Desire Me Read online

  Desire Me

  The Billionaire’s Secrets Series

  Book 6

  Kayla C. Oliver

  Let’s get to know each other…

  WARNING:

  This book contains sexually explicit content and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only. Please ensure this book is stored in a location that cannot be accessed by underage readers.

  Copyright © 2017 by Kayla C. Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The Billionaire’s Secrets Series

  Touch Me

  Kiss Me

  Thrill Me

  Tease Me

  Love Me

  Taming the Billionaire Series

  The Art of Lust

  The Art of Love

  The Art of Temptation

  The Billionaire Parker Brothers Series

  Temptation

  Fake True Love

  Love in Lust

  Dared to Love

  Bad Boy’s Virgin Series

  Virgin’s Fantasy

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Touch Me (The Billionaire’s Secrets Book 1 – Preview)

  Signing Him (Bonus book)

  Rewriting Romance (Bonus Book)

  Virgin’s Desire (Bonus book)

  Exclusive Book For You

  Contact Page

  Exclusive Book For You

  Get your exclusive and free copy of Temptation!

  She had the opportunity of a lifetime right at her fingertips, but the passion she found in his arms could destroy it all.

  Happy reading!

  Kayla C. Oliver

  Chapter One

  Gareth

  Even ten years ago, the very fact that I was sitting in an office on the fiftieth floor of a building in Manhattan with a view of the Hudson Bay, a clear and clean drop down to the concrete pavement of busy New York would have made my stomach turn. Not only because of the fact that I used to suffer from an acute infliction of vertigo, but also because I would have never been able to imagine myself in this position. That I could be the king of this ivory tower.

  Vertigo was the least of my worries. I suffered from anxiety and an early onset of depression, my mind riddled with thoughts of self-harm and dark tunnels of misery brought on by the extreme episodes of bullying I had faced all the way through high school.

  I was a nerd, and not just a casual nerd—I was a nerd who was gangly with a pimply face, shaggy blond hair, and terrible taste in clothes. Ugly sweaters and baggy jeans and science themed T-shirts filled my closet, and I had no idea why the other kids thought it was all so hilarious. I’d been punched and had my lunches stolen; I was called names and was threatened to do other people’s homework; and even if I had the time to be interested in girls, I knew they wouldn’t be interested in me.

  In high school, I was a loser and I knew it. My mother insisted that I had a bright future ahead of me, but I refused to see it. Till one night, after I had come home with my clothes ripped and my knees bruised for maybe the hundredth time, I decided that instead of wallowing in my own self-pity, I had to break free from the mold. I was going to make the bullies suffer and pay for the way they had treated me.

  I studied harder than ever. I got into MIT on a scholarship, and even in college, I did nothing other than look at my books and make presentations and make sure that I was consistently on top of my class.

  I was sitting in a corner room on the fiftieth floor of an office building because I had earned it. I was a billionaire because I had worked hard at it, and nothing was going to stop me now. I was at the top, and I was going to remain there. My shipping company, which I had founded alone not more than five years ago, was flying high. We were making more money now than ever before, but we had competition.

  I looked up from my computer screen and faced the carefully positioned oval mirror on the wall in front of me. In my reflection, I could see that my nostrils were flared. What I had just read on the computer had pissed me off; it had more than just pissed me off. I was nauseous with rage and envy.

  I wasn’t the gangly, pimpled nerd from high school anymore. My shoulders were wide and taut under the tailored navy suit I had on. My red tie was bright and carefully complemented the blue of my suit, as well as the icy blue of my eyes. My hair wasn’t shaggy anymore either; it was still blond but was styled and cut by the most exclusive stylist in the country, the same guy who was flown down to my penthouse every Saturday morning to trim my beard.

  I had learned the hard way that image was everything. If I could ooze power and wealth and strength, things would work out easily for me, and that was my intention. I had been flying high all these years, ever since my company flew off the ground, but with the newcomers—the C Scape boys—on the scene, I felt threatened again.

  I looked back at the screen. I had been following the story of these men closely the last few months. Hunter Morgan, Rhett Larkin, and Owen Rivera were a bunch of novices who had started a shipping company in small-town Georgia, and out of the blue, they were on the cover of Forbes Magazine. Overnight, they had turned into billionaires, and even though I hadn’t met them yet, I had already judged them for who they were. A bunch of bullies. They had that look about that. Ridiculously good-looking, with beautiful women on their arms, charming the business world with the luck of beginners. I didn’t need to speak to them to know that they were nothing different from the lunchtime bullies in my high school. I hated them already.

