Tempting the Billionaire Read online

  He flexed his arms and bent his head toward each of his shoulders, instinctively trying to diminish those feelings from his youth. “Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled under his breath, removing his towel and drying his body before tossing it over the smoothed edge of the cast concrete in the center of the dark and modern bathroom.

  He quickly swiped on his deodorant and lightly sprayed on cologne from one of the ten bottles sitting on a long ebony wood tray in the space between the large tray sinks atop the concrete vanity.

  Naked, he strode across the heated marble floors and through the opening in the tinted-glass wall to his loft-style bedroom suite. His motorized open-front closets lined the entire wall behind his king-size Monarch Vi-Spring bed, but the suit he’d already selected was laid across one of the custom chaise longues at the foot of it. His long and thick member swayed across his thighs as he moved to pull on his snug boxers, having to adjust it to comfort before he finished dressing in silk socks, his off-white wool-silk suit and a matching open-neck shirt. The fit against his athletic frame spoke to its custom tailoring and his desire for both quality and style.

  Not wanting to run late, he hurriedly selected one of a dozen watches to buckle around his wrist while slipping on shoes that were almost as comfortable as his bed.

  Life was good when it came to the creature comforts. The days of squeaky rubber-sole shoes from the dollar store were over.

  I hated to walk in ’em, he remembered. Felt like everyone heard me coming.

  He rushed through his opulent two-story villa-style mansion, which sat on two gated acres in Alpine, New Jersey, styled in muted tasteful decor with vibrant pops of color that were a testament to his dynamic Latino culture. Chance lived alone in the six-bedroom luxury home, and he usually kept music or his 4K televisions on to break the silence. Hip-hop from the 1990s played from the sound system, and he rapped along to Big Daddy Kane’s “Ain’t No Half-Steppin’” as he grabbed his keys from beside the glass-blown structures of nude women atop the table in the center of the foyer.

  Soon he was out the double front doors and behind the wheel of his black-on-black Ferrari 488 Pista, taking I-280 to Passion Grove. He drove the supercar with ease with one hand, effortlessly switching lanes on the interstate as he lightly tapped his fist against his knee to the music playing. The commute was hassle-free because it was Sunday morning, and he was grateful as he finally guided the vehicle down the exit ramp and made his way through the small town. He didn’t think he could find an upscale town more laid-back than Alpine, but Passion Grove proved him wrong.

  A city without traffic lights in 2018?

  Chance felt bored already. He still found it hard to believe that his fun-loving best friend, Alek—who was born into a billionaire dynasty—chose the small town to live in after jet-setting all over the world.

  Real love will make you do unexpected things.

  His and Helena’s plans had been to travel the world and explore new adventures after they were wed.

  And look how that turned out.

  His hand gripped the steering wheel, lightening the color of his skin across his knuckles. He was glad to finally make it to Alek and Alessandra’s, accelerating up the private mile-long paved street leading to the expansive twenty-five-acre estate until he reached the twelve-foot-tall wrought iron gate with the letter D in bronzed scroll in the center.

  Alessandra had inherited the estate upon the death of her father, Frances Dalmount, who co-owned the billionaire conglomerate the Ansah Dalmount Group, along with Alek’s father, the late Kwame Ansah. When Alessandra and Alek wed last year, they’d decided to make the Passion Grove estate their main home, while maintaining both his Manhattan and London penthouse apartments, and the vacation estate they built together on their private island in upstate New York.

  After getting checked in by security via video surveillance, Chance drove through the open gates and soon was pulling up to the massive stone French Tudor. He hopped out and pressed a tip into the hand of one of the valets his friends were using for the day to park the vehicles.

  He jogged up the stairs and accepted a flute of champagne from the tray being held by a servant. “Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head as he entered the foyer through the open double doors.

  “Thanks so much.”

  Chance paused and turned at the soft voice. He froze with his drink still raised to his mouth as he eyed the woman over the rim of the crystal flute. His heart began to pound, and his breath caught in his throat. Well, damn...

