Ignited & Unhinged (Billionaire Secret, Book One)(Billionaire Romance, New Adult Romance, College Romance) Read online

  My hands cover Damon’s, bringing them down my body. Turning, I whisper into his ear.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know exactly why, but I want to leave.”

  I look up into his face.

  He looks surprised, then confused, and then… distant?

  His face lands on something like resolve.

  His hand comes to the small of my back, immediately leading me out of the mansion.

  We don’t speak until we’re back in the car.

  “So are you OK?” he asks, not looking at me.

  Now without all the noise and stimulation I want him to touch me, but he’s sitting as far away from me as possible.

  “Yeah, of course. I just…I don’t know. It was a little overwhelming,” I’m embarrassed.

  This was the second time I’d left The Society like a total drama queen.

  He looks intently into my eyes and then sighs.

  His silver-blue eyes linger on me, he’s deciding something.

  Then he looks away, resigned. “I’m sorry. I think I may have read you wrong.”

  He shakes his head. “You are so new. I wanted you to be ready for this,” he gestures absently out the window, “because I really wanted to share it with you, but I don’t think you are.”

  He sounds angry now. “The last thing I want to do is pressure you into liking something you don’t.”

  I want to reach out and touch him. Make him understand what had just happened. “Oh, it isn’t that. I did like watching those couples. It’s just that…I don’t know.”

  Ugh. Where are the damn words when you need them? Not being able to explain it properly makes me feel stupid.

  I’d never had problems explaining. Using my words to smooth out a situation or allow someone to see something through my eyes.

  I can’t explain it and it makes me feel worse.

  I don’t want to be a fickle girl—how confusing I must be to him. How confusing I am to myself.

  His voice is low, pained, the words come out all at once, “Elle, that’s twice you ran out of there. It is pretty clear that you aren’t cut out for this. I am so, so sorry for bringing you here.

  “Please believe me when I say that it was never my intention to throw you into this world. As I mentioned before, you were the first person I had ever wanted to bring here and my desire to do so clearly obscured any rational thought.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair, “I mean, my God, you only lost your virginity a few weeks ago and here I have you at this place?

  “It’s unheard of and I’m a real fuck for placing you in this position. You should have just told me you weren’t comfortable coming here,” he sounds contrite…and sad.

  He didn’t understand. Of course he didn’t. I hadn’t said anything.

  “But that isn’t it. I wanted to come here, both times. When we were in there just now, I couldn’t shut my brain off and words are just failing me right now. Please stop apologizing. This isn’t your fault. I don’t feel pressured and I really do enjoy the things you’ve shown me so far. I just need to wrap my head around a few things first.”

  His eyes fix on me, like he’s trying to ferret out the truth.

  He doesn’t believe me.

  It irks me, more than it should. “Hey, I deserve the benefit of the doubt. I tell you the truth, remember? I just don’t know all of it myself right now, that’s all.” I look at him honestly.

  “Do you at least believe that that is true?” I ask.

  He narrows his eyes, deciding. “Yes.”

  “OK, then.” For the moment I’m satisfied.

  I know I’m not going to get further with him or myself tonight.

  His voice turns formal, distant, “I think it is best if we keep our distance while you figure out what is holding you back.”

  His tone makes something twinge in my chest.

  “And if you figure out that you don’t want any part of The Society—that is fine, too. I promise I will leave you alone.” He’s already starting to sound like a stranger.

  I don’t like it.

  Do I want him to leave me alone?

  I think of his arms, his chest—the way it feels when he kisses me.

  No, I don’t want him to disappear.

  But he’s convinced that he needs to give me space.

  Maybe it’s a good thing?

  It doesn’t feel like a good thing. Especially since it’s now crystal clear that we won’t be ending the night in his bed.

  I stare out the window as the familiar Gothic buildings of The College come into view. For the first time I realize that he hadn’t blindfolded me on either return journey.

  Probably because the windows are tinted and the night is its own blindfold.

  I can barely see the old world street lamps reflecting off the uneven cobblestone sidewalks which are now glistening from the rain.

  CHAPTER 18 Billionaire Secret: French & Freedom

  I head to the gym after brunch in the SE Dining Hall.

  It’s Sunday and I am so ready for my weekly dose of dancing.

  The gym, named after alumnus William J. Hurte, was better known amongst students as the House of Hurte for its fifteen floors of exercise gear and all-manner of torturous equipment designed to whip bodies into shape.

  In addition to all the normal sport spaces like the expansive basketball courts, we also had squash courts, four Olympic-sized swimming pools, two full gymnastics centers, two floors of dance studios, special training equipment for the polo team and so many other rooms full of specialized equipment I didn’t recognize.

  The façade looks like a grand European cathedral with massive stained glass windows and arched entries.

  I go through security, first showing my ID and then waving it in front of the black card reader until the red light turns green.

  In the elevator I sneak a peek at myself in the mirrors that cover each wall.

  My wavy brown hair spills over my bare shoulders. The black spaghetti strap leotard hugs my slender frame, as did my black yoga pants.

