The Boss and the Brat: A Billionaire Romance Read online

  I gripped his shoulders, digging my nails into his jacket.

  Cameron said nothing, only gave a single grunt of warning.

  He plunged within me.

  The sharpness stole my breath.

  I yelped. Too loud. Too revealing.

  And the realization of my secret hit him as he thrust completely inside me.

  We both stilled, my body trembling and shocked by the sudden intrusion and unrelenting waves of heat that filled me from within.

  Cameron said nothing. That was good. I never would’ve admitted that it was my first time anyway.

  But his motions gentled. He moved slowly. Deliberately. Offering me a tortuously slow withdrawal of his length just to explore my depths once more.

  God…the intimacy of it…

  The unbelievable pleasure of it.

  I arched to meet more of him, to take everything he’d offered as I groaned in shameless gratitude.

  I bit my lip to keep quiet.

  And failed.

  Spectacularly.

  His movements increased in speed, and the whimpers tumbled from my lips.

  This was not how it was supposed to be.

  I’d envisioned something quick, dirty, and utterly meaningless. Wanton desire sparked by the inhibition of mistakes.

  Instead…we tormented ourselves with perfection. Utter delight as our bodies entwined, our hearts beat in sync, and our breath shared the same shocked discovery.

  I’d meant to hate him for this—to blame him for any incidental indulgence and steal my pleasure between spiteful thrusts.

  But this wasn’t hateful.

  It wasn’t angry.

  It wasn’t even dirty.

  Cameron surged within me, and for that brief moment when our bodies met and I welcomed him to the hilt…

  Life suddenly transformed into how it was meant to be.

  The heat overwhelmed us. Cameron’s movements raged fast and passionate, rushed in the same shock of discovery that had weakened me in his embrace. I surrendered to his hungry thrusts as the amazement overwhelmed me to all but him.

  All but this.

  His strength enthralled me, shattering my body into a million whimpers of aching need.

  Almost too much. Almost too big. Almost too fast.

  Cameron existed on the upper limit of perfection. Enough to challenge me. To demand everything from me.

  And, in return, I rewarded him with my own desire.

  He claimed me for his own as I offered him my body, my pleasure, my very being.

  I sunk into his arms, burying my head in his neck as thrust after thrust embedded me to the core. So deep, so revealing, he must’ve realized how much I had truly desired him.

  I could hide nothing this close to the man. He’d realize my every pleasure, hear the truth in my frantic breath.

  In that moment, I belonged to him and him alone.

  And that was all I needed in this world.

  He held me tight. Kissed away my curious inexperience. Whispered terrible and wonderful words as he crashed harder and harder against me.

  The pleasure built too fast and too hard.

  Desire was meant to overwhelm me, but as I crested that blitz of intensity, I had nothing left in this world to hold to except for the man delivering me straight into the depths of my lust and depravity. The demanding tension ripping at my core threatened my last bit of sanity.

  But Cameron captured my moans, silenced my cries, and comforted the shivers of confusion which raced through my weakening body.

  How quickly he’d taken me to the edge.

  How thoroughly he consumed me.

  I had no defense against a man like him, not when he buried so deep inside me, realizing the truth of every lie I’d spoken and feeling I’d denied.

  He savored my moans and grunted as my tightness clutched his velvet shaft. My head fell back as his final thrust slammed me into the wall.

  The intensity stole my strength.

  The silence deafened me.

  The pleasure of it all destroyed my every defense against this man.

  An orgasm ripped through me, rendering me limp and helpless, completely dependent upon Cameron as the continued ferocious pressure dazzled, delighted, and damned me to an eternity of intimate secret.

  His hands tightened around me and held me close. It was all I needed to surrender to the barrage of unending bursts and shivers.

  His breathing shifted. Harsher. Rasped and desperate. He thrust faster to bury his entire length within my quivering tightness. Skin to skin. As deeply as he could fit.

  His teeth seized the sensitive skin at my neck, and he bit. The sharp sting rocketed through me, and I arched hard against his body with another wave of my own pleasure.

  Then…

  Heat.

  His crest battled my own, erupting in wave after wave of perfect disaster that crippled me in his embrace.

  The jets of warmth coated me from the inside. I wrapped my arms around his neck, demanding even more from a man shaking, breaking, and groaning against his own animalistic urges.

  And I wanted more.

  More of him.

  More of his heat.

  More of the dazzling, mind-rending pleasure that so easily tore me from a world of responsibility and demands, battles and defenses.

  Cameron stayed inside me, fully embedded, twitching with an eagerness not yet satisfied by a few minutes in a cramped elevator cabin. I accepted his kiss. Fell against him with ragged, bewildered breaths.

  But as he lowered me to the floor…

  The lights flicked on.

  Brightness scolded us in harsh artificial whiteness.

  He pulled away from me too quickly to not be insulting, but that was fine. Reality struck me harder than any of his thrusts, slamming into me like the elevator had given out and we’d crashed-landed in the lobby.

  He adjusted himself and zipped his pants.

  I did the same, fluttering my skirt over my legs as my breath returned, sucker-punching me with a not-so-pleasant cocktail of shame and denial.

