The Billionaire Beast(24)

Either way, it was going to be unpleasant.

Deciding to get the confrontation over and done with first, Phoebe headed to his office, but when he didn’t answer her knock and she put her head around the door, she found the room empty. Okay, so maybe he was in the gym?

But he wasn’t there either.

She checked the library, yet that, too, was empty.

Curious. Where would he be if he wasn’t in any of those rooms? He never left them, did he?

Only to go to your bedroom.

Phoebe turned from the library door and hurried up the stairs. She didn’t know why he’d go to her suite, but it was the only other place he’d conceivably be, which meant she had to at least check there.

As she pushed open the door, the delicious smell of food drifted out, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all afternoon. That was definitely one of the perks of working for Nero. She didn’t have to cook, not when his personal chef provided all her meals, and delicious meals they were, too. Looked like someone had brought up her dinner and left it there for her.

Nero wasn’t in her bedroom though. Phoebe frowned, depositing her handbag and laptop beside the bed, and looked around. No, he definitely wasn’t here. Kicking off her pumps, she headed toward her sitting room, pulling the hairpins out of her bun as she went. Perhaps he was in there? It was, logically, the only other place he could be.

She got to the doorway and stopped dead.

The room was full of the warm, flickering light of a dozen tea-light candles, all in small glass holders placed strategically around the room. The coffee table had been covered in a snowy white tablecloth, and on top of it were two plates of what looked to be Nero’s chef’s specialty steak—her favorite. There were also a couple of bowls full of roasted vegetables and a wooden breadboard with a loaf of crusty bread on it. A bottle of red wine stood already opened, while two crystal wine glasses waited.

She blinked at the dinner on the table and at the candles. What on earth was that all about? When James brought up her dinner, he never lit candles or laid a tablecloth or had wine waiting for her. And he definitely never laid out a place for another person.

A thread of unease wound through her and abruptly pulled tight.

She wasn’t alone.

Over by the windows, outlined by the light coming from the garden beneath, stood a tall, massive figure.

Her heart kicked hard inside her chest as she met Nero’s gaze, a black fire of fury glittering in his eyes.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded.





Chapter 9


He’d been waiting hours for her. Literally fucking hours. Now here she was, standing in the doorway with her shoes off and her pretty red-gold hair hanging halfway down her back, her golden-brown eyes staring at him in surprise. As if she’d had no idea he’d be waiting for her.

As if she had no idea he’d been pacing back and forth in front of these windows for two hours, wondering where she was and why she wasn’t answering his texts or his calls. Wondering whether something terrible had happened to her or whether she’d simply decided she didn’t want to be his lover after all, that she didn’t even want to work for him anymore and hadn’t bothered to come back.

Fury had begun to build inside him as the minutes ticked by. Fury that she’d promised to be his lover, that she’d promised to come back after the meeting and yet wasn’t here. That she’d disappeared into that huge city, and he didn’t know where and couldn’t get hold of her.

He’d wanted to do something nice for her, organize a dinner in her suite with food she liked, seduce her the way she should be seduced, carefully, gently. Hell, he’d even forced himself from his control room—the third time in two days—and had come here to her, because he knew she liked this room.

Being here, surrounded by her stuff, had been oddly reassuring, and he hadn’t felt panicky at all, at least until she hadn’t come back when she’d said she would. He’d become frustrated just pacing here, so he’d made himself go down the stairs to the entrance way, half thinking he’d just fling open the front door, step outside. Go find her himself.

But he hadn’t even managed to touch the door handle.

He’d broken out into a sweat at the mere thought of reaching for it, his chest like someone had taken it in a vice and was squeezing the life out of him. Gasping for breath, shaking, furious with himself, he’d had to retreat to her sitting room and call James, get him to check the hospitals and the police department for good measure.

And now here she was, strolling into the room as if nothing was wrong and she hadn’t known he’d be fucking furious that she’d apparently been out of contact.

“Well?” His voice was rough with a rage he made no attempt to mask. “Where the fuck did you go? And why didn’t you answer any of my calls?”

Her expression smoothed, the personal assistant ready to do his bidding. “My phone died,” she answered coolly. “And I didn’t have a charger with me.”

He was learning about her slowly and so he caught it, the momentary hesitation before she answered, the little flicker in her gaze. She was hiding something, oh yes, she was.

He moved from the window, stalking toward her, pissed and not bothering to hide it. “Where were you?” He kept his gaze on hers, pinning her there with it so she could get a sense of how fucking furious he was. How deep in the shit she was.

Any normal person would have backed away and backed away fast, but not Phoebe. She stood her ground, staring warily at him as he came toward her, and instead of answering his question like a good employee should after pissing him off so completely, she asked, “Why is the table set for two? And why are there candles in here?”

He didn’t answer, because he was too fucking mad. He reached her, putting his hands on her hips, turning her to face him, pushing her up hard against the door frame and holding her there.

“Answer my fucking question.” He lowered his head, putting his face close to hers so she had no choice but to meet his gaze, his fingers digging hard into the soft flesh beneath her skirt. “Where the fuck were you? You said you were going to come straight back after the meeting. You fucking promised.”

Her lashes were tipped with gold from the light of all the stupid, goddamn candles he’d had James put in her room because he thought she’d like it, and there was a crease between her red-gold brows. Her brown eyes were oddly luminous as she looked up at him, a deep, golden glow like gently warmed brandy, and the expression on her face . . . She wasn’t angry with him, wasn’t afraid or defensive. It was something else. Almost like he was a puzzle she was trying to work out, which was strange because no one had ever looked at him like he was the difficult one to read.

Then the crease between her brows cleared, and her eyes widened. “You’re worried about me,” she said, something husky edging her voice.

It wasn’t a question and he didn’t know what to do with that. Because no, of course he wasn’t worried about her. He never worried about people. He was angry. That’s what he was, just really fucking angry because he couldn’t get hold of her and he didn’t know where she was.

Like you weren’t worried about her the night before, when she screamed in her sleep.

“No,” he almost spat to her and the voice in his head. “I wasn’t fucking worried. You went somewhere after that meeting with Lorenzo. Where did you go?” He pressed her harder against the doorframe, easing his body up against hers, not realizing how badly he needed to touch her until her soft warmth was against him. “Answer me. Now.”

Her expression changed and this time he couldn’t read it at all, the look on her face totally unfamiliar. “The candles, the dinner. It was for me, wasn’t it?”

“Of course, it was for you.” The words came out as a growl. “You needed dinner. Now, I swear to God if you don’t tell me—”

“I visited Charles.” Her gaze roved over his face as if he’d suddenly become a stranger to her. “I haven’t seen him since I started work for you, and I wanted to check in on him. My phone died and then the doctors wanted a meeting. It took longer than I thought.”

So, she’d gone to visit her fucking fiancé without telling him.

Something coiled tight inside his chest, something he’d never felt before in his life. It was sharp and hot, and it fed into his fury like petrol poured into an empty petrol tank, making the engine roar.

He spread his fingers on her hips, angling her so his hardening cock pressed against the softness between her thighs. “No.” The word was little more than a growl. “You’re not going to visit that prick, not on my dime.” He lifted his hands, took her face between them. “You promised to be my lover, which makes you mine, Phoebe Taylor. All mine. Understand me?”

She made no move to pull away, only lifting her hands and circling his wrists with her cool, delicate fingers. That look was on her face, the one he couldn’t work out, the one that for some reason cooled the terrible heat of his anger, yet at the same time made his chest tighten.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to be jealous.”

What the actual fuck was she talking about?