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Perihelion Publishing
Billionaire's Kiss 2
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A Billionaire Alpha Romance

Part 2

Olivia Thorne

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Okay… so. Long story short:

I’m an internet security chick.

I was at a Hollywood charity gala at a badass hotel.

The hottest guy ever hit on me and took me to a secret passageway – which he knew was there because he designed and built the damn building.

Grant Carlson. Hot, hot, hot billionaire architect and part-owner of a multinational construction company.

I don’t know how it happened, but before you know it, I’m naked and having the best sex of my life out on a patio four stories above Sunset Boulevard.

Then afterwards, he’s like, “See ya!” and takes off.

I’m like, WHAT THE FUCK?!

Which is intensified to the nth degree because the asshole stole my phone.

I was a hacker in a former life (meaning when I was a teenager), so I track him down and threaten him over text messaging.

He shows up at my office and we proceed to have even crazier, nastier sex.

And then he tells me he’s hired my internet security services because somebody’s trying to kill him.

Aaaaaand…. here we go.


“You have got to be kidding me,” I fume.

My boss, Dan, is sitting across his desk from me and Grant Carlson. Grant still has his tie undone around his neck, which bugs the hell out of me, because it feels like a neon sign screaming, We just had sex! We just had sex in Eve’s office, and I fucked the bejeezus out of her!

I hope that’s not the case.

I mean, it is the case that he fucked the bejeezus out of me.

But I hope nobody else knows.

Please God…

“He’s hired you as a personal consultant,” Dan says.

Dan’s a nice guy. Wife and three kids, with pictures of them on his desk. Not a good coder, but a pretty good manager. At least, he stays out of my way.

And if he knows I jus; t had sex with Grant Carlson, he’s not letting on about it.

“Nobody’s ever hired me as a personal consultant before!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Grant chimes in.

I glare at him. YOU shut UP.

He just grins at me in response.

“What the hell does a personal consultant do, anyway?” I ask.

“Well – ” Grant starts, an impish, insinuating tone in his voice.

I glare at him again, and he starts laughing silently.

“There will be some travel involved,” Dan says.

“A lot of travel,” Grant adds.

I ignore the hot guy pushing my buttons and focus on my boss. “And?”

“And… well… Mr. Carlson says that there’s a certain element of danger involved.”

I turn to Grant.

For the first time the entire meeting, he’s serious.

“Look… I won’t lie to you. The person involved wants to kill me. There’s no doubt in my mind of that. It is entirely possible that if you accept my offer, you’ll be in danger. I don’t want that, I don’t like that, but it is a possibility.”

I look at him long and hard.

“How much of a possibility?” I finally ask.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know he wants to kill you?”

“Because of messages he’s sent me.”

“Who is this guy?”

“I have no idea.”

“You must have some idea… unless he’s just some random nutjob who’s leaving death threats on your webpage.”

“He’s not some random nutjob leaving death threats on my webpage, I can assure you of that.”

“So who is he?”

Grant shifts in his chair. “I need to know you’ve agreed to come on the case and that there’s complete confidentiality in our relationship before I reveal anymore.”

I groan and cover my eyes. “So you want me to walk into this blind.”

“I’ve told you about the danger. You’re not walking in blind.”

I shake my head. “Look, if you need me to track down some guy in Iowa who says he’s going to mount your head on the wall next to his deer trophies, that’s one thing – ”

“It’s not like that,” Grant says seriously.

“What’s it like, then?”

“Like Hannibal Lecter is after me,” Grant says, without a trace of humor.


My eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m not.”

My favorite scary movie of all time is The Silence Of The Lambs. My favorite television show of the last five years (after Game of Thrones) is Hannibal.

You would think that telling a girl that Hannibal Lecter is in the mix would scare her away.

If I were smarter, it probably would.

But I’m not smart like that. Just book/computer code/programming smart.

Not avoid the possible homicidal maniac job at all costs smart.

“You think he’s a serial killer?” I ask, voice hushed.

“I don’t know for sure. But it’s a good bet.”

I stop and ponder.

This might just be the coolest internet security job I’ve ever had.

“That’s the reason I’m offering five times your normal rate,” Grant adds.


I immediately sit up and take notice.

Dan harrumphs like he’s uncomfortable. “Um… actually, you would be paid your normal salary, plus a bonus on completion.”

Grant suddenly gets super cold towards Dan. Like, Arctic.

“Her life is the one on the line,” he says, eyes squinting. “Don’t tell me you’re pocketing the extra amount just to pad your company’s pockets.”

Dan blushes profusely.

For the first time, I get really pissed off at Dan, and see him as the company man he really is.

Dan clears his throat. “My mistake. Five times your normal salary for this particular job.”

I look over at Grant.

He stares back at me and raises one eyebrow.

Well? What’s it going to be?

Five times the money…


A Hannibal Lecter type in the mix…

And quite possibly more of the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.

“I’m in,” I say.


We’re in my apartment. I drove there in my Audi; Grant arrived in his own private limo.

I have to admit, I was a teensy bit jealous.

Now he lounges on my bed and watches as I pack a suitcase.

“And why do I need to pack, exactly?” I ask.

“We’ll be hopping from place to place a lot. I want to be a moving target, not a sitting duck.”

“Uh huh,” I say dubiously. I’m still half-convinced this is all just an elaborate excuse to get me naked in his bed for a couple of days.

Not that that would be a bad way to spend a couple of days…

Focus, Eve, FOCUS. Stop getting turned on.

I pull out some bras and panties.

“Do I get a show?” he asks.

“NO,” I say as I stuff them in the suitcase, although part of me desperately wants to give him one.

“Maaaan…” he complains playfully.

“For a guy with a serial killer after you, you don’t seem too concerned.”

“I’ve got you to help me now.” He says it with a complete lack of sarcasm.

“I got news for you: I can flush this guy out from an online trail of breadcrumbs, but that’s not going to help you if he shows up on your doorstep with a chainsaw.”

“If he shows up on my doorstep with a chainsaw, I’ll handle it from there.”

“So what do you know about this guy? Actually, are you even sure it’s a guy?”

“Reasonably sure.”

“How sure is reasonably sure?”


“How do you know? Have you seen him?”


“Then how do you know?”

