Kate Hewitt - The Billionaire's Fantasy

But she knew she needed to leave before he awoke and made love to her again, because she was just needy enough to confuse sex with love even though on every analytical level she knew what a ridiculous mistake that was. She was a professor of Women’s Studies, for heaven’s sake. In her Introduction to Feminist Studies lecture she talked about women reclaiming their bodies.

Well, maybe she’d reclaimed hers tonight. Walked the talk.

And now it was over.

Another little sigh escaped her as she slid out of bed. She gathered her clothes quickly and dressed in the living room before she quietly opened the door to the suite and stepped out into the hallway of the hotel. It was the kind of upscale place that still seemed seedy, or maybe she just felt that way. She’d never sneaked out of a hotel room at dawn in the clothes she’d worn the night before.

Chalk it up to a new experience, and not a particularly pleasant one. Her hair was a mess and she had a terrible taste in her mouth. And all that pleasure was trickling into embarrassment and guilt.

Time to go home, she told herself as she buttoned up her coat and began walking briskly toward the elevator. Time to go back to real life and forget Jaiven Rodriguez had ever existed.

As if.

IT HAD BEEN three days since Louise Jensen had crept out of his bed at dawn, and he was still annoyed. Jaiven spun around in his chair in his penthouse office at JR Shipping’s headquarters in the Bronx and let out an impatient sigh.

He shouldn’t really be annoyed, he knew. She’d just made life easier for him. No awkward goodbyes or tedious chitchat over breakfast. He hadn’t even had to buy her coffee. Or a bagel. Really, he should be thanking her.

But he was still annoyed. He was the one who left, who showed women the door if he didn’t take it first. He didn’t wake up in an empty bed reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

Except three days ago he had.

And he damn well hadn’t liked the feeling. The dissatisfaction, the disappointment, the restless ache and the sexual frustration. Nope, he hadn’t liked any of that.

This wasn’t some stupid macho thing, he realized. It wasn’t just about being the one to call the shots. He wasn’t that much of an ass, even if plenty of women might think otherwise.

He just wasn’t ready to be finished with Louise. He wanted more of her. Her lush curves, her dirty laugh, her chunky glasses. And more than that; he wanted her strange mix of shyness and aggression, her unrestrained, enthusiastic response, her snappy comebacks. He wanted the whole package.

And why shouldn’t he have it?

He’d slept with women for longer than a night before. On several occasions he’d managed a whole week before he called it off. Why shouldn’t he have more with Louise?

She knew his rules, and just in case she forgot he’d make it abundantly clear that all he wanted was sex and more sex. Maybe a week’s worth.

Then they’d both move on.

It was, Jaiven decided, the perfect solution. Now he just had to decide how to go about it.

As he considered various possibilities, he scrolled through JR Shipping’s list of deliveries for the day. Besides the same-day shipping service to anywhere in North America and express service in most parts of the world, he ran a sideline, the original business he’d started as a nineteen-year-old ex-con with a beat-up van—he provided messenger services within the five boroughs.

And as he scrolled through that list, he saw that Columbia University had several deliveries scheduled for that day. He hadn’t personally handled any deliveries in well over a decade, but he might make an exception for today. For Louise. He liked the idea of surprising her while she was in her professor mode. Making her lose control. Again.

Quickly he did an internet search for Louise, saw she was an associate professor of Women’s Studies. Her office was on Amsterdam Avenue, and today she was going to get a special delivery from JR Shipping. From JR himself, actually.

Smiling, Jaiven powered off his laptop and headed out.

* * *

Louise reread the introductory paragraph of the essay she was meant to mark for the third time before finally giving up and pushing it away. She couldn’t focus, hadn’t been able to since she’d left Jaiven Rodriguez’s bed three days ago.

Wasn’t sex supposed to energize you, make you more rested and relaxed and productive? It had done the opposite for her. She’d felt edgy and restless for three days, and had stared at the ceiling most nights reliving her eight hours with Jaiven in all of its excruciating and exquisite detail.

Now that it was over she felt incredibly embarrassed by what she’d done. What kind of woman agreed to have sex in a hotel room with a stranger?

Plenty of women, probably. Maybe most of her students. But she never had. She’d had exactly two sexual partners before Jaiven. Her husband, Jack, and then briefly a boyfriend five years ago, who had been the wrong person at the wrong time. She’d still been trying to get over the train wreck of her marriage, but she hadn’t been ready to trust or love. Maybe she never would be.

And maybe she shouldn’t have thought she could handle a one-night stand. She’d wanted the oblivion of pleasure and she’d had that—for a night. But now? Now she felt a restless mix of want and guilt, unease and dissatisfaction. She still wanted Jaiven.

Not that he was beating down her door, in any case. She doubted he’d spared her so much as a thought since she’d left the hotel suite. He’d probably moved on several times since her. It had been three nights, after all.

Sighing impatiently, she turned back to the essay. Women’s individual resistance to pronatalist policies under Communist governments…

Ugh. She had no space in her brain for this. Maybe she should get out, grab a coffee or go for a walk. Clear her head, restore her equilibrium. Anything to somehow appease this aching restlessness inside her.

Unfortunately she had a feeling the only way to appease that would be another round with Jaiven, and she wasn’t willing to go there. He probably wasn’t, either.

So she’d just have to deal with it the normal way: work and exercise. Eventually she’d forget him. Her body would, too.

Restless, she checked her in-box before heading out for a coffee, surprised when an email popped in from someone named Nora Grant.

Dear Ms. Jensen, I’m writing to you about a former student of yours, Harlow Spencer. I believe you were her advisor on her senior thesis. She went to London for a law internship and has been missing for several weeks. I wondered if I could talk to you at your earliest convenience? Sincerely, Nora Grant.

Frowning, Louise recalled the young woman in question. Harlow Spencer. Tall, willowy, long chestnut hair, with a sharp mind and a surprising ambition. Louise had advised her on a thesis on sex trafficking last year, and then Harlow had left for London soon after graduation. And now she was missing? What did that mean, exactly?

Her frown deepening, she clicked Reply. Dear Nora, I’m sorry to hear about your concerns with Harlow. I’m not sure how I could be of help, but I’m happy to meet—

A quick rap on the door of her office surprised her and she looked up from her laptop.

“Special delivery.”

Department deliveries went to reception, not a hole-in-the-wall office on the second floor. “I’m not expecting a delivery,” she said as she opened the door, and then her jaw dropped because Jaiven was standing in the doorway, a parcel in his hands and a canary-eating grin on his face.

“What…” She trailed off, unable to think. He wore the dark green button-down shirt and trousers of the JR Shipping delivery guys, and a pair of beat-up work boots.