Page 9 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Six

Xavier

She’s late.

Impatience snaps at me, a live wire under my skin as I pace my office.

Allen Parkway glints below, joggers weaving through the humid haze like ants, oblivious to the anger brewing in my chest. The reception desk outside my glass walls sits empty, a silent taunt.

Seraphina should be there, her vanilla scent curling through the sterile air, her sharp mind mine to command.

Instead, I’m pouring my own damn coffee, the machine gurgling like it’s mocking me.

My phone buzzes, and security’s number flashes on the screen. I snatch up the device. “Blackwell.”

“Ms. Hollis is in the lobby, sir. You told us to notify you when she arrived.” The guard’s voice is stiff.

“Bring her up.”

He hesitates for a moment. “Of course, sir.”

I imagine the raised eyebrows and whispered gossip already spreading through the building. After all, there are employees who remember when security escorted her out the front door as she clutched her box of personal effects.

From a camera feed in my office, I’d watched her go.

And now she’s back.

Gossip can be damned.

My jaw ticks. They don’t know everything. Don’t know she very nearly brought me to my knees three years ago. Don’t know she’s mine.

But they will.

They will.

I prop my hips against the edge of her desk, arms crossed, trying to leash the heat coiling low in my gut.

When the elevator dings, I snap my head up.

The glass walls give me a clear view as she steps into the suite, flanked by two security guards who are looking straight ahead.

My breath catches, and my cock twitches against my zipper. But goddamn it, she’s in the damnable maid’s uniform, black skirt hugging her hips, white blouse now rumpled. Her dark hair is pulled back, and a few strands have pulled loose from her ponytail to frame her flushed cheeks.

Seraphina Hollis is a walking contradiction—defiant, vulnerable, and so fucking beautiful it hurts.

The guards linger for a moment, their gazes flicking between us, barely hiding their curiosity. I wave them off with a sharp gesture, and they retreat, the door clicking shut.

She stands there, chin high, but her hands twist together, showing her delicious nervousness. Her eyes blaze with that same fire that called me out in a boardroom three years ago. I want to drag her across this desk and ruin her.

“What the hell are you thinking, wearing that?” My voice is low, a growl that vibrates between us.

She doesn’t flinch at my threatening tone. “You gave me an hour to get here, Mr. Blackwell. What did you expect?”

“That should’ve been enough time to go home and change.”

“It was barely enough time to finish what I was doing, clock out, get to my car, and drive across town. You should be grateful I made it here this fast.”

Grateful? Does she have any idea how I’ve unraveled, waiting for her?

I push off the desk, my gaze raking over her, lingering on the way the skirt clings to her thighs. My fingers itch to rip it off, to see how much further her defiance goes. “Surely you had street clothes with you.”

“I did. But I doubt you would have found them any more suitable.”

I wait.

“Booty shorts and a crop top.”

What the fuck? She allows herself to be seen in public like that? My eyes narrow, searching her face for a lie, but her cornflower eyes hold steady, unflinching.

She’s not tormenting me—she’s telling the truth. My blood boils at the image of her in some skimpy outfit, bare thighs and maybe a flash of stomach, other men’s eyes on what’s mine.

“They’re in my car if you’d still like me to change.”

Heat coils low in my gut, a dark fantasy flashing through me—her pressing those hips against my desk, my teeth dragging that crop top up, tasting the skin beneath. What the hell is she doing to me? “Fuck no.”

She hums, a small, defiant sound that makes my cock ache. “Didn’t think so. So you have two choices. I can wear my maid’s uniform or I can grab my after-work clothes. And I do have some flip-flops I could slip into. Which do you prefer?”

I close the distance, stopping just short of touching her, my hands fisting at my sides. Her familiar scent—vanilla and rebellion—wraps around me, and I’m drowning in it. “You’re trying to goad me, aren’t you?”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t answer, just holds my gaze like she’s daring me to crack first.

“If you want to give me another hour or two, I can run to the thrift shop to see if I can find something you will approve of.”

“You don’t have anything suitable? Remotely dressy?” I grit out, my jaw tight.

Color stains her cheeks, and there’s embarrassment in her tone. “I already told you I consigned my business attire.” After a pause, she adds. “All of it. When I couldn’t find a job in the corporate world, I figured there was no point in hanging on to it.”

Dear God, what have I done to her?

Furious at myself, needing action, I move away from her to snatch up the envelope Hargrove messengered over minutes ago. I scan the pages that are crisp and heavy with legalese. I ensure that every clause is ironclad.

