The Billionaire's Muse Complete Series Box Set Page 2

  I bent her over the bench, letting her go only when I was sure she could stay on her feet. The sound of her breathing was harsh as she dragged in deep breaths, but I barely registered it. I put my hands on her ass, felt the firm muscles under my palms. Damn, this was going to be good.

  “You disobeyed.” I squeezed.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “I deserved to be punished.”

  The breathlessness of her answer was unmistakably anticipatory, and I wasn't about to disappoint. After the first crack had Rose mewling and pushing back against me, I didn't hold back. One after the other until her skin was bright red and the palm of my hand burned. She'd come at least once from it, and by the time I knew she'd reached her limit, I was more than ready to go.

  Her forehead dropped down on the bench as I reached into my pocket and made short work of getting my dick out and the condom on. After that, it was one thrust to get inside, then I was moving hard and fast toward the release we both craved.

  Because that's what this was. Fun and pleasurable, yes, but only release.

  I pushed the thought aside and focused on the wet heat gripping me, the friction of two bodies coming together. That was all that mattered in this moment.

  Three

  Tanya

  Miss Foxe hadn't told me that I couldn't take the manuscripts home, and based on what Yvonne had said, my boss was the sort of woman who preferred her employees work more than the usual forty hours a week, but I still didn't ask her if it was okay. I figured this was a case of it being better to ask for forgiveness than permission. I didn't mind putting in the extra hours, especially when the time was spent reading, but if I had my choice, I'd rather do it in the comfort of my cozy little apartment than my little desk at the office. Since I saw pretty much everyone else taking work home with them, I figured it wasn't too far a stretch.

  I wasn't ungrateful for my position, but I also didn’t want to go out of my way to be uncomfortable when there was another option available. If Miss Foxe asked me – or told me, since I had a feeling that was more her style – to stay at the office, I would. But as long as she didn't tell me not to, I planned to work from home whenever I had to put in extra hours.

  Besides, I thought as I curled up on my couch/bed, I'd worked my ass off to get a place of my own, and I planned on enjoying it as much as possible...even if it was barely bigger than my dorm room at NYU. I supposed I could've gotten a bigger apartment if I'd considered having roommates, but I was willing to take a smaller space if it meant I had it all to myself.

  The fact that it came with an already-installed air conditioning unit that worked beautifully had been the final selling point. So even though summer was coming, I knew I'd be comfortable in my little one-room. And comfort was a luxury I'd been looking forward to for a long time. I'd gotten along well enough with my NYU roommate, but she and I hadn't had much in common, so even though it hadn't been a negative situation, it hadn't exactly made for a space that felt like home.

  Like it always did, the thought of home made my chest tighten, and my eyes burn. It shouldn't have been so close to the surface, not after all these years, but it was. No matter how much I told myself that I'd dealt with all of the baggage I had from my childhood, it was still there.

  I cleared my throat and shook my head. I wasn't going to waste my time on things that I couldn't change. I had a job to do.

  I'd finished one of the manuscripts at work and marked it as “Fair,” but I hadn't gotten any further than that. The next one in the stack had the ominous title: Black Dragoon of Death, but I took a deep breath and dove in.

  The pitch-black night was as black as the pitch that held together the planks of the pirate ship floating in the wet darkness of the Black Sea.

  This was going to be fun.

  Less than an hour later, I had to get up and retrieve some aspirin because my head was pounding. I understood that editing meant guiding an author through some places where their writing might have issues, but the first sentence of Black Dragoon of Death was actually the best written one in the half of the manuscript I'd read. The characters were flat, the phrasing cliché, the plot absurd. And considering how much I loved obscure fantasy and science fiction, that was saying something.

  Still, I plugged through the rest of it, giving a sigh of relief when I finally finished and was able to label it as “Poor.”

  Book three had a slightly better title: Flower of Love. It might have been a bit sappy for my taste, but a title was usually the easiest thing to change. I turned the page and began.

  By the time I was two chapters in, I was beginning to wonder if Miss Foxe had chosen these manuscripts as a joke.

  ...Reginald's love rod pierced the lady's love petals and she sobbed into his shirt, the depth of her gratitude paling in comparison to the ecstasy he made her feel...

  Had I missed a class somewhere that listed the most bizarre terminology possible for human anatomy? I understood not using clinical terminology when writing a romance, but love rod and love petals? I rolled my eyes and kept going.

  When I finished, I debated between ranking it “Fair” or “Poor.” I knew the market was hot for romances right now, particularly the ones with steamy sex scenes, but the thought of recommending this book for publication didn't sit right with me. Still, Miss Foxe had told me that I had to base my decision on the marketability of the book.

  “Fair” it was then.

  I glanced at my phone and sighed when I saw that it was already midnight. The next manuscript was thicker than the first two, probably a good thirty to forty thousand words over the company's standard fifty-five thousand word minimum.

  I didn't want Miss Foxe thinking I couldn't do the work though. I'd existed on little sleep as a student, especially my senior year when I was reading six different books every week for different classes. I could keep doing it while I secured my place in the company.

