Page 1 of Untouchable Billionaire (The Hardcore Novels: Special Editions #1)

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Maximus Aurelius Moore,

Aka Hardcore

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Standing outside on the balcony of my Italian studio in Rome, wearing only a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs, I rub my cock absentmindedly and try to wait patiently for the sweet little piece of ass I've hired to photograph to get ready for the shoot. It's been too long between visits.

Listening to the sounds of the civilized city beyond, my mind drifts back to the call I received this morning from Dirk Sam, my old army buddy. "Moore, my man! You still walking around with a dick stiff enough to be mistaken for the cyclic?"

I laughed into the phone. "I am. You still hanging a dick long enough to choke a gorilla?"

"I still don't know about that, brother, but it's longer than a banana."

"Sup, Sam-I-am? It's good to hear your voice. It's been too damn long since you needed a favor. What can I do for you?"

He chuckled into the phone. "I've got TDY orders for Rucker and wanted to hit you up for a place to stay."

"Beautiful. I'll clean off the couch. When?"

"In the spring. I'm waiting on a class assignment, so I don't have the exact dates yet, but I won't be sleeping on your couch this time. I'll need a nice apartment."

"Really? A cheapskate like you never turned down a free place to crash before."

"Moore, I got hitched." Dirk laughed.

"What the fuck? Hitched as in married?" I asked, truly shocked.

"Yeah. Married. Me." Dirk laughed even harder. "It's a long story, bro. Too long for a phone call. It'll take several six-packs of brew to get through."

"With news like this, you gotta give me the short version."

"I fucked this crazy bitch years ago in London, and when I came back, I looked her up. She needed a husband, so I married her." He chuckled, enjoying stringing me along.

"You're fucking with me, Sam." I laughed.

"No, man. I'm serious. I'm not pulling a fast one over on you. I'm for real. I've made a deal with a devil, but she's one helluva devil." He paused, then asked. "So, can you help me find an apartment?"

"Of course. No problem. Just let me know as soon as you know what your dates are, and I'll lock you into a lease. You'll be all set when you arrive."

"Great. I knew I could count on you."

"Always, brother. I got your back."

He put his hand over the phone to muffle the sound of his voice. "My buddy stationed at Fort Rucker…. Yeah. Don't worry. He'll find us a place that's not in the slums…." He removes his hand, and I hear the crazy British she-devil.

"You trust this buddy?"

"With my life."

"Good, because if you drag me to a hellhole to live, I'll kill you, Nicholas Dirkerus Sam."

I start to laugh hearing Dirk's life being threatened so easily but so effectively. "I'll stock the fridge with a case of beer. This story is going to be good." I tell him.

"Yeah." He laughs with me. "It is a good one."

"Babe." He tells the Brit. "Chillax! Go do what you do. I got this." Then he tells me in a loud whisper. "Make it a really nice one."

"You got it. I know just the place. A new gated community."

"Thanks, Hard. I'll be in touch."

A car horn on the street below brings me back to the balcony. I glance down to see a man shaking his fist out of the window of his Fiat.

I smirk, then laugh, remembering the nickname Sam-I-am tagged me with. It's been a long time since I was called Hard, but some names just stick, and that's one of those names.

Army Aviation Flight School, Fort Rucker, Alabama. Six years earlier.

Dirk bragged to the others on the flight line Monday morning.

"Dudes, my wingman Moore earned a new nickname Saturday night."

"Spill it!"

"His new name is Hardcore, but I call him Hard for short."

They all laughed at that. "Cause his dick stays hard all the time?"

"Hey, Hard, come over here and tell them what happened Saturday night."

"Naw, man. Let it lay."

"Hell no!" They all chimed in. "Spill it!"

"We walk in, right? And immediately, Ole Hulk here draws the ladies' eyes. You can hear the word 'Eye Candy' buzzing around the bar."

"That's two words, Sam."

"Shut the fuck up, Moore! Anyway, we sit down at a table, and nothing happens, right? Wrong! Some drunk chick comes up, plops down in his lap, and starts to grind him."

"No, she didn't. Quit exaggerating."

"Yes, she fucking did. But our Officer and a Gentleman here, being the best damn wingman ever, simply stands up and excuses himself to the restroom leaving me the drunk chica.

When he comes back, I've done made a move to hold her right here.

" He pointed to his dick, and they all laughed.

"But her wing-lady rescues her from my evil cock, and they leave.

