The Damaged Billionaire, page 1
THE DAMAGED BILLIONAIRE
THE BALTIMORE BOYS
BOOK 3
SAMANTHA SKYE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Samantha Skye
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
ISBN 978-0-6457144-5-6 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-6457144-6-3 (Paperback)
Cover Design: Angela Haddon
Editor: Nice Girl Naughty Edits
Proofreading: Kimberly Dawn
Created with Vellum
CONTENT WARNING
My stories contain spice and suspense and as such they can contain scenes and information that maybe triggering to some people.
This book contains scenes that include;
Infertility/PCOS
Kidnapping/Blackmail
Assault/Violence
CONTENTS
Chapter One - Willow Valentine
Chapter Two - Tennyson Rothschild
Chapter Three - Willow
Chapter Four - Tennyson
Chapter Five - Willow - Six Months Later
Chapter Six - Tennyson
Chapter Seven - Willow
Chapter Eight - Tennyson
Chapter Nine - Willow
Chapter Ten - Tennyson
Chapter Eleven - Willow
Chapter Twelve - Tennyson
Chapter Thirteen - Tennyson
Chapter Fourteen - Willow
Chapter Fifteen - Tennyson
Chapter Sixteen - Willow
Chapter Seventeen - Tennyson
Chapter Eighteen - Willow
Chapter Nineteen - Tennyson
Chapter Twenty - Willow
Chapter Twenty One - Tennyson
Chapter Twenty Two - Willow
Chapter Twenty Three - Tennyson
Chapter Twenty Four - Willow
Chapter Twenty Five - Tennyson
Chapter Twenty Six - Willow
Chapter Twenty Seven - Tennyson
Chapter Twenty Eight - Willow
Chapter Twenty Nine - Tennyson
Chapter Thirty - Willow
Chapter Thirty One - Tennyson
Chapter Thirty Two - Willow
Chapter Thirty Three - Tennyson
Chapter Thirty Four - Willow
Chapter Thirty Five - Tennyson
Chapter Thirty Six - Tennyson
Chapter Thirty Seven - Willow
Chapter Thirty Eight - Tennyson
Chapter Thirty Nine - Willow
Chapter Forty - Tennyson
Chapter Forty One - Willow
Chapter Forty Two - Tennyson
Chapter Forty Three - Willow
Epilogue - Tennyson
Epilogue - Willow
Also by Samantha Skye
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE - WILLOW VALENTINE
Our heels click on the dark wooden floor as we walk out of the elevator and into the elegant lobby of this five-star hotel in Soho.
“Okay, I am off,” my sister, Saide, says with a big grin.
“Wait, what? Aren’t we going for a drink?” I ask her, my steps toward the hotel bar faltering as I frown in confusion. I dressed up tonight. Heels, tight red dress, shiny hair, perfected makeup—the whole shebang.
“I have a date.” Her smile dazzles with her admission.
“A date? What do you mean, a date?”
“You know, a date. Maybe it’s hard for you to remember. It’s one of those things that people do. They go for drinks or dinner, laugh and talk, then maybe end up having amazing sex throughout the night. A date.” Her grin is still a mile wide, so I find it hard to take offense that my baby sister is ditching me so last minute.
“Saide, this is supposed to be a girls’ night away. Just the two of us.” I look at her almost pleadingly because I was really looking forward to tonight. I haven’t had a night off work for months. My job is so demanding; I have trouble remembering what day it is most weeks.
“But Jacob just texted me… He is in town…” she purrs, trying to look innocent, whereas my teeth start grinding at the mention of his name.
“Saide…” I growl in warning.
“It is only one night. I haven’t seen him in weeks,” she moans like a petulant child.
“That’s because he is married and has probably been home with his wife.”
She has been having an affair with a married pilot, and I don’t approve. Not one bit.
“Listen, don’t wait up. I’m not sure what time I will be back.” She completely disregards my comment, stepping away toward the door. Seeing the back of her is becoming a common occurrence now. Her high-flying life as an air stewardess keeps her from me more and more.
“What am I meant to do now?” I call after her.
“Go to the bar. Meet a man. Have slutty sex all night. God knows you need it!” she yells across the hotel foyer, and I don’t miss the doorman as he looks my way.
I sigh and rub my head. She drives me crazy sometimes. If I knew my sister was going to bail on me tonight, I would have stayed in, got room service, relaxed in the big tub with a glass of wine, and had an early night. I need that kind of night. I deserve it.
Spinning on my heel, I walk two paces back to the elevator bank, when the bar sign catches my eye.
“One drink won’t hurt,” I mumble to myself and put all my frustrations with my sister into my step as I strut into the space. It’s just how I predicted—dark and seductive, with soft music adding to the moody ambiance. I make a beeline for the warm lowlights that illuminate the back of the bar.
