The Rebel Billionaire (Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires Book 5) Read online

  Was this how Aiden felt when he was working a deal for the company? This exhilaration? The sheer thrill of seeing a dream come to life?

  I'd worked hard for Aiden. For the family. Aiden said he loved the company, and if he felt this way about it, maybe he really did.

  Something to think about.

  I wasn't ready to forgive him, but possibly, maybe, I was starting to understand.

  Aiden didn't stay long after the tour. He had to get back to the office. I had no doubt he'd be researching my contractor as soon as he hit his desk.

  After he called Sinclair Security and lit a fire under their asses. No question, as soon as Aiden got a Sinclair on the phone, my security system would shoot to the top of their list.

  I watched Aiden drive away with an odd mix of pride and homesickness. I was still angry with him. Angry, frustrated, and not ready to let it go.

  I loved my brother.

  I wanted to run after him and beg him to take me home.

  I wanted him to tell me he was proud of me.

  I wanted him to leave work at a reasonable hour and maybe even find a girlfriend so he could have a life.

  My feelings for Aiden would've been simpler if he'd just been my brother, if he hadn't raised me after our parents died. There was nothing I could do about that. The past was our history. It couldn't be changed.

  We had to find a way to deal with our tangled relationship. I hoped we'd emerge on the other side as adults with mutual respect.

  If we didn't, if he kept trying to organize my life, I really would throw hot chocolate at him.

  Or worse.

  The encounter with Aiden had distracted me so much, I almost didn't hear the knock at my back door. With no car in the driveway, there was only one person it could be.

  Lucas.

  The shiver of anticipation went all the way to my toes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHARLIE

  I tried to play it cool as I unlocked the door and swung it open.

  "You remembered to lock your door," he said, his deep voice a low rumble in his chest. My mouth went dry at the sight of him filling the doorway. He was just so big—tall and broad and very, very fit.

  "I did," I agreed. "I'm even having a security system installed soon."

  Lucas stepped inside, his big body crowding mine until I took a step back.

  Then another.

  And another.

  My shoulders bumped into the kitchen wall and Lucas's arms came up, his hands flattening on either side of my head until he had me penned in.

  "Who's doing the work?" he asked, lowering his head so that his breath brushed my temple.

  "Huh?"

  What were we talking about? Wasn't he going to kiss me? It seemed like he was going to kiss me.

  "Your security system," Lucas clarified, his lips brushing my cheekbone as he spoke.

  "Sinclair." I let out on a breath. "Sinclair Security is doing it."

  "Sinclair is good. They'll set you up."

  His hands left the wall to frame my face, tilting my head up. The lust simmering in his hot, green eyes turned my knees to water.

  Lucas was done talking.

  His mouth took mine, his lips urging mine apart, his tongue tasting me.

  God, this man could kiss.

  He pinned me to the wall, one hand coming behind my ass, lifting me. Out of instinct, my legs wrapped around him, and the firm pressure of his hard cock against my soft heat drove me wild.

  I sank my fingers into his thick, silky hair, pulling his mouth down, tilting my head to fit us together. He squeezed my ass, rocking into me. I arched my back, pressing my breasts into his chest, my body needy and restless for more.

  Too soon, it was over.

  I would've been perfectly fine if Lucas had carried me straight to the futon. Instead, he set me gently on my feet and leaned back, my mouth following his as if I needed just one more taste.

  "Got a job," Lucas rasped in my ear, sounding out of breath. "I won't be back till later. You around?"

  At his question, my frustrated desire flipped into anticipation. Going for casual, I said, "I'll be here. I'm going to work on the house and maybe get takeout."

  "I'll be back when I'm done," he said.

  Before I could get my bearings, he was out the door, his boots thumping on the steps as he left.

  Fucking Lucas Jackson.

  Damn, but I'd never met a man who could have me so spun after five minutes.