" He frowned, and everyone boos. "Which should be bad, right?

Wrong! That's good because she broke the ice, and now Mr. Muscles here is acting like a fucking chick magnet.

I swear they were swarming." He flexed his biceps. "Maybe I should improve my guns."

Everyone laughed.

"By the time midnight rolls around, there is sure 'nough a catfight brewing as the pussies positioned themselves to make a play for my main man. While I'm here working my ass off to pick one up, he's working hard over there not to have a threesome at the table."

"So, how did he get the new nickname, Hardcore?"

"Patience. I'm getting to that!"

"Did he go hardcore on them and fuck those pussies like the dawg we know he is?"

Someone chanted. "Who let the dawg out?" So, everyone barked.

"Naw, man! He mows them down! It was brutal, I tell you!" He hung his head then shook it. "He told them. 'Look! I'm not into you, and I'm not getting "in" to you.'"

"Ahhhh!" They all moaned.

"That's a hardcore rejection right there."

I laugh. It'll be good to see ole Sam-I-am again.

The first time I laid eyes on Dirk Sam, we were asked to stand at the Hail and Farewell party and were introduced as the only two bachelors in Green Flight.

Sitting at opposite ends of the same table, we stood, locking eyes and sizing each other up.

We were both athletic specimens at 6' tall and around 220 pounds, but I was wearing a J-Crew shirt with khakis, and he wore faded distressed jeans with a t-shirt that read Loose Cannon.

I'm blonde and with a beach tan. He's a dark brunette with olive skin.

To everyone there, we looked like opposites, but not to me. He had the same look in his eye.

"Aurelius is the youngest candidate too."

All eyes turned to the dark-haired, dark-eyed young man, and the moment Dirk realized their eyes were on him instead of me, the blonde buck with the crooked grin, he quickly set the record straight, calling the crowd out with a wise-guy grin of his own.

"I hope you ladies and gentlemen did not just profile this dark meat as the Mafioso because I'm Dirk Sam. He's Aurelius Moore."

Dirk was enjoying the hell out of pushing their politically correct buttons, and I knew we would be brothers. I gave him a heads-up man salute and simply said to the crowd. "Ciao."

From that point on, the practical jokes and the antics were nonstop. If we weren't pushing each other's buttons, we were teaming up to push everyone else's.

I lean over the balcony railing and spit. Then a crooked grin slides on at the fond memory that simple action conjures. The seed-spitting contest was one of the best. Vodka-filled watermelons produced quite a show. First place was hard to earn, but Hardcore and Sam-I-am prevailed.

I stand, then stretch. Sam and I were made from the same mold, just handed two different lives.

Sam told me during one late night of drinking while we were closing down the local bar.

"I joined the military because I had nowhere else to go.

My mother died a week after I graduated from high school.

" He hung his head, and I listened quietly, knowing it was difficult for him to share.

"At 18, I was homeless. Going through her stuff, I came across newspaper clippings of this British politician that looked like a real prick.

Part of me wondered what the hell she had these for, but the other part knew.

He was my sperm donor." He looked up at me and smirked.

"I took the last money I had and bought a plane ticket to London.

'Blimey Bastard'" He looked down the bar for a long time into his distant past. I could tell something had happened that he wasn't going to share.

When he looked back at me, he had pushed the memory down deep inside.

"I almost got myself killed. I hightailed it back to the States and joined the Army to fly this badass bird.

" He grinned and downed the beer. That was the last he spoke of his hardships, and he never mentioned London again until the other day.

I wonder what happened to send him back to London?

And now he's married and to a crazy British bitch? Can't wait to hear that wild tale.

I enlisted not because I had to but rather because I wanted to.

Flying Apache helicopters just appealed to me.

When my dad retired from the military, he moved us home close to his parents in rural Alabama.

I fell in love with the warbirds flying overhead.

The sound their blades make as they chop the air overhead.

Nothing else like it. But I did rush into enlisting when I was featured on the cover of an Italian tabloid.

"Maximus Moore, Rising Star on the Italian Social Scene.

Perhaps we should consider this young American, in line to inherit the Liotine Fortune, as the most eligible young bachelor in Italy.

We will definitely be keeping a watchful eye on him.

" That comment sent me straight to the recruiter without thinking twice and without telling a soul.

I signed away for six years of my life, determined to be who I am, not who someone else portrayed me to be.

I drop my head and smirk. Man, did that announcement cause an uproar?