“I hired a former FBI profiler and had her go over the messages he’s left. It’s her opinion he’s male.”

“Can I see her report?”


“You have messages?”


“Text? Voice?”

“Just text. Two of them.”

“Can I see them?”

He pulls out his phone, taps the screen a couple of times, and hands me the cell.

Well, Mr. Carlson, I’ve found you first. I’ll admit, it was difficult; you’re quite well-hidden. Commend your ‘people’… although since I WAS able to find you, you might want to consider hiring new ones.

Better hurry while you still have time.

You surprised me the other night. I had to spontaneously adjust. But better than spontaneously combust, eh?

The next move is yours. Although the advantage is mine.

Ta ta for now.

The next one was a little more threatening – and personal. At least to me.

An internet security company? Really. I would suggest a band of mercenaries instead. Although, on second thought, even that wouldn’t help you.

I was quite annoyed that I had to end playtime prematurely.

I won’t make the same mistake when I take your life.

Au revoir, mon hyprocrite lecteur, mon semblable, mon frere.

I frown. “What the hell?”

“I know,” he sighs.

“What did you do to this guy?”

“I don’t know.”

“He apparently wants to kill you, but you have no idea why?”


“You didn’t sleep with his girlfriend, or steal his business idea, or – ”

“Walk on the wrong side of the road during a full moon? Who knows.”

“He knows about you hiring my company.”

“Yeah,” Grant admits.

“He might even know about you hiring me. That’s freaking me out a little bit.”

“That last text came in Sunday morning, so he’s probably not in the loop about you.”


“Yet,” Grant concedes.

“He says that you surprised him the other night. What’s he talking about?”

Grant shrugs. “No idea.”

“What’s the joke about ‘spontaneously combust’?”

“Who knows? Maybe something about how he plans to kill me.”

I shudder and move on. “‘End playtime prematurely’?”

Grant shrugs again, this time with an expression like, Why do you keep asking me this stuff?

“What’s the French at the end mean?”

“You don’t know French?” he teases me.

“I took español in high school.”

“It’s a line from Baudelaire. 19th Century French poet. It’s from Les Fleurs Du Mal, ‘The Flowers of Evil.’ ‘Until I see you again, my hypocrite reader, my own kind, my brother.’”

I frown. “This guy obviously sees some kind of kinship between you.”


“I mean, he’s calling you his own kind and his brother. Why?”

“Ask him when you help me catch him.”

Speaking of which…

“These texts were sent to your phone?”


“Are these the originals?”


I immediately head for the door. “Be back in a second.”

“Where are you going?”

“My computer. I need to access these – ”

Grant catches my hand, pulls me back to the bed. “Later. We need to get a move on.”

“But I might be able to backtrack them to the source.”

“My tech team did everything they could and they couldn’t find a damn thing.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why you hired me.”

He grins. “Touché. But grab your laptop and save it for later. We need to get moving.”

I harrumph. I don’t like being told ‘no.’

But I start to pack again – until I realize something and stop. “He found your phone number.”

“Well, I didn’t give it to him. That I know of, anyway.”

“You might have given him your phone number?” I ask incredulously.

“Well, I am a businessmen. I do occasionally give people my phone number, yes,” he says drily.

‘People’ meaning supermodels and A-list actresses? I want to ask, but I rein it in. Instead I say, “It wasn’t easy for me to find.”

“I should hope not.”

“That means he’s a hacker, or he has access to people who can do that.”


“Which means he’s either super-smart, or he’s very rich. People who can do that sort of thing? They don’t risk twenty years in jail for minimum wage.”

“I figured.”

I frown at him. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“You are just way too calm for all this stuff going on.”

“People tell me I have ice water in my veins.”

“Is that so.”

He stands right next to me, his face close to mine, his voice seductive. “That’s what they tell me.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I thought we’re in a hurry.”

His lips are close to mine now. “We are.”

I pat his crotch in a consoling manner. “Well, grab your package and save it for later. We need to get moving.”

Then I walk past him to get my laptop.

He laughs. “Well played.”

“Of course,” I say over my shoulder.

I love winning… even if it’s just temporarily.


As it turns out, I got that ride in the limo after all.

“Where are we going?” I ask Grant as the limo cruises through the warm LA sunshine.

“New York.”

I stare at him. “What?!”

“My base of operations is there. All my people are there. It’s a lot more secure than where I’m staying in LA.”

“Why didn’t you tell me we were going to New York?!”

He looks mystified. “I told you we were going to be moving around.”

“Yeah, but – I thought you meant between Santa Monica and Hollywood!”

He laughs. “I want to keep you guessing.”

“You’re certainly doing that,” I mutter, then get down to business. “Okay, what are we going to do now? Go over your plan? Try to formulate… a…”

He’s smiling and giving me bedroom eyes.

“Oh no,” I say, and shake my head. “NO.”

He leans in for a kiss.

I have a moment of almost-weakness, but I back away at the last instant. “No means no. En Oh. NO.”

“Why not?” he asks, amused.

“Well, for one, because I don’t want your chauffeur knowing what we’re doing.”

“There’s a partition,” Grant says, pointing to the wall separating us from the driver. “He can’t see back here. He can’t even hear unless we use the intercom. So just don’t hit the button accidentally in the throes of ecstasy.”

He leans forward again –

I fend him off. “What about the crazy person sending you death threats?!”

“What about him?”

“‘What about him’?! He’s trying to kill you!”

Grant shrugs. “Well, there’s not much we can do in the back of a limo.”

“There’s plenty we can do. We can – ”

“I like the way you think.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Suuure you didn’t,” he whispers, and leans in again.

This time I just give up and let him kiss me.

Oh God.

Those lips.

The taste of his mouth…

The thought of what he could do to me with that mouth…

But I break away.

“There’s plenty we can do about the case in the back of a limo – the case!”

“What case?”

“The case you hired me for!”

God, even though he was extremely hot, he could be aggravating when he wanted something.

Like me.

Then I think, This guy wants me… in the back of his limo… and I’m saying no?

“Aw, screw it,” I mutter, and lean in and plant one on him.

He kisses me for a few seconds, then leans back and grins. “That’s the spirit.”

