The Damaged Billionaire’s Obsession (New York Billionaires #4)

Chapter 1

Bonnie

The raucous laughter around me grates on my already frayed nerves.

I’m sitting in the middle of a boisterous, half-drunk crowd, staring with a mixture of excitement and trepidation at the large, very male hand on my thigh.

Although I’m no stranger to entangled limbs, I’m particularly fascinated by the contrast between this tanned, muscled forearm with its thick, coursing veins and a generous dusting of silky, dark hair against my smooth thighs.

We’re at a wedding reception in Cancun, Mexico. A wedding I had no business attending since I don’t personally know the bride and groom, but my friend Sabrina and her husband Jordan, practically dragged me here all the way from New York.

I’d just concluded a four-week project where I had built a website for a client and was bitching about how stressful it had been when Sabrina invited me to tag along with them and unwind in Cancun.

Only, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I’d be providing prime entertainment at the wedding reception.

“Ethan, you’re not doing it right,” a big, blond groomsman shouts. “Forget the hands man, get your head in there and use your teeth!”

The rest of the men heartily agree.

For an awful moment, I wonder if he’ll do it. Usually, I would be enjoying this kind of public display, maybe even shouting suggestions of my own, only now I find it’s not quite the same when I’m the one in the hot seat in front of a man I can’t stand.

A man whose hand on my naked thigh is, quite unexpectedly, sending shivers of awareness up my spine.

Ethan somehow senses my discomfort and takes his hand away, but the rest of the groomsmen are having none of that.

They wildly egg him on, including, to my utmost annoyance, Maxwell, the hot guy who’d been on my heels all day and whom I’d actually been making plans to fuck tonight.

I roll my eyes in annoyance. If the man was bothered in the least about trying to reclaim the territory that Ethan is all but pissing over right now, I wouldn’t be up here with goosebumps and a red face.

Could Maxwell not have insisted on doing it instead of Ethan?

Well, there goes your fun tonight, pal.

I look down at Ethan’s bowed head, at the thick, dark locks of hair falling over his forehead, and I tell myself that the tightening in my belly is irritation and the tingles racing along my spine are due to the awkwardness of the situation.

I’m confused by my reaction, but I’m not about to break character and let him see how affected I am.

Ethan looks up, and a furrow appears between his brows. Being only 5‘2“, I’ve had to tilt my head way up to speak to him all weekend, even with my heels, so having him kneeling at my feet throws me off.

Our gazes meet briefly; from this angle, I can see beneath the reflective, tinted lenses into his eyes for the first time.

My mouth goes dry. They’re light brown with specks of bright green and ringed with a darker brown.

It’s so unfair that an asshole gets to have eyes like that.

His gaze is questioning.

Is he…asking for permission? To take the garter off of me?

I remain silent, watching him watch me.

When I say nothing, his hand returns and trails high against the skin of my outer thigh, searching for the garter, and fire licks at me. Why, oh why, did I have to shove that damn thing so high up?

For fuck’s sake, Bonnie, it’s not a tampon.

His palm presses flat, seeking the lacy fabric, and then his fingers finally curl around the edge of the garter. I can do nothing to stop the ripples of pleasure coursing through me. The elastic catches on the soft flesh of my inner thigh, and he palms my other knee with his other hand.

My breath hitches.

“Bonnie? Are you okay with this?” Ethan suddenly asks.

I was right, he was asking permission. And I think he just heard my gasp. Fuck.

I hate that he’s reading me so clearly, and I feel stupid for reacting this way to him, for reacting this way at all. It must be all the testosterone oozing off the raunchy audience. I’m clearly embarrassed and out of my depth here.

Am I okay? No, I’m not. I’m so fucking not. I need this wild strumming, vibrating thing to stop. Right now

He’s still waiting for my response. Why wouldn’t he just yank off the thing and be done with it? Why is the man getting all polite and making it such a big deal?

Because you’re uncomfortable, and he knows it.

I shut out the voice of reason, and with a snarky confidence that I’m so far from feeling, I say, “What’s the matter Ethan? You’re shaking like a leaf. What, the girls at Harvard never showed you their panties?”

