Blame It On The Billionaire

“What’s your supervisor’s name?” he asked. No, demanded. The hard, flat tone brooked no refusal. Again, that trickle of excitement, only this time it sizzled, arousal hardening her nipples, clenching her belly...pooling heavy between her legs.

She didn’t do controlling men. Not after the childhood she’d experienced and all the things she’d witnessed between her mother and her “boyfriends.” In many ways, Grayson reminded her of those men. Rich. Handsome. Pillars of the community. Respectable. Untouchable. Except for furtive meetings with her mother in the alleys behind bars or in the back seats of expensive cars.

Yes, he bore more than enough resemblance to those hypocrites that she should shy away from him. But from the first, Nadia had been drawn to his lovely mismatched eyes, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, nose and jaw. The carnal perfection and temptation of his mouth. The tall, elegant frame with wide shoulders and chest, a tapered waist and long, powerful legs.

But unlike those men who’d ignored her mother on Main Street but couldn’t get enough of her on back streets, Grayson seemed to possess a core of integrity. The few times they’d run into each other since she’d started working at KayCee Corp, he’d been nothing but respectful, his gaze not dipping to linger on her generous breasts or her equally generous ass. He’d never uttered sly innuendo or propositioned her. It’d been...refreshing. And had only deepened her schoolgirl crush.

Yet none of that justified her reaction to that implacable, disobey-and-bear-the-consequences tone. Or explained why she imagined him clasping her chin in his big hand, holding her still for a hard, hungry kiss while cuffing her arms above her head.

Arousal rippled through her, and she clenched her thighs.

“Cinderella,” he said, stepping closer, while she stared up at him like prey caught in the unblinking stare of a predator on the hunt. “His name.”

“W-why?” she stammered. Oh, for God’s sake. She tipped her head up, drawing her shoulders back. “Why do you want to know?”

Why do you care?

“So I can have a very civil conversation with him about taking advantage of his employees and not compensating them for their time. To discuss how not to abuse one’s position of power over another, including expecting them to be at one’s beck and call.”

“There’re a lot of ‘one’s’ up in there,” she grumbled. Shaking her head, she ignored the curl at the corner of his mouth, and the warmth it caused to slide through her veins. Like liquid sunshine. And all because she’d made him smile. Somewhat. Good Lord, woman. Get it together. “I can’t do that. One, I need my job, and two, it’s no big deal.” Even though it kind of was.

“Oh, but it is,” he purred, mirroring her thoughts. “And you don’t have to worry about your job, Cinderella. Whoever he is wouldn’t dare to fire you.”

The arrogance and satisfaction in his assurance shouldn’t have been sexy, but damn, it so was. Even the fact that he didn’t remember her, though they’d met a handful of times, couldn’t diminish the desire he stirred in her. Did it sting? Oh yes, and more than a little. But she worked for his company, not for him directly. And if life had taught her anything, it was to be realistic. Men who were constantly photographed with sophisticated, slender, gorgeous socialites, actresses and models wouldn’t notice a small-town, curvy, unassuming secretary.

So yes, him not recognizing her made sense. Still hurt, though. Every woman—even Cinderella—longed to be memorable. Especially to the man who starred in her every dark, sweaty, erotic dream.

“I appreciate your concern, but my lips are sealed, and I really need to—”

“What would it take to unseal them?” he murmured, and she stiffened, shock winging through her as his gaze dropped to her mouth. And stayed there.

Nervous, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and something flashed in his eyes. On another man, she would’ve labeled it lust. But not him. Never him.

“Tell me what I need to do. What you need me to give you,” he added.

Her apparently filthy mind supplied answer after answer, and none of them had to do with clean shirts, bosses’ names or uncompensated time.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t—”

The hallway plunged into darkness.

“What the fuck?” Grayson snapped.

Yes. What the fuck indeed.

Three

“Any word yet?”

Grayson glanced down at the woman sitting on the floor of the hallway. The light from his cell phone revealed her back pressed to the wall, her long, entirely-too-gorgeous legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. Jesus, what this woman did for denim...