I’m about to go in for another when the limo stops. I look out the window and see an airport landing strip with hangars and lots of small jet airplanes.

“…but we’ll have to save it for the plane,” he says as he takes my hand, opens the door, and pulls me outside.


As we get out of the limo, the driver goes around to the trunk and gets out my bag.

“See that her things get onboard, Simon,” Grant calls out.

“Yes sir, Mr. Carlson,” the driver says.

Then we’re walking along the tarmac towards a private jet with its boarding door down.

“Wait – what’s going on?” I ask, confused.

“We’re flying to New York,” Grant says.

“Yeah, but – on that?”

“What else do you want to fly on?”

“I’m used to airlines. You know, 747s?”

“We’re fresh out of those. You’ll just have to make due with a Gulfstream.”

He leads me up the steps into the main cabin. A man in a pilot uniform and a woman in a stewardess-type outfit both greet him by name.

“Mr. Carlson.”

“Hello, Mr. Carlson.”

“Hello, Ivan. Hi, Miriam. How soon can we be in the air?”

“Five minutes, Mr. Carlson.”

“Wonderful. Bring me a drink and get some food ready for lunch.” Grant turns to me. “You want anything?”

“What?” I ask stupidly.

“To drink.” Rather than waiting for the answer, he turns back to the stewardess. “Champagne for both of us.”

“Yes sir,” she smiles, and moves towards the front compartment.

Grant walks through the main cabin, guiding me by the hand. We pass a bunch of leather seats and tables, even a flat-screen TV, and enter a back room – where there is a bed, a bathroom with a shower in it(!), and more chairs and a table.

“You have a bed?” I ask in shock.

“I do… but first things first. We have to strap in for takeoff.”

First things first, I inwardly grumble. Overconfident jerk…

We sit on a plush leather loveseat next to each other and put on the safety belts.

The stewardess appears in the doorway with a tray and two glasses of champagne.

“Ah, thank you, Miriam.” Grant takes the glasses and hands one to me as the woman disappears back into the main cabin, shutting the door behind her. “A toast – to outwitting psychopaths.”

“Okay,” I say, still stunned that five minutes ago I was in a limo. Thirty minutes before that I was in my humdrum, regular apartment.

The pilot comes over the intercom and gives updates, just like on a regular airline flight. Then we taxi onto the runway.

“Down the hatch,” Grant says, and drinks the rest of the champagne in his glass. I follow suit, and within sixty seconds the plane takes off.

After we climb high enough to level off, Grant undoes his safety belt. Before I can undo mine, his lips are on my mouth, giving me a long, hard kiss.

“Now where were we?” his voice rumbles seductively.

He flips the safety belt latch, and then he’s kissing me again. One hand is on my breast, softly caressing my nipple through my blouse and bra.

“No… they’ll hear us…” I moan.

“This part of the cabin is soundproof.”

“But the door…” I gasp as I pull away.

“What about it?”

“Anybody could come in!”

“I thought you liked the danger of getting caught. You seemed to the first night,” he grins.

I blush scarlet. “Lock it,” I insist.

Grant walks over to the door, clicks the lock, and looks back. Satisfied?

“Thank you,” I mutter.

“You’re welcome,” he says as he sits down, and then his hand is on my leg as he kisses me again.

His hand slowly moves up the inside of my thigh, under my skirt. He begins to stroke me through my panties, making me even wetter than I already am.

“Take off your underwear, but leave everything else on,” he instructs me.

A tingle goes through me as I stand up, pull the edges of my skirt up, and shimmy my legs as I pull down my panties. They fall around my ankles and I step out of them.

“Sit down again,” he commands me.

I do, and his hand is between my legs again as he kisses me. His fingers are skilled; within seconds he’s wet the tip of his index finger with my juices and is massaging the hood of my clit.

I stifle a moan as he starts circling my clit, getting it wet, turning me on even more. His fingers part my lips and gently stroke inside me, then go back to my clit and all around it, then back inside me, repeating the cycle five, ten, twenty times. My legs are trembling now, and the first orgasm is building in my pussy. I grip his arms with my hands, feeling his hard muscles under my fingers, as the first waves of ecstasy roll through my legs and belly.

I cry out and lean forward, almost overcome.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice low and savage. Suddenly he backs up, grabs my legs, and pulls them up onto the leather loveseat.

In a split second I go from sitting upright to lying on my back.

“What – ?” I manage to get out, before I figure out exactly what he’s up to.

He’s kneeling on the floor at the end of the loveseat. He pulls my skirt up until it’s bunched at my waist, then forces my legs apart and puts his head between my thighs.

His tongue, soft and wet and warm, starts lapping at my clit. His lips encircle it and gently suck. His tongue pushes between my lips and enters inside me, making me yearn for something bigger and thicker – and then he goes back to licking my clit.

“OH GOD,” I cry out as I start coming again.

I arch my back and press myself into his mouth. My whole body is on fire – pleasurable fire. Waves of heat are rolling through me.

Suddenly his mouth pulls away. I’m disappointed, until I look down and see he’s wetting his first two fingers with his mouth.

Seconds later his tongue is massaging my clit again. At the same time, I can feel his fingers softly pushing apart my lips and slipping inside me.

There is the sensation of something filling me up as he licks my pussy… and then he starts caressing me from inside, his fingers curled in a ‘come hither’ motion, stroking my g-spot as he sucks and licks and swirls his tongue around my clit.

My legs have a mind of their own. One is up over his shoulder, my high heel shoe on his back; my other leg is off the loveseat, angled as far out as possible to give him as much room as he needs to lick me.

My head is flung back over the opposite end of the loveseat, my hair hanging onto the floor. I’m gripping his hair with my hands, forcing him harder and firmer into my pussy, wanting more pressure, more everything.

As the orgasmic contractions die down again, suddenly his fingers and mouth withdraw. I’m disappointed – until I see him stand and start tearing off his clothes, flinging off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as he can. There’s a look of intense, searing passion on his face as he stares into my eyes.

The windows of the airplane cabin are wide open, and golden sunshine is pouring in. For the first time, I can see his body completely.

He’s absolutely gorgeous.

His muscles ripple under golden skin. His shoulders are broad, his chest and arms are massive. His abs look like they were chiseled out of stone.

