.

“You don't have a cook who does that for you?” I blurted the question out.

He jumped, apparently startled by my sudden appearance, but he didn't miss a beat with his cooking. The spatula moved from the pan with the eggs to another one where he flipped a pancake.

“I wasn't sure what you liked, so I made a little of everything.” He gestured toward each of the three pans on the stove. “Pancakes, bacon and a cheese omelet.” He glanced at me. “There's already toast, jam and fruit on the table.”

I stared at him.

“I know, more breakfast food than lunch, but on the rare occasion I get up late, I like to have breakfast anyway.” He turned off the burners and began putting the food onto a trio of dishes. “And to answer your question, no I don't have a cook. I have a cleaning crew who comes in once a week, but that's because the house is huge, and I have a grounds crew who keeps the outside nice because six acres is a lot to manage on my own.”

My jaw dropped as I watched him balance all three plates and carry them to a small table I hadn't noticed before.

“I only use the dining room when there's more than a couple people here, or it's something formal.” He set down the plates. “Please, sit. The drinks are all here too.”

I walked over to where he stood and took a seat. He waited until he'd poured me a small glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee before he joined me.

“You wanted to talk?” I asked

“Eat first.” He pointed at my plate. “Then we'll talk.”

I expected the silence between us to be awkward, especially considering all that had happened in the past few hours, but it wasn't really. In fact, it was quite nice to sit and relax. Eating nice and slow, no rush with somewhere to be, no pressure to have to maintain a conversation or pretend like things were normal or that I was tough. I could just be and he was okay with it.

When we finished, however, I began to get nervous. One of the reasons I dressed the way I did was because I used my appearance as a shield, a protection from people. I still had the tattoos, piercings and hair, but dressed this way, I didn't feel the same.

He drained the last of his coffee and turned his chair so that it was angled toward me. I hadn't thought anything of it when he'd sat next to me instead of across from me, but now I realized he was closer than I thought. His knee brushed mine and a warmth spread through me from the point of contact. If that happened through two layers of clothes, I suspected I might combust if he did anything else. There was a tension between us that hadn't been there before.

“These last few weeks,” he began. “Working with you. Talking to you. Watching you with the others at the office.” His lips twitched. “With Christophe in particular.”

I pressed my hands together, forcing myself not to think of all the different ways this conversation could go.

“It's forced me to admit something I'd been trying to deny.” He leaned toward me, but didn't try to touch me. “Then last night, seeing you so... seeing how hurt you were, knowing someone had caused you so much pain...” His hands curled into fists. “I hate it. I hate that anyone could hurt another human being, but you...” He shook his head. “It tears me up that I can't protect you from your past.”

My heart did a funny skipping thing and it was getting hard to breathe. Not like before. This was different. Part of me wanted to tell him to stop right there, that I didn't want to hear what was coming next, but another part wanted to beg him to continue. It didn't matter what my internal debates were, however. He kept going.

“I care about you, Jenna.” He covered my hands with his. “I want to be with you.”