The Billionaire's Fantasy

Time to go home, she told herself as she buttoned up her coat and began walking briskly toward the elevator. Time to go back to real life and forget Jaiven Rodriguez had ever existed.

As if.

Chapter Three

IT HAD BEEN three days since Louise Jensen had crept out of his bed at dawn, and he was still annoyed. Jaiven spun around in his chair in his penthouse office at JR Shipping’s headquarters in the Bronx and let out an impatient sigh.

He shouldn’t really be annoyed, he knew. She’d just made life easier for him. No awkward goodbyes or tedious chitchat over breakfast. He hadn’t even had to buy her coffee. Or a bagel. Really, he should be thanking her.

But he was still annoyed. He was the one who left, who showed women the door if he didn’t take it first. He didn’t wake up in an empty bed reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

Except three days ago he had.

And he damn well hadn’t liked the feeling. The dissatisfaction, the disappointment, the restless ache and the sexual frustration. Nope, he hadn’t liked any of that.

This wasn’t some stupid macho thing, he realized. It wasn’t just about being the one to call the shots. He wasn’t that much of an ass, even if plenty of women might think otherwise.

He just wasn’t ready to be finished with Louise. He wanted more of her. Her lush curves, her dirty laugh, her chunky glasses. And more than that; he wanted her strange mix of shyness and aggression, her unrestrained, enthusiastic response, her snappy comebacks. He wanted the whole package.

And why shouldn’t he have it?

He’d slept with women for longer than a night before. On several occasions he’d managed a whole week before he called it off. Why shouldn’t he have more with Louise?

She knew his rules, and just in case she forgot he’d make it abundantly clear that all he wanted was sex and more sex. Maybe a week’s worth.

Then they’d both move on.

It was, Jaiven decided, the perfect solution. Now he just had to decide how to go about it.

As he considered various possibilities, he scrolled through JR Shipping’s list of deliveries for the day. Besides the same-day shipping service to anywhere in North America and express service in most parts of the world, he ran a sideline, the original business he’d started as a nineteen-year-old ex-con with a beat-up van—he provided messenger services within the five boroughs.

And as he scrolled through that list, he saw that Columbia University had several deliveries scheduled for that day. He hadn’t personally handled any deliveries in well over a decade, but he might make an exception for today. For Louise. He liked the idea of surprising her while she was in her professor mode. Making her lose control. Again.

Quickly he did an internet search for Louise, saw she was an associate professor of Women’s Studies. Her office was on Amsterdam Avenue, and today she was going to get a special delivery from JR Shipping. From JR himself, actually.

Smiling, Jaiven powered off his laptop and headed out.

* * *

Louise reread the introductory paragraph of the essay she was meant to mark for the third time before finally giving up and pushing it away. She couldn’t focus, hadn’t been able to since she’d left Jaiven Rodriguez’s bed three days ago.

Wasn’t sex supposed to energize you, make you more rested and relaxed and productive? It had done the opposite for her. She’d felt edgy and restless for three days, and had stared at the ceiling most nights reliving her eight hours with Jaiven in all of its excruciating and exquisite detail.

Now that it was over she felt incredibly embarrassed by what she’d done. What kind of woman agreed to have sex in a hotel room with a stranger?

Plenty of women, probably. Maybe most of her students. But she never had. She’d had exactly two sexual partners before Jaiven. Her husband, Jack, and then briefly a boyfriend five years ago, who had been the wrong person at the wrong time. She’d still been trying to get over the train wreck of her marriage, but she hadn’t been ready to trust or love. Maybe she never would be.

And maybe she shouldn’t have thought she could handle a one-night stand. She’d wanted the oblivion of pleasure and she’d had that—for a night. But now? Now she felt a restless mix of want and guilt, unease and dissatisfaction. She still wanted Jaiven.

Not that he was beating down her door, in any case. She doubted he’d spared her so much as a thought since she’d left the hotel suite. He’d probably moved on several times since her. It had been three nights, after all.