I start ripping off my blouse and skirt just as fast as he’s undressing.

His pants come off last. I gasp when I see his erection spring out of his boxers. He’s rock hard – a thick, pink cock straining up towards the sky. I can see the swollen head is wet with pre-cum. A bead of it glitters in the sunlight.

Then he grabs my legs and pulls me violently towards him so my ass is on the edge of the loveseat. He kneels again, takes his cock in his hand, angles it towards my pussy – and with one long, wet stroke, he slides inside me.

I cry out in ecstasy. It’s so hard – I can feel it pressing firmly against me from the inside. And he’s so thick that he fills me up. And so long that I can feel him touching places inside me no other man has ever reached.

He begins to fuck me. Not make love… not rock back and forth gently or softly or romantically. He’s fucking me. Like an animal in heat. That same look of pain stays on his face as he plunges inside me, over and over, his body grinding against mine as he thrusts deep inside me, his balls slapping my ass as his cock fills my pussy.

I scream and whip my head back and forth in agonized pleasure. It’s almost more than I can take – something that big, that pleasurable, and this animal frenzy he’s in. This animal frenzy he’s got me in – because I want to be fucked. I want it hard, and deep, and thick. There’s no good little girl here anymore, shy about who might hear her. There’s only a woman who needs, who craves that amazing cock, who lusts for the godlike body towering over her, thrusting inside her. And his face – his gorgeous face, with those liquid brown eyes and that look of pained need, that suffering that can only be quenched by being inside me.

“Fuck – fuck – fuck – ” he starts bellowing.

“Oh God, I’m coming, I’m coming,” I scream.

“I’m going to pull out – ”

“No, don’t!”

“I’m too close – ”

“I have an IUD – don’t stop – come inside me,” I beg him. “Come inside me!”

That’s all it takes to push him over the edge. He roars, and suddenly his cock is pulsing inside me – big, thick jolts of pressure between my lips. I can feel hot spurts of liquid inside me and I claw his back and scream as I come even harder.

Ten seconds later he’s lying on top of me, utterly spent. I can still feel the aftershocks of his orgasm as he pulses every five or six seconds… smaller versions of the massive contractions I felt inside me earlier.

I drift down from my cloud of pleasure and sigh.

He lifts his head. The look of animalistic pain is gone; instead, he’s grinning again.

“Welcome to the Mile High Club.”

I smack him playfully on the shoulder. He kisses me, and starts moving in and out of me again. He’s still plenty hard, and I’m still very wet. We stay like that for another five minutes, him slowly rocking in and out of me, us kissing slowly, sensually, enjoying each other’s bodies after the massive avalanche of bliss we’ve just experienced.


We’re lying in the bed now, side by side, drinking more champagne and eating a selection of fruits and cheeses. I was so embarrassed when the stewardess brought it that I hid in the bathroom – but now that we’re alone, I’m enjoying every bite.

“We need to talk about how we’re going to find this guy,” I say.

“So tell me,” Grant says. He’s lying on his stomach but he’s still quite distracting, with his golden skin and rippling muscles of his back. And his ass is out of this world. I mean… daaamn. It’s this curve of powerful muscle. Not quite a bubble butt, but just about there.

Very distracting.

Yet I manage to pull my eyes away and concentrate. “What did your people say about the texts?”

“What, besides the fact that they’re unsettling?”

“No – about the technical information attached to the phone texts.”

“They said there’s nothing they can use. They said he covered his tracks incredibly well.”

“What else?”

“There is nothing else, so far as I know.”

He kisses my ear, and a thrill of pleasure shoots up my body.

“There’s nothing else you know about why he’s after you?” I ask as he starts caressing my breast.

“Nope,” he says, and nibbles my earlobe.

“That’s insane.”


He starts kissing my neck. I squirm, totally turned on again.

“You’re not worried at all?”

“Not at the moment, seeing as he’s not on the plane.”

“But – ”

“Later,” and he takes away my champagne glass and sets it on the table next to the bed.

I find out that a trip from LA to New York goes a whole lot faster when you have a ton of great sex along the way.


The light is fading as we land in New York a few hours (and many orgasms) later. I can barely look the stewardess and pilot in the eyes as we disembark, though I mutter my thanks as Grant tells them ‘great job.’

A limo is waiting for us at the airstrip. As we disembark, a dignified-looking man in his 50’s is already loading my suitcase into the trunk.

“Mr. Carlson,” the man says with a British accent.

“Hodge,” Grant says. “This is Eve Saunders. She’ll be staying with me for awhile.”

“Ms. Saunders,” Hodge says with a little bow at the neck. “A pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, and manage to look him in the eye, since he has no knowledge of the naughty, naughty things I did back on the plane.

The limo ride is pretty cool. As we drive through the streets of Manhattan, Grant points out major buildings and talks about their architectural significance. I’ve been to New York multiple times, but I never stopped to think about all the history of the buildings around me.

It’s funny how impassioned he is about everything around us. He’s like a teenager geeking out on comic books or superhero movies – except that he’s talking about old buildings.

Best tour guide ever.

Hottest tour guide ever, too.

Finally we arrive at a massive skyscraper overlooking Central Park. The limo stops in front of it, and Hodge opens my door.

I thank him and ask Grant, “You live here?”

“I don’t just live here – I designed it.”

Of course he did.

The lobby is a plush marvel, with black tile floors, tables full of flower arrangements, and soaring columns that reach up to a 30-foot-high ceiling. We walk past a phalanx of security guards, who all greet Grant as ‘Mr. Carlson.’

Then we step into the elevator, where Grant hits the top button. ‘P.’

“You live in the penthouse?!” I exclaim.

He smiles. “Yes.”

Duh. I keep forgetting he’s a billionaire.

Which I try to keep forgetting, because it’s kind of freaking me out.

The elevator whisks us to the top in record time, where we step out into a hallway that’s just as beautifully decorated as the lobby. Two guards who look like Secret Service men – black suits, sunglasses, radio earpieces – are standing by the front door. They greet Grant as ‘Mr. Carlson,’ too, as we walk past.

“How many people do you have guarding you?” I ask.

“A lot. I do have a psychopath after me, remember?”