  I’m showing more cleavage than I was comfortable with.

  Damn. I’d left my sweater at the table during brunch.

  The elevator bings my arrival.

  Inside the massive dance studio, the class had already begun.

  I rush to the end of the line of women facing the leaders, who were mostly men.

  The instructors from the team are teaching the International Cha Cha, the dance that couple from the team had performed at The Space.

  Damn! I was really looking forward to this one—and I missed the first fifteen minutes.

  They play the music and the two lines converge. Each person naturally gravitates towards the leader or follower directly in front of them.

  I’m about to reach a young looking sophomore I hadn’t danced with before when Bash cuts in front of him and pulls me away.

  “You’re late!” he scolds.

  “Yeah, I had brunch with my suite this morning and lost track of time. And by brunch I mean Earl Grey and a banana,” I joke.

  “Not hungry? Or don’t tell me you’re one of those svelte women who are always on a diet even though it would be ridiculous,” he raises a judgmental eyebrow.

  “HA! Thaaanks? No, I eat. I just don’t like to eat much before dance. I’m already starving, though.”

  He frowns and shrugs at the same time. “That I get. It’s difficult to move lightly when you’re stuffed.”

  “Exactly,” I agree. “OK, so what did I miss?”

  “The I Cha basic, two turns and a New Yorker.” He grabs my hand thrusts me forward into him, making me laugh and then back out to lock in our frame.

  I mirror his movements as he leads me through all the steps and then some.

  It feels so good not to think.

  We are still dancing when the music cuts out and the female instructor clears her throat to get our attention.

 
The lines had parted again signaling the breakdown of a new set of steps.

  I scurry back to my line.

  Bash disappears from the leader line each time the lines split apart and each time we come together he reappears out of nowhere. Intercepting me before I reach the person I think will be my partner for the sequence.

  When there are fifteen minutes left in the hour, the instructors stop teaching.

  They play the music and we find partners to practice with for the remaining time. Bash grabs me and moves us away from the center of the floor where everyone had congregated.

  He spins us into the International Cha Cha basic and then straight into a series of moves I don’t recognize.

  I feel great. Dancing with Bash is the best form of freedom. There simply isn’t time or space for my over-analytical brain to get in the way…unlike the rest of my life.

  The vestiges of the previous evening had plagued my waking mind and had even permeated my dreams.

  Scenes of first Erik and then Damon, and Erik and Damon at the same time, and Erik and Damon with someone who looked exactly like me, but couldn’t enjoy pleasure without judgment.

  It was all very telling.

  I was actually judging myself for judging myself.

  I know that it’s OK to be attracted to both of them, that much I had allowed myself.

  Rationally, I know that it should be OK to hook-up with them both. It was the logical extension of not being exclusive with Damon…and possibly the whole point of The Society?

  But it bothers me…I think.

  I even examined whether or not I was starting to fall for Damon.

  I still wanted his company, but I was sure that I hadn’t fallen for him. I had some help determining this at brunch which is why I lost track of time.

  Jasmine got the PG-13 version. I told her that I had a problem making out with two guys.

  How were you supposed to know if you were falling for a guy, anyway? She asked me one question: would it bother me if Damon made out with, or started dating someone else seriously?

  My honest answer to both was: no.

  Thank God.

  I read somewhere that men make women messy, and I was not ready to get messy. This whole two guys at once deal was messy enough.

  But this. This dancing with Bash—it’s another form of flying.

  Who needs an orgasm? Well…maybe that was overstating things.

  We laugh and dance for the rest of the hour. He leads me in and out of several dance styles, sometimes merging them together.

  I don’t notice the other newbies staring at us.

  The music stops and he releases me.

  I place my hands on my head to get as much air into my lungs as possible.

  “Phew! That was so bloody fantastic!” I’m still trying to catch my breath.

  “You seemed to be having fun. You come alive when you dance. I think you should really face the facts,” he says, his breathing almost normal.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You’re a dancer,” he answers simply.

  I shake my head and wave off the compliment. “You have to say that.”

  “Elle, how many times have I praised your ability? When are you going to start believing me?” He sounds a little annoyed.

  I smile bashfully at him. I wasn’t trying to be annoying.

  Just then the female instructor Tanya walks over to us. She doesn’t usually teach on Sundays, but I recognize her as half of the couple who performed at The Space.

  She’s got a high voice, like a teenybopper. “Well done. You know you’re really good. We all honestly thought you were a transfer who danced competitively on another team.”

  I give her what I hope is a gracious smile. “Really? Thanks. I thought Bash had made that up to be nice.”

  She lets out half a laugh.

  “Let me guess, you don’t take compliments easily?” she says.

  I shrug. Guilty. I’d never thought about it before, but I was a really terrible compliment taker.

  She nods knowingly. “Takes one to know one. Really though you should consider joining the team. We technically closed off new additions a few weeks ago, but for you we would make an exception. Practice is three times a week at the Med School. Competitions are on weekends. Think about it, OK? See you guys.” She waves behind her as she walks off.