Sighing impatiently, she turned back to the essay. Women’s individual resistance to pronatalist policies under Communist governments…

Ugh. She had no space in her brain for this. Maybe she should get out, grab a coffee or go for a walk. Clear her head, restore her equilibrium. Anything to somehow appease this aching restlessness inside her.

Unfortunately she had a feeling the only way to appease that would be another round with Jaiven, and she wasn’t willing to go there. He probably wasn’t, either.

So she’d just have to deal with it the normal way: work and exercise. Eventually she’d forget him. Her body would, too.

Restless, she checked her in-box before heading out for a coffee, surprised when an email popped in from someone named Nora Grant.

Dear Ms. Jensen, I’m writing to you about a former student of yours, Harlow Spencer. I believe you were her advisor on her senior thesis. She went to London for a law internship and has been missing for several weeks. I wondered if I could talk to you at your earliest convenience? Sincerely, Nora Grant.

Frowning, Louise recalled the young woman in question. Harlow Spencer. Tall, willowy, long chestnut hair, with a sharp mind and a surprising ambition. Louise had advised her on a thesis on sex trafficking last year, and then Harlow had left for London soon after graduation. And now she was missing? What did that mean, exactly?

Her frown deepening, she clicked Reply. Dear Nora, I’m sorry to hear about your concerns with Harlow. I’m not sure how I could be of help, but I’m happy to meet—

A quick rap on the door of her office surprised her and she looked up from her laptop.

“Special delivery.”

Department deliveries went to reception, not a hole-in-the-wall office on the second floor. “I’m not expecting a delivery,” she said as she opened the door, and then her jaw dropped because Jaiven was standing in the doorway, a parcel in his hands and a canary-eating grin on his face.

“What…” She trailed off, unable to think. He wore the dark green button-down shirt and trousers of the JR Shipping delivery guys, and a pair of beat-up work boots.

“Like I said, special delivery.” He sauntered past her into her office, which was the size of a shoe box and felt even smaller with Jaiven in it.

Louise turned to face him, her arms folded. “Why do I think you don’t usually make deliveries for the company you’re CEO of?”

“This is a special circumstance.”

“I wasn’t aware of a special circumstance.” What she was aware of, Louise thought, was how amazing Jaiven looked even in a delivery uniform, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose his powerful, brown forearms. He’d placed the package on her desk and was now leaning against it, his arms folded in front of him. How anyone could think he was a mere delivery boy for even a moment was beyond Louise. He radiated both power and charisma.

“The special circumstance,” he told her, “is that I’ve had this fantasy about sex with a certain college professor. In an office. With the door just a tiny bit open.”

Louise’s mouth dried and she shook her head instinctively. Already she could feel the need rushing through her, weakening both her resolve and her knees. “Impossible.”

“Actually, it’s not.” He straightened, walked slowly over to her and hooked a finger around her belt buckle, drew her forward a few unwilling inches. “And this outfit? Totally part of my fantasy.”

She glanced down at her tailored trousers and crisp blouse. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Just tell me you’re wearing that armored underwear again.”

She let out a huff of laughter. “Tell me you don’t actually like control-top granny pants.”

“They are seriously sexy.” Already Jaiven was unbuttoning her blouse, and she wasn’t doing a thing to stop him. The feel of his fingers against her skin felt like water when she was dying of thirst. A few drops dribbled on her lips and she wanted more. Needed more.

As he slid the last button from its hole and parted her blouse, she saw, with a blaze of shock and even excitement, that the door was more than a tiny bit open. Anyone could walk by… Anyone could see…

And somehow that just upped her desire. She never did stuff like this. And maybe she wanted to. Just once, anyway. She wanted to be reckless and wild and wanted.

“Red lace, Louise?” Jaiven glanced down at the skimpy red lace bra she’d bought in a moment of reckless shopping and never wore. “Did you know I was coming?”

“Actually, I just need to do my laundry.”

He started on her belt buckle. “Tell me you’re wearing matching pants.”

“Actually, a thong,” she said with a shaky laugh. She was incredibly embarrassed and yet also impossibly turned on. Jaiven stopped undoing her trousers to glance up at her, his eyes alight with wicked amusement.

