Melody Anne's Billionaire Universe_Controlling the Billionaire Read online

  “Let’s get dessert later unless you’re still hungry.”

  “Not at all.” I couldn’t have eaten another bite of anything even if I wanted to and I loved dessert.

  “Good! Time for your lesson.” His voice was so upbeat and energetic.

  He was serious and back to the beach we went for the swim lesson. It was an amazing experience that actually had me swimming with full strokes. The part where he repeatedly touched me wasn’t too bad either. I laughed and nearly choked on water when he began my lesson as if I was a child lacking any knowledge of swimming.

  “Put your lips in the water and blow bubbles.”

  Watching his lips so close to mine doing as he instructed, I thought of moving my lips to brush against his and sucked in salt water.

  He laughed. “Blow out. Don’t suck.” A wink followed his last words.

  The rest of our time in the water was fairly innocent besides a few grazes along my skin and sensitive places that were humming and tingling. I wondered what it would feel like to be in his arms for other reasons with his mouth covering mine and his tongue tangling with mine. The little bit of wine we drank must’ve gone straight to my head—clouding all logical thoughts.

  That was the start and I never wanted it to end. Although it may have been better if it had. There would’ve been far less heartache if everything had ended on the beach instead of me agreeing to let him drive me back to my youth hostel.

  Heading the relatively short distance to Marseille after the sun went down turned me into total mush as I stared at him intermittently and imagined how wonderful it would’ve been if the sun god…water god was all mine.

  No, I wasn’t prepared for the way he made me feel or to lose him.

  Prepared… Be prepared.

  Waverly, back to studying. No time to wallow in the past.

  Chapter Four

  Morgan

  Up before the crack of dawn, surrounded by a bunch of male water polo players stretching out their tight shoulders on the deck felt right. Like home. Watching the way the steam skimmed along the top of the heated fifty-meter pool under the illumination of the stadium floodlights brought a smile to my face. Pure happiness as the cold air hit my face along with the smell of the chlorine. Barefoot on the cold cement, I wore my faux fur swim parka emblazed with my high school name across the back—I couldn’t find my terrycloth robe from my water polo days. Ready to jump in at any time, I was wearing my speedo underneath. I even brought my own goalie cap, a gift given to me by my team when I retired.

  Listening to smack talk and seeing all of the ass grabbing I had to laugh. It happened on all levels. Camaraderie. A brotherhood. There was nothing like it. Hard to imagine being away from it. Did that mean that I wanted to be a coach? Did I want to leave Butler Industries behind? My father did always encourage us to find our own way.

  Hearing a whistle blow, I forgot all about my dilemma, dropped my parka, tied on my cap and did a front flip right into the warm water of the pool. Working with the new freshman goalkeeper hopefuls—redshirting like I had done because there wasn’t a chance in hell of getting playtime—was a lot of fun. The way they listened and tried so hard to impress me was way different than the cocky upper class men that tried to prove they were better than I ever was. They made me laugh. They had no idea what the real world of water polo was like in the pro leagues.

  Like other out of college water polo stars, it was a major eye opener my first day in the pool with big men. Men. Not boys. Serious competition. Nothing was as it had been in high school or college. What I thought was rough held no comparison. It took a bit of adjusting, training and fighting hard to prove I was worthy of the goalkeeper position. It may have been offered to me but it wasn’t a sure thing if I couldn’t perform at the professional level required.

  Throw in the language barrier, it felt like I never had a free minute to myself. I had taken French in high school and college, but it didn’t prepare me for slang terms and words that were never taught. Wanting to fit in socially in my new environment was important too. Especially when I was asked to give interviews with local papers. I had no desire to look like a dumbshit American so I got myself a private French tutor. Studying at first was a drag but we quickly moved into taking my skills to the streets: in cafés, in a variety of shops, in a train station, and many more locations that forced me to converse with locals. Haggling with fisherman on the docks and grocers in the open-air market was a challenge and very beneficial for everyday life. For the raunchy slang words, I turned to my teammates who were highly skilled at them.

  In a matter of time, I felt comfortable enough to turn my charms on to the French female population. I imagine like other professional sports players, there was a group of water polo groupies hanging around. Warnings were posed to me in regards to a few of them. I steered clear of most of them since there were pretty girls everywhere and I really didn’t want to get myself locked into one that was always around. Actually, I had no interest in having a full-time woman fucking with my mind.

  That all changed in an instant when I was swimming one day in a small village not far from Marseille. I had been staying with some friends there for a few days since we had a break from practices and games. They had a nice sailboat and we spent our days sailing off the coast. On my final day, deciding to take one last dip in the ocean was the best and worst decision of my life. It haunted me and had me often wondering what ever happened to that American girl? The one that broke my heart.

  No one ever broke through my tough exterior again. She was one of a kind and I knew it the minute I saw her struggling in the water. I went to her immediately and volunteered to save her although the water was shallow enough for her to stand up. I found that out the nearer I got to her, but I still wanted any excuse to stay at her side once I got a look into her dark brown eyes. Her wet eyelashes were so long and dark they almost looked fake. Her lips had me wishing that she needed mouth to mouth—I was ready to resuscitate her. She was absolutely gorgeous.