“A glass of white wine, please,” I quip to the bartender as I grab the nearest seat and throw my handbag on the bartop.
“Wait, no, not wine. I think I need a cocktail. Can I get a margarita? On the rocks, with extra salt?” The cute bartender gives me a small smile as he nods and gets busy making my concoction. I blow out a breath, groaning to myself at how this night took a turn.
“Doesn’t look like you need extra salt,” a deep voice says from beside me, and I look across to meet the most soulful eyes I have ever seen. I’m only now realizing I have perched myself on a stool right next to a man who is currently eyeing me over the top of a glass of what looks to be whiskey.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, my question sounding sharper than I intend. It's been a long day of Saide and I shopping and eating our way around New York. This girl time was much needed, even though we head home tomorrow.
“You seem salty enough. Have a bad day?” he asks in a softer tone, and I sigh. It isn’t his fault that my baby sister acts like she is still seventeen rather than twenty-four.
“Family troubles,” I murmur.
He huffs, nodding. “I know all about those.” As he takes a sip of his drink, I take the opportunity to look at him further. I always find it so sexy when men drink that smooth amber liquor, especially over a beer or countless shots. It’s the kind of drink you don’t rush consuming, the tumbler you swirl as you sit and ponder instead of rage on. When his Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow, I find myself swallowing too. He has a slight shadow of stubble on his jaw, his brown hair falling a little over his forehead. I watch his large hand grasp his glass, wondering what it would feel like on my body. He is by far the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.
“My little sister is having an affair with a married man,” I blurt out, then wish I could take it back. I haven’t even had a sip of alcohol yet. I suppose I needed to get it off my chest.
Seemingly interested in my story, he turns my way, looking at me like he’s waiting for the rest of whatever’s on my mind. Thankfully, before I can think to say anything more, the bartender drops my drink in front of me, and I grab my bag.
“On my tab,” the man next to me says quickly, waving the bartender off, him leaving almost instantaneously.
“You don't have to do that.”
“A woman should never have to buy her own drinks. Especially one like you,” he says with a small smile playing on his lips, which I return easily. I take a sip of my cocktail, trying to settle my nerves, and enjoy feeling the alcohol as it burns down my throat.
“So what about you?” I ask, sitting back into my seat. I might as well get comfortable while I am here, even if it is only for one drink.
“What about me?”
“What ridiculous things has your family member done?” He looks too perfect and seems too smart to even put up with anyone’s drama. What kind of troubles would follow a man like him around?
“How long have you got?” He raises his brow in question.
I watch him for a beat. His eyes twinkle in the mood lighting from the bar, making me smile a little more. Saide is right; I forget what it is like to date, having not been on one in a long, long time. The feeling of excitement at the initial flirt, the desire that swirls when getting to know one another. My stomach has butterflies already fluttering around in my belly, just being in his presence.
“I’ve got all night.” I don’t miss this way his lips curve up at the corners before he takes another slow slip of his drink.
“I have a crazy mother, a famous brother, two other extremely successful brothers, and a d
“Okay. You win,” I say, smiling sympathetically.
“Thank you.” His shoulder lifts in a small shrug as he reciprocates my smile. Lifting my glass to his in a mock cheers for our problems, he clinks his glass with mine, and we both share a laugh.
“Parents?” he asks me in return. I am usually not one to open up to anyone, let alone a perfect stranger. But for some reason, I feel totally at ease with this man, and I don’t even know his name. He drapes his arm on the back of my chair as he settles into his seat, getting more comfortable. Our new proximity has those butterflies traveling south as I get a whiff of his delicious cologne. When our eyes meet, I can’t help the shiver that moves through me.
I have all of his attention. And I really, really like it.
“Alive. Well. Old. In the Midwest,” I offer, and I think I feel his fingers twitch a little on my back, but I can’t be sure. My heart is thumping out of my chest as I try to keep my cool. Be the confident woman I am. Sure, I have been out before, met men in bars even, but it’s been a long time. I have been married to my job for the better part of two years, so my time in the sheets has been somewhat lacking.
“Midwest? You’re a long way from home then, aren’t you?” Is he asking another question or making a statement? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that if he keeps staring at me like he is, I am going to have to change my underwear. He looks like he wants to eat me whole.
“My sister and I left there years ago. DC is my home now. What about you?” I notice him still watching me intently as I take a sip, his pupils dilating. My mouth hits the salty rim of my glass, and I lick my lips, tasting the salt. I think the temperature in this room just went up a few degrees.
“Maryland is my home, always has been,” he says simply. He’s intriguing to me. One minute, he seems more playful, the next, almost stoic. I’ll keep this conversation going all night if he lets me.
“So are you here on business or pleasure?” My head tilts up at him, my hair flowing down to his finger which I am now certain twitches against it.