“Seriously? You’re going to kill me here.”

“At least you’ll die happy,” she shot back, and he grinned.

“That I will.” He popped the button on her trousers and somehow she found the will to stay his hand. “Jaiven, you can’t be serious. I’m at work.”

He stuck out one foot and pushed the door so it was almost, but not quite, closed. “So?”

He tugged down the zip of her trousers and Louise groaned aloud. “So, it’s unprofessional. I could be fired. Or on the news. Or something.” Except none of that seemed to matter as Jaiven hoisted her easily in his arms and sat her down on her own desk. On top of the pile of essays she’d just been about to mark, her laptop pushed to the side.

And she knew then her protests had been tokens; she wanted this. Wanted to feel reckless and a little bit wicked. He stood between her legs and slid his hands into her hair.

“And you put your hair up. Plus you’re wearing your glasses. I’m going crazy,” he muttered, and then he kissed her.

Kissing him again felt, bizarrely and perhaps stupidly, like coming home. She remembered these lips, knew how good they made her feel. And the last of her protests scattered along with her inhibition as he slid his tongue into her mouth and his hand into her pants.

Louise rocked against him, overwhelmed by sensation. “Secretly,” Jaiven murmured as he kissed her, “you’ve always had a fantasy about getting it on in your office with a delivery boy.”

“Maybe,” Louise muttered. She couldn’t manage more than that. Jaiven was pressing against her and all she could think about was how good he had felt inside her. How much she wanted him there.

Her breathing turned jagged and she pressed back against him, needing him so much it had become a force outside of herself, or at least outside of her brain. Her body had staged a complete coup. She fumbled with the belt of his trousers, tugged at his zip.

“You’re always in such a hurry,” Jaiven murmured, and somehow she found the sense to string a few words together.

“We’re in my office.”

“And having that door open turns you on, doesn’t it?” Jaiven said as he stroked her. “Knowing you can be that shameless. That wild.”

“Yes,” Louise gasped, amazed that he had understood that about her and yet unable to say anything more. The ache inside her had become impossible to ignore or suppress. Giving in to temptation, in to him, she tugged down his trousers. He slid on a condom, and then he was inside her, and she wrapped her legs around him, burying her face in his shoulder as she bit him lightly to keep from crying out as he rode them both to a shattering climax.

They stayed locked together for a moment as their heart rates slowed, her breasts flattened against his chest, her legs wrapped around his hips, her body still joined to his.

The door still a little bit open.

Shock, far too delayed, trickled icily through. Good grief, where was her brain? Her sense of self-respect, if anything, and yet…

She felt better than she had since she’d first crept out of his hotel suite. Maybe she really had needed this again. Maybe she needed a fling to rid herself of all the hang-ups of her past. Not the usual method advised by therapists and counselors, but the self-help stuff she’d tried hadn’t worked. She still had trouble trusting men. Trusting herself. And too often she woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare of Jack’s sneering face…

With that thought, reality started creeping in like a cold dawn mist, edging out the heat and satisfaction she’d felt only moments before. She eased back, wiped the hair from her face as she looked into his sleepy eyes. “I didn’t think you did repeats.”

Jaiven gave her a catlike smile. “Once in a while I make an exception.”

“And you made an exception because…?”

“Because I wanted to. I told you, I had this fantasy…”

“Well, you’ve enacted your fantasy then. Sex with a college professor on a pile of essays, no less.” She scrambled out from underneath him, tidying herself as he disposed of the condom and buttoned up his trousers.

Why did the aftermath feel so sordid, she wondered, when the sex felt so incredible? She pushed a few pins randomly back in the mess that was her hair and turned to him with what she hoped was a smile. “So, no more fantasies.”

Jaiven regarded her thoughtfully. “Actually, I have a few. And I’m betting you do too, even if you like to act as if you don’t.”

Fantasies? She hadn’t had the emotional space to fantasize. “Seriously, Jaiven…”

“I am serious.”

She shook her head. “Look, I thought I told you before. I’m not really into casual sex.”