  He walked in my house, kissed me senseless, arranged a booty call, and was gone. I raised a hand and touched my finger to my lower lip, the flesh swollen and sensitized by Lucas's kiss.

  I could kiss him all day. And all night. I was beginning to think I could kiss Lucas Jackson forever.

  At that thought, I shook my head.

  This is sex, I reminded myself. Friends with benefits, without the friends part. There would be no forever for Lucas and me.

  We had nothing in common and neither of us wanted more than sex. Since sex would have to wait until later, I might as well get my work done.

  I was not going to sit around doing nothing and mooning over Lucas.

  With the help of some YouTube videos and the directions on the supplies I'd bought, I went to work stripping the paint from the mantle in the living room.

  It was a gross, smelly, time-consuming job. I had enjoyed ripping the boards off the front porch. I was not enjoying stripping paint.

  Every time I got frustrated, I closed my eyes and envisioned the woodwork cleaned of decades of paint, the grain of the wood brought to life by a warm stain. Between the hardwood floors and all the trim, the house would glow.

  It was just going to take work. Based on how slow the paint was coming off the mantle, a lot of work.

  A few hours after I'd started, my stomach was rumbling and I had a headache from the paint fumes. The glare of the work light aimed at the fireplace mantle wasn't helping.

  The sun had long since gone down. If I was going to work in the evenings, I was going to have to get more work lights.

  I put away my equipment and jumped in the shower, the fruity floral body wash delicious after the caustic scent of paint stripper.

  I was starving, but I took the time to smooth on lotion that went with the body wash and put on just a little makeup. I didn't know when Lucas was coming back, but I knew he was coming back.

  Getting dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, I shoved my feet into my flip-flops, grabbed my purse, and headed out. One of my favorite things about living in the Highlands—I could walk to all sorts of fun places like shopping, cafes, and most importantly, food.

  Good food.

  My street was dark. There were streetlights, but not as many as there were on the main road. A spot between my shoulder blades tingled.

  I couldn't help looking behind me. There was no one in the street. The houses around me had their lights on and cars in the driveway, and up ahead, I could hear people talking.

  I was only jumpy because of what had happened the night before.

  Which was nothing. Nothing happened the night before.

  I'd gotten spooked. I bet everyone got a little spooked the first time they lived on their own. It was just that I was doing this later than most people, that was all.

  My stomach was tight until I reached the end of the block and turned right onto Virginia Avenue. Here, the sidewalk was well-lit and there were people around.

  Most of the retail shops were closed for the night, but the bars and restaurants were doing a brisk business. I fit right in with the crowd, though in my jeans and T-shirt, I was a little more dressed down than everyone else.

  I'd planned to eat out, but everywhere was crowded and loud. If I hadn't been alone, it would've been fun, but I found I wasn't in the mood for people.

  I wanted food and the quiet peace of my house. Fortunately, my favorite burger place was not only a few blocks away, but the line for takeout was blessedly short.

  I got my favorite, a
luscious concoction of greasy meat, three different cheeses, avocados, bacon, and onion strings on a brioche bun with a generous side of hand-cut fries and a lemonade.

  I placed my order and leaned against the tile wall of the restaurant, flicking through YouTube videos on paint stripping while I waited.

  It wasn't long before I was collecting my meal, packaged neatly in a brown shopping bag with twine handles. I headed back out the door, sipping my lemonade.

  My mind was mostly on my dinner as I walked home. Since I'd been working on the house, my appetite had increased. I guess it was the difference between sitting at a desk all day and spending hours using my muscles, small though they were.

  I was going to have to stock up on more than yogurt and coffee. Idly, I wondered what Mrs. Williamson had made Aiden for dinner. My chest hollowed at the thought of him eating alone.

  Not my problem.

  Except that it was my problem. Aiden was my brother. I loved him. But there was nothing I could do about it.

  He needed a girlfriend, someone good enough for him whom he could take care of and watch over, maybe make babies with so he could drive them nuts and give the rest of us a break.

