In Love and Revenge (The All in Billionaires #1)

Prologue

Gold sequins cast a honeyed glow over smooth, bronzed skin as the spotlight illuminates her.

I lean back in my seat and reach up to loosen the knot of my tie. The muscles in my neck tense as she spins slowly, arching her back towards the silver pole in the centre of the stage.

Her eyes catch mine in the crowd and my breath stalls as light blue sparkles back through her heavy eye make-up.

‘She’s new.’

I keep my eyes locked on the dancer, the slow tip of my chin an acknowledgment to my companion, Dominic.

‘She is.’

‘Nice legs,’ he comments as she wraps herself around the pole, using it as an anchor to seductively lower herself into the splits.

The sequins on her tiny dress glitter. It’s like staring into a vault of pure gold bars. Millions of pounds’ worth.

My fingers curl around the edges of my seat, nails digging into the leather, as sourness creeps over my tongue.

Two hundred and forty million, to be exact.

That’s what he cost me. The man whose name I only ever speak with a curse as I drive my fist into something.

The song comes to an end and Dominic rises from his seat, squeezing my shoulder with a warm chuckle before he’s led towards the private rooms at the rear of the club by a dancer.

But it’s not her.

Not the one in the gold sequins.

She’s mine.

Elegantly, she descends the stairs at the side of the stage and makes her way towards me, hips swaying with each step in sky-high Perspex heels.

She smooths a long curtain of blond hair over one shoulder as she stops in front of me. The move makes my eyes drop from her pretty face to the hint of hardened nipple pushing against the thin fabric.

I lick my lips as I lift my eyes to meet hers. She smiles, like she has me exactly where she wants me.

‘I saw you watching me onstage. Would you like a private dance?’

Elbow resting on the arm of my chair, I run my index finger over my lower lip, not missing the way her eyes follow it in anticipation.

That’s right, sweetheart. I’m the one in control here.

‘I would,’ I reply smoothly, standing and extracting from my pocket a money clip inlaid with diamonds and stuffed with crisp notes.

Her lips part as I slide a fifty free. ‘I’m Luc—’

I arch a brow at her. ‘Until I tell you otherwise, your name is Beauty. Understood?’

Her glossy lips twist into a coy smile. ‘Of course, sir.’

‘Hm. Good.’ I slide another fifty out and hand both to her.

Following her across the darkened club, we pass occupied tables lit with small lamps that cast sinful shadows across the sensuous bodies that snake between them.

Some dancers are sitting, chatting and drinking.

Others are performing topless dances, rolling their bodies up and down the suited clientele of London’s financial district.

I was preparing to write this place off. Nothing here held my interest any more . . . until tonight.

I drop my eyes to the blonde’s curvaceous hips, the lower swell of her arse cheeks visible beneath the tiny scrap of sequined fabric.

I wet my lips.

She nods at the bouncer standing at the entrance to the bank of private rooms, and he unclips a deep ruby-red velvet rope, granting us entry.

Topless table dances in the main bar area are okay. But back here is the inner sanctuary. In each one of these private rooms someone is sitting, indulging in their fantasy of having a beautiful woman completely naked and grinding all over them.

It’s an oasis where nothing is more important than the clients’ complete satisfaction.

The blonde looks at me over her shoulder, giving me an appreciative sweep up and down as she stops in front of an open curtain.

She turns her body towards me, pulling her shoulders back so her nipples push against the fabric of her dress.

‘Is this okay for you?’

She’s asking if the booth meets my approval, but they’re all the same. I’ve been inside each one multiple times, searching for that elusive release which still escapes me.

I lower my gaze to her breasts, not even attempting to be subtle about it.

Perhaps tonight that could all change . . . finally.

‘Perfect,’ I say, my blood heating as she tips her head, inviting me to enter first.

I slide past her, noting the way her breath hitches, and she looks at me from beneath thick lashes, her eyes tracing my face and jawline.

She’s not the first stripper to look at me like this. Like they’re actually going to enjoy dancing for me. Like I’m the answer to all their goddamn prayers.

I slide another fifty out of my money clip and hand it to her.

‘You hate me.’

Her brow creases. ‘S-sorry?’

I curl two fingers beneath her chin and tilt her face up. She blinks up at me like she can’t look away, her eyes studying mine, softening as though she can see into my soul.

‘You. Hate. Me,’ I repeat gently, sliding my thumb along the dip beneath her lower lip. It’s glossy and plump . . .

Just like hers.

‘I want you to look at me like you despise me. Like you dream about my agonising and brutal death.’

Her brow creases again, her eyes losing their adoration as it’s replaced by confusion.

‘Better,’ I muse. ‘But not quite. Try again.’

She stares at me for a moment before a veil slides over her eyes and she falls into character, a look of distaste crossing her features.

‘There,’ I praise. ‘Good girl.’

I slide my hand from her chin and pull out two more fifties, pressing them into her palm. If she’s capable of what I want from her then there’ll be plenty more of them heading her way.

She glares at me, before baring her teeth.

‘Sit down,’ she spits. ‘I don’t have all night.’

My heart pounds in my chest and blood rushes to my dick as I comply, settling into the centre of the leather seat.

She closes the curtain with force, like she’s angry, sealing us off from the outside world.

