The Billionaire Beast(15)

She didn’t think about that kiss again. Didn’t think about the fact that the women he’d wanted were redheads. Didn’t think about that needy, aching part of her that was helplessly drawn to his intense, uninhibited masculine sexuality.

She only picked up a book and lost herself in that instead. Then she’d gone to bed and dreamed . . .

Nero moved suddenly from the doorway, stalking toward her, loose limbed and predatory as a panther.

The fear inside her tightened, and she grabbed quickly for the light switch on her nightstand, flicking it on.

Why on earth was he here? He should have been cozied up with the escorts she’d gotten for him, not coming to see her. Unless they weren’t suitable? Or maybe they hadn’t turned up? Or did he want something else?

Light flooded the room, illuminating Nero’s rough, brutally handsome features. And her heart paused mid-beat at the expression on his face.

His eyes were glittering, his jaw tight and hard, his lips curled back in an almost snarl. He had his hands in fists at his sides, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he looked slightly pale.

“Nero?” She clutched the sheet to her chest in an unconsciously protective movement. “What’s wrong? It’s the middle of the night. Is there—”

“Are you okay?” he demanded, low and rough, continuing to come toward her.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I heard you scream.” He came to a stop beside the bed, his whole posture stiff, radiating tension. “Answer me. Are you all right?”

Phoebe blinked, staring at him in shock, her fear beginning to ebb. Had he really burst into her room in the middle of the night simply because he’d heard her scream? That seemed odd when he wasn’t supposed to care about anyone but himself. How had he heard her anyway?

“Yes, I’m fine.” She hoped her voice sounded steady. “It was only a nightmare.”

Nero’s gaze flickered. He turned his head sharply to look over his shoulder as if he’d spotted someone creeping up behind him, but there was no one there. “Are you sure?” His attention returned to her only to flicker away once again, scanning the room like a soldier searching for threats.

Phoebe frowned. Something was “off” here. He was holding himself strangely, his massive shoulders hunched as if a great weight was pressing down on him.

“Yes, I’m positive.” She studied him, noticing the gleam of sweat on his forehead. And . . . God. Were those big fists of his shaking?

“What about you?” She kept her voice low. “Are you okay?”

Instantly his gaze came to hers and stayed there. “Of course, I’m fucking okay,” he snapped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You look . . .” She stopped. Afraid. He looks afraid. Which was strange. She wouldn’t have thought a man like Nero de Santis would be afraid of anything and yet . . . he was. She would have laid money on it.

“I’m fine.” He looked around the room again, his broad chest expanding as he took in a breath that sounded shaky. “I just . . . haven’t been in this room for a while.”

“Why not?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He scowled. “Because I haven’t needed to, of course. Would there be any other reason?”

There’s a reason. And it’s not because he hasn’t needed to.

Gradually something began to dawn on her. That he was here, in this room, instead of his office or his gym or his library, the rooms she never saw him leave. And more than that, he was here and he was afraid.

Why? Was being here difficult for him? There was no threat here, and he must know that. Or was it difficult because he wasn’t in one of his familiar places?

As soon as the thought occurred to her, she knew it was true. Nothing else made sense. And it made something shift in her chest, the last remnants of her own fear fading away. He’d heard her scream, and he’d come to check to see if she was okay. He’d left his office, his gym, his library. His familiar places.

He’d come to her because she’d had a nightmare.

She had no idea what that meant—if, indeed, it meant anything at all—but it made the part of her that always wanted to help people help him in some way. Soothe him, ease his fear.

He was not an easy man by any stretch of the imagination. But it seemed he wasn’t a beast all the way through. He was vulnerable. He needed help.

And she was here.

That thing in her chest shifted again. He was looking around the room once more, as if he was seeing things that weren’t there, those big hands of his clenching even tighter, his chest was rising and falling even faster.

She didn’t like seeing him like this. He was normally so powerful, so arrogant. So confident. It was wrong that he should be afraid.

But what could she do? He would hate knowing she’d spotted his vulnerability, she understood that instinctively, so talking to him about it probably wouldn’t help.

You could distract him.

She could, but how? Yet even as the thought occurred to her, she knew.

Her fingers clutching the sheet to her breasts loosened, allowing it to slip, and instantly his gaze snapped back to her, following the movement. Her nightgown was white cotton, modest, with a high neckline, but the fabric was very fine. Almost see-through.

Phoebe’s heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears as his black eyes dropped to where her nightgown stretched over her breasts, his attention zeroing in on her the way it often did. And then the tension in his posture abruptly relaxed, and he was moving toward her, coming closer until he was standing right next to the bed, looking down at her.

She swallowed, her mouth gone dry. He was very, very close. Too close. She could feel the heat radiating from his big, hard body, that dark electricity crackling around him that had goose bumps rising all over her skin. That made her shiver. That made her want things she’d never wanted before and couldn’t for the life of her understand why she wanted them now.

This is a mistake.

Yes, it probably was. But his shoulders had lost that tight, hunched look, and he was staring at her with a kind of consuming intensity, as if she alone was holding his fear at bay. And sure enough, it wasn’t fear that glittered in his eyes now.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked a little huskily. “I’m okay now. You don’t have to stay. I know you have . . . company already.”

He was silent for a long moment, staring at her. Then he said in a harsh, gritty voice. “You can explain something to me, Phoebe Taylor. I had two gorgeous, naked women in my bed, both of whom were desperate to please me. Yet I didn’t want either of them. How the fuck does that work?”

A shock went down her spine. So he hadn’t slept with those women? She shouldn’t care, and yet it was disturbing that her first reaction was good.

“I don’t know.” Phoebe tried to ignore the voice inside her. “I got you the women you told me to get. Those were the ones you said you wanted.”

His gaze was so full of heat and a strange kind of fury she almost couldn’t look at it. “But I don’t want them. I don’t want to touch them. I don’t want to fuck them. They were naked in my bed, and all I could fucking think about was you.”

Shock expanded slowly inside her, like an explosion in slow motion.

He hadn’t followed her after that kiss in the library, so she’d thought she’d been right in her initial assumption. That he didn’t want her in particular. He just wanted sex.

Apparently not.

“Me?” She hated the faint sound of her own voice. “I mean, I don’t know why—” She broke off as he moved again, restless and sudden, sitting down on the edge of the bed right next to her.

“Yes, you.” There was a rough note in the words that was somehow thrilling, even though she didn’t want it to be. “They don’t look like you. They don’t sound like you. And when I kissed them, they didn’t taste like you. And that was all I could fucking think about.” His expression became even more intense, the look in his eyes sharp as blades. “What have you done to me, Phoebe? What the fuck have you done?”

Her heartbeat was out of control, a strange prickling sensation crawling over her. As if she’d passed too close to an electric field and the static was crackling over her skin.

“I haven’t done anything,” she forced out, trying to sound like her usual calm self and failing. “I can’t help it if you don’t want those women.”

He ignored that, putting one hand on either side of her hips and leaning forward, his face inches from hers. “Why did you run from me in the library? I wouldn’t hurt you, Phoebe, I told you that already.”

He was so hot. So intense. A shudder went through her, and she wanted to press herself back into the pillows, put some distance between them. But that would be giving away far too much, so she didn’t. “Because you weren’t listening to me.”

“You wanted me. You kissed me back. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you.”

Nero said nothing, staring at her with such intensity she began to feel like he was trying to ignite her with the power of his mind alone.

And the really terrible part was that it was working.