  If only I had someone to fix him up with, I—

  The attack came out of nowhere.

  My only warning was the slide of a shoe on the concrete sidewalk before a body hit me from the side and I went flying, losing my grip on my purse and my dinner, but not fast enough to catch my fall. A hand latched onto my hair, my scalp burning with a fiery pain as a chunk of hair tore free.

  I came down hard on the side of my face, twisting into my shoulder and slamming into the scrubby grass of my front yard.

  I rolled and tried to come to my feet, looking around frantically to get my bearings. My yard was dark, shadows everywhere, and one of them was coming straight for me.

  I couldn't make out much. My attacker could have been a man or a woman, taller than me but not as tall as Aiden. Definitely not as tall as Lucas.

  Its hands stretched toward me, the shadow came closer. I scuttled back, thinking fast. I had no idea who it was or what they wanted, but I knew this was not a mugging.

  My purse had flown out of my hands, but whoever jumped me wasn't going for my wallet.

  They were coming straight for me.

  My mind raced over my options as I slowly backed up on the uneven grass.

  My phone was in my purse, which was somewhere in the dark yard. Or the street, or the sidewalk, or the bushes. I couldn't call for help.

  Lucas wasn't home.

  And the locks on my doors weren't enough to keep out a determined intruder.

  I could run for it—I was fast—but I was wearing flip-flops and the sidewalk was too uneven to run barefoot.

  I was totally screwed, and the dark shadow of my attacker was coming closer with every second that passed.

  I thought about the sledgehammer I'd neatly put away when I'd finished with the front porch, cursing my own tidiness.

  A sledgehammer would've come in handy.

  Risking a quick look over my shoulder, I caught sight of a light at my neighbor's back door and more lights in the front of their house.

  I didn't know them, but it looked like they were home.

  I was forming a vague plan of running next door and pounding on their door when a second shadow emerged from the darkness and launched itself at my attacker.

  What the hell was going on?

  I teetered on the balls of my feet, ready to run but needing to know if I was going to be followed before I realized I should take advantage of my attacker's distraction and run.

  I spun and took off toward my neighbor's house.

  It was a great plan right up until I stepped into a hole in the grass and pitched forward.

  A scream tore from me as I tumbled head over heels, landing on my back, the breath knocked out of my lungs.

  Somewhere in the dark, I heard my name. I didn't answer, desperate to get my breath back, wishing I could sink into the grass and cursing myself for wearing a white T-shirt instead of something dark.

  I was rolling over onto my side, propping myself up on my elbows, when I heard it again.

  "Charlie!" And then, "Goddammit."

  A dark figure loomed out of the darkness, towering above me, dressed all in black except for the gleam of a white shirt.

  Was that a bowtie?

  What the ever-loving hell was going on?

  "Just tell me if you're okay," a familiar voice demanded.

  Lucas?

  "I think I'm good," I said, my voice weaker than I would've liked.

  I couldn't seem to get a deep breath, though that was probably less having the wind knocked out of me and more sheer terror.

  "Lucas?" I asked, praying I wasn't imagining him.

  "It's me."

  In the dim light, I could barely see him striding across the yard, moving to the corner of the house, then back to the sidewalk, then toward me.

  "God fucking dammit. He's gone."

  Even though I knew it would've been better if my attacker weren't gone, the muscles in my chest relaxed. Finally, I drew a deep breath.

  "What the fuck is going on, Charlie?"

  Lucas turned and crossed into his own yard, opened the door of his car, and rooted around in the front seat. A second later, a flashlight switched on, the beam swinging back-and-forth over the ground between us until it stopped on my purse.

  Stating what had already occurred to me, Lucas said, "A mugger would've gone for that."

  I didn't say anything. Coming slowly to my feet, I realized I was shaking and cold. It wasn't hot outside, but it definitely wasn't cold.

  Shock.