His gaze narrows. I think he’s angry. My confirmation is the tightening of his grip around my knee, then in a rough jerk, he spreads my thighs wide apart.

The men go wild.

You’d think they were a bunch of rowdy teenage boys, not some of the richest men in the country.

His eyes meet and hold mine again while his right hand snakes between my thighs, his rough palm grazing against the sensitive skin. His eyes are like hot coals, and I can’t look away.

I feel a draft against my panties and realize that they’re wet.

Geez.

My face pales in shock and mortification, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection in his glasses. I look like a deer caught in headlights. Suddenly, I want to rip those glasses off.

“Hurry the hell up, Harvard. Taking a garter off is not rocket science!”

He grabs hold of the seam and pulls, his knuckles sliding against my thigh on their way down. As soon as the garter clears my foot, I’m off the chair.

“Gentlemen,” Ethan says, slowly rising and twirling the stupid garter on his index finger. He proceeds to give a speech about completing the mission, ending by thanking the excited audience for their unwavering support.

I can’t watch anymore. I walk, more like stomp off, my face on fire. I’m more upset that I got so riled up. I never get riled up.

I need a drink, I think, settling back at my table, which is currently empty. And where the hell are all my friends?

It’s all Sabrina’s fault, I tell myself for the thousandth time. I never should have come here.

The wedding so far has been nothing short of interesting. The wedding planner suggested that instead of the groom tossing the bride’s garter to the groomsmen, each bridesmaid was to wear her own garter, and the groomsmen would then select who among them would be taking it off the girl fortunate enough to catch the bouquet.

Great. Not that I really cared who did what to whom as long as I got to watch these sinfully hot guys do those activities. It seems unfair that men as wealthy as these would also look so good.

Sabrina being the only married bridesmaid, didn’t think there was any point in joining the others to catch the bouquet, so she’d handed over her garter, urging me to put it on.

I’d agreed and worn it on a whim but made sure to stay well out of the way of the other women. I figured since I wasn’t even part of the bridal party, I shouldn’t steal the show from those who were.

I only came here for the view.

Of course, the bouquet had to come flying at me like a nuclear missile while the other women who actually wanted to catch the thing dove in every other direction.

Seriously, girls, how hard can it be to grab a huge bunch of calla-lilies hurled at you?

Realizing with alarm what was about to happen, I’d turned away at the last second, but the damned thing still landed on my back.

Technically I didn’t catch it, I’d protested, but Nora the bride, declared that the bouquet caught me, which was all the same, if not better than me catching it. And there’s no arguing with a bride on her wedding day, is there?

And so, there I was, sitting with none other than Ethan Hawthorne’s hand between my thighs while a group of rowdy groomsmen shouted suggestive tips.

Crap . It was the worst possible outcome, considering that if there’s been any dark cloud on this otherwise wonderful holiday, it’s him .

Ethan is the one person I’ve heard so much about but somehow never got to meet until the rehearsal dinner yesterday.

He and Jordan, Sabrina’s husband are close friends, and in the year that I’ve been friends with Sabrina, it so happens that Ethan and I never got to meet.

To hear how Sabrina talks about him, you’d think he was an angel fallen from heaven with halo and wings still intact, and I’d been looking forward to finally meeting him on this trip, but I have to say, it’s turning out to be the worst anticlimax of my life.

Suffice it to say that he was not as Sabrina had advertised.

The only angelic thing about him is his face. And perhaps his body. Otherwise, Ethan Hawthorne is the rudest, most judgmental man I’ve ever met.

And let’s not forget, the keeper of a giant stick up his ass.

And I can’t imagine how on earth he’d think those yellow glasses are in any way flattering?

I mean, who wears yellow glasses?I’ll tell you who: pimply, nerdy weirdos who fancy themselves an avatar in their favorite video game.

Only this time, nature must have lost the memo and dropped him into a ridiculously attractive body.

The moment I walked into the wedding rehearsal yesterday, the way the man’s gaze had raked over me from way across the room like I was a homeless urchin had made me almost regret my choice of a tight, black leather mini dress and four-inch, thigh-high boots.