He gives me a tour of the penthouse, which is absolutely gorgeous. It encompasses the entire top floor of the building – thousands and thousands of square feet – with multiple rooms, all designed and decorated differently. There’s a dining room with a twenty-person table and soaring ceilings. A cozy study with wood paneling and hundreds of books, many of them on architecture. A patio outside with an infinity pool, jacuzzi, and a small grove of trees. A den with leather sofas and chairs and an 80-inch HD television on one wall. And then there’s the bedroom, with a California king-sized bed and the plushest carpet I’ve ever sunk my feet into.

The one thing all the rooms have in common are twenty-foot tall windows, with an absolutely breathtaking view of the New York skyline. Well – all except for the patio. No windows there, just the warm summer air and a 180 degree view.

“You can put your things in here,” Grant says, pointing me to a closet that is bigger – and waaaay better furnished – than my entire apartment back in Los Angeles. Three-panel, full-length mirrors. Mahogany wardrobes. Floor-to-ceiling shoe racks.

“It’s good to be a billionaire,” I murmur in shock.

“Yes it is,” Grant agrees as he circles my waist from behind, then kisses my neck.

Just as I’m getting into it, he releases me.

“Dinner first,” he says mischievously, and leaves me to unpack in the cavernous closet.


Dinner is absolutely amazing. We dine at a small table on the patio under the rising moon. We drink the most delicious wine I’ve ever tasted and sample several entrees – filet mignon, duck, sea bass.

“Do you have a cook who fixed this?” I marvel.

“Well, I do have a chef, but he’s got the week off. I ordered this from Le Meilleur.”

I drop my fork. ‘Le Meilleur’ is the best new restaurant in New York.

I’m kind of a foodie, too, FYI.

“You got this from Le Meilleur?”


“What – somebody ordered it and picked it up?”

“Naaah, they ran it over.”

“They ‘ran it over,’” I repeat in shock. “A five-star restaurant ‘ran it over.’”

Grant shrugs. “I’m good friends with the owner.”

Of course.

By the end of the meal, I’m tipsy and we’re playing footsy under the table.

“Want to go for a swim?” Grant suggests.

“I didn’t pack a swimsuit.”

“You don’t need a swimsuit.”

Heat flushes across my chest. “You want to skinny dip?”

He grins, amused by my surprise. “Why not?”

“What about all those guards?”

“They’re not in the penthouse, they’re outside in the hallway.”

I stop and think for a moment. “…why not?”

We laugh and kiss and stumble our way to the pool, shedding clothes as we go. His hands roam over my body, caressing me, cupping my breasts, slipping between my thighs as we kiss furtively, then undress some more.

We drop the last of our clothes and stand there naked by the edge of the pool. I reach between his legs. His cock, which was maybe a quarter of the way hard (and still a handful), begins to grow in my grasp. It’s incredibly sexy feeling him getting larger and harder by the second, growing heavier and hotter as his cock expands. Within thirty seconds he’s standing up as straight as an iron bar. I gently move my hand up and down his shaft, feeling his heartbeat pulse in my grip.

Then he pushes me in the water.

“AAAAAHH!” I scream as the world goes topsy-turvy around me. A rush of warm water – not chilly, but warm – envelops my body and head. I come up sputtering just in time to see him doubled over laughing by the poolside.

“YOU ASSHOLE!” I yell at him.

“I had to do it – oh my God – your face – ”

“FUCK YOU!” I half-yell, half-laugh. I start for the edge of the pool when he suddenly dives over me.

I have to admit, even though I’m annoyed, it’s damn hot seeing his gorgeous, muscled body flash over me, lit dramatically by the poolside spotlights. Especially that large, hard cock jutting from his body as he arcs through the air and gracefully pierces the water.

I feel hands grab my ankles underwater and I shriek. He pulls himself up along my legs. His skin glides across mine, and I can feel the hard pressure of his cock sliding up my body.

Once he surfaces, I hit his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole!”

He laughs and rakes his wet hair back from his face. His upper body is a perfect ‘V,’ with his broad shoulders and small waist and washboard abs.

God damn he’s beautiful.

“Come here,” he says, and tries to kiss me.

“No,” I pout, and pull away.

“Come here,” he growls, and grabs my arms, pulling me to him.

“No!” I say, although I love the feeling of him overpowering me. His hands are so powerful around my wrists, forcing my body against his.

He wraps one arm around my waist and pins my arms behind me, and with the other he grabs my wet hair at the nape of my neck. I moan as he pulls my head back, exposing my neck to his bites and kisses. Then he hoists me up in the water as easily as if he were lifting a pillow, and begins to suck and lick my breasts.

Just a few inches higher and he could be inside me.

Apparently he has the same idea, because he wades towards the shallow end so that my torso and his cock are out of the water. He supports my weight with one hand under my ass and uses his other hand to stroke my pussy, to see if I’m ready for him. I’m incredibly turned on, but the water has washed away some of my lubrication. He licks his fingers and rubs his cock, slicking it down. Then he pulls apart my lips, guides his head between my thighs, and slowly pushes inside me.

Oh God…

He goes slow. He eases inside me an inch, then slightly withdraws, letting my pussy wet his cock so that he can slide further in. He eases in another inch, then withdraws almost to the point where he’s about to slip out. I protest with a little noise of frustration, then sigh in contentment as he eases his cock in halfway. Withdraw, ease farther inside. He repeats the process, making me moan in anticipation for the next, deeper stroke. Within a minute he’s entirely inside me, my weight bearing down on the base of his cock.

Gripping my ass, he begins to slowly rock inside me, letting me get wetter, giving me time to get even more turned on. I drape my arms around his neck and rest my head against his shoulder. I’m hypnotized by the feeling of water gently lapping my legs and ass as that glorious, thick pressure fills me up again and again, so slowly, so sensuously.

His fingers reach around and play with the edge of my pussy where his cock meets my lips, and even a tiny bit north of that. Normally I might be shocked, but he’s gentle, and he strokes me lightly. It actually feels really good. With the pleasure of him rocking inside me, and the gentle lapping of the water, I just let go of all judgments and enjoy him caressing parts of me no one has ever touched before as he continues to slowly move that thick, hot, sweet pressure in and out of me.