Dragging his attention away from the siren’s call of her thighs, he returned it to the cell in his hand. “Citywide blackout,” he replied, his voice rougher, more abrasive than usual. Unexpected, and inconvenient, lust clawed at him. “I wasn’t able to get any calls out, but I managed a couple of texts. According to my friend, the police are advising everyone to stay where they are. Which won’t be a problem for us. It seems the tech guru who owns this mansion installed a state-of-the-art security system that has now malfunctioned, locking us all inside.” Grayson shook his head. He’d met the man earlier. The guy epitomized the definition of “book sense but no common sense.” As the grandiose house and the money spent on it testified. “So until the blackout is over, and power is restored, we’re trapped here.”

Quickly, he typed out a text to his parents, but it didn’t go through. Damn. But at least he knew they were safe somewhere in this building.

“Shoot,” she muttered, thrusting her hand through her thick brown hair.

No, not brown. That was a woefully inadequate description for the beautiful blending of auburn and shades of copper and chestnut.

“Yes, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future,” he drawled, lowering to the floor and setting his cell phone between them, so the flashlight app created a small, dim circle of light. Drawing his legs up and propping his wrists on his knees, he glanced at her. “Look on the bright side. I could be your supervisor.”

He chewed up the word supervisor, angry still at the thought of the nameless, faceless man. What spoiled, selfish asshole made his employee traipse all the way out to the Gold Coast to bring him a shirt on the weekend? She still hadn’t revealed his identity, but he intended to find out. And when he did, Grayson would enjoy throwing around his last name to put the fear of God in the man. No, the fear of a Chandler.

“Good point,” she agreed absently. But then a smile lit her face, and a peculiar and unwelcome catch snagged in his chest. Forget the light from his phone, the beauty of that smile could illuminate the entire building. Hell, the Chicago skyline. “Oh, thank God. He’s safe.”

“Who’s safe?” he asked, because screw it, he was curious about her. Any woman who showed up to the DuSable City Gala in a leather jacket and skinny jeans was way more interesting than one in a gown and jewels.

At first, he didn’t think she’d answer, but after a moment, she said, “My brother. I left him at his baseball game, but he’s at a friend’s house instead of on the road.”

“Did you try reaching your parents? Just in case he wasn’t able to contact them?” Almost as soon as the words exited his mouth, he wanted to snatch them back. Emotions flickered across her face, there and gone before he could decipher them. Well, except for one. Pain.

“It’s just my brother Ezra and me,” she said, tone flat.

He recognized that particular note. Too well.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, curling his fingers into his palms until the short nails bit into the flesh. It was either that or erase the distance between them and cup her too-lovely face. “I know the pain of losing someone, too.”

Her eyes, as dark as espresso, softened. She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry for your loss.” If he hadn’t been studying her so closely he might’ve missed the slight shift of her hand from her lap. As if she, too, considered touching him, but decided not to at the last moment. “My parents aren’t dead. They’re just not...here. I’m my brother’s guardian, and we moved to Chicago a little over a year ago. It’s just us.”

More questions piled into his head, his curiosity about this beautiful woman insatiable. That in itself should’ve alarmed him. The last woman to elicit even a tenth of this magnetic pull had left his heart and pride battered and bruised.

Still, she’d satisfied a small piece of his curiosity. That honeyed drawl. Definitely not a clipped, flatter Chicago tone. She hadn’t mentioned where she’d moved from, but he’d bet his favorite bottle of Glenlivet that she’d lived somewhere hot and south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The slightly exaggerated vowels and soft consonants flowed over his skin like a heated caress. He had the insane urge to strip naked and let it touch every inch of him.

He shook his head as if he could somehow dislodge the thought. Yet...he couldn’t stop his gaze from roaming over her features. When he’d first bumped into her, he’d focused on steadying her and keeping her from falling backward. But when she’d lifted her head, he’d been struck dumb for the first time in his life.