Almost.

When Sabrina eventually introduced us, I managed to hide my shock in discovering that the man who’d appeared to be shooting daggers at me through those Terminator lenses was, in fact, the famed Ethan Hawthorne.

He on the other hand, had his eyebrows flying up in obvious surprise before he schooled his features into polite curiosity.

What was that initial reaction supposed to mean?

Those raised brows, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t see his eyes behind the reflecting lenses, irritated me to no end.

Usually, I welcome interest from men. Thrive on it, actually. But this time, I felt like a lab rat under his perusal.

His attitude rubbed me the wrong way, so I blurted the first thing that came to my mind about him being a poorly designed avatar for a Harvard professor.I knew as soon as it left my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

“I’m surprised you know what they’d look like in Harvard,” he’d given me another slow, derisive once-over, his voice a deep baritone, smooth as velvet. “You don’t seem to me like the type to have a clue about such things.”

That stung.

Because I dropped out of high school. Twice.

By the time I eventually found my way into to college, I was already making too much money as a hacker to take school all that seriously. So, I gave up on college, too.

Sabrina immediately slapped him on the arm. “Ethan, come on, that was harsh. I’ll have you know Bonnie is an amazing freelance cyber-security expert. She helped out the gallery when we ran into major problems with our online security. And she built my website from scratch.”

The fact that he couldn’t hide his shock at that piece of information disgusted me. It was those damn eyebrows.

What did you think I was a paid escort?

“I see. So, you’re a hacker, basically.” He murmured, his voice lowered so only I heard him clearly. He might as well have said ‘hooker’ for the expression on his face.

“You bet, Harvard. And if you piss me off, you might wake up to find your precious Acercraft all pwned up.” I replied just as softly, referring to his multi-billion-dollar online gaming company.

“I highly doubt that, sweetheart.” His almost whispered tone was condescending.

It was true; I was bluffing. I wouldn’t do that to Jordan, who co-manages the company with Ethan. Besides, law enforcement would easily trace it to me after the threat I’d just made.

However, just the thought of bringing the proud man to his knees had me smirking in satisfaction.

Sabrina had then said something about starting the procession, and I realized Ethan and I were engaging in a little stare-off.

Well if you could call it that, since all I could stare at was my own reflection.

I felt his gaze though. Literally. It reminded me of the tingly warmth Nan’s soothing menthol left on my skin those nights when I’d return home after being out for too long in the cold and rain.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there were infra-red beams emitting from those lenses. Weird.

Weirdo.

I avoided him the rest of the evening. But I was to get another dose of Ethan prior to the wedding ceremony.

It happened this morning when I came out of my friend’s hotel room, dressed in nothing but her fluffy white robe.

I’d run smack dab into a solid wall of muscle in the darkened hallway.

Strong arms had stopped me from falling on my butt, and upon looking up, I saw it was none other than Ethan, minus the glasses. It was too dark to see his eyes but I’d caught his scent, a delicious mix of spicy cologne and male skin, the same I recognized from the previous evening.

I hardly noticed he was still holding me against him despite having got my balance because I was busy suppressing the sudden urge to bury my nose in his broad chest.

And failing apparently because I’d just taken a nice big whiff of him. Fuck he does smell good .

I’d kill for his perfume.

Jesus Bonnie! It’s Ethan fucking Hawthorne. Asshole. Remember?

Appalled by my insane reaction, I’d angrily shaken off his hands, suggesting that he find his eyes instead of fumbling around in the dark.

He’d cocked his head to one side, watching me for a few seconds as though trying to figure out a puzzle, then simply stepped around me, leaving me in the hallway without a word or a backward glance.

Somehow, that hurt worse than any scathing retort might have.

Like when no one else was around, Ethan couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me?

I shake off my gloomy thoughts and focus on processing what just happened over there.

The man with the disposition of a monk took a stupid piece of clothing off you, and for the first time in ten years, you got wet, is what happened. My mind unhelpfully explains.

