Chapter Fifteen
“It’s always nice doing business with you,” Constantijin Kastein said as he shook hands with Jaak de Konigh. Tall, blond, and powerfully built, the Dutch tycoon had once been notorious for being as ruthless in negotiating business deals as he was in breaking women’s hearts.
“Likewise.” As Jaak shook hands with the other billionaire, he murmured wickedly, “And how is the lovely Yanna, by the way? I heard she’s expecting.
Is she with you—-” When the fingers gripping Jaak’s hand tightened in warning, Jaak only laughed, amused at the swift way Constantijin Kastein had taken the bait.
“Fuck you,” Constantijin said pleasantly. “Like you weren’t as bad when Saffi was pregnant.”
Constantijin gave his friends a middle-finger salute. “Fuck all of you.”
But his friends only laughed. Collectively, the three gentlemen were known as The Three Pussketeers, and Jaak could still recall how there was one instance many summers ago he, together with his brother Nic and their Greek friends Stavros Manolis and Damen Leventis, had been wide-eyed with wonder and admiration when they attended a party hosted by the three.
It still ranked as one of the wildest nights in Jaak’s life, and yet here were the three now, all properly domesticated.
“I cannot be faulted for being too careful,” Constantijin said defensively as they walked out of the boardroom and headed to the private lift that would take them straight to the penthouse ballroom. “Yanna is a beautiful woman, and Jaak’s known to fuck anyone in a skirt—-”
Jaak, who had been arranging his cuffs, looked up in sham protest at Constantijin’s words, saying, “At least give me some credit for having some standards.”
Constantijin only grunted as he and the others entered the lift. “Well, anyway, you’ll understand soon enough, I think.”
Jaak raised a brow. “Am I supposed to infer something from that too-cryptic remark?”
“Come on, man, no need to be shy,” Staffan interjected with a smirk. “We already met her last night.”
The elevator doors slid open, and Jaak was prevented from answering. When the others saw that Jaak appeared to be staying put, Staffan asked in surprise, “You’re not attending tonight’s party?”
“I am,” he assured them swiftly. “I just have something to do first.” He uttered a lie, hoping it would effectively address the other gentlemen’s worries, but instead he saw the three men exchange looks at his reply.
“I hope everything’s alright with the two of you,” Constantijin said finally.
The English duke nodded. “She seems the nice sort.”
The doors slid close before Jaak could ask any of them what the hell they were talking about. Had another wild rumor started about him and some random celebrity? He knew he should probably give more thought to it, but right now, all he wanted was to drink.
The unusually dark expression on the billionaire’s face had everyone steering clear of him as he headed to the lounge at the hotel’s lobby. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he reached the bar, and he answered the call, seeing that it was from Willem.
“Where are you?”
“Relax, big brother,” Jaak said lightly. “I know better than to skip this one.” Willem let a lot of things slide when it came to his presence in family gatherings, but tonight’s celebration was definitely an exception. “I’ll be right up soon. I just have something to work out here.”
“Make sure you’re here before the ball officially starts,” were the final clipped words Jaak received before the head of the de Konigh clan hung up.
So that would give him, what, fifteen minutes?
Fifteen goddamn minutes.
He might as well give up.
But he couldn’t.
He speed-dialed the number he had been calling for the past three days, and the phone on the other end of the line started to ring. It rang and rang until the call was automatically redirected to a voice mailbox, the way it had done so in the past three days.
Where the hell are you, Ilse?
The billionaire ordered a glass of scotch and downed it in one gulp as Ilse’s phone started to ring for the second time. And so it went on, and by the fifth unsuccessful try, he would have laughed if he didn’t feel so damn bleak.
If this was all because he hadn’t fucked her—-
His fingers clenched around the empty glass.
God. The rare time he tried to act like a knight in shining armor, and the princess just had to want him to act like a villain.
His glance slanted towards the digital clock next to the wall-mounted TV behind the bar, and Jaak estimated that he only had ten minutes left.
Ten minutes.
If he had any doubt that Ilse Muir had him by the balls—-
He reached for his phone one last time, but instead of making another call that she would no doubt ignore, he began typing.
—-this was fucking it.
Hashing out emotional stuff over text messaging used to be something the billionaire thought he would never be guilty of. He was no etiquette monster like Willem, but he did think that text messaging made a rather sterile and puerile medium when resolving relationship conflicts.