  On to Heat of the Sun. Not a bad title.

  I flipped to the first page and began.

  The crack of the flogger against her bare flesh echoed off the walls, and I watched as a single bead of water trailed over her collarbone and down the swell of her firm breasts.

  The next thing I knew, I was turning the last page, my skin flushed, heart racing. Miss Foxe had said that I was supposed to rate the manuscripts on marketability rather than on whether or not I liked them. She'd also been firm on “Good’ being the highest possible rating. If she hadn't, I would've written any number of accolades on my little sticky note.

  With capital letters and exclamation points.

  Sure, there were some rough patches that would need some polish, but for the most part, Heat of the Sun was one of the best romances I'd read in a long time.

  Except it wasn't just a romance.

  I leaned over and switched off the light, then settled back on the creaky, uncomfortable pull-out couch. It was four in the morning, and I had to be up in two hours, but I wasn't sure I could sleep. Not when my entire body was humming.

  I'd read some steamy sex scenes before, but the things described in Heat of the Sun had contained the sorts of things I'd never imagined in my wildest dreams.

  Except I was imagining them now.

  I couldn't visualize some of the things the characters had used on each other, but it wasn’t those things that had appealed to me. No, it'd been the main character, the sexy alpha male protagonist who'd dominated his lover. Who'd protected her and kept her safe. Like all good love stories, there'd been conflict and misunderstanding, with plenty of angst, but he'd also given the heroine all the things that I'd spent most of my life wanting.

  Stability. Someone to count on. Someone to trust. A home.

  As I drifted off, snippets of the book kept floating through my brain, conjuring up the images and arousal I'd felt when I read them the first time. And with them came a slew of emotions that I knew would follow me into my sleep. The strongest one was desire, but not only a
desire for something sexual. The desire for more.

  But even as I went under, I knew it wouldn't happen.

  People like that didn't exist. Men like that. And even if they did, it wouldn't make a difference to me. People like me didn't get to have that sort of thing.

  Four

  Tanya

  I wasn't surprised that I was exhausted since I hadn't exactly had the most restful sleep, but my second cup of black coffee from the break room gave me the caffeine jolt I needed. I'd probably spend the rest of the day guzzling it too, but I was good for the moment.

  Which meant I was ready to go talk to Miss Foxe about Heat of the Sun. I had all of the manuscripts I'd read ready to hand in, but I didn't want to risk her overlooking this one. Part of me, however, wondered if she'd just pitch them all because she didn't think they'd be any good anyway. She'd made it sound like this would be one of my regular responsibilities, but for all I knew, she was testing me. She seemed to be the sort of person who'd love to make tests just so she could watch people fail.

  But I wasn't going to fail. I'd do whatever tasks she sent my way, and I'd do them well. And right now, that meant I needed to tell her about this book because I might've been new at this, but I knew books, and this one would sell.

  When I knocked on her door, no one answered, so I waited. Miss Foxe came in a few minutes later, her mouth set in a tight line. She took long, determined strides, and I almost laughed when I saw an intern diving out of her way. The almost was because I was pretty sure I would've done the same thing. Miss Foxe was clearly the sort of person who'd walk right over anyone in her way.

  She reached for the door, frowning as she raised her head and saw me standing there. “Do you want something?”

  “I read through half the manuscripts,” I began.

  She went into her office without inviting me in, but I took the risk and followed her in anyway. She didn't kick me out, so I took that as a sign to keep talking.

  Call me optimistic.

  “There's this one that I really think we should take–”

  “We?” She gave me a sharp look.

  I forced a smile. I generally considered myself to be a person who was easy to get along with, but I had a feeling Jai Foxe would work hard to make a liar of me.

  “I started reading this manuscript late last night, and I couldn't put it down,” I continued without acknowledging her comment. I wasn't sure I could do it politely, and if I'd learned anything during my years in the system, it was how to sidestep confrontation without actually giving anything.

  Miss Foxe raised an eyebrow. “I'm missing the part where that means you think you need to barge in here, uninvited.”

  “It's got everything you wanted,” I pressed on. “It really deserves some attention. The title's not excessively compelling, but Heat of the Sun isn't too bad–”

  Her head jerked up. “Heat of the Sun?”

  I nodded and held out the thick sheaf of paper, pleased that my persistence had paid off.

  “I'll read it for myself,” she said, practically grabbing it out of my hand. “Put anything else you finished over there.” She pointed to a wire tray on a small table next to her desk.

  I did as she asked and then turned back to see Miss Foxe scowling at her computer screen. I waited for her to say something, but when a minute ticked by and she didn't even acknowledge that I was still there, I figured that was all the hint I needed.

  Besides, she said she'd read the manuscript, and that was most important. Hopefully, she'd do it by the end of today so she could confirm what I knew.

  It was amazing.

  I was beginning to think that Miss Foxe wasn't going to read Heat of the Sun after all. It was Thursday already, and the manuscript was still sitting on her desk where she'd put it Tuesday morning. I was trying to not take it personally, but I couldn't help wondering if she would’ve already read it if anyone but me had given it to her. Maybe it was a little paranoid of me, but she didn't seem to be willing to give me a chance to prove myself. After all, how would she know if I was a good judge of literature if she didn't know what I thought was good?

