The Billionaire Beast(40)

Her throat felt so tight she could hardly speak. “I want you to walk with me, too,” she said thickly. “I was so hoping you’d ask me to stay, but you didn’t and so . . . God, Nero . . .” She took a shuddering breath, holding onto him tighter. “I should have called you after Charles died, but I didn’t. I just didn’t know how I could give you what you needed. I didn’t know how to help you. I’m just the stupid English girl my parents didn’t even want, and I’ve been telling myself all this time I need to find myself and all that rubbish. But that’s all it is. Rubbish.” She lifted her head and turned it slightly, looking into his harsh, beautiful face, the truth of the feeling that was flooding through her suddenly becoming clear. “I don’t need to find myself. I already did. I’m myself whenever I’m with you. I need you. And that’s all.”

Something lit in his black eyes, something bright, a flame. “The words, Phoebe, give me the words.”

Her heart kicked hard inside her chest. Yes, he was a little bit broken, a little bit damaged, but hell, she could heal him. And he could do the same for her. They could heal each other.

She smiled even though she was crying. “I love you, Nero. Everything about you.”

He caught her hand and pressed it his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel the strong, hard beat of his heart. His dark eyes were so intense she could hardly look at him. “I can make it to the curb if you keep your hand right there.”

“No,” she said quietly. “Let’s take it slow. I think we can go inside first.”

His mouth curved faintly. “I thought you’d fucking never ask.”

She laughed and her arms around him began to loosen, to give him some room to move, but he shook his head sharply, the glint in his eyes bright. “Hold me tight, Phoebe. Don’t ever let me go.”

One last tear slid down her cheek. “I won’t. I won’t ever.”

As they went back up the steps and into the house, they held each other.

And they didn’t let go.

Not ever.





Epilogue


Nero sat on the grass in his garden by the fountain, listening to the sound of the water and hearing beneath it the sounds of the city beyond. The sun was warm on his skin, and these days he could even lift his head and look up into the sky.

It was hard, but he could do it.

He felt better about doing it here, in his garden, with the walls of his house around him, but shit, a couple of days ago, he’d managed to take a trip down to DS Corp to attend one of Lorenzo’s meetings.

Sure, it had nearly killed him, but it had been worth every second of the trauma just to see the look of shock on Lorenzo’s face when he’d walked through the door.

Of course, he’d never have been able to do any of it if he hadn’t had help.

And as if she’d read his mind—which she seemed to do a lot of these days—Phoebe came down the shell path, and when he looked up, his neat, pencil-skirted assistant was already lifting her arms to pull the pin from her hair so that it uncoiled down her back like a bolt of red-gold silk.

She smiled at him, and his heart gave one hard beat in his chest, and he sat up, reaching out for her, almost knocking over the wine glasses he had set out for their picnic.

Phoebe laughed and came into his arms, settling herself in his lap as if she was made to be there. And as she leaned back against him, he thought she probably was.

“What did they say?” he asked, folding his arms around her.

“Oh, Mum wasn’t sure, but I think Dad might quite like the idea. He’s never been to Italy.”

Over the past few months, as Nero had slowly dealt with his agoraphobia, Phoebe had been organizing a trip to Italy—they’d both agreed Nepal could wait for a few years. He was adamant that she go. He was also adamant that he was coming with her.

“Do you think they’ll actually come?” He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent. He’d spoken a couple of times to her parents since Phoebe had become his and had set them straight about a few things, mostly that if they wanted to see her, they needed to make the effort to do so themselves. Because she was not coming to them.

The Taylors were not keen on New York, but apparently they might be persuaded to come to Italy. At least for a few days.

“I don’t know. And if they don’t, well . . . As long as you’re there, I don’t mind.” She turned her head, gazing up at him, giving him that soft look he loved. “You think you can manage it? It’s a lot, Nero. Flights and a new country, new things, new people. It’s going to be a challenge.”