And yet here he fucking was—-
The billionaire pressed the Send button, and off his message went.
I miss you, Ilse.
His phone vibrated a few seconds later, a new message arriving at his inbox.
I miss you, too.
The billionaire immediately tried calling her, but when the call went unanswered, he knew he had no choice.
Jaak: Have you been avoiding me because I didn’t fuck you?
Ilse: You’re only half-joking, aren’t you?
Jaak: The other half of me thinks you wised up. You finally saw me for the loser I am.
Seconds passed, and his phone remained frustratingly silent and still.
His glance slanted towards the clock, and his jaw clenched.
Seven minutes. He knew he could excuse himself for being late, but years of strict etiquette were hard to ignore.
He had promised Willem he would be there on time, and although he was an ass about a lot of things, his word was his bond.
But just as he was about to reach for his wallet, his phone started to ring, and when he answered, Ilse’s voice reached him like a dreamy caress.
“Jaak.”
His eyes shut closed for a moment. “Ilse.”
“You’re only half-right, I’m afraid.” Her voice became softer, tender, the kind of voice that he had only heard Ilse use when talking to her brother. “Because I do want you to fuck me.”
The billionaire stiffened.
“I want you to make me yours, and I want you to be mine. I want you to surrender everything to me. Your fears, your pain, and most of all—-” Her voice caught, and his chest tightened.
“I want your secrets most of all, Jaak.”
His name on her lips was like having his world set to right again.
“You told me to wait, and I did think about waiting. But in the end, I don’t think I should. If I waited like you said I should, I think you’ll make me wait forever—-”
“Ilse—-”
“That’s why I had to leave.”
Ah.
“I’m jealous of your secrets, Jaak. They’ve owned you far too long.” A heartbeat of silence passed before she pressed ever so gently, “Don’t you think it’s my turn to own you?”
What she was asking felt too much and too little at the same time, but even so, the billionaire knew there could only be one way to answer her.
There had always been only one way to answer Ilse.
If she needed him, he would be there for her.
“How can I be yours,” he murmured gruffly, “if I don’t know where you are?”
Silence.
And then—-
“Oh, Jaak.”
And it was the most beautiful words that had ever touched his ears because in them he heard the promise of hope and redemption, the promise that one day soon, the other words they both needed to hear and say would come.
“Is t-there a TV where you are?”
The question startled him. “Why?”
“Switch to E.”
The billionaire frowned, knowing that the said channel had exclusive rights to air real-time coverage of the invitational ball Willem had organized. “This is a bad idea,” he said grimly even as he gestured towards the bartender and murmured the request under his breath.
“Why would you say that?”
“Something tells me this has to do with the woman friends of mine have been hinting about.”
“O-oh?”
“I had a business meeting earlier.” The TV display switched to E as the billionaire spoke.
“They were telling me about this woman they had met last night at the premier, some airhead who seemed to have said something to make people believe she was my girlfriend—-” He broke off as he found himself meeting Ilse’s big brown eyes. ..
Through the TV.
“An airhead, you say?” Ilse asked very sweetly.
“The loveliest, sexiest airhead,” he said without missing a beat.
Ilse glanced back at the camera, and as the camera zoomed in, her lovely full lips curved in a secretive, seductive smile – a Mona Lisa smile if he had ever seen one. And that smile said simply, Come look for me.
“HE’S HERE.” THE WHISPERED words from Serenity Raleigh waltzed teasingly to Ilse’s ear, and the palest shiver ran down her spine.
He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. It had only been three days since she had last seen the billionaire, and yet each second had made her heart ache like it had been hurting for an eternity.
As she turned, she could feel the crowd reacting to his presence, a wave of heated interest coming in the form of sultry glances and throaty laughter, all meant to entice—-
Him.
His blue eyes captured hers the moment she lifted her head. Look at me, his eyes commanded silkily, and only me.
It almost made her laugh. Did he really think she would have any interest in any other man than him?
His tall, dark figure cut through the crowd like a powerful, gleaming sword, people parting instinctively as he bore down on them in swift, long-legged strides.
When a charming, sexy smile curved on his lips, drawn breaths and gasps swirled in the air.
He was so heartbreakingly handsome, so exquisitely charming, a woman had only to look at him and want more.