Turning to me, she strides over with purpose and forces my knees apart with slender fingers, positioning herself between them.

I stare up at her, entranced as she sways, running her hands up and down her sides in time to the low, heady music pumping through the speakers.

She lets her fingers trail over her ribs, dragging the gold sequin fabric with them, before she lets it drop, cutting off my view of her perfect, silky skin.

‘You don’t deserve to even look at me,’ she hisses in disgust.

I draw in a deep breath, my eyes pinned on hers.

Light blue glitters back at me in contention.

This is exactly what I need.

‘Now, Beauty. That’s no way to talk to me. Not when you know what you did.’

Her eyes narrow in question and I reach down and readjust my rock-hard dick in my trousers.

‘I want you to take that dress off,’ I tell her, spreading my arms wide across the back of the seat. ‘And I want you to beg for my forgiveness with your pretty little tits out.’

Her eyelids hood and for a second her facade slips as she gazes at me with lust-filled eyes.

‘Now,’ I instruct sharply.

She blinks, her mask slotting back into place seamlessly.

I inhale through my nose as she undoes a ribbon around her neck which sends her dress falling to the floor and pooling around her feet.

Pursing my lips, I admire the dusky pink of her nipples. I wonder if hers would be the same shade.

She hooks her fingers into the sides of her G-string, and seconds later it joins her dress on the floor.

My dick swells painfully in my suit trousers as she climbs on to the seat, placing her knees either side of my thighs.

I let out a rich groan as she brings her tits closer to my face and lowers her bare pussy into my lap.

‘That’s a good girl.’

She circles over my aching cock, and I flex my fingers against the back of the seat, tipping my head back and closing my eyes as euphoria floods my veins.

It’s about fucking time.

I suck in a sharp breath as she grinds down on my dick like she’s using it as a tool to chase her own release. Her breathy whimpers are like music to my damn ears.

I spread my thighs wider, forcing her to stretch around them.

‘That’s it, Beauty,’ I hiss. ‘Now beg me.’

She gasps as my solid cock pushes hard against her pussy.

‘I’m sorry,’ she pants. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Fuck. Again.’ I clench my teeth, screwing my eyes shut as she places her hands on to my shoulders and uses them as leverage to ride my dick harder.

‘I need you to forgive me. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know,’ she cries.

I tense, a flash of anger spiking in my gut at the blatant lie. Of course she knew. How could she not?

I could give two hundred and forty bloody million reasons why.

The dancer mistakes my sudden rigidness for the torture of having to exercise physical restraint, rather than what it is . . . pure unfiltered rage.

I screw my eyes shut tighter, desperate to get back to where I was moments ago.

Blond hair. Gold sequins. Guilty blue eyes.

And perfect little tits that would fit inside my palms.

Warm lips brush my ear and a sweet voice purrs, ‘You know, touching’s against the rules. But I don’t mind if you want to.’

‘What?’

I wrench my eyes open and deep blue is waiting for me.

It’s too dark. More like the sea during a storm. But hers . . . hers are a light aquamarine of the surface being hit by rays of sun on a bright summer’s day.

My stomach caves like I’ve been gut-punched, and realisation dawns on me, bringing with it a wave of ice-cold nausea.

What the fuck am I doing?

The blonde realises her mistake, her eyes popping wide before she furiously backtracks.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ll beg. See?’

She scrambles to the floor, kneels between my thighs, and peers up at me with pleading eyes.

But the sight of long blond hair there does nothing for me, and my dick deflates faster than a slashed tyre.

‘Never mind,’ I grumble, swallowing down a mix of disappointment laced with self-disgust.

I stand abruptly and she slumps back on her heels, looking up at me with a mix of disappointment and confusion.

I place two fingers beneath her chin and tilt her face up.

‘You’re a stunning woman.’

You’re just not her.

She gazes at me in wonder, her eyes sparkling back to life, still so eager to please.

I get it. I’ve been told I have the face of a god, and the body of the devil.

Women are usually more than happy to fall into bed with me with no expectations.

Or they were, before I found I was only interested in them if they looked like her.

And even then, none have quite been close enough for me to actually finish the job, as much as I bloody crave the release.

But I’m not looking for that here. Not tonight.

Sighing, I pull my money clip out once again and thumb four crisp fifties from it, then offer them to her.

‘I’m not in the right headspace tonight. Busy week at work,’ I say, the excuse rolling off my tongue easily.

Relief washes over her face as she takes the money.

‘So you’ll come back? Another night?’

‘Maybe,’ I reply, not wanting to dampen the surge of hope that lights her eyes.

She really is a beautiful woman when she smiles. I could almost believe she’s her.

But almost isn’t good enough.

Almost won’t quell the anger in my veins urging me to take my dick in my hand and fist it hard until I release all over her face. Picturing pouty lips tasting me as aquamarine eyes burn into mine.

The back of my neck flashes with heat.

Jesus Christ, I need to get out of here.

‘Make sure you ask for me . . . Lucinda,’ she says.

I allow myself one last fleeting look at her perky little tits.

They’re as close to perfect as I’ve found.

She’s as close to perfect as I’ve found.

But it’s not enough.

I won’t be coming back.

‘Of course,’ I lie smoothly.

I walk out and leave her naked and staring after me.