  To my surprise, she responded in English and I was a goner. She was so cute stuttering and sputtering her words. The most charming part about her was the way she talked to herself—even addressing herself by her first name. A name I could never forget and said it over and over for the too few days that I had her in my eyesight. It sounded perfect on my lips.

  I found her fascinating. She was backpacking all alone throughout Europe and didn’t appear to be afraid of anything. I had never met a girl who would travel without a huge entourage and several suitcases. Amazingly, she only had a well-packed large backpack filled with necessities. Not your typical female and I loved her adventurous nature starting with the first day I bought her lunch. She wasn’t squeamish about having mussels or any of the other foods I suggested she try over the following two days.

  I hated when my vacation from water polo was up and I had to spend time away from her. But the worst part was when she told me that her time was up and she needed to move on. Two and a half days with her wasn’t enough. I needed forever.

  Eating at a little place not far from her youth hostel, she sprung her news on me and I nearly crumbled right there on the spot. Crushed. Defeated. Feeling a million things that I couldn’t believe. I was a tough guy. Out for number one…but not with her.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow.” Three of the shittiest words ever.

  “You can’t go.” My voice was so loud that heads turned all the way down the line of closely set tables on either side of us.

  Calmly continuing, starting to tell me her plans, “I want to see Avignon, Arles and—”

  My heart ached…my whole body ached if I was honest and I cut her off. “I can take you on day trips after my morning practices.”

  It appeared that she was stubborn or not wanting to stay with me as she continued to speak, not fazed by my offer. “I also have a plane ticket that requires me to stay on schedule.”

  “Change it!” I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I would arrange things. M
ake things work… I just needed more time with Waverly. I wanted to see those dark brown eyes widen behind horrible black rimmed glasses—that fit her somehow—as she looked at new and interesting points of view.

  “I can only stay at my hostel—” She had an excuse for everything but I had my own rebuttals to match hers.

  “Stay with me…my roommate just moved out so I have an extra room…” Not that I wanted her to stay anywhere in my apartment but next to me. “Please.”

  It appeared that I had won when she smiled and replied, “Okay, a few extra days then I’m off—”

  Excited, I accepted her answer and cut off any attempt to change her mind. “Good. Enough time to talk you into forever.”

  I wasn’t sure if she heard the mention of forever—which kind of shocked me—when she informed me that she had a clear cut plan. “I’m going to finish my trip.”

  Cocky me chimed in “we’ll see” and then I did what I had been dying to do since the first day we stood barely clothed in the ocean. I leaned over and captured her mouth with mine right there in front of the entire café.

  It was the first of many kisses that were better each time. She never did use my ex-roommate’s room and every day as I had promised we took a day trip. Stealing kisses and sightseeing through the South of France was the best time I ever had as a tourist. But being alone, locked away in my bed was the best part—I couldn’t lie.

  The first time she walked out of the bathroom from taking a shower minus her usual long t-shirt or even a towel, I nearly choked on my own spit. Her golden blond hair hung down the front of her giving me little hints of pale pink nipples that darted out at attention. My eyes wandered back up to the shy-ish smile on her face and then traveled down the full length of her body to a tiny patch of curls a slightly darker shade of honey.

  I licked my lips as she moved toward me slowly with thoughts of her tasting sweet on my tongue. When she got within my reach, I couldn’t control myself and pulled her onto the bed abruptly and rolled her over. On top of her naked curvy body, I was sure that she could feel just how much I liked what I saw. Crushing my lips over hers, she opened and met my tongue in a heated battle that caused a series of moans to escape from both of us.

  After that I was ready to blow before I got her off, so I moved down her body running my lips and tongue around her nipples and along the length of her torso. Settling at the end of the bed, I parted her thighs and dove right in making sure that I was hitting the important spots. She squirmed quietly, moving without a word to guide me, making me think that she was a bit shy. That was okay with me as long as I pleased her.

  It was after she had her first orgasm that I wondered if anyone had ever done that to her—not that I truly wanted to know. But there was something about the way she had such a surprised look on her face that I had doubts. Good for me, the thought of being the first to claim her with my mouth and fingers was overly exciting and I couldn’t wait to climb her body and make her totally mine.

  Wrapped up with a condom and struggling a bit to get inside of her, I was certain my first assumption was correct. The fierce worldly traveler was a virgin. Talk about the quick loss of an erection.

  “What’s wrong?” She reached for me as I sat back on the bed. “Don’t you want me? You’re kind of b…big…” Her cute stutter was back. “and well…I’m kind…of…slightly a—”

  “I know.” I cut her off and pulled her up into my arms in a rocking position. “We don’t have to—”

  She was the one hushing me as she reached down and stroked my sheathed guy that was semi-erect and coming back to life in her hand. “I want to…I want you to be the one.”

  That was about the time that I officially lost my heart to her forever as I slowly worked my way back between her legs and had both of us climbing to the ultimate high. A high that we achieved over and over for a week longer than she claimed was her deadline. I had gotten lucky every time she mentioned finishing her self-guided tour. I couldn’t let her go.