Years ago, he’d started boxing as a way to release aggression and get some exercise. He clearly remembered the first time he’d had his bell rung by a sparring opponent. The other guy’s fist had plowed into Grayson’s stomach, blasting the air from his lungs, leaving his legs rubbery and his head spinning. When he’d peered into this woman’s dark brown eyes and beautiful face, he’d been back kneeling on that mat again.

Long-lashed eyes that turned up at the corners. Regal cheekbones to match the almost patrician slope of her nose with its flared nostrils. Below, her wide, full, utterly perfect mouth had him fighting the urge to press his thumb to it. Just to feel the softness of that slightly heavier bottom lip that formed a natural pout. That mouth would inspire both worshipful poems and dirty limericks.

Then there was her body.

Even the worn leather jacket, simple white T-shirt and ripped skinny jeans couldn’t detract from the lushness of her curves. If anything, the plain clothes emphasized the miracle that was her body. Tall, even in gym shoes, the top of her head brushed the underside of his jaw. Strong but slender shoulders. Beautiful, firm breasts that would more than fill his hands—and God, did he want to find out for himself if that were true. A tucked-in waist that accentuated the wide flare of hips that had his palms tingling to cradle her—hell, degenerate that he was, he wanted to dig his fingers into her...leave his prints behind on that flesh. Impossibly long, thick legs and that ass. He briefly closed his eyes. God only gave asses like that to those He really loved... He must love the hell out of her. Round. High. Flawless. Made to be adored.

Yes, Grayson’s first glimpse of her had pummeled the sense from his head and ignited his body like a struck match tossed in a pool of gasoline. Not even Adalyn had garnered that reaction from him.

And sitting here with this woman in a private world carved out of darkness, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her. Wanted to feel her breath on his lips, his skin. Wanted to taste her mouth, taste that golden almond skin, discover its flavor for himself. Wanted to feel those abundant curves pressed to his larger, harder frame, adhered to him by sweat and lust.

The clawing desire also had him mentally scooting back.

Nothing that powerful could be good. Especially for him and his addictive personality. During his teens, it’d been the excess afforded him by his parents’ wealth and social status. Later it’d been women. Then he’d poured that intensity and driving need into founding and building KayCee Corp. And then into Adalyn.

Yeah, he sensed that he could become wildly addicted to the woman next to him, whose vanilla and earthy scent—like fresh wind after a summer storm—reached out to him, tempted him. Hell, a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

And that scared the hell out of him.

And yet...

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

Her hesitation was brief, but he still caught it.

“Nadia,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Nadia,” he murmured, stretching his hand out toward her. “Grayson.”

Again, she paused. But then, she slid her palm into his. And when an electrical charge sizzled up his arm and straight to his cock, he instantly regretted touching her. Only pride kept him from jerking his hand away.

He shifted his gaze from their clasped hands to her eyes, expecting to see the same shock. Instead he glimpsed resignation. And shadows. His gut clenched. Experience had taught him that secrets lurked in the shadows. Lies lived there.

Slowly, he released her, returning his hand to his knee. Resisting the urge to fist his fingers and ease the residual tingling.

Or capture it.

Turning away from her, he stared straight ahead into the enveloping dark. “Why don’t you want me to know your name?” he finally asked, casting aside the socially acceptable tact that had been drilled into him since birth. “Do we know each other?”

Her sharp but low intake of breath glanced off his ears, and he faced her again, openly scrutinizing her face for any telltale signs of deception. But she was good. Aside from that gasp, her expression remained shuttered. Either she had nothing to hide or she was damn good at lying.

He couldn’t decide which one to believe.

“No,” she whispered. “We don’t know each other.”

Truth rang in her voice, and the vise squeezing his chest loosened a fraction of an inch.

“And I guess, I didn’t see the point of exchanging names. If not for this blackout or you being in this hallway instead of the ballroom, our paths wouldn’t have crossed. And when the power is restored, we’ll become strangers again. Getting to know each other will pass the time but it’s not because we truly want to. It’s not...honest.”

Her explanation struck him like a punch. It echoed throughout his body, vibrating through skin and bone. Honest. What did he know about that?