  My thoughts sluggish, I watched the bobbing beam of the flashlight as Lucas collected my purse and picked up the brown shopping bag that had held my dinner.

  I had a fleeting sense of regret for my cheeseburger, surely destroyed after flying across the yard.

  Then Lucas was at my side, holding the beam of the flashlight down so as not to blind me. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into his side and taking my weight.

  "You hurt? Can you walk?" He asked gently.

  "I think I'm okay," I said.

  "Let's get you inside."

  As I shuffled beside Lucas over the uneven ground and through the gate into the backyard, aches bloomed all over my body. My hip, shoulder, and the side of my face were sore. A patch of scalp near my temple burned. I thought I felt the sticky heat of blood on my cheek.

  Lucas led me up my back steps and into the kitchen. Depositing me next to the back door, he left me leaning against the wall and said, "Don't move."

  He shut the back door and turned the deadbolt. Handing me the flashlight, he took off. Moving through each room in the house, upstairs and down, he checked every door and window before returning to the kitchen and flipping on the light.

  At the sight of my face, his eyes narrowed and he swore.

  He disappeared again, this time into the bathroom, and returned with a wet washcloth.

  "Did he hit you?"

  "No," I said carefully, wincing as Lucas cleaned the side of my face. The cold washcloth stung on my raw, scraped skin. "He knocked me down and I fell in the grass. I think he pulled out a chunk of my hair."

  I stepped back and finally got a good look at Lucas.

  My brain slid off the rails.

  Lucas Jackson was wearing a tuxedo. His thick, dark hair hung in his face and his bowtie was slightly askew, but otherwise, he looked as if he'd stepped right off the ballroom floor.

  With his tattoos covered up, he looked almost respectable.

  Almost.

  There was a hardness to his face, something in his eyes that was too alert, too on edge.

  Respectable was safe. Lucas Jackson radiated danger.

  But I was ignoring the most obvious point. Lucas Jackson in a tuxedo was the hottest thing I'd ever seen in my entire life.

  The tux must've been custom tailored
because it fit his broad muscular frame to perfection, showing off his lean waist and his long legs beautifully.

  It was enough to distract me from the throbbing pain in my body.

  I wondered if he'd let me unwrap him like a present after he was done yelling at me.

  I hoped so.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LUCAS

  Charlie was staring at me like she wanted to lick me from head to toe.

  This was not the time.

  It wasn't easy, but I tried to ignore the heat in her blue eyes and focus on cleaning her face. Blood dripped from a raw patch on her temple where the attacker had ripped out more than a few strands of hair.

  She'd hit the ground hard, leaving an ugly, raw scrape on her cheek, tearing the shoulder of her T-shirt, and probably bruising the fuck out of her hip and shoulder.

  Goddammit.

  I didn't get scared. I'd learned a long time ago that fear is the enemy of rational thought. In my line of work, I had to think clearly and make smart decisions.

  I did not get scared. Not for me. Not for anyone. Ever.

  So I didn't know how to explain the ice in my gut when I'd seen Charlie go down.

  One second, I was sitting in the cab of my dark truck, texting the client for the night's job before I went in and watching Charlie walk down the street, her bag of take-out swinging from one hand.

  I got distracted from my text at the thought of all the things I was going to do to her after I changed and knocked on her back door, when out of nowhere, a figure erupted from the trees and launched itself at Charlie, taking her to the ground in a hit so hard I imagined I could feel it from twenty feet away.

  Rage had flooded my brain.

  Rage and fear.

  Images kaleidoscoped through my head—all the things the attacker could be doing to Charlie.

  Did he have a knife? A gun?

  I couldn't see them anymore from my position in the truck, but I was moving before the thought was complete.

  Diving out of the truck, I raced around the back to see indistinct dark figures rolling in the scrubby grass.

  Charlie somehow broke free and stood frozen for a heartbeat before taking off toward the neighbor's front door.

  Smart girl.