I should really get laid. It’s been a couple of months at least because I’ve been busy with this last project. That must be it.

Maybe I ought to lower my standards and reconsider Maxwell.

Looking around, I see the man in question currently flirting with another wedding guest, who looks at him like she might tear his clothes off in two seconds flat.

Yeah, no, girl, you can have him; you seem way thirstier than me.

I scan the room frantically, looking for Sabrina, who I’ve named the root cause of this situation. I spot her across the room, practically in Jordan’s lap, his hand on her bare thigh thanks to the high slit in her dress.

Which reminds me of where Ethan’s hands were a few minutes ago. I drown that thought with a gulp of champagne, watching as Sabrina reaches for the bunch of grapes on their table and slowly starts feeding them to Jordan.

Gag.

Those two can be nauseating. I know their schedules are crazy, with Sabrina’s highly successful art gallery and Jordan straddling two multibillion-dollar companies. I get that they don’t see as much of each other as they would like, but still.

I decide to leave the lovebirds to fawn over each other and look around the room for my newly-made, and thankfully still single , friend Brooke.

Brooke and I met yesterday at the rehearsal dinner while Jordan, Sabrina, and Ethan were busy with whatever bridesmaids and groomsmen did at wedding rehearsals.

I’d been feeling a bit left out and still smarting from the unpleasantness of meeting Ethan when I spotted Brooke also sitting by herself.

We had such an instant connection that it felt like we’d known each other for years. Brooke came to Cancun as a plus-one for one of the groomsmen, a certified playboy she’s crushing hard on.

By the end of the rehearsal dinner yesterday, she’d begged me to make up an excuse to stay the night in her hotel room because she couldn’t trust herself not to end up in Xavier’s bed.

And now, she’s AWOL, and so is Xavier, for that matter.

Yep. They’re most likely off having crazy hot sex right now. I did warn the stubborn girl that there was no point in fighting her attraction to the man.

I signal to the passing bartender for another glass of bubbly champagne.

Brooke’s absence only leaves Sabrina. She will have to do then, provided she can peel herself away from Jordan for two seconds.

I’m reeling from what just happened, and I need to decompress.

I watch them, and the moment Sabrina catches my gaze from across the room, I glare meaningfully at her, swiftly cocking my head at my table.

Get your ass over here!

She gets the message, disentangles herself, straightens her long, champagne-colored, silk bridesmaid dress, and saunters over to me.

I grab another champagne glass from a passing waiter and hand it to her when she reaches me. “You guys are shameless, you know.”

Sabrina only giggles.

“Seriously, doesn’t it get old? You’ve been married for over a year now.”

Sabrina looks back at her husband, and a flush steals across her cheeks.

I have my answer. “Ugh.” I take a gulp of my drink.

Sabrina watches me in amusement. “Would you prefer a bottle instead?”

I give her the stink eye.

“No, really, Bonnie. You seem upset. What’s going on?”

“What do you mean what’s going on? Didn’t you see what just happened?”

“You mean the couple’s dance?” She motions to the newlyweds Alex and Nora, who are currently swaying to a waltz on the dance floor.

I wonder if Sabrina is being deliberately obtuse. “No, Einstein. What happened with the whole bouquet and garter thing you made me do.”

“Oh, no, we missed the whole thing. Jordan and I were outside taking pictures. Which reminds me, Bonnie, the photographer is awesome. You should totally take some. You look hot. And the dress matches your highlights.”

I’m wearing a plum-colored dress that matches the streaks of purple in my curly, asymmetrical pixie-cut.

“Thanks, babe.”

“So, catch me up. Who caught the bouquet?”

I pin her with a hard, accusing stare. “Take a wild guess.”

“What, you?”

I nod.

“Really! I wouldn’t have thought you’d want—“

“Exactly. I actively avoided it. I couldn’t have been further away from the bride if I’d stepped outside the room. But even with her back turned, it almost hit me square in the face. I wonder if Nora throws frisbees.”

Sabrina chortles. “Wow, I would have loved to see your face when—wait a minute. Did you wear the garter?” She sees the expression on my face. “Oh, my God, so Ethan took it off you? Shit, how could I have missed that!”