Nero looked down into her lovely golden-brown eyes and tightened his arms around her. “It won’t be,” he said. “You’ll be with me.”

Her brow creased. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Of course, it’s easy.”

“Why?”

He smiled. “Because when I’m with you, I’m free.”





Read on for an excerpt from the next sensational romance by Jackie Ashenden,



THE BILLIONAIRE’S INTERN



COMING SOON FROM ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS



His eyes were silver, the expression in them so full of heat and fury it had felt like she’d been struck by lightning. She’d stumbled and had barely managed to make it out of the meeting room with her dignity intact.

Anger had filled her then, because that fury in his eyes had been completely uncalled for. She’d done exactly what he’d asked, stayed out of his way all this time and okay, she hadn’t today, but that hadn’t been her fault. So when the order had come from Stacey that Lorenzo wanted to see Kira in his office, she’d stormed over there, all her justifications at the ready. Then she’d seen him pacing restlessly in front of his desk. And then his head had come up and the lightning in his eyes had flashed, jagged and hot. And she’d forgotten everything she’d been going to say.

And when he’d begun to come toward her, fluid and fast, she’d forgotten the entire previous week.

He was the gun going off right in front of her.

He was the bullet slamming her against the wall.

Kira gripped him tighter, her head tilting back, gasping as he pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth. He tasted so good. Hot and rich and alcoholic. Like a hit of brandy in a hot chocolate. God, she couldn’t get enough.

He kissed her harder, his teeth grazing her lower lip in a short, sharp bite that sent a shudder of reaction straight through her. She arched helplessly against him, loving the feeling of being crushed between the door and his hard, hot body, kissing him back with as much hunger and desperation as he was kissing her.

She could smell him all around her, sandalwood and musk, and the spicy, masculine scent of his skin. And she felt half out of her mind with the need to touch him, taste him, run her fingers all over him and discover whether his body was as hard and muscled as it felt under those impeccable tailored suits.

You should stop this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this.

Dimly, she knew that. This was a mistake and the last thing she should be doing is making any more mistakes, especially when she’d already made so many. But the hunger had taken hold. The need that had been dogging her for years, and finally he was here. Finally, that cruel, beautiful mouth of his was on hers and she couldn’t let him go, she just couldn’t. And, Jesus, maybe she had to do this. To have him so she could finally exorcise this terrible fascination she had with him.

Maybe if she did this, she could at least be free of it.

She let go of his head, reaching for his tie, clawing at it to unknot the fabric and pull it away, get the buttons of his shirt undone so she could at last touch his bare skin. Put her mouth to his throat and taste him.

And then suddenly, he shifted, knocking her hands away and pressing her harder against the door, pinning her there with the weight of his body so she couldn’t move. Then his hand came up and his fingers closed around her throat, forcing her head back against the door too.

She sucked in a shocked breath, the heat of his palm burning against her neck like a hot coal. His grip wasn’t painful and she could breathe. But it was firm enough that she couldn’t get out of it.

A tremble shook the entire length of her body, the sensation of being pinned somehow intensifying everything, drawing her nipples into tight, hard peaks behind her shirt, and making the ache between her thighs begin to throb insistently.

He leaned in close, the lines of his beautiful face drawn taut with fury and hunger. It glittered in his eyes too, and she couldn’t look away.

She’d never been this close to him before, never been so close that she could see that his irises weren’t just dark charcoal gray but were in fact fractured and crystalline with a much lighter silver. The effect was amazing and with his long, thick black lashes and the straight dark lines of his brows, startlingly beautiful.

“You broke the rules,” he said softly, the cold edge in his voice feathering over her heated skin, making her shiver yet again. “You didn’t do as you were told.”

Kira fought for breath, trying to hold the intensity of his gaze. He may have sounded cold, but there was nothing but furious heat in his eyes. It made her whole body tighten with need. “I . . . didn’t mean to.” Her voice sounded raw and shaky, and she couldn’t seem to make it sound any firmer. “S-Stacey told me—”