  What the hell did I just do?

  Neither of us spoke.

  That was fine.

  I adjusted my purse over my shoulder and stared ahead, counting the five remaining floors until I could be free of the elevator, escape the last shivers, and recover from the mistake of a lifetime with a pint of ice cream and pulled curtains.

  I had to say something.

  Anything.

  A moment of truth maybe—that he’d completely destroyed my world only to rebuild it brick by brick in the most amazing and thrilling moments of my life.

  The words didn’t come.

  Instead, I rebuilt my own walls—thick, ragged, and barely containing the flood of my own damned emotions.

  The man terrified me in the best ways.

  And he could never know it.

  “I still don’t like you,” I whispered.

  He liked that, chuckling to himself. “Then why are you coming home with me tonight?”

  The invitation sounded perfectly disastrous.

  “In your dreams,” I said.

  “You’ll have to come over to get your panties back.”

  He tucked the white cotton bikinis into his jacket pocket.

  The elevator doors opened, and the wash of cool, fresh air was every aphrodisiac and escape I’d ever wanted.

  I should’ve agreed.

  The only thing greater than rushed, desperate sex with this man would be experiencing a leisurely, deliberate night of lovemaking in his bed.

  But one mistake was enough.

  I pushed passed him, refusing to acknowledge his satisfied grin.

  “We will never talk about this again,” I said. “Ever.”

  “Fine by me…” His voice reignited every seared ember in my core. “As long as we work late again tomorrow night…”

  Absolutely not.

  Cameron controlled the destiny of Maxwell Intimates. And with it, he’d determine
my future and life.

  He already had too much control over me.

  What had happened, happened.

  And I couldn’t regret it too harshly—for the first time in weeks, I had a post-orgasmic burst of clarity. A moment to think about the real Cameron Mitchell and how forge a necessary and fortifiable defense against him.

  And I knew what I had to do.

  It was time The Panty King met his usurper.

  8

  Cameron

  The brat ordered the contracts sent to her penthouse.

  Served me right for trusting her with more than a post-it note.

  I skipped the pleasantries and pounded on her door.

  And, of course, she made me wait.

  Tortured me. Teased me. Destroyed me.

  But, like a fool, I considered it a perk of her employment.

  She answered after a long moment, swinging the door wide and permitting me inside without ending her phone call.

  Not that I expected much of a greeting.

  Mackenza gestured toward the neatly organized contracts resting on her kitchen counter—the only available space in her penthouse. I picked a path through oversized cardboard boxes, bursting at the seams as meticulously sorted fabrics attempted to erupt from the splits.

  Mackenza’s home was the aftermath of a bomb detonated inside a Jo-Ann Fabrics. Bolts of material had taken residence on a couch that might’ve been white and comfortable before it became a loading zone for various silks and satins. Good thing the woman had somehow managed to stay in the penthouse—she needed the damned room. Skeins of yarn bundled over the floor. An army of manikins lurked in the corners of the room—just waiting for an unsuspecting bastard to groggily trudge out of the bedroom in the middle of the night.

  Most of the manikins were clothed. The naked one presumably awaited her to finish the dress on the massive sewing table invading her dining room.

  The 6x6 monstrosity nearly buckled under the weight of stacked fabrics, piled so tall Mackenza needed a stepstool to reach the pink tulle spiraling off its bolt like a florescent cobweb.

  She’d carved herself one little sitting area between sewing machines, pattern books, and boxes of thread, marking her corner of the couch with the fluffiest blanket in existence.

  Powder blue.

  As bright and lovely as her pajamas.

  Something I never thought I’d appreciate.

  Once I’d earned my money, I decided to enjoy the finer things in life. Cruising around in an Aston Martin sure as hell beat walking five miles in the snow to pick up canned food from the church, and caviar tasted far better than our dinner of creamed corn. And my newfound respect for lingerie was a reminder that money was meant to be spent on frivolity and not the hand-me-down, ragged parka that I was to share with my sister.

  And yet…

  Mackenza strutted around her penthouse in pajamas.

  A baby-doll t-shirt and bubble-gum pink cotton pants that hugged her curves.

  I’d never seen anything so sexy in my life.

  No garters. No corsets. Just the perfect simplicity of a beautiful girl with a shirt that showed a hint of her midriff and a pair of pants that labeled her ass as CUTE.

  Accurate marketing.

  Mackenza continued with her conversation. “Oh, no, Daddy. No one important is at the door.”

  So much for common courtesy.

  Wasn’t sure what I’d expected.

  Hey. How are you? Thank you for ravishing me the other night.

  Will you take off your pants or should I?

  A good fuck should’ve tamed the brat, or, at the very least, resolved some animosity between the two of us.

  Instead, it’d made it worse.

  And Mackenza liked it that way.

  “Work is fine, and Cameron is…” Her glance was about as welcoming as a deadbolt on her door. “Difficult.”

  Right.

  I wasn’t the one who had changed my computer’s assigned printer and forced me to search the entire damned office to figure out which department had my documents.

  It’d been accounting.

  The day before—the mail room.

  The day before that?

  The office in Milan.

  “Of course, I’m behaving,” she said.

  At least her father knew better.