  I could feel my fists clenching with rage, my mind tumbling down those dark whirlpools again—I fucking hated bullies. I hated these men. I was going to crush them before they had a chance to grow wings. I had worked hard and long to overcome every obstacle against me, to reach the position I had. I wasn’t going to allow a couple of jocks from nowhere to just ruin all of that.

  With my mind in a tizzy, I didn’t realize that I had picked up the cell phone from my desk, and now I was flinging it toward the mirror. It struck the glass, sending a cobweb of cracks across its surface, mangling my own reflection. My cell phone crashed to the floor just as the door opened and my PA, Chad, walked into the room.

  “Everything okay, sir?” he asked, and I looked at him with blazing eyes. If he was already accustomed to my swinging moods, he didn’t reveal it to me. I liked Chad because he knew how to pretend like nothing was wrong. I needed someone like him in my life to make me feel normal. To make me feel a li
ttle human.

  “I think I need a new cell phone,” I grumbled and switched off my computer. Chad didn’t need to know what had made me so angry.

  “Of course, sir, right away,” he said, standing in front of me with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I also just received the official invitation for the summer ball at the New-York Historical Society. They are requesting an RSVP from you,” Chad added, and I breathed in and nodded.

  “Add it to my calendar and clear my schedule for that evening. You can RSVP to them,” I said, and with a curt nod, Chad was gone from my room.

  I was alone again, and I tried to regulate my breathing. Thinking about the summer ball and distracting my mind with that was a good tactic. I didn’t suffer from these bouts of frustration and rage very often these days, at least not since my company had been doing so well. However, reading about the success of C Scape had brought it on again, and I felt like I was losing control of myself.

  I had been a loyal patron of the New-York Historical Society for five years now, ever since I had the money to donate to their art museum. Art was one of my escapes. Not that I could even draw a perfect circle or a straight line, but I knew how to appreciate art and of every kind. Even though this particular art museum supported historical paintings and the older styles, I was developing a taste for the postmodern, finding myself leaning toward newer, bolder styles.

  I attended art shows often in the city, dropping into random galleries on my way back from work. I liked walking into an empty gallery for a show that had been put up by a local artist who nobody was supporting. It gave me a thrill to discover someone new, an artist nobody had heard of before.

  My art collection was quickly growing, filled with paintings by artists whose work nobody had thought of to look at before. On my walls, they looked beautiful and fresh, like they had been given a new lease on life. I wanted to support the underdogs, to discover the genius in people who didn’t think highly of themselves. In struggling artists, I saw a piece of my older self.

  With my mind distracted by art, I felt calmer now, and instead of switching my computer back on again, I stood up from my chair and buttoned up my suit. It was time to call it a day. Maybe I’d drop into an art show in Queens tonight, maybe in the Village if I got lucky. Just thinking about it made my blood quicken. I had forgotten about the C Scape boys now, about how much I hated them.

  I walked out of my office with a skip in my step. I didn’t need to worry about Rhett Larkin or Owen Rivera or Hunter Morgan tonight. No, tonight, I had every intention of forgetting about my competition and focusing on what gave me strength and inspiration.

  Chapter Two

  Aubrey

  “Oh my God, Ira! Thank you!” I was hugging my roommate tightly while she laughed and hugged me back with joy. She knew exactly what this meant for me, and she was happy too.

  “You know it’s tonight, right?” she asked when I finally released her.

  “Of course I know it’s tonight. I’ve been counting the days and already made the decision to go stake out the premises from eight,” I said, following her as she threw herself on our small couch in the middle of the studio apartment. Ira rolled her eyes but had a smile on her lips.

  “You owe me,” she said, even though I knew she didn’t mean it.

  “Big-time. Whatever you want. I’ll clean the apartment alone for six months and do your laundry.” I crashed down on the floor beside her. She reached over and ruffled my thick red hair playfully.

  Ira and I had clicked immediately. She’d advertised for a roommate on the internet, on the very day that I had landed in New York with nothing more than a duffel bag and a few hundred dollars in my wallet. Thankfully, I’d had enough to put down a shared deposit, and we’d procured this studio apartment and moved in.

  Ira and I were poles apart as individuals but had quickly become the closest of friends. While I was a struggling artist, waitressing on the side to make enough money for rent, Ira seemed to have it all figured out. She was assistant to a fancy fashion designer and wasn’t struggling for cash. While I had grown up in a small town, Ira had lived all her life in New York. While she was confident and well-spoken, I felt like every time I opened my mouth, I said something ridiculously silly.

  None of these differences mattered though. She had managed, through connections of her high-profile boss, to get me a pass to the summer ball organized by the New-York Historical Society; one of the largest art events in the country.

  Even before I moved to the city, I had big dreams of attending the ball, of being able to mingle and network with the cream of the crop. My art was going nowhere. I was still painting furiously, but I hadn’t made a decent sale in months.