  She was beautiful. Tall and shapely with skin as dark and smooth as melted chocolate. Long and loose waves of her beyond-shoulder-length ebony hair framed her oval face with high cheekbones, bright and clear brown doe-like eyes, and a nose bringing forth a regal beauty similar to the women of Somalia. The long-sleeved white lace dress she wore clung to her frame with a V-neck highlighting her small but plump breasts, and a wide skirt above long shapely legs. Her gold accessories gave her skin further sheen.

  As she walked past the valet with a soft reserved smile, the wind shifted, causing her hair to drift back from her face as she moved with confident long strides that flexed the toned muscles of her legs and caused the skirt of her dress to flounce around her thighs. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and had no desire to do so. She was a treat, and the very sight of her as she easily jogged up the stairs made him hunger for her.

  He smiled like a wolf behind his flute as his eyes dipped to take her in from head to delicious feet displayed in open-toe sandals with tassels that were sexy.

  Who is she?

  He felt excited with each step that brought her closer to him. When she paused to take her own flute of champagne, his hawk-like eyes locked on how the flesh of her mouth pressed against the crystal, leaving a light stain of her lip gloss on the glass.

  Who is she? And does she want to leave with me later?

  The prospect of that made his return to the States completely worth it.

  “There you are, Chance.”

  With regret, he turned from his temptress. “Here I am,” he agreed, genuinely smiling at Alessandra Dalmount-Ansah as she walked up to him, looking beautiful in a white light georgette dress with perfect tailoring.

  She grabbed his upper arms lightly as she rose up on the tips of her shoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Welcome home, Chance,” she said with warmth, looking up at him with sympathetic eyes as she raised a hand to lightly tap his chin. “You good?”

  He nodded, hating the unease he felt. How much more of this pity will there be today? he wondered, purposefully turning from her to eye the beauty in peach as she stepped inside the foyer.

  Her eyes landed on his, and he gave that lingering stare and slow once-over that was nothing but pure appreciation and a desire to know more. Her brows arched a bit and her mouth gaped as she gave him the hint of a smile that was just enough to give him hope.

  “Hey, Ngozi,” Alessandra said, moving past Chance to kiss her cheek in welcome.

  So, this is Ngozi? Alessandra’s best friend and attorney. Brains and beauty. Just as Alessandra had said to him so many times.

  Her eyes left him, and Chance felt the loss, finally taking a sip of the champagne he instantly recognized as Armand de Brignac.

  “That’s right, you two have never met,” Alessandra said, reaching for one of Ngozi’s hands and then one of Chance’s. “Chance Castillo, godfather, meet Ngozi Johns, godmother.”

  She pressed their hands together.

  Their eyes met.

  As they clasped hands, Chance stroked the pulse at her wrist with his thumb, enjoying how it pounded. It matched his own.

  * * *

  Ngozi felt breathless.

  Her first sight of Chance Castillo as she stepped inside the house had made her entire body tingle with excitement. He was tall with an athletic frame that could not be denied in his
tailored suit. His stance as he stood there eyeing her over the rim of his glass spoke of unleashed power. A man. A strong man built for pleasure. Not just handsome, with his medium-brown complexion and angular features softened by lips and intensified by his deep-set eyes, the shadow of a beard and his low-cut ebony hair...but intriguing. Something about him had instantly drawn her in. Excited her. Made her curious. Forced her to wonder, Who is he?

  And now, as Ngozi stood there with her hand seemingly engulfed by his with his thumb gently grazing her pulse, she shivered and sought control of her body. Her pulse. Her heartbeat. Her breaths. The pounding of the sweet fleshy bud nestled between the lips of her core. Damn.

  All of it surprised her. Never had she had such an instantaneous reaction to a man before.