In the world he moved in, deception was everywhere—from the social niceties of “It’s so good to see you” to the cagey plans to land a business deal. He wasn’t used to her brand of frankness, and so he didn’t give her platitudes. Her honesty deserved more than that.

“You’re right,” he said. “And you’re wrong.” Deliberately, he straightened his legs until they sprawled out in front him, using that moment to force himself to give her the truth. “If not for me needing to get out of that ballroom and bumping into you here, we wouldn’t have met. You would be outside, unprotected in the parking lot or on the road. And I would be trapped in the dark with people I wish I didn’t know, most likely going out of my mind. So for that alone, I’m glad we did connect. Because Nadia...” He surrendered to the need that had been riding him since looking down into her upturned face, and clasped a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger. “Nadia, I would rather be out here with you, a complete stranger I’ve met by serendipity, than surrounded by the familiar strangers I’ve known for years in that ballroom.”

She stared at him, her pretty lips slightly parted, espresso eyes widened in surprise.

“Another thing you’re correct and incorrect about. True, when the lights come back on and we leave here, we probably won’t see each other again. But in this moment, there’s nothing I want more than to discover more about Nadia with the gorgeous mouth, the unholy curves and the underwhelming fairy godmother.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it with the comments about her mouth and body, but if they were being truthful, then he refused to hide how attractive he found her. Attractive, hell. Such an anemic description for his hunger to explore every inch of her and be able to write a road map later.

Her lashes fluttered before lowering, hiding her eyes. In her lap, her elegant fingers twisted. He released the strands of her hair and checked the impulse to tip her chin up and order her to look at him.

“Why did you need to escape the ballroom?” she asked softly.

He didn’t immediately reply, instead waiting until her gaze rose to meet his.

Only then did he whisper, “To find you.”

Four

Nadia struggled to compose her features. To not let the yearning tangling in her to reflect on her face. Especially with Grayson’s piercing scrutiny attempting to peel away her carefully constructed protective layers. She’d spent years erecting them and couldn’t afford to let him see the insecure woman who raised her brother the best way she could, constantly afraid she would screw him up in some way as their mother had with her.

But oh God, did he tempt her to lower her guard. To surrender to the quiet invitation in those amazing eyes.

Still, Grayson Chandler, president of KayCee Corp, one of the most successful tech start-ups to explode onto the financial scene in years, the golden son of the revered Chandler family, couldn’t want her. Not Nadia Jordan, formerly of Tatumville, Georgia, daughter to Marion Jordan, the town’s notorious man-eater and drunk.

It had nothing to do with her self-esteem—or lack of it—regarding her body. If her mother had bequeathed anything to her, it was a confidence in her curves. Because Nadia had inherited her build from Marion.

From the time Nadia had been old enough to understand what was happening, she’d witnessed the lust and appreciation men possessed for Marion’s large breasts, wide hips, thick thighs and not-so-small behind. Those rich pillars of the community might ignore her in public when standing next to their wives and daughters, but in the dark, in secret, they couldn’t get enough of Marion’s brash laugh, her flamboyance, her casual sensuality, and of course, her body.

And when Nadia hit puberty and started to fill out, their dirty leers had transferred to her. Almost everyone in her hometown had expected her to follow in Marion’s footsteps. Like mother, like daughter. Earlier than she should’ve, she’d learned to dodge grasping, searching fingers, to avoid deserted hallways and dark corners where teen boys and older men could trap her.

It was why she’d escaped Tatumville as soon as she could. To move to a place where she wasn’t seen as her mother’s daughter. To give her brother a chance to grow up out from under that censure.

So no, she didn’t have body issues. Still, she’d seen the pictures in society and gossip magazines and blogs capturing Grayson with women who were the anti-her.

And then there was the matter of his wealth.

He might not know all of her background, but from her clothes and the conversation they’d shared, he had to know she was not only from the other side of the tracks, but that those tracks were miles away.

She didn’t trust rich men. Too many times had she witnessed her mother not only using those kinds of men for money, favors or gifts, but also allowing them to use her, too. Nothing they gave Marion had been free, and in Nadia’s experience, rich men did nothing without expecting something back.

