Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (34 page)

I expect him to back off in defeat, to give me an
oh well
shrug, to tell me if we can’t be serious then we can’t
be
at all. Instead I get the opposite. I get a lopsided smile and a tilt of the head to the side, along with the stomach-tightening words, “You’re not moving to Brazil.”

‘
Yes, yes, yes
!’ Reckless Lotty straightens up from her bored slouch, her eyes lit up with intrigue. ‘
I knew there was an alpha in there somewhere
.’

My lips protrude with attitude. “Says who?”

“Also, any kind of starting over you’ll be doing, it’s going to be with me.”

‘
Oh, God, YES.
’ Reckless Lotty sighs dreamily. ‘
I’m so wet right now they should signal a flood-watch.
’

When I try to push up on my elbow, our noses collide, because he refuses to move, bullying me, till I drop back down, defeated.

Narrowing my gaze on him, I tighten my lips. “You’re getting bossy again,
Mr. Van Der Wells
. I don’t like it.”

Noah leans further down, his chest pressing against my breasts. “I’m not your ex. You know me. And you know I’ll never hurt a hair on your head. So don’t play that card. I just told you: I want you. I tried getting through to you the nice, romantic way. The gentle way. Trying to be cautious because of your past relationship. But apparently you’re not the nice and romantic kind of girl. You’re still the same stiff-necked Charlotte Cooley we all knew. Gentle and cautious won’t work.”

It’s my turn to cock my head, albeit awkwardly, considering my caged-in position. “So, what are you going to do? Bully me into a relationship with you?”

The bastard grins. “Nope.”

He moves back and picks up the remote, selecting the second episode of Graceland. Then, with the hand still fixed between my waist and the couch, he shifts me forward a bit, before laying his hot, hard body behind me, wrapping one hand around my middle, and pulling me back against him.

Said hand shifts to my hip, locking it in place as he grinds himself against my ass, three, four, five times. By the sixth grind, he’s granite-hard.

My toes curl...breathing paused.

Hand moving back to my middle, holding me against him, he lays his head above mine on the pillow, hard-on digging into my rear.

“Now,” he begins, tone challenging, “I dare you to lust after Briggs while this”—his hips thrust forward to indicate his hard-on “is
right here
.”

I swallow. I have no comeback. That’s right. No. Comeback. Horniness has rendered me dim-witted. What’s behind me, I want it inside me. But if I admit that, he wins, and that’s what he wants.

So I say nothing, mostly because I don’t think I
could
say anything even if I tried.

We watch
Graceland
.

Three episodes later, Noah is
still hard
. And by then, all I can think is, “Briggs who?”

E
IGHTEEN

I
FIND
Q
WESIE
buttering bagels in the kitchen the next morning. His brows shoot up when he sees me in uniform. “Lover boy still makes you wear that thing?”

“Good morning to you, too, Q,” I say, walking up and snatching the buttered bagel from his hand, taking a big bite out of it. “
Mr. Van Der Wells
is my boss, not my lover boy. And I’m wearing this ‘thing’ because I’m on the job and this is my uniform.”

“Sure you are, luv.” He scoffs. Then picks up another bagel and begins buttering it. “If you’re
just
his
housemaid, then I’m a gay, virgin superhero who flies five-hundred-feet each time I have an orgasm.”

Mid-second bite of the stolen bagel, I pause, blink at him. “Then if you’re a virgin, how do you have—never-mind.”

He smirks, smugness abound.

“Believe what you want.”

“Though I don’t recall hearing any shag noises last night, so…”

My mouth gapes. “You were
listening
for sex noises?”

Biting into his bagel, he winks at me. “I know, I’m a filthy pervert, aren’t I? But I often get away with it because, well…”—He gestures down the length of his body, which is all wrongful perfection—“I look like
this
. Dolls thinks it’s sexy, not creepy. There’s plenty a man can get away with if he looks like me, luv.”

This kind of arrogance usually irks me to no end, but I find I can’t help grinning at the idiot. “Cool it, Brit Bill. I’m afraid this room is a smite too small for your ego.”

His phone vibrates on the counter. He picks it up, asking me, “Brit Bill?” right before he answers the phone and tells the person on the other end that he’ll be right down.

“Yep,” I say once he hangs up and gives me an expectant look. “British Billionaire.”

Qwesie makes an ugly face—well, as ugly as someone as perfectly sculpted as him can pull off. “Oh, bloody hell no. Hideous nickname. Don’t ever call me that.”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” I sing through a winning grin.

His eyes narrow on me. “You’re going to call me that from now on, aren’t you?” 

“You bet your pretty boy face I will.”

He jabs a finger at me. “Cruella.” Then he steals back the half-eaten bagel from my hand and strides out of the kitchen.

“Hey, why aren’t you out running with Noah?” I call after him.

I hear the ding of the elevator, and then his thick, accented reply, “Ain’t nobody got time fo’ that.”

After preparing breakfast, I make sure I’m out of the kitchen and out of sight before Noah gets back. I don’t even go running. Don’t know why—or maybe I do—but all of a sudden I’m scared of him. In a deliciously sexy foolish kind of scared, of course.

He slept in my bed last night.