“Was business…” he says, and I can hear the dot-dot-dot. My body screams at my mind to take the opening and run with it.
“And now pleasure?” I ask, our eyes locked in what seems like an unspoken exchange.
“You tell me.” He puts it out there, confirming my thoughts, and I suck in a breath. To have a man be this forward is giving me a sense of power I didn’t know I wanted.
“Mmmm. You are too smooth for your own good,” I murmur, smirking. I watch as his eyes travel down my body, taking in my face, the curve of my breasts, down to my bare legs, and I feel like I am going to melt right here on the spot. I am so glad I dressed up tonight.
He swallows roughly, his jaw clenching subtly, and I squeeze my thighs together in response. This is the hottest moment I have ever experienced—and we haven’t even done anything. Yet…
“Is it working?” A cheeky grin pulls at his lips, lighting up his wicked gaze, causing me to laugh.
“Maybe,” I say, my eyes never leaving his. And as the soothing bar music plays in the background, I realize I am without a doubt going to sleep with this man tonight.
CHAPTER TWO - TENNYSON ROTHSCHILD
Her voice coats me in comfort from the inside out, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say I am five whiskeys in. Given I am still on my first glass, and it is only two fingers, I know that is not the case.
I couldn’t miss her as she strutted straight up to the bar and plonked herself next to me, huffing and puffing the entire time. My eyes have been glued to her ever since. Curves for days. Red pouty lips, a dress doing everything it is meant to for her incredible body, and I already want to strip it off her.
That is what I like about New York. It is a melting pot of people. It’s why I stayed an extra night, because even though my face might be familiar in Baltimore, less people pay attention here. There are no paparazzi bothering me, especially when there are Hollywood celebrities down the street they can chase. New York gives me anonymity, time for me to just be myself. Not the Rothschild I was born to be.
“Married?” I ask her, already predicting that she isn’t. If she was upset with her sister for being the other woman, I doubt she’d flirt with me if she was taken.
“To my job. You?” she fires back to me, then takes another sip of her cocktail. My eyes lower from her playful gaze to her lips as they glisten around the glass. As she pulls away, I notice a flake of salt sticking to her bottom lip, and I bite my own so I don’t lean forward and lick it clean.
“Never. Don’t plan to be,” I state, because it’s true. I never want to get married.
“Why not?” Her question is simple, but the way she’s looking at me holds more curiosity. She sinks back into the chair again, her body almost molding into my arm. Almost.
“I haven’t had a good experience with marriages in my family.” Even though my two older brothers have found their happiness, it doesn't mean that is my life path. I’m still scared of what a lifelong commitment could be from witnessing my parents' diabolical shambles of a relationship.
“Not many people do. Let’s take Jacob for instance,” she says, turning her body toward me, her bare leg brushing against my trousers. The need I have to touch her tanned, glowing skin and run my hand up her long legs almost has a growl breaking from my chest.
“Jacob?” I ask, already hating another man's name on her lips. My mind is racing, feeling a little drunk on her already.
“The married pilot who is currently fucking my sister.” As soon as the swear word leaves her mouth, my eyes drop to her lips again. Her tongue darts out and licks away the salt flake I wanted for myself, and I am now so fucking hard it is difficult to sit straight.
“What about him?” I press, rubbing my mouth with my hand and trying to keep it together. I want to keep her talking, but… God, her legs would look fantastic around my head.
“He earns a decent salary, lives in Connecticut behind a white picket fence, flies around the world and probably plays golf on the weekends,” she says with a bite, sitting forward and taking another sip. But with her frustration, the sip turns into a long pull that almost has her finishing her drink. When she sets it back down, I notice her chest is rising and falling a little quicker, bringing my attention to her cleavage. My hands tingle to trail across her bare shoulder and slip the strap of her dress off her body to see more of her.
“Probably,” I agree as I realize I’ve been in my own head for too many seconds when she looks at me with a quirked brow. Or have I just been caught checking her out? I clear my throat, and she continues.
“So, what about his wife? And with his seemingly perfect life, why is he leading my sister on? A smart, beautiful woman, who is at least a decade younger than him.” She asks me this like I can speak for all men.
“Well, my father cheated on my mother, and while he died before we got any answers to that question, I can surmise one thing,” I say, throwing back my whiskey, needing the burn.
“What’s that?” she asks, swirling her drink.
“He isn’t getting something at home so he seeks it with your sister. That or he and his wife have an open relationship.” My father may be a cheating asshole that left a trail of women in his wake. But my mother is a monster, so she is not innocent. Not by a long shot.
“Hmmm, maybe. What about you? Ever cheated on a girlfriend?” Her gaze sears into mine, her finger lightly tracing the rim of her glass. How is that action so damn sexy?