Staring at Grayson with his “To find you” ringing in her ears, she forced herself to remember those lessons. She tried to resist the small but insistent whisper in her mind asking what would be the harm in letting go just once in her life? Who would it hurt if she took something for herself?

“You don’t strike me as the kind of man to believe in that fated nonsense,” she finally said, resenting the rasp in her voice.

“I’m not,” he agreed. “I don’t believe in ideas like destiny, blind faith or unconditional love. I forge my own path, make my own choices and live by them. And there are always conditions, strings attached to everything. Nothing in this life is free,” he said, echoing her own thoughts. “You know what I do believe in, Nadia?” She shook her head, and the intensity in his gaze seemed to deepen. “What I can touch, see...taste. If I can’t, then I don’t trust it.”

“And yet...” She trailed off.

“And yet,” he continued. “It might not have been you who dragged me out of that ballroom. But I’m here. And I’m not alone.”

Alone.

That one word resonated inside her, expanding until it rang like a struck gong. A man like him shouldn’t be alone. It struck her as...wrong.

“It seems to me that someone who attends a gala that even peons like me know about isn’t often alone.” She cocked her head. “Unless he wants to be.”

“You know what they say about assuming, Nadia.” He tsked, but she didn’t miss the thread of steel in the teasing. As if he were warning her to back off the topic. Which perversely only heightened her desire to pursue it.

“Well then don’t let me assume, Grayson. Enlighten me. Tell me something about yourself. Something nobody knows. Something that will stay here in this hallway. Between you and me.”

He studied her for a long moment, and Nadia met that blue-and-green gaze, no matter how much she might want to duck her head and avoid it. And, she didn’t rescind her request. She waited, her chest tight, hoping he would answer. Even if it was some bullshit that every gossip outlet knew. For this moment, she could pretend it was only for her.

“I hate this pretentious, fake, incestuous fishbowl,” he finally murmured, drawing his legs back up and propping his arms on his knees again. Turning from her, he stared straight ahead, but a small muscle ticked along his jaw. “No, not a fishbowl. A shark tank. A tank full of predators waiting for the slightest sign of weakness so they can tear you to pieces. Do you know how exhausting it is to be constantly on guard?”

“Yes,” she whispered. God, did she. “But, you know, the thing about sharks? We see them as ruthless, single-minded killers, when they’re not. They’re important to the ocean’s ecosystem. In a way, they’re protectors. Smaller fish depend on them for survival. I could make the argument that if they didn’t exist, neither would the weaker, more vulnerable species.”

He shifted his gaze back to her, and a faint smile played with his lips. Heat rushed into her face. Thank goodness for the dark so he couldn’t see the evidence of her mortification. Unfortunately, her mouth wouldn’t stop running.

“I watch a lot of Animal Planet,” she mumbled. “But maybe, you’re in that tank to protect the defenseless so they can thrive.”

The smile disappeared. And she regretted whatever she’d said that had caused it to vanish.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but protector has never been one of them. You make me sound noble, and I’m not,” he said, that vein of harshness entering his voice again. This time, it might’ve induced her to back away from the subject—if not for the presence of something else there, too, something that tasted of desperation, of...pain.

It drew her to him.

The press painted Gideon Knight and Grayson Chandler as light and dark, the yin and yang of KayCee Corp. Gideon was the intimidating, merciless owner, while Grayson was the golden, charming half. But the glimpses of him she’d received tonight...

Who was Grayson?

Those glimpses promised that more lurked beneath that affable mask. It was the more that had her reaching out to him. Had her settling her hand over his.

“In my experience, people who warn you that they aren’t noble are the ones with good hearts. It’s the ones who brag about being righteous and moral that you need to watch out for.”

Grayson’s gaze dipped to her hand, then slowly lifted until it met her eyes. A shiver rippled through her, and he didn’t miss it.

“My heart isn’t good, Nadia. I’m selfish. Greedy. Spoiled. And if you knew the thoughts in my head right now, about you, you would remove your hand from mine,” he warned.