“Could have fooled me.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I know. I’m attracted to you. Obviously. But we’ve had our…thing and we should probably just move on. Right?”

“Definitely, when we’re ready to.” He took a step closer to her, and with a little smile on his face he started rebuttoning her blouse. She glanced down, saw she’d done it up completely crooked. And as he tucked her shirt back into her trousers she felt weirdly, stupidly touched.

She could not let this man affect her emotionally. That would be beyond stupid. It would be bordering on insane.

“I’m ready to move on,” she forced out, and Jaiven arched an eyebrow.

“You sure about that?”

No, she absolutely was not. But she wanted to be. She needed to be, because anything else was akin to juggling bombs. Exciting, yes, but eventually one would explode in her face.

She wasn’t about to explain that to him right now, though. “What do you want from me? Really?”

He met her gaze with an even one of his own. “Just a little more of what we’ve been having. Look, Louise, I’m not into commitment. Or relationships of any kind, emotion, that whole thing. I think you know that.”

“Yes…”

“And you seemed like you weren’t interested in it either, at least with a man like me.”

“I suppose…” Her brain snagged on that phrase, a man like me, and wondered what he meant by it. But before she could work up the courage to ask, he was onto the next thing.

“So why not enjoy what’s between us? I’ve got a fantasy about buttoned-up academics. You’ve got a fantasy about bad boys with tattoos. Let’s go with it.”

“How do you know I have a fantasy about bad boys with tattoos?” she asked, folding her arms. How could she have a fantasy about bad boys with tattoos when she’d been married to one, and he’d been an utter bastard?

Maybe this is how you can redeem the past. Make sense of your marriage. Feel strong again.

Or was she just seriously screwed up?

He shrugged. “Maybe it was how you kept sneaking glances at my tattoo at that party. Or possibly how you licked it a few nights ago.”

“I think one rule of any possible fling should be you don’t say things like that.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” He lifted a hand, pressed it to her cheek. “Your face is on fire.”

She closed her eyes and willed the heat to fade from her face. From her body. Humiliation came so easily to her, still. “Thanks very much.”

“All I’m saying is,” Jaiven told her, his hand still on her cheek, “this doesn’t have to be awkward or something to regret. We could both enjoy it. We’re not looking for commitment, we’re not hurting anyone, and frankly, I’d love to know a few more of your fantasies, especially if they involve that underwear you wore the other night.”

She opened her eyes, felt a bubble of laughter rise inside her. “Do you have some weird fetish for figure-controlling undergarments?”

“Possibly.” His teeth flashed in an answering, wolfish grin. “I might have all sorts of fetishes and fantasies I didn’t know about before. You’re opening me up to a whole new world of possibility, Louise.”

That bubble of laughter escaped and she shook her head. “That would be novel. I’ve got probably a thousandth of the sexual experience you do.”

“So?”

So? How was she supposed to answer that? The truth was she was tempted. Tempted to say yes to a fling, yes to fantasy sex with the hottest man she’d come across in a long, long while.

She’d lived her life like a nun for the past five years. Ten years, really, if you discounted that one unfortunate relationship that had lasted all of three weeks. She’d thought closing herself off meant keeping herself emotionally safe, but maybe it just kept her bored, frustrated and lonely.

She was tired of all three. Tired of living like a ghost because the past haunted her so much.

Why shouldn’t she choose this, for a little while at least? Jaiven wasn’t asking for a relationship. If they kept their encounters purely physical, there was no real way she could start to care about him. No real way he could hurt her.

And there was something fitting that Jaiven reminded her of Jack except about a thousand times better in every way. He had the tattoo, that bad boy charm, but he didn’t lose his temper and he hadn’t hurt her.

Yet.

Even now her self-doubt rose up in a howl of fear. You don’t really know this man. And you have a proven track record of picking losers.

But this wasn’t a relationship, she reminded herself. This was just sex. Sexual liberation.

Maybe, through Jaiven, she’d finally free herself from the past.

Or maybe she’d just get her heart broken.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, and Jaiven gave her one of his slow, toe-curling smiles that she’d come to know—and respond to.