He slowly lowers me into the water until we’re submerged up to our chests. He begins to kiss me, slowly, sensually. His hands rove across my body, pinching my nipples, firmly grabbing my breasts, as he keeps fucking me slowly.

I moan into his mouth, and he gently grabs my throat. I feel the pressure and I love it. I bend backwards as he gently chokes me, my hair spreading out on the water behind me. I love the feeling of complete domination. Like he’s taking me. Like I’m completely his, to do with whatever he wants.

I start to come. Slow, undulating waves of pressure build in my thighs and pussy and spread throughout my body. The orgasm is slow and gentle, just like our fucking. Hypnotic. Incredible.

He grasps my body and pulls me against his chest, my soft breasts pressed against his hard pecs. With more leverage now, he begins to thrust faster. The angle is incredible. I can feel the pressure of his shaft against my clit, and his cock is massaging a spot deep inside me. Within a minute I’m coming again, but more forcefully this time. I whimper and clutch at his back, my nails sliding across his wet skin.

After every one of my orgasms, we change positions and places in the pool. At one point I’m braced against the side with my arms as he fucks me from behind. At another point we move to the shallow end so that he’s waist-deep in the water. I float on my back, my legs draped over his shoulders, as he fucks me so deep. With the water holding me up, I feel like I’m in a sensory deprivation tank or having some sort of out-of-body experience. The only sensation is the blissful motion of his cock inside me. That is, until I come, and the ecstasy rolls through every inch of my body, from my curled toes down to the crown of my head, and I thrash and scream in the water.

After my fifth orgasm, I climb back up his body as he’s still inside me. I look into his eyes and pant, still coming down from the pleasure. “What do you want? I want to make you come – what do you want?”

He looks me in the eyes, and that hard, animal need is there again. The same look of pain and desire from the plane.

“I want to come in your mouth.”

I breathe in sharply, both turned on and a little shocked. “Okay… can we go inside?”

He walks us both up out of the pool, his cock still inside me, his arms supporting me under my ass. I circle his body with my legs. We kiss as he walks us, dripping with water, from the pool into the penthouse. Every step he takes is another little movement of his cock, a mini-thrust inside me.

Once we’re in the bedroom he slowly raises me off him, his cock sliding out of me. He sets me on my feet and I kneel down in front of him on the plush carpet.

Jesus, from this angle he looks absolutely humongous. When I went down on him in the office, I wasn’t positioned like this. I might have gotten myself into more than I bargained for…

I take his shaft lightly in my hand and lick the underside of his cock. It spasms and lifts a few centimeters, fighting against my grasp.

Mmm… I like that.

I lick again, like I’m holding an ice cream cone in my hand. My hand trails slowly down to the base of his shaft, and I begin to caress and tickle his balls, which are tight against his body.

He’s breathing heavily. I can tell he likes it.

I open my mouth wide and take his whole head in. It presses hot and swollen against my lips. I stick my tongue out and lick that tiny ridge of skin on the underside of the head, and his cock pulses again. I feel him swell up briefly, and I can taste the tiniest bit of his salty pre-cum.

He groans and tilts his head back.

I move my head up and down, taking in a little bit more of him each time – although we’re talking centimeters, not inches. He’s too big for me to go far. I’m not a porn star. At one point I get a little too ambitious and start to gag, and he murmurs, “I want you to like it. Do it so you like it.”

With that permission, I start sucking him for my own pleasure, only going so far down and no more. I close my eyes and feel the slickness of his soft skin in my mouth. The skin is soft, but his cock is incredibly hard. I love how it’s so firm, like a ripe piece of fruit about to burst with salty juices.

“Play with yourself,” he growls, obviously trying to keep control.

I open my eyes and look up at him. The eye contact is hot.

“Play with your clit while you suck me,” he orders.

I comply. I reach between my legs with my free hand and start to stroke my clit. It feels good, but not as good as when he’s touching me.

I think he senses that, and he starts talking.

“Jesus… your mouth on my cock feels so good… I love the way you suck me, Eve… I want to just throw you down on the bed and fuck you… just slide inside you and fuck you, make you come… I want to make you come all over me… I want you to come all over my cock, buried deep inside you… I want to hear you scream… I want to make you come so hard, so deep, so much, that it never stops…”


Suddenly I’m enjoying touching myself a lot more.

He keeps going. I close my eyes and keep sucking on his cock, enjoying the sensual feel on my lips and tongue, and the growing heat and pleasure between my thighs.

“I want to ruin you for any other man… I want you for my own… I want you to crave my cock… to crave having me deep inside you… all the time…. making you come… I want that tight, beautiful little pussy taking me in soooo deep… I want to fuck you so badly…”

I start moaning as I picture in my mind what he’s talking about. I can hear the passion and the pain in his voice. His cock spasms more and more often, every ten seconds or so, pressing against my lips in little pulses.

“Jesus… I want to come on your face… I want to come on your tits… I want to come deep inside you… I want you wet for me, taking me in, fucking me all night…”

My thighs are starting to tremble.

He’s groaning now. I can feel his body tense up.

“Come for me, Eve… I want you to come when I’m coming in your mouth… come for me… come for me…”

The ripples of pleasure start rolling through me. I’m moaning, the sound stifled by the thick cock in my mouth.

“Are you coming, baby? Are you coming for me?”

I nod the tiniest bit as I moan louder. Waves of pleasure are rolling through me, hot and fast.

“Oh Jesus – oh FUCK – ” he groans, and suddenly he is bursting in my mouth.

I was coming already, but the feeling of him spasming between my lips, the feeling of his hot juices spurting in my mouth… if I hadn’t been so turned on I probably wouldn’t have liked it, but I am so far into my orgasm that the sensation sends me even further over the edge. I come even harder as I feel him growing bigger in my mouth, over and over again, as the salty-sweet taste of his cum washes over my tongue.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” he pants as his orgasm tapers off. I keep sucking him slowly, gently, enjoying my own last few trembles of bliss as they plateau into a lower, steadier pleasure.

I pull my mouth off his cock and stare up at him.

He is watching me, wondering what I will do next.

I make a big show of licking my lips… and then I swallow.

“Oh God…” he murmurs, then bends down and lifts me up to my feet and kisses me.

His cock is still hard and slick against my stomach… and my pussy is still throbbing and wet.

