Rule #1: Maintain Control.
You think you know me. The cars, the penthouse, the reputation for delivering women to that “Oh, yes, Gavin” moment… Yeah, I’m the bad boy billionaire who drives your fantasies.
But I’ve traveled a long road to get here. And I played by the rules—the ones I wrote to guarantee I didn’t return to whom I was before.
Until now. The pictures, the story—it’s my past coming back to haunt me. I’ve lost control. And to get it back, I need to change the story.
So I asked my best friend and neighbor for help. Kayla agreed—if I support her growing pack of four-legged misfits.
My life is under control again.
Only I’m falling for my best friend. Now, my New York City apartment is full of rescued pups, my country retreat looks more like an animal sanctuary, and Kayla’s guarding her heart.
And I’m running out of time to prove the girl next door belongs with the billionaire.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Gavin
I never walk into a room without a plan. I don’t care if I’m entering a board meeting or a bar—I map out my goals beforehand and prepare to execute them. Tonight’s birthday party for my girlfriend’s roommate is no exception. Right now I’m on a mission to locate my date on the rooftop terrace, strip off her panties, and leave her believing today is her special day.
“Gavin!” The twenty-something birthday girl grabs my arm. She’s named after a flower, but hell if I can remember which one. “Now that you’re here, darling, this party is officially lit.”
I raise a practiced eyebrow. “I’m not that exciting.”
Violet—that’s her name—laughs as if I’ve told a particularly hilarious joke.
“In fact, I need to return to work later,” I add.
I want to be clear. I’m not here for Violet’s bash. Tonight, I have a singular goal, and she’s waiting on the roof.
A young hipster in a tailored orange suit sidles up to me. “New product releasing soon, Gavin? I’ve heard rumors that you’re developing new software. If you’re planning a release, I could help with the PR. I’m starting a public relations group, and I’d really love for you to be my first client.”
And I’d love to lick my girlfriend until she screams my name.
I slap hipster dude on the back. “I’m afraid we want different things right now, my friend, and I’ve had a long day.”
Truth.
“Before I talk business,” I continue, stepping away from the birthday girl and her admirers, “I need a drink.”
Lie.
I’m eager to give Alexandra an orgasm, but the bar’s on the way to the stairs. I’ve been to the Brooklyn penthouse before, though I prefer having Alexandra come to my Manhattan apartment The twenty-something trust-fund crowd leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I wouldn’t have even crossed the east river tonight, but Alexandra sent me an invitation I couldn’t refuse.
I pause beside the temporary bar set up beside the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “The birthday girl and her friends would like shots. Tequila. Top shelf.”
The bartender nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Violet!” I call over my shoulder. “It’s tequila time.”
“Shots!”
The call echoes around the room. A group suddenly crowds around the birthday girl, eager to share in the celebrating. I take advantage of the distraction and open the sliding glass door leading to a terrace. Following Alexandra’s instructions like a treasure map, I find the stairs and climb two at a time.
Overeager? Hell, yes. I want this woman. Unlike her trust-fund former roommate, Alexandra actually works for a living. Her receptionist gig at my gym pays the bills while she tries to launch her acting career. Her friends fall in the take-them-or-leave-them category for me, but I’m crazy about Alexandra’s work ethic.
She understands me on an elemental level.
I grin like a fool when I reach the top of the metal staircase. I can picture my best friend’s reaction to my lofty claim. “Elemental? You just mean she’s good in bed.”
That is precisely what I mean. But Alexandra takes “good” to new levels.
How do you tell if a woman shares your sexual kinks? I ask myself this question on every first date. Given my habit for choosing Mrs. Right Now—my best friend’s label, not mine—I’ve been on hundreds of first dates, and I still haven’t found an answer. And failure is not something I take lightly. I came from nothing, and now I’m worth more than one billion dollars.
Not that I’m into anything from the Fifty Shades playbook. I’m not that kind of billionaire. But nothing turns me on like sex with the possibility of getting caught. I’m not talking public parks or places that might lead to a night in a jail cell. I’ve had enough trouble in my life, and I’m not about to invite any more.
But a private rooftop terrace while a party buzzes below? The chance that one of the other guests or a member of the catering staff will hear my girlfriend’s moans and come investigate?
Oh, hell yes.
I spot Alexandra by the railing. She’s staring out at the night sky. Beneath the full moon’s glow, I can see the tops of the trees in Prospect Park. Manhattan’s skyline is on the other side of the building, but all I want is a view of my girl, naked and draped over her outdoor furniture.
A sideways glance confirms the lounge chair is still up here. A heat lamp that would look more at home in a restaurant or at a wedding hovers over the lone chair.
She won’t freeze when I pull her dress to her waist.
I cross the cement pavers and wrap my arms around Alexandra’s slim waist, drawing her back to my front. She can’t miss how the mental picture in my mind turns me on. The evidence is pressing against her lower back. Even in her three-inch heels, she’s a good bit shorter than my six-two build.
“I want to bury my face between your legs,” I murmur in her ear. “I’m going to lay you down on that chair, reach up under your dress, slide you panties down your legs, and—”
“I’m not wearing any underwear,” she announces in her low, sultry voice.
Her voice oozes with the promise of sex, and I would bet my BMW that men call to reserve the squash courts at the gym just to hear her purr in their ear. Until last month, I was one of those guys. After the second phone call, I stopped by the desk and asked her out.
Her response? “I knew you would come to your senses and take me to dinner.”
Bold, confident, and sexy as hell. Maybe she’s the one. Maybe I’ve finally found Mrs. Right.
I step forward, using my body to gently guide her across the patio to the chair. We’ve been here before. Not on this roof-deck. Last time, we slipped away at a museum opening and found a quiet hall. No cameras. I made damn sure there wouldn’t be a recording of my girlfriend on her knees in front of me. But when I zipped up and we returned to the party, I knew I’d found a woman who saw more than dollar signs when she looked at me.
