Page 1 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter One

Xavier

I don’t answer the call.

It’s a Manhattan area code that’s not in my contact list. Only certain people are allowed to have my private number.

The phone buzzes again, insistent, like a mosquito’s whine. No doubt a bottom-feeder reporter sniffing around, or some junior analyst looking to make a name for themselves by catching me off guard. They want a quote, a slip, a single word they can twist for a headline that writes itself.

I let it ring.

Confirming they’ve reached me is more than they deserve.

If Celeste—the PR sorceress I’m selling my soul to—knew that someone got even this close, she’d flay them alive before breakfast. She’d call it a loose thread, and Celeste doesn’t leave threads.

I slide the phone into my pocket as the elevator glides to a stop at the penthouse of the Sterling Uptown’s crown jewel: a fortress of glass, marble, and secrets that don’t leave when you sign the check.

Since reporters have set up an encampment outside my gated community, this has become my sanctuary. Doesn’t matter that they can’t get in. The neighbors don’t like having their movements watched, and neither do I.

When the doors slide open with a gentle chime, I enter my temporary residence.

By my standards, I’m home early. I have the night off from obligatory smiles and the narrative Celeste has been spinning.

Here there are no cameras, no one shouting questions, demanding to know if the Lockhart family really trusts me with their precious legacy. And thankfully there’s no Celeste at my elbow, murmuring the script I’ll never stick to.

It’s just me.

Treasured silence.

What I want now is a bed big enough to drown in and a bottle of Bonds whiskey that’s older than my worst enemies.

As I walk, I roll my shoulders that are tight from hours of pretending to be a man I’m not. I’m so deep in my head; I almost miss it.

The scent.

Not the usual tang of cleaning supplies and freshly laundered bedding.

Instead, it’s softer. Warmer.

Feminine.

The fuck?

On guard, eyes narrowed, I walk through the opulent rooms.

Then I stop dead.

There’s a woman in my bed.

For one perfect, razor-edged second, I think: This is a setup. A test.

The media already calls me the predator king—the man who devours interns, rivals, and enemies alike. So this? A girl tucked up in my sheets like an unopened gift?

Celeste’s voice flickers through my skull, low and cold: “ They’ll bait you if they can’t bury you, Blackwell. Keep your dick in your pants.”

Careful, my motions tightly controlled, I move forward.

She’s curled on her side with a hand tucked under her cheek. Her lips are parted, and her breathing is slow and deep. A shoe dangles from one foot.

God help me, her skirt’s hiked up just enough to show the curve of her thigh, pale and soft against the dark sheets.

Then I notice it. Her uniform.

Black skirt. White button-down shirt.

Housekeeping.

She’s not bait. Not a bribe. Or is this part of the act?

I scan the room. The drawer I left half open is still in the exact same position. The folder on the nightstand with a printout of the latest projections related to the Lockhart acquisition doesn’t seem to have been moved.

Next I glance at my favorite pair of cuff links. Near as I can tell, they’re where I left them, both owl emblems facing toward me. In the overhead light, an emerald eye winks. The watch my father left me when he died is nearby. Either of those items would be worth a year of her paycheck.

So she’s not here to steal.

I shrug out of my jacket and toss it onto the back of a nearby chair. She doesn’t stir.

Quietly I move in closer.

I reach for her shoulder—then I freeze.

Fuck me.

I know her.

It hits like a slap, memory flaring to life behind my eyes: a conference room three years ago. Glass walls, a dozen men twice her age, a young woman in a prim pencil skirt, defiance in her cornflower-blue eyes.

Seraphina Goddamn Hollis.

The intern who called bullshit in front of the board. The girl who humiliated me with facts and made men twice her age glance my way like maybe I didn’t deserve the crown.

I should’ve handled it behind closed doors.

Instead, I fired her on the spot. Let the world think she’d betrayed me. Let her name carry the weight of my mistake.

And I’ve thought about her every fucking day since.

My first instinct is to wake her. Tear into her. Drag answers from that soft throat.

Because she’s looked at my secrets before, and she nearly buried me.

I should hate her.

But looking at her now—hair falling loose around her face, fingers curled like she’s dreaming of something better—hate feels like the wrong word.

A soft sound slips from her lips, and she shifts gently. Her lashes flutter.

Her eyelids fly open, and uncertainty races through their depths, swift and hard.

Frantically she scrambles back toward the headboard, away from me, losing her remaining shoe. It clatters loudly off the hardwood.

“Oh my God.” Her voice is frightened and panicked. “I’m sorry… I didn’t—” Hurrying to concoct a story? “I thought this suite was empty, that the guest had checked out.”