  Needing to be released from the spell he cast upon her, Ngozi pulled her hand from his and forced a smile that she hoped didn’t look as awkward as it felt. “Nice to finally meet, Mr. Castillo,” she said, proud of her restored cool composure.

  It was all a sham, and she deserved an award for the performance.

  “Chance,” he offered, sliding the hand she once held into the pocket of his slacks.

  “Right this way, y’all,” Alessandra said, leading them across the stately round foyer, past the staircase and down the hall into the family room, where the glass doors were retracted, creating an entertaining space that flowed with people lounging inside or outside on the patio or around the pool.

  Alek spotted them and excused himself from a couple he was talking with to cross the room to them. It was similar to watching a politician or other public figure as he spoke to each person who stopped him while still moving toward them. The man was charismatic.

  Ngozi took a sip of her champagne as she glanced at Alessandra over the rim. The look in her friend’s eyes as she watched her husband was nothing but love. She’d found her happily-ever-after.

  A twinge of pain radiated across her chest, and Ngozi forced herself to smile in spite of it.

  “Careful, Ngozi,” Alessandra said, holding out her arm in front of her. “Don’t get in the way of this bro love, girl.”

  Ngozi looked on as Chance took a few strides to meet Alek. The men, equally handsome, confident and strong in build, clasped hands and then moved in for a brotherly hug complete with a solid slap of their hand against the other’s back. It barely lasted a moment, but it was clear they were close.

  As the men talked quietly to one another, Ngozi eyed Chance’s profile, surprised by her reaction to him. And she still felt a tingle of awareness and a thrill that ruffled her feathers. He smiled at something Alek said, and her stomach clenched as a handsome face was instantly transformed into a beautiful one.

  “He looks happy,” Alessandra said softly to herself.

  Ngozi glanced over at her, seeing the hope on her face that her words were true. She remembered Alessandra explaining Chance’s absence because he had been left at the altar by his fiancée and was in the Dominican Republic recovering from his heartache. That had been nearly nine months ago.

  What woman would leave him behind?

  Ngozi had never asked for any more details than Alessandra offered, but that was before she’d seen him. Now a dozen or more questions flew to mind with ease. Her curiosity was piqued.

  “I’m going up to get the baby,” Alessandra said. “Be right back.”

  Ngozi glanced around the room, raising her flute in toast to those she knew professionally or personally. When her eyes landed back on the men, she found Chance’s eyes on her. She gasped a little. Her pulse raced.

  He gave her a wolfish grin—slow and devastating—as he locked his gaze with hers. They made their way toward her, and Ngozi forced herself to look away as she felt a shiver race down her spine.

  “I wanted to finally greet you, Ngozi,” Alek said.

  She looked up at him with a smile. “I thought I was invisible,” she teased, presenting her cheek for a kiss as she pretended Chance was not standing there, as well.

  “Chance told me Alessandra already made the introductions between you two,” Alek said.

  She stiffened her back and glanced up at Chance. “Yes, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” she said.

  “Same here,” he agreed. “Especially since we’re sharing godparent duties.”

  “Right, right,” she agreed with a genuine smile. “We’ll rock, paper, scissors for overnight stays.”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it, biting his bottom lip as if to refrain himself. He shared a brief look with Alek, who then shook his head and chuckled.

  And she knew—she just knew—Chance was going to say they could have overnights together.

  “Really, fellas?” she asked, eyeing them both like a teacher reprimanding naughty schoolboys.

  “What?” they both asked innocently in unison.

  Ngozi was surprised to see Alek, normally severe and businesslike, standing before her with mirth in his eyes. “So, we all have that one thing or one person—a vice—that makes us different. Today, Alek Ansah,” she said before turning to face Chance, “I have met yours.”

  Chance’s smile broadened as he looked down at her. “And what—or who—makes you different, Ngozi Johns?”

  She loved how her name sounded on his lips. “Oh, is there something about me that needs fixing?” she asked, forcing herself not to quiver under his intense stare as she met it with one of her own.