“Hey, wait a minute, how did you know it was Ethan? You said you weren’t there.”

“All the boys—well, the single ones—had a game of poker this morning, and the loser was to take the garter off the woman who caught the bouquet. Jordan told me that Ethan lost the game.”

“Wow, how nice for you to have insider information. If only you shared that once in a while with your buddies so they don’t get blindsided.” If I’d known Ethan was going to be taking off garters, I would never have agreed to participate.

“I did not for a second think it’d be you, Bonnie. I mean, couldn’t you have thrown yourself on the floor to avoid it or pushed someone else into the way or something?”

“Right, put your two cents in, why don’t you, coach?” I roll my eyes.

“Okay, sorry.” She doesn’t look sorry. “Anyway, how did it go? I know you two didn’t get on too well yesterday. Maybe the icebreaker you guys need is something funny and ridiculous like this?”

“Uh, no. I think not. If anything, the Arctic has completely frozen over on us. Sabrina, that was one of the most awkward moments of my life!”

“Really? How so?”

I don’t think she gets it.

“With all those guys gathered around us! And you won’t believe how the jerk actually gave a victory speech afterward.”

Sabrina again tries to look horrified, but I can see she’s amused. The man can do no wrong in her eyes. “I’m sorry. The boys sometimes go overboard with their games. They work so hard in their careers but play like kids. Just be grateful it wasn’t Ryan, though.”

Ryan is the big, loud, blond guy who suggested Ethan use his teeth. Yeah, he seemed to be having the most fun out there, and from what I’ve seen since yesterday, he doesn’t hold himself back from a good time.

“They might act like that because many of them were raised as heirs of huge legacies, and they didn’t always get the chance to be kids.” Sabrina glances back across the room at Jordan, who has joined the other groomsmen, now arranging themselves like a choir.

Led by the best man, a big tattooed guy with a man-bun, they start to sing offkey to the couple, and the bride goes beet-red, giggling.

I don’t even want to know the lyrics of the song.

“Anyway,” Sabrina continues, “what I’m saying is that once you get to know them, they’re not so bad. They’re great, actually.”

I’m unsure how, or if, to mention my surprising physical reaction to Ethan, something even I am ashamed to admit to myself. Given the circumstances, I want reassurance that my reaction was normal or expected, but I also don’t want her to think that there’s more to it than a knee-jerk response. Besides, I can’t risk it getting back to Ethan because Sabrina will tell Jordan, who might then tell Ethan, his friend.

“I think I may have overreacted,” I begin.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t find the whole thing funny, which is strange. You know I don’t mind a bit of attention now and again. But this time, it felt um… really intimate. I didn’t want to do it,” I finally admit.

“Did you tell Ethan that? Because he would have never done it unless he was sure that you were good.”

I don’t say anything, remembering how he’d asked if I was okay and the way I scoffed at him.

“Are you alright, Bonnie?” Sabrina asks.

“Yes, I… it just caught me off-guard, that’s all. Two days ago, I didn’t even know I’d be here, yet here I am, taking center stage. It’s a little weird, especially after standing out like a sore thumb yesterday. I felt like a zoo animal with the way people were staring at the rehearsal.”

The way Ethan Hawthorne was staring.

“I did tell you to wear a dress.”

“And I wore one!”

“Of course you did, and it was sexy, but leather will make you stand out in a formal gathering,” Sabrina points out in amusement. “Although, your standing out yesterday wasn’t all down to the dress.”

I wait for her to say more.

She shrugs. “It’s just you, Bonnie. I keep telling you that you have a certain… elegance to you. Class. It draws people in.”

I try not to snort. A memory of me back in Clonmel, Ireland, clad in torn, dirty clothes and picking pockets, comes to me. I violently shove it back and change the subject.

“Anyway, help a girl out. It’s raining sexy men here, so I’d like to meet someone. Now, I’ve just ruled out Maxwell—“

“The doctor?”