“Fuck me,” I whisper in his ear.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rips off the covers, pushes me down onto the mattress, and then parts my legs and moves between them. He slowly eases his cock into me – and this time, since we’re both wet, he slides in with one long, easy thrust.

“Unnnh,” I grunt as I feel him bottom out inside me.

He begins to fuck me slowly, sensually, looking me in the eyes the entire time. The intimacy… the connection… it’s mind-blowing. There is no urgency for either of us; we just take our time, staring into each other’s eyes, feeling each other’s bodies. I savor every inch of his cock inside me – the way it presses against my most sensitive places, the sensation it gives me of being completely filled up. And I know he’s loving how tight I am around him, how wet, and how I grind my hips against his. He circles his cock inside me… then switches to back and forth… deep thrusts, then shallow…

We go on like that for twenty minutes, no need to change position, no need to do anything different than stare into each other’s eyes and luxuriate in the sensation of our bodies intertwined.

My plateau of pleasure slowly creeps up, though, bit by bit, until I feel it beginning to crest.

“Oh God,” I whisper. “Oh God – I’m coming – I’m coming – ”

And with that, I send him over the edge, too. He groans and I feel him burst inside me again, which tips me over into a mind-shattering orgasm. My entire body shakes uncontrollably. And every second, our eyes stay locked. I can feel his pleasure as he comes, and I know that he can feel mine.

Then he collapses on me, utterly spent, and slowly pulls out. He rolls over onto his back and pulls me next to him. I put my head on his chest and we stay like that, unable to speak, basking in the afterglow, until we both fall asleep from exhaustion.


I wake up the next morning from a deep sleep. I remember last night and all the hot sex, and get a little smile on my face. I reach over for Grant –

He’s not there.

I immediately get a flashback from when he left me on the balcony. A little bit of anger, a little bit of fear.


I prop myself up blearily on one elbow –

There he is, across the cavernous bedroom, putting on a tie in front of a mirror.

God, he’s gorgeous. The suit pants he’s wearing hug his ass perfectly. He’s also got on a beautiful midnight blue shirt and a vest. The sight of his massive arms and chest in all that tailored finery – yum.

He sees me in the mirror and grins. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“If I were Sleeping Beauty, you should’ve woken me up with a kiss,” I say sleepily.

He laughs and walks over to the bed, tucking his tie into his vest. “Let’s do the post-wake-up version.”

As he leans over me, I bat him away. “No – I look awful – ”

“You look hot.”

“I’ve probably got morning breath – ”

“I don’t care.”

“Nooo – ” I whine.

Without giving me any more chance to pout, he seizes the back of my hair and pulls, forcing my face up to meet him – and gives me a deep, passionate kiss.


Within seconds, I’m ready for him to get back into bed and be inside me again.

He finishes up the kiss with a hand on my breast, cupping it and pressing it firmly. Then he breaks off. “Now that’s the way to start the morning.”

“Then let’s start it that way,” I say, tugging at his arm.

He pulls away, a grin on his face. “I can’t, I have an important meeting.”

“Maaaan…” I gripe, imitating him from the other day.

He laughs and kisses me again, then moves away. “This evening. We’ll take all the time in the world.”

“Fine,” I harumph, and settle back down into the sinfully delicious sheets.

“There’s some breakfast over there,” he says, pointing to a tray at the foot of the bed. A silver dish covers a plate, along with a bowl of chopped fruit, a fluted glass of orange juice, and a small pot of coffee. “If you want anything, the maid’s in the kitchen. Just stick your head out the door and call for Amy.”

“What if I want you?”

He kisses me again. “Tonight.”

I sigh. “I guess I can start looking for our mystery man. Do you have that FBI profiler’s report?”

He lifts up a piece of paper on the dresser. “Already ahead of you.”

“Cool.” I watch him as he goes to get his suit jacket. “You’re not worried about him trying to ambush you while you’re going to that meeting?”

“I have to live my life. I can’t hole myself up in a castle and wait for him to come to me.”

“I guess… ” I think for a second. “And I’ve got your number, so I can call you if I find anything important.”

“My number?” he asks, confused.

“That I got off the internet? After you stole my phone?” I say, in a voice like Duh.

“I got a new phone.”


“Yeah, once you cracked it, it showed me that I had a weakness, so I went with a different company and more layers of security.”

“I could still find it,” I say, totally confident.

“You could, but I’ll save you the trouble. What’s your number?”

I give it to him, and he enters it into his cell. Then he texts a message.

Over on the dresser, my phone buzzes in my purse.

“Bye,” he says simply, and gives me a lingering kiss before he walks out of the room with a wink and a smile.

I go over and check my phone. There’s a text from a 212 area code number.

See you soon, beautiful.

My heart soars a little as I enter his name into my contact list and dream of what we’ll do when he gets home.


After a shower and breakfast, I start reading the FBI profiler’s write-up.

Given the limited information in the two text messages, there are only a few conclusions we can draw with any certainty. The following consists mostly of suppositions drawn on the available texts and statistical probability given similar criminal profiles.

Subject is most likely a middle-aged male, 40 or older. He is well-educated, with both a technical education and a background in the arts. Subject is probably wealthy, and is likely to be in the highest strata of the economic upper-class, with accompanying status and prestige. He is probably a prominent fixture in social circles consistent with upper-class economic status. He has narcissistic or sociopathic qualities, such as megalomania and a desire to inflict harm on someone viewed as slighting or snubbing him. However, the subject has a high degree of impulse control. He acts with calculation and deliberation, though he is a man of action and may move swiftly when the need arises. Subject displays homicidal tendencies and views the interaction with Mr. Carlson as a game to be savored.

‘A game to be savored.’

The phrase sends chills up and down my spine.

Other than that, though, the profile isn’t particularly revelatory.

Male, 40’s, rich.

Cultured, refined, educated.


Narcissistic and sociopathic qualities.

It could have been describing any number of CEO’s, Wall Street hedge fund managers, politicians, or surgeons – all professions that tend to attract sociopaths and people with God complexes.

Of course, I don’t know of any CEO’s, hedge fund managers, politicians, or surgeons who go around stalking billionaires.