I’d begun dozing off during the fifth episode of Graceland, figured it was time to go to bed, and tried to get up. And failed. Noah had me banded to him. He asked where I was going, and I told him to bed. At once, he switched off the television, got up and scooped me up in his arms before I realized what he was doing. Proceeding to my bedroom, he laid me on the bed, climbed in right behind me, and switched off the bedside lamp.

He’d said nothing. I said nothing. But our hearts spoke loudly through wild and violent thuds.

He fell asleep before me, while I, no longer sleepy, laid awake attempting to figure out what was happening. Rational Lotty began berating me, asking me if that’s not what I wanted all along. Reckless Lotty not so politely corrected her no; that what I wanted all along was
sex
. And that’s not what I was getting. The bickering that ensued was enough for me to turn off my mind, snuggle back into Noah, and join him in sleep.

I was awake long before he was this morning, relaxing in his loose hold. In fact, his dick was awake about ten minutes before he was. When he did wake, thinking I was asleep, he spent a great deal of time quietly rubbing it against my butt.

He whispered my name a few times, touched my shoulder, testing to see if I was awake. But I kept my eyes closed and breathed like a deep sleeper, regardless of how wet I was from all his rubbing.

Whatever he was trying to wake me for, it wasn’t sex—perhaps to go running with him—so there was no point in answering. Before long, he gave up and got out of bed, left the room.

As soon as he was gone, I rolled over and began masturbating, panting, imagining him inside me. Yet, right as I was about to climax, I stopped myself. I couldn’t. The orgasm was his. And why I was respecting that, I had no idea.

Now, I’m hiding because I’m afraid I might explode from just looking at him, he has me so wound up.

Around 2 PM, when I’m about to check in online for my second class of the day, the elevator dings someone’s arrival.

I’m not expecting anyone, so I sit still for a moment, listening.

Hearing the heavy boots and the familiar pattern of footfalls—sure and economical and purposeful—I relax, knowing who it is.  

Muscles turns into the living area a few footfalls later, a white bag with an
Apple
logo on it in his hand.

I smile at the sight of him, in his usual all-black, completely abandoning checking into class.

“Well, well, well,” I start with a teasing drawl, “look what the devil dragged in.”

Muscles’ keen eyes scan me. “He’s still making you wear that?”

I laugh. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

He doesn’t see the amusement. “Maybe because ‘people’ now know that he didn’t really bring you here to be a
housemaid
. Why keep up the pretense?”

Rising to my feet, I cross my arms. “The
he
you speak of is my boss as well as he is yours. Regardless of what goes on between those working hours. I work, I get paid.” My head tilts to the side. “If you beg to differ, what do you propose I am, Muscles?”

Tough as he is, he averts his gaze from me.

“Say it,” I urge him. “Say what you think. That I’m his whore.”

His gaze snaps back to me, serious, censorious. “I would never think that of you. How could you even…” He shakes his head. Looks away. Back at me again, and blurts out, “I hooked up with Kiera last night.”

I get whiplash from the sudden change of topic. “Last night? Didn’t you hook up with her Saturday night after V?”

He sucks in a breath and shakes his head again. “And there it is. You don’t care. Why did I think you’d care?”

Wait, is this what Kiera was going on about last night? Muscles? Why would she hide hooking up with Muscles when we discussed me backing off so she could hook up with him? “What made you think it would bother me? She told me she was going to. What bothers me is that she hid it from me. I don’t get it.”

He runs his free hand over his shorn head. “‘Cause I asked her not to.”

“
Why
?” So, he tells my best friend to lie to me and then decides to blurt it out to me himself?
Huh?

His voice comes hard and cold when he says, “Look, just forget it, alright? Anyway…” He dips into the bag and pulls out a flat, white box with a black handle. A box I’m familiar with. On the side are the words
Macbook Pro
. “…Your
boss
wants you to have this. Something about online classes and an old, broken laptop. It’s already set up for you. So…yeah.”

He holds out the box, but I don’t take it, glaring at it instead. “What makes him think he can just buy me a laptop?” 

Impatient, Muscles sets the box down on the coffee table and turns, retreating from the room. “Why don’t you ask him that during whatever goes on between working hours?”

I watch him leave, realizing a little too late what his deal is: He doesn’t just like me. He
likes
me. Like, something
serious
kind of likes me. Me kissing or being with Noah bothers him. And he slept with Kiera to what…? Make me jealous? An asinine idea if I ever heard one.

“Muscles.” I don’t expect him to stop, but he does. He doesn’t turn, though. “I haven’t slept with Noah.”

His shoulders relax, and he immediately begins to confess, “I didn’t sleep with your friend. We just made out. I wanted something to—”

Not wanting him to mistake this as me saying I want to be with him the way he wants to be with me, I cut him off with, “But I want to.” I pause, watching his shoulders tense up again. “And I will.”

He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t say another word. He just leaves.

Me:
You bought me a laptop.

Noah:
Yes. I did do that.
      

Me:
I didn’t ask you to.

Noah:
No. But you need one.

Me:
Q thinks I’m ur girl. Muscles thinks I’m ur whore. Neither believes I’m mopping floors.