  “Stay with me.”

  “I still have Spain and Portugal to go. I fly home from Madrid in two weeks.”

  “Change your flight. Do you have a reason you have to get home? Work?”

  “Not until the end of September.”

  “Then go finish your trip and then come back to Marseille.”

  Hesitant, I assured her that I would be anxiously waiting for her return and that she could stay until the very last second. I told her that I just wanted more time to get to know her better. Of course, I really didn’t want her to ever leave me or my bed. I wasn’t sure that it was possible to put a cap on our time together.

  But one morning after I returned from practice her stuff was all packed up and her backpack was sitting by the door. The worst sight ever was mixed with the best sight of her sitting on my balcony looking out to the harbor.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said as I drew near and pulled her up into my arms.

  “And I thought my eyes were bad.” She smiled up at me and I was at a loss for words as I shook my head.

  I knew I couldn’t stop her departure that time, but I thought for sure that she would return to me. That didn’t happen and my heart retreated into the depths.

  Chapter Five

  Waverly

  Shopping had never been one of my favorite things, ever. I wasn’t interested in the top of the line fashions and all of the accessories that went with it—like perfume, makeup, jewelry, purses, scarves, etcetera, etcetera. I bought my toiletries from the local drugstore and a superstore with beauty products like mascara and lipstick. I had never stepped up to one of those really fancy department store counters filled with girly-girl things where beautiful women were perfectly made up and ready to spritz and primp you, if given the chance.

  “Let me start a dressing room for you, Miss.” I turned, startled, to find a smiling girl decked out in an amazing ensemble that made her look as if she stepped out of a fashion magazine or off a runway. A tailored dress, layered necklaces, cute heels, great red hair, and, of course, her makeup was flawless. She was what I needed to be.

  Having an executive position had me thinking that I needed to look the part. That was how my adventure began. Dressed in my stylish no-name clothing I strutted into a well-known department store like I knew what I was doing and headed to racks that held names every fashionista would recognize.

  You got this, Waverly. Shoulders back. Head up.

  My Need-to-Purchase list on my cellphone may have clued in the sales associate that I had no idea where to look or what I wanted. Or perhaps my outfit of not-hip jeans, a silly character t-shirt and cheap rubbery-for-the-gym-shower flip-flops screamed that I was a walking fashion nightmare.

  Spin me around in a foreign country and I could find my way around with any maps. But when I had to put a whole wardrobe together it seemed far more difficult. Looking at an online site that detailed what to wear to the office, I figured out the basics: Suits with pants. Suits with skirts. Blouses. High heels. Maybe a new purse that went with everything.

  When I was approached, I had only grabbed a week’s worth of white blouses and one stylish suit in two different colors. I thought I was close to the finish-line. However, Sally-Salesgirl (not her real name) had a whole other view once she caught a glimpse of me turning around and looking at the first suit paired with a blouse in front of a full-length mirror. No need to try on the other suit or other blouses.

  “That’s not the right look for you. You have a great curvy figure.” A tsk in her voice could be heard clearly. “We need to make you stand out…”

  I had never thought of my figure as great—curvy, yes.

  “Are you working with anyone?” I shook my head. “Good. It looks like you want a daily wardrobe judging by the five white blouses.” I nodded. “Tell me about your job.”

  My turn to speak up, I gave her the entire job description that had been laid out for me by, none other than the big man himself, Boyd Butler. I left out classified information
but dished out my daily functions and more. Undeniably giving her far more information than she needed but it seemed to please her. I could imagine items popping into her head as she looked off into space.

  Once I added in the amount for my clothing allowance, I never saw the things that I had selected again. In fact, we left the department I had been looking in altogether and we jumped around to several others including jewelry, makeup, handbags, shoes, and even lingerie.

  “Oh…no, no…definitely no…” There was such a disgusted tone in her voice when she walked into the large dressing room where I had been installed to try on a multitude of items that arrived via other salesgirls. “I see we need to establish a foundation too.”

  Waverly, throw out those ugly granny panties and try wearing a matching bra!

  In my defense, I had never thought about using a personal shopper nor did I envision one, let alone a few, in a dressing room with me. However, I had to say that it was very helpful.

  When I returned to work, I had a different air about me wearing my new tailored-to-my-body wardrobe. Not sure if it was just in my head, but people seemed to notice me more and smiled in my direction. I must’ve grown a few inches taller—which had nothing to do with my new high heels—as I became more confident with each step toward the new office space.

  Stepping off the elevator a few floors down from my old position, I was, again, greeted with friendly looks and then encouraging remarks followed.

  “Looks like you’re coming up in the world.”

  “Wow! You’re the boss.”

  “Your own assistant even.”

  Word was spreading fast around the building. Everywhere I went people seemed to know my business. Even some people I had never spoken to, or even seen in my life, came up to me. My guess was that they knew of me and my new position thanks to a Butler Industries newsletter featuring my photo floating on the cover. I wasn’t used to so much attention as an assistant to a high-up exec.