  “You look annoyed.”

  Yvonne's voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked up to see her standing in front of my desk.

  I forced a smile. “I'm fine.”

  She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Honey, no one who's been that woman's assistant for more than three hours has ever been fine at work.”

  Yvonne seemed to know more about what was going on in the company than anyone else, and she hadn't been reluctant to share when we'd first met, so maybe she could let me know if I was imagining things or if I seriously needed to rethink how I was going about my business.

  “I've been wondering.” I glanced over at Miss Foxe's closed door. “Does she make...tests for her assistants? Things she has them do just to see how they react?”

  Yvonne came around my desk and leaned against it, a speculative look in her sky-blue eyes. “You mean does she play games with them?” She shook her head. “No, she's pretty much just a bitch.”

  I looked toward Miss Foxe's office, sure that she would show impeccable timing and come out just as Yvonne was sharing her opinion.

  “Don't worry,” Yvonne said. “Her Majesty is rarely seen among us common people.”

  I bit back a laugh. Miss Foxe did seem to be a bit of a diva. “Is she next in line to be a senior editor?”

  “Hell, no. Not anymore, anyway.” Yvonne leaned closer. “In fact, I've heard that she actually hasn't signed anything for months.”

  I wasn't a fan of gossip, but this could affect my job, so I didn't stop Yvonne as she continued.

  “See, at Christmas last year, she had this book that she kept telling people was going to be the next big thing, that everyone would be talking about it. So the company pulled out all the stops.”

  “What book was it?”

  “That's the thing,” Yvonne said. “You wouldn't recognize the title. Complete flop. Bookstores wanted to send back all their orders. The author ended up disappearing for an entire month afterward, then showed up at his ex-wife's office, stark naked except for a pair of boots. The cops came and got him, but not before he climbed into the fountain.”

  “Wow.” I couldn't think of a single word to contain everything that story made me think.

  “Complete nervous breakdown.” Yvonne shot a look toward Miss Foxe's office. “Last I heard, he was still in some psych ward somewhere.”

  “That's awful.”

  She nodded, but the pleased expression made me wonder just how much she agreed with me.

  “Ever since then, Miss Foxe acts like she's busy and going through submissions, but she hasn't pitched a single thing since the incident. And I know for a fact my boss is thinking about looking for a replacement.” She gave me a speculative look. “I'll bet if someone brought in something big, it'd go a long way toward getting that position. There are some promising things out there. Rumor has it some new erotica author is shopping around a script guaranteed to be hotter than anything James has written. That'd be one huge fish to land.”

  I had no way of knowing if Yvonne's rumors were based on the manuscript that I'd read, on something else entirely, or if she was baiting me into doing something stupid, but I was pretty sure I didn't want to sit back and just wait to see what happened.

  “Anyway,” Yvonne straightened, “my advice is to make sure you've shown how indispensable you are to the company. That way, no matter what happens to Miss Foxe, you'll keep moving forward.”

  I barely noticed when she walked away. The thought that had just come into my head took up too much room to allow for anything else. It would be risky as hell and could blow up in my face, but the rewards could be huge.

  I pulled up my email, but there was nothing new since the one Miss Foxe sent an hour ago telling me about a couple files she needed me to organize. She clearly hadn't taken me seriously about how good the manuscript was, and I didn't doubt that if we wa
ited too long, we'd lose out on something big. If the author went to another publishing house, I had no doubt Miss Foxe would be much closer to losing her job than she was right now. I probably wouldn't get fired with her, but if I could deliver the next best seller, maybe I could get a shot at an editor position.

  Before I could second guess myself, I pulled up a new email and began typing. I kept it short and professional, asking one Erika Summers for a face-to-face meeting to discuss Branch Publishing taking on Heat of the Sun.

  Once I sent it off, all I could do was wait. My stomach started churning as the magnitude of what I'd done settled on me. What I'd done could be seen as initiative...or as going behind my boss's back. I just hoped I'd end up with a big enough pay-off that I could claim the former.

  By the time my email program chirped at me half an hour later, I felt like I was about to throw up. Still, I didn't hesitate to open the reply.

  And then I read it a second time to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

  Erika Summers had agreed to have lunch with me tomorrow at noon.

  A new wave of anxiety washed over me, but with it came a hint of hope. This could be it, the break I'd been looking for. My goal was so close I could almost reach out and touch it.

  Now all I had to do was sell it to Ms. Summers.

  Five

  Erik

  From the outside, my life looked perfect. I was one of the wealthiest men in the country under thirty, and probably above that too, and the CEO of one of the world's biggest businesses. Most people wouldn't know it by name because, instead of being a singular company, it had its fingers in all the pies, so to speak. That had been my idea, which was why I was in charge. I didn't do anything half-way.

  For a few years, it had been exciting, working on one thing after another, coming up with new ideas to implement, new techniques. I loved to see what worked and tweaked the things that didn't. I liked watching how things came together, figuring out how everything worked best.