Satisfied, I drop it onto the desktop, smack a pen down on top of it, then slide it toward her. “Let’s make this official.”

She hesitates.

And she squeezes her eyes shut.

Finally she inches forward. After flicking the pen aside, she picks up the documents and scans them. “This is real.” Her voice is soft, almost disbelieving, but there’s steel beneath it. She’s weighing her escape routes, calculating the cost of tying herself to me.

“Very much so. It’s everything we agreed to. Eighty thousand, benefits, severance, expense account.”

She continues to read. Very much her style to read every line, study every word.

When she reaches the end, she gasps. “An apartment?” She stares at me, as if unable to comprehend what she’s seeing. “What the hell is this?”

“I took the liberty of offering you a place in the city to make your commute easier.” Meaning I’ll have access to her cameras and security logs. I’ll know when she’s coming and going. Safe. Except from me.

“But—” She blinks. “You can’t possibly be serious about this.”

“I assure you I am.” But I’ll exert however much pressure I need to so that she has no choice but to capitulate. “You don’t have to accept.”

“That seems…over-the-top generous.”

“I’m told I have a lot to make up for.”

Her eyes flash fire. Goddamn it. I misstepped.

“This won’t make anything you did right.”

“Of course not.” I’m not a man accustomed to soothing anyone, especially the fairer sex. But she makes me want to try.

Always resourceful, I make a mental pivot. “Think of the money you’ll save.”

She exhales. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I have a property acquisition specialist scouting apartments. At least two bedrooms, two baths. I presume that would be acceptable.”

Slowly she curls her arms around her middle.

“When she narrows down the best options, you can accompany her on the showings, if that’s acceptable.”

“Of course.” Then, with her trademark sass, Seraphina flashes a wicked smile. “On your time.”

Clever minx. “Perhaps your lunch hour.”

“You mean I get one? Generous.”

I lift a shoulder. “Something can be arranged from time to time, as long as you don’t take advantage of my good nature.”

At that she actually laughs. “You must have yourself confused with a different human being.”

“If everything is satisfactory, we can get on with it.”

“You really leave me no choice, do you?”

An offer you can’t refuse.

I pick up the pen and extend it toward her, and she snatches it from my grip.

She leans forward, toward me, making the skirt ride up her thighs, showing a sliver of pale skin that makes my blood roar.

I grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles white, fighting the urge to drag her across it and make her beg.

She signs, her name a sharp, defiant scrawl across the page.

The contract is ironclad—Seraphina is bound to me by ink, signature, and her desperation.

But the flash of defiance in her eyes and the stubborn tilt of her chin scream she’s not tamed. Not yet.

My cock’s hard enough to hurt. The fantasy of her kneeling in my penthouse flashes through me. I want her willing, curious, tempted enough to step closer to the flames, even while knowing she’ll burn.

When she tosses the pen on top of the last page, I pick it up.

I sign my name below hers.

Now that it’s official, the air crackles with everything we’re not saying.

I take a step toward her. To her credit, she remains in place. “Shall we seal the deal?”

Her eyes widen, and my question makes her retreat a little. “No!” The word is sharp, but her cheeks flush, her lips parting like she’s fighting her own desire. Her uniform stretches tight across her chest, and I can see the rapid rise and fall of her breath.

“No?” I close the gap, my gaze locked on her swollen lips.

“Absolutely not.” Her voice is a whisper, but she’s trembling. “No touching. It’s in the contract.”

“I’m not touching you.” But she feels my power, my heat, and the way her pupils dilate tells me she’s drawn to it, even if she won’t admit it. “A small kiss, perhaps? What can it hurt?”

She shakes her head, but her eyes flick to my mouth, betraying her.

I lean forward, allowing my lips to hover near hers. The feminine scent of her is a drug, and her quivering makes me want to devour her. “You feel it.”

“I don’t.” Her voice cracks on the pretty little lie.

“You’ll ask for it.” My words are a promise, and my breath grazes her ear.

“Never.” Her voice is a fierce whisper, but she comes in closer, a fraction of an inch, like she’s caught in the gravitational pull that exists between us.

Enjoying the pursuit, knowing she’ll surrender—because she will—I move back, giving her space to breathe. Her eyes are wide, her hands formed into fists at her sides as if she’s trying to hold herself together.

Her lips are parted, her chest heaving, and I want to destroy her composure all over again.