Maybe realizing she’d trapped herself, she tries to get off the bed, but her feet tangle, sending her sprawling back onto the mattress.

Once more, she attempts to escape, and I clamp my hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.

Shaking me off, she shoots herself back again until her spine hits the headboard.

“What are you doing in here?” I take a step toward her, and she shrinks back a little more. “Don’t lie to me.”

She’s fully awake now, and her eyes are filled with the recognition of who I am and the terror she’s trying to swallow down.

“What were you doing here?” My tone stays soft. Too soft. Predatory. “Looking to finish the job you started? Find a story you can sell?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Or is it money? I have personal effects in this room that are worth more than you’ll see in five years.” I tilt my head, letting the silence slice into her.

To my surprise, fury blazes in her eyes. Is she reckless?

“I’ll call security. You can answer them if you don’t want to speak to me.”

“Security? Why? You know damn well I didn’t touch your belongings, Black—Blackwell.”

“You know who I am.” I catch her wrist before she can bolt. Her pulse falters under my thumb.

To her credit, she doesn’t deny it. She’s brave. Always has been. Brave enough to stand in front of my board and call me out. Brave enough to lie down in the devil’s bed and pray he wouldn’t catch her.

My pretty little captive attempts to rip her wrist free, but I won’t let her go. She’ll need a lot more strength than that to get away from me.

Ever so slightly, she trembles. Good. “The truth, Ms. Hollis. Now.”

She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, then meets my gaze. “Look… I know you don’t want to believe me. I picked up a shift to cover for a friend.”

Possible. Deception has consequences.

And yet…I know it’s the first time she’s done this, at least to me. If Seraphina was in my room before, I’d know it. Her feminine, vanilla scent is unmistakable and sweet, much like the memory of ruin. Like a forbidden taste I shouldn’t crave.

“If anyone finds out, she could lose her job.”

Celeste would tell me this isn’t my problem, that I should call security and be done with her. That standing here is a headline waiting to happen. “ You can’t afford any fuckups, Xavier. Keep your dick in your pants.”

I should listen.

Should.

I lift her wrist to my mouth. Let her feel my breath. And the shiver that races through her when my lips graze that frantic pulse. “You fell asleep in my bed.”

“It was an accident.”

“Was it?”

I let her wrist slide from my grip. Then I lightly drag my knuckles over the inside of her forearm.

She shivers again. Good.

I drop my gaze to her skirt, rumpled high on her thighs. “You know what happens now?”

She shakes her head, breathless. “No.”

“You have a choice, little troublemaker.” I lean in, my mouth grazing her ear. “You can leave, and I’ll make the call to security. Your friend loses her job. And you’ll be banned from all Sterling Hotels for life.” I shrug. “Maybe go to jail.” I’d never let it get that far. “Or…”

Her voice is a soft, soft whisper. “Bastard.”

“You pay the debt you owe me.” I let my offer slide under her skin.

Her eyes narrow. “Pay? How?”

I smile, slow and dark. “I think you know how.”

She stares. “You can’t mean…” Her soft pink tongue darts out to wet her lips.

Does she realize she’s squeezing her thighs together? “Naughty girls get punished.”

“What in the actual hell?” She blinks. “What are you talking about?” Her voice squeaks as she breaks the word into two pieces.

“I think a spanking is in order, don’t you?”

“A… Are you kidding me?” She tips her head to one side as if I’ve gone mad. “You don’t want…?”

“Sex?”

I’m man enough not to turn it down if she offered. I’d love nothing more than to be buried balls-deep inside her gorgeous body. But I’ve never had to use threats to get a woman to sleep with me. No way will she be the first.

“Uhm, how hard?” She clears her throat and tries again. “The spanking, I mean. How hard would it be?”

Better me than security? “Oh, Seraphina…” I drag the words over her throat, my mouth barely grazing her skin. “I guarantee you’ll feel it.”

“I don’t think—” Her voice breaks. “I can’t. I mean…” Furiously she blushes. “I’ve never been spanked.”

I stand to take in her whole, gorgeous body. She looks different in this maid’s getup. I’ve been accustomed to seeing her in slim-fitting skirts with crisp, sensible blazers. “Until now, you’ve always been a good girl?”

Her flush deepens. She’s fire to my ice.

“You didn’t say no.” I let the words wrap tight around her. “You’re wondering what it might be like. Aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not.” She shakes her head desperately.

Are you lying to yourself, my little troublemaker?

Betraying herself, her gaze flicks to my belt buckle. Her pupils go wide.

I decide to push her. “Not even the least bit curious?”