  In fact, the last sale I made was at a low-profile art fair in Greenwich Village, where I had paid big money to set up a stall. Ira and I sat on plastic chairs behind a low table all day, trying to catch someone’s eye so that we could persuade them to buy something. I had all my art laid out on the table and on the makeshift cardboard wall behind us. The only things I’d sold that day were a few postcards and a birthday card, all of which had earned me no more than a few dollars. The money I had to pay to get that spot at the fair had been way more than I’d earned.

  “This is your big night, Aubrey. Own it!” Ira said encouragingly when she sensed my mind wandering. She knew I was thinking about my career again. I was beginning to doubt myself. I smiled and nodded my head.

  “I just need to meet a few people, talk to someone who might be interested in seeing some of my stuff. I just need a tiny break, that’s all,” I said, and Ira reached over and squeezed my shoulders.

  “I know you can do it. You are beautiful and charming, and your work speaks for itself. Just a little bit of networking, and there’ll be no stopping you,” Ira added, and I nodded. Even though I had known Ira for only six months, I loved her to death. Coming to New York might not have been a monetary success for me yet, but at least I had gotten the encouragement and support I needed.

  Back home, all I got from my family and friends were raised eyebrows and nods of the head. They all thought I was wasting my life away on something that I had no chance of succeeding at.

  “In fact, I have just the thing for you,” Ira exclaimed, and jumping off the couch, she rushed to her closet at the other end of the room. Our studio apartment was small, and we had neatly divided it between the two of us. While my side was messy and cluttered with canvases and clothes and paint palettes, Ira’s side was neat and well decorated and in good taste. I was glad that she was the kind of person who didn’t mind how I lived. I watched her now as she pulled a beautiful white gown out of her closet and brought it to me.

  “You want me to wear this?” I asked her, my eyes growing wider. I had never worn or even seen anything like it before. I just didn’t belong to that world or have the money to be able to afford a piece of clothing like that. This gown was the stuff of fashion magazines and runway models.

  Ira had access to some of the most fashionable pieces of clothing in the country, and even though I had lusted after them, I never wanted to wear them for fear that I would ruin them and that they wouldn’t look half as gorgeous on me as they did on her. She was always fashionably dressed, while I dressed in thrift store bargains and old clothes I’d been wearing since high school. I had never thought about clothes or fashion before I met Ira, and even now, it didn’t bother me much. Now that I was faced with the possibility of wearing this beautiful gown, however, it was all I could think of.

  “You need to make a splash, and this is the ticket!” Ira exclaimed and pulled me off the floor, dragging me to the full-length mirror, which was also on her side of the apartment.

  I stood in front of the mirror, with Ira holding the dress in front of me. It seemed like it would fit. It had one thin shoulder with silver ruffles that looked too high fashion for me. The other was a cold shoulder, and the dress had a low, revealing back. The material itself felt like butter to the touch,
and it was in a bright ivory white and spotlessly clean.

  “Ira, I can’t. I’d be so afraid of spoiling it,” I said in a daze. I couldn’t take my eyes off the dress now. It was calling out to me.

  “I really don’t care. I got it for free, and I feel like white washes me out, but with your red hair and green eyes, it will sparkle,” she said, and I turned to her. She had a smile on her face.

  “Trust me, Aubrey, you need to get noticed, and this dress will help,” she said. I bit down on my lip.

  “I think I have the right shade of lipstick to match your hair too, and a perfect pair of black stilettos to complete the look,” she added excitedly and rushed over to rummage through her closet again.

  My heart was beginning to race in my chest. This could very well be the biggest night of my life. Who would have thought that a girl like me would be wearing this dress and attending the largest art event in the country? I wouldn’t have predicted this for myself either, not in a million years. My family’s doubts had permeated in me, and I wasn’t convinced anymore that I was anything special.

  “Ira, I don’t know how to thank you for all this,” I said as she walked back toward me, stilettos in one hand and a silver glittering clutch in the other.

  “You can paint me sometime, immortalize me in your art,” she laughed as she pushed the clutch into my hand. I nodded and tried to hold back the tears. I knew there was nothing to be emotional about. It was just a silly party, and it was just a silly dress—but I felt like finally, after all the struggle and the self-doubt, I had a shot at something. Something real.

  “You’re going to kick ass tonight, beautiful,” Ira said, and we both turned to the mirror again. I was clutching the dress to my body now, I could picture myself in it. With my straight red hair tied up in a sleek chignon on the side, wearing bright lipstick to match my hair, my body moving fluidly in this ultrafashionable piece of clothing… Ira was right. I needed the attention. I had been ignored and thrown to the side too long. This was my chance to make an impression, and I was going to own it.