“You do that,” he said, and he leaned forward and kissed her. A soft kiss, not one that was a prelude to sex but one that was just because. And it affected her more than anything else he’d done to her so far.

He stepped back and she blinked, suddenly, bizarrely near tears. This was so not a good idea.

Those bombs she was juggling? One had just started to tick. She needed to be smart, and smart meant never seeing him again, ever. Never cracking open the window to her soul even a little. Sex was personal and intimate and incredible, and you couldn’t have it with someone and then just walk away. At least she couldn’t. She’d start to read things into it, to feel things she absolutely couldn’t feel.

And she didn’t have any fantasies, anyway.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said softly, and with one last knowing grin he stepped backward, opened the door, and then was gone.

Louise sagged against her desk, her mind spinning, her heart still thudding. What on earth was she getting herself into?

Nothing, she reminded herself. You are not doing this. You will not see him again. Your one foray into casual sex is officially over.

What she should do was find a nice, respectable, safe, boring man to go out with. Have vanilla sex and spend the weekend reading the newspaper in bed. Totally her style.

Jaiven was so not.

And yet it was Jaiven she wanted. Jaiven she dreamed about, Jaiven who came into her office and woke up her body so she felt more alive and real and whole than she had in ten years of staying safe.

She was in so much trouble.

Chapter Four

THIS WAS NOT the way he operated when it came to women, Jaiven had to acknowledge as he stood in the kitchen of his brownstone in the Bronx and wiped at the already-clean counters. His mother was coming over for her monthly dinner and criticism-fest, and Jaiven was making the pointless effort of cleaning up. His mother refused to be impressed by anything he did or had—not his global shipping empire, or his renovated brownstone, or even a clean countertop. Nothing he did would make a difference to his mother, Jaiven knew, because he’d broken her heart fifteen years ago and she would never forgive him for it.

He wouldn’t forgive himself, either. He couldn’t.

At least, he told himself tiredly, she was coming for dinner. These monthly meetings had been happening for less than a year, after over a decade of estrangement. He’d been trying to reconcile with her since he’d been released from prison, but for years his mother wouldn’t take his calls. Slammed the door in his face. Said he was dead to her, just as his father was dead. Just as an innocent woman was dead.

Jaiven closed his eyes, willed such thoughts away. He couldn’t keep his gut from churning with an all too familiar mixture of grief and regret. Mindless sex and a lot of antacids were the only things he’d found to help.

And mindless sex made him think of Louise. Four frigging days since he’d had her on her own desk and she still hadn’t been in touch.

He’d really thought she’d take him up on his offer. Fantasy sex, a no-strings fling. How much better did it get? He didn’t need to be Freud to know what was going on with his own little fantasy. Dressing up as a delivery boy and showing up at her office, making her want him? Talk about trying to rewrite history.

Still, he wasn’t going to go to her first. This time the ball was in her court, and he just hoped to hell that she hit it back.

Game on, Louise. Come on.

He’d told himself a dozen times that he didn’t need her. He could have just about any woman he wanted, anytime, and yet he hadn’t taken up any other offers since he’d been with Louise. Maybe she was just a challenge, he told himself, even though he knew she was more than that. So, fine. He actually liked her. That didn’t have to be a game changer. He’d just get her out of his system. She’d get him out of hers. They’d both move on, happy and definitely satisfied.

The doorbell rang, and he went to open it, dutifully kissed his mother hello even as she angled her head away from him, and then watched as she bustled into the living room of the boarded-up brownstone he’d bought five years ago. It had once been a crack house, and now it was a top-of-the-line residence, although admittedly in a less than savory neighborhood.

He might have moved on up, but he wouldn’t abandon his roots in a Dominican neighborhood in the Bronx. He would never pretend he was something other than he was or had been, which was a boy with an eighth grade education and a criminal record and a truckload of guilt.

Not that he advertised any of those facts. But he knew what he was, what he was capable of—and so did his mother.

He wondered what Louise would do with that information. Would it just add to the bad boy fantasy, or would it be a little too real for her taste or comfort? Everything inside him shrank and cringed as he imagined her horrified reaction.