  Wondered how insulted Reginald would be if I instituted a company policy of spankings anytime an employee impugned my character. It wouldn’t even require the office. I could’ve handled it right there. Taken her over my knee, yanked down those ridiculously pink pajama pants, and slapped that beautiful, misbehaving ass until she promised me to do everything I asked…

  First at work.

  Then in the bedroom.

  Mackenza practically floated to the couch and reclined with a wink.

  “Daddy, did you know…” she said. “Cameron doesn’t like small cars? Just between you and me…I think he’s compensating for something.”

  I rarely tolerated a liar.

  Especially when this troublemaker knew the truth.

  Mackenza laughed to herself. “I tried to save the company a little money on his trip to Dallas, but Cameron complained when I reserved him the rental car. He’s a bit of a snob.”

  Right. I was the bad guy because she’d deliberately rented me the smallest compact car available—a Toyota Yaris that had nearly castrated me on the steering wheel.

  The brat had an uncanny ability to make my day that much more irritating. And she’d been successful in ensuring my time at Maxwell Intimates was miserable ever since our escapade in the elevator.

  The greatest pleasure in the world came with unique consequences.

  Too bad I’d become a glutton for punishment.

  “But I’m learning lots of things from Cameron,” Mackenza told her father.

  That was a lie. The only thing she’d figured out was the password to my phone. Fortunately, she was still working on my pin number.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure once I master his lunch order, he’ll teach me some valuable information about running a company.”

  She had less to learn than me.

  My greatest lesson at Maxwell Intimates—never trust a woman who’d hide wasabi in mayonnaise.

  Fortunately, Reginald knew how to handle her. After a few minutes of quiet chastisement, the conversation shifted. Mackenza nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and answered her father with brief responses.

  “I talked with the landlord, Daddy,” she said.

  Mackenza couldn’t turn from me, so she paced instead, searching her giant windows for a view of Ironfield that didn’t include me in the reflected light.

  Her windows filled with the amber and golds of traffic with bursts of garish reds and greens from the intersections below. I liked the tougher, neon aggression of this side of town—the way it forced itself into society.

  Like me.

  Hell, I didn’t even belong in the darker, danker parts of Ironfield. Growing up in the hollows of West Virginia, it wasn’t like Charleston offered a cosmopolitan life. No great sophistication existed in Clarksburg or my corner of Braxton County. Life there had been simple and honest.

  And heartbreaking.

  “Daddy, do not sign the lease,” Mackenza said. “This place is too expensive. I’ll find my own place—yes, somewhere big enough for all my fabric. There are plenty of apartments in town.” She glanced at me. “Besides, the neighbors leave something to be desired.”

  On this, we agreed.

  But Mackenza lost the argument. She sighed and pretended it was gratitude. “Okay, Daddy. I understand. If it’s that important to you. Love you, too. Bye.”

  Never liked humiliating a girl, but at least Mackenza understood her family’s dire financial state. Merging with LACE Industries was the wisest decision Reginald had ever made—and, with our stock prices skyrocketing, his residual investments would provide more for his daughter than he ever could as CEO.

  Mackenza
didn’t let me speak. She pointed to the kitchen.

  “You can take the contracts,” she said. “I checked them over for you.”

  “Why is it that you ignore the tasks I ask of you and instead do everything that isn’t your job?”

  She smiled, sweet and innocent. “It makes the office more fun.”

  “Not sure I can handle that much fun in my day.” I ignored the contracts. “But after hours—I’m all yours.”

  Her eyebrow gave an impatient wiggle. “Don’t tell me you expect more than paperwork tonight.”

  “You know why I’m here.”

  “I couldn’t possibly comprehend the way your depraved mind works.”

  “Don’t worry—those perversions will be our little secret.”

  She straightened to her full height—though the fuzzy pink slippers didn’t offer her more than a inch.

  “We don’t have a secret—we have a mistake,” she said. “And if I could, I’d shout out the truth to the world so that no other girl screws up as much as me.”

  “Technically, I did the screwing.”

  Mackenza scowled. “And you’re proud of your conquest?”

  No shame in admitting the truth. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

  Mackenza rolled her eyes and abandoned the conversation to re-fold a tumbled pile of fabric.

  “I find that hard to believe, Panty King.”

  Only because she refused to listen to me.

  Just like she’d refused to tell me certain important facts about herself.

  “You didn’t tell me you were a virgin,” I said.

  She scoffed, dropping her pile of fabric next to her sewing table. “Telling you would’ve made you even more insufferable.”

  “I could’ve made it…” My cock hardened at the thought. She was right. Claiming her virginity did little to restrain my ego. Still, it seemed gentlemanly to pretend to be ashamed for my monstrous behavior. “Better. For you.”

  The brat had a sprite-like mischief about her, especially when debating if she would rather humiliate or praise me.

  But the crinkle in her nose was new—as if she despised what she was about to say.

  “That…wouldn’t have been possible,” she said.

  Not that I needed her to verify it. I knew she’d enjoyed herself. The woman had come so hard over me, grinding against my legs with such ferocity that I’d convinced myself it’d been her enthusiasm that unstuck the elevator.