“Yep, he’s out. Ryan, too. But everyone else is fair game. You know most people here. So, tell me, who would you suggest?”

She looks around, rubbing her palms excitedly. “Oh, there’s so many to choose from. Let’s see, what was your type again? Coloring, build, personality?”

“Muscles, a clever tongue, and a working cock would be a good place to start.”

“Well, that simplifies things then! Shall we find out how much they’re charging?” Sabrina and I are still giggling when Jordan and Ethan reach us.

From Jordan’s grin and the thunderous look on Ethan’s face, I know they overheard our conversation.

Geez, lighten up, man. Your virtue is safe.

Ethan folds his tall frame into the chair opposite from me and then collects a drink from a passing waiter.

“Can I steal this gorgeous woman beside you, Bonnie?” Jordan asks. He’d been whispering to Sabrina prior to him asking me the question, and he’s now helping her out of her seat.

“By all means!”It’s not even been fifteen minutes, and already Jordan wants his wife back. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Sabrina goes with her husband, and we watch as he spins her on the dance floor as she giggles like a little girl.

I feel Ethan’s eyes on me. The silence grows heavy with what I know he wants to say, so I mentally steel myself for another round of verbal sparring.

No need to get a hernia restraining yourself on my account. I sure as hell didn’t hold back my thoughts yesterday when we were introduced.

“So, Harvard,” I say cooly. “I heard you lost a game of poker.”

He shrugs. “I suppose you can’t be great at everything, can you?”

Arrogant, aren’t we? Why does every word out of his mouth irritate me so much?

“Well, I have to tell you, poker isn’t the only thing you’re bad at. You certainly weren’t the man for the job tonight. I’ve seen elephants with better finesse.”

I hate the way his eyes bore into me. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not that much into showmanship, you see.”

How dare he say that to me after the silly speech he gave? “And I am? You think I put on a show?”

He glances pointedly at my black curls with its dark purple highlights and my dress, which has no neckline to speak of, as it opens down to my amethyst belly button ring. I feel naked under his perusal.

And inexplicably achy.

His face swings back up to mine, shuttered and unreadable.

“Whatever gets you through the night, Bonnie.”

What the hell does that comment even mean? “Don’t presume to know or judge me.”

“Why would I judge you Bonnie?” His tone softens.

“Oh come on! You’ve been doing that since yesterday. Especially this morning. Your expression said it all: the twist in your mouth, the stiffness in your spine. Oh, wait, that might have more to do with the giant baseball bat shoved up your ass, actually.”

Still no reaction. “And you got all of that from the two seconds I was in that hallway?”

“It doesn’t take long to recognize disdain. What exactly was your issue this morning, Harvard? Have you never seen a woman do the walk of shame before? Or maybe you’ve never had a one-night stand?”

I’m not sure why I said that. I’d spent the night in Brooke’s hotel room. But for some reason, I want to shock him, ruffle his cold, contained demeanor.

“Is that what you were doing this morning then, Bonnie? A walk of shame?”

“What did it look like?”

“Like a drama queen getting her rocks off.”

He’s not smiling. He’s not frowning, either. He just has this cold, bland, irritatingly contained demeanor. And the reflection from his glasses mocks me.

I want to break them.

I wish I could see his eyes. They were so expressive when I caught a glimpse of them as he knelt at my feet. I bet if I could see his eyes now, I’d know what exactly he’s thinking.

“Maybe if you took that log of bias out of your eyes, you might see better, Harvard.”

He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to ask, haven’t you heard of this little thing called laser eye surgery? It’s all the rave these days.”

He’s a billionaire. Why would he insist on wearing those weird glasses?

He adjusts them in response. “As it happens, I’ve heard of it. You on the other hand, might want to invest in a truth filter. And a sober stylist.”

Before I can fully process what I’m doing, I grab for my drink. Only, my fingers narrowly miss the champagne glass I was reaching for as he deftly collects it, somehow already sensing I was about to empty the contents on his head. Still with that bland expression, he drains the glass and carefully puts it back on the table.

“Evening, Bonnie.” He stands and stalks off, leaving me helplessly fuming.