  “From what I can see, not one damn thing,” Chance responded with ease, his voice deep and masculine.

  “On that note,” Alek said, clearing his throat as he looked from one to the other, “I’ll take my leave.”

  And he did, leaving them alone.

  “Ngozi!”

  At the sound of her name, Ngozi broke their stare and turned to find Marisa Martinez standing beside her. She gave the petite woman with a wild mane of shoulder-length curly hair a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, Marisa,” she said, her eyes taking in the clarity in the woman’s eyes and feeling sweet relief.

  The former party girl who lived hard and fast off the allowance she received from the Dalmount dynasty had developed an addiction to alcohol and drugs that put both her and Alessandra’s freedom in jeopardy. As the head of the family, Alessandra felt it her obligation to guide and protect the entire clan made up of her two aunts, Leonora Dalmount and Brunela Martinez, her cousin Victor Dalmount and his bride, Elisabetta, and Marisa, Brunela’s daughter. That sense of duty had led Alessandra to seek out Marisa at a house party and to get caught in the middle of a police drug raid.

  Ngozi was called on by her client to represent them both. The charges were dropped, but Alessandra had forced Marisa to either attend the long-term rehab program Ngozi arranged or be disowned.

  Marisa chose the former, and six months later, she’d returned drug-free.

  “I just wanted to thank you for everything you did to help me,” Marisa said, before lifting up on her toes to give Ngozi an impromptu hug.

  “Well, I thank you for not letting my hard work go to waste,” she said, returning the hug. “You look good.”

  Marisa released her. “I feel better,” she said, her eyes serious before she forced a smile and walked away with one last squeeze of Ngozi’s hand.

  She watched her walk over to join her mother and aunt Leonora by the fireplace. With her work as a criminal attorney who insisted on pro bono work and tough cases, Ngozi was well acquainted with thankful clients.

  “I’ve heard you’re one of the best attorneys on the East Coast.”

  Him.

  Ngozi took a sip of her champagne as she eyed him with an arched brow. “Just the East Coast?” she teased.

  He chuckled.

  “I’m kidding,” she rushed to say, reaching out to grasp his wrist.

  His pulse pounded against her fingertips. She released
him.

  “La tentadora,” Chance said.

  The temptress.

  Her entire body flushed with warmth.

  Chance was Dominican on his mother’s side, and like many other Afro-Latinos did appear to be what was standardly thought of as such. Much like Laz Alonso, Victor Cruz and Carmelo Anthony.

  “Me das demasiado crédito,” she said, loving the surprise that filled his deep brown eyes at her using his native tongue to tell him that he gave her too much credit.

  “Ah! ¿Tu hablas español?” he asked.

  “Yes, I speak Spanish,” she answered with a nod.

  “¿Pero alguna vez te ha susurrado un hombre en español mientras te hace el amor?”

  Ngozi gasped in surprise and pleasure and excitement at his question of whether a man had whispered to her in Spanish while making love. She recovered quickly. “No,” she answered him, before easing past his strong build and imposing presence to leave.

  “Usted tiene algo que esperar,” Chance said from behind her.

  Then you have something to look forward to.

  Chance Castillo.

  She gave in to her own temptation and glanced back at him over her shoulder. He had turned his attention to greeting Alek’s younger brother, Naim. She pressed her fingertips to her neck as she turned away, admitting regret that his attention was no longer on her.

  In truth, she couldn’t remember feeling that affected by a man in a long, long time.

  She pursed her lips and released a stream of air, intending to calm herself.

  Ngozi stopped a male waiter and set her near-empty flute on the tray. “Thank you,” she said. Her stomach rumbled, and she looked around with a slight frown, hoping no one had heard it. Quickly, she turned and tapped the shoulder of the waiter. “Is there another one like you with a tray of hors d’oeuvres? A sista is hungry.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “The food will be served after the ceremonies.”

  Damn. Ngozi checked her platinum watch as he walked away.