  I turn to give Bash a complete goofball smile.

  I can’t help it. It was one thing to enjoy something thoroughly, it was another to have outside corroboration that you were actually good.

  Screw the whole Erik-Damon thing! I’m going to take my pleasure wherever I can get it.

  And dancing might just be another form of pleasure that I need in my life.

  He’s sporting kind of a goofy smile himself, “Are you still hungry? Ivy Slice?”

  I nod.

  We walk the two blocks from the House of Hurte to Ivy Slice.

  It’s a beautiful October day. The leaves have turned orange and yellow and red. The sun is shining.

  People are out enjoying the afternoon. Some shop, others greet friends on the sidewalk, and dewy-eyed high school students take tours of the campus with their parents.

  There’s a light breeze that has a chilly kick to it. I hug myself as I start to shiver.

  “You should have brought a sweater with you,” Bash observes.

  “I had planned to, but I left it in the dining hall,” I shrug.

  “Here, use mine. It’s totally clean.” He hands me the hoodie he had draped over one shoulder.

  “You aren’t cold?”

  “No, it takes a lot to make me cold.”

  “Then why do you carry a hoodie?”

  “Why? So I can gallantly offer it to shivering ladies.” He makes a courtly gesture.

  “No, I just got in the habit of always carrying a sweater around with me once October hits. You will too. Trust me. There’s no predicting our schizo weather.”

  That was new. “Schizo weather?”

  “Yup. People who don’t live here think we exaggerate, but last year you don’t know how often it went from a thunderstorm, to hail, to hot sunshine,” he nods emphatically.

  Wow. “In a single day?” I ask.

  “HA! Within ten minutes!”

  I pull on the oversized hoodie and cuddle into it. It smells like one of those male body sprays.

  The scent mixes with the breeze.

  We pick up our slices at the counter of the narrow restaurant and grab a two person table.

  The walls are red with black and white photographs of The College everywhere. Apparently, it was a popular color scheme for restaurants in the area.

  I bite into my slice of pepperoni.

  “Mmmmm. Hmmm. Yup.” My head bops up and down. Coming here was an excellent idea.

  “So where is home right now? Where do you go back to during breaks?” I ask.

  He finishes his bite before responding, “Right now, my parents are diplomats in Paris so I usually go back there.”

  Diplomats, wow. “Niice. Is that where you spent the summer?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope, I spent the summer in Argentina.”

  “Visiting friends…? Job…?”

  “Learning the Argentine Tango.” He smiles broadly.

  “The entire summer?”

  He nods.

  “Wow, pretty awesome parents. What an experience!” I’m impressed.

  “No, they hated the idea. I knew that they would never let me do it. They would expect me to intern with an international government body or at a prestigious bank somewhere.”

  He takes another bite before continuing, “So I got a job tutoring children last year and saved every dime I made so I could spend the summer exactly as I liked without needing their approval or their checkbook.”

  Now I’m really impressed.

  “Where did you spend the summer?” he asks between bites.r />
  “In Lyon actually,” I answer. “I studied at the Alliance Française there.”

  “Super! Vous parlez couramment le français alors?”

  “HA! Non, je ne suis pas couramment le français. Je parle un peu.” I’m definitely not fluent, but I probably should be after four years in high school and a summer in France.

  “Your pronunciation is excellent. I’m sure you’re better than you think. Weren’t you forced to speak constantly? How could you not be!” he sounds so sure.

  “Well, thank you. My pronunciation did get much better, but my fluency didn’t happen. It may have had something to do with the group of English kids I befriended.”

  He looks confused. “How so?”

  “I didn’t end up speaking French all the time. I got on with them so well that we did everything together. I ended up speaking quite a lot of English. So you know, I guess I cheated a bit.” I smile to myself.

  “My family thought it was hilarious. My English had never been so proper,” I explain.

  “You went to France and came back speaking proper English? You should put that on a t-shirt,” he laughs with me.

  “A toast,” he begins, holding up his pizza slice, “To Argentine Tango and proper English!” We bump slices and smile.

  CHAPTER 19 Billionaire Secret: Compromising Positions

  Somehow I’m less nervous today than I had been the last few weeks.

  It was different when I had just walked in on him.

  This time he’d sought me out, he was aroused by me.

  I wasn’t this stranger who had unknowingly invaded his privacy anymore, but somehow invited into his space.

  I’m still conflicted about our make out session because I had arrived with Damon, but I no longer felt like an awkward freshman in his class.

  At least, that’s what I thought.

  And then he walked in.

  Professor West strides in all lithe masculinity. Each step exudes a certainty that makes my mouth water.

  I want his body as much as I want his certainty in life.

  I watch him closely. What was he thinking right now? Would he act any differently towards me?

  He sets his laptop down and connects it to the projector as he does every lecture.

  After setting up his gear, he always looks up in a very deliberate way to signal the start of the class.