I start analyzing the texts. Grant’s people were right – the information on the source of the texts is scarce. If I had to guess, the guy routed the texts through several dummy connections. He knew his stuff – or he hired somebody who knew their stuff.

As I’m plowing through IP Addresses and Subnet masks, Grant texts me. I smile as I see See you soon, beautiful, then go on to read the message underneath it.

Hey, beautiful – I just got a fantastic lead. Somebody the profiler knows in the FBI wants to meet with us, but off the record. I’m sending the car for you right now. Hodge will take you to an art gallery in Chelsea. See you soon.

I grab my jacket and the key to the penthouse and set out for downstairs.


Hodge drives up just as I exit the building.

“Hi Hodge.”

“Miss Saunders,” he replies in his upper-crust British accent.

“Do you know where we’re going? I only know it’s an art gallery in Chelsea.”

“Yes, Mr. Carlson texted me the address.”

I get in the backseat of the Rolls and watch the New York City streets creep by as we wind our way through traffic.

About 20 minutes later, we stop in front of an industrial loft-looking building. Hodge gets out and holds the door open for me.

I call Grant’s number but it goes straight to voicemail.

Immediately a text comes in. FBI guy doesn’t want me answering the phone. Security concerns with recording or whatever. Go right in, the front door’s open. I paid the owner to clear the building; we’re on the third floor.

I walk in the front door and let it shut behind me.

The gallery is amazing. It’s a huge four-story space, with an open atrium and levels that circle around it. The lights are off except for a few single white emergency lights on the fourth-floor ceiling above the main lobby. There’s no skylight, so the entire place is pretty dark, but I can see paintings on the walls closest to the central chamber.

Perfect place to meet a modern-day Deep Throat.

The Pentagon Papers version, not the Linda Lovelace version, mind you.

The elevator area at the far end of the atrium is lit. I walk over and hit the button. Ding. I get inside and push ‘3,’ then exit on the third floor.

I walk out into a dim foyer that leads into a maze-like jumble of hallways, each showing off paintings of geometric shapes and indistinct blurs of color.

Everything is dark. Only the tiny emergency lights are on. There’s one every 20 feet or so, which is barely enough to see anything.

It’s kind of creepy.

Actually, it’s really creepy.

“Grant?” I call out as I walk through the maze.

No answer.

“Grant!” I call out again.

A voice I’ve never heard before floats out from somewhere inside the maze.


Probably in his 40’s.

Cultured. Refined. Educated.

“Grant’s not here, Ms. Saunders.”

My blood freezes in my veins as I realize who’s in the art gallery with me.

The killer.

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Books By Olivia Thorne


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Over one passionate weekend, mysterious Connor leads Lily through a world of sensual delights - but every forbidden fruit comes with a price. Connor is not the man he claims to be, and dangerous figures from his past are lurking in the shadows, waiting to destroy him – and Lily, too, if she gets in their way.

You can read the first installment in this series for free: All That He Wants Part 1 - free on Amazon


The Billionaire’s Seduction Parts 5-7

It has been the most thrilling and sensual week of Lily’s life, but all that is about to change. Enemies from Connor’s past have resurfaced, determined to destroy him – and they plan to use Lily to do it. Will Lily and Connor’s love for each other survive the destruction all around them?


The Rock Star’s Seduction Part 1

Kaitlyn gets her big break as a journalist, but it’s the one job she doesn’t want: a Rolling Stone cover article on rock star Derek Kane, the ultra-hot, bad-boy rocker who spent one unforgettable night with her four years ago.


The Rock Star’s Seduction Part 2

Four years after one passionate night together, Kaitlyn is finally face to face with Derek Kane once again. Kaitlyn is wary. But Derek is gorgeous, charismatic, and seductive – and he still seems to be in love with her. The longer Kaitlyn holds out, the more she wants to give in to him… body and soul…


The Rock Star’s Seduction Part 3

Betrayal. Heartbreak. Devastation. Kaitlyn is reeling from the events of the last book, and flees back to New York to heal. All her dreams and hopes seem dead... but could she find happiness with someone else waiting in the wings? Or will Derek, now obsessed with her, refuse to let her go?


(Part 1 of A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance)

Fiona was a private investigator in Los Angeles when her cousin was murdered. Now she's going undercover in the California town where a dangerous motorcycle gang holds sway. She was determined to find her cousin's killer. What she didn't count on was Jack Pollari - the insanely hot, bad-boy president of the MC who takes an immediate interest in her. As their mutual desire spirals deeper and hotter, the question remains: will Jack help her solve her cousin's murder... or doom Fiona to the same fate?


(Part 2 of A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance)

Fiona came to Richards, California to solve her cousin Alison's murder. Now, however, Fiona's the one in danger. On one side is Jack, the hot, bad-boy president of the Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club. On the other is Louis Shaw, the devilish but charming VP who has his own treacherous plans. As the web of violence and intrigue tangles around Fiona, one thing becomes startlingly clear: she may be falling in love with the man who killed her cousin.


(Part 3 of A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance)

Fiona plunges further into danger - and falls deeper in love/lust with bad boy biker Jack Pollari, president of the Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club. Villainous VP Louis Shaw is playing his own deadly game, and is on the verge of discovering our heroine's secret. Fiona came to town to solve a murder. Will someone now have to solve hers?


The Billionaire’s POV Part 1

A retelling of Connor and Lily’s love affair from Connor’s POV.


The Billionaire’s POV Part 2


A Billionaire Alpha Romance Part 1

Eve meets gorgeous billionaire Grant Carlson at a Hollywood gala. Things get hot beyond belief - until Grant does something unforgivable. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Especially when she's an internet security expert and former hacker. But Grant has a secret - one that will plunge both him and Eve into even greater passion - and incredible danger.


A Billionaire Alpha Romance Part 2

After being screwed over by handsome billionaire Grant Carlson, Eve decided to take revenge. But Grant changes her mind with a simple proposition: he needs her help. Someone wants Grant dead, and Eve is the only person he trusts. Unfortunately, by helping Grant, Eve has put herself in the sights of a madman...


A Billionaire Alpha Romance Part 3

Eve found everything she ever could have wanted in billionaire Grant Carlson: incredible looks. Amazing body. Charm, humor, and intelligence to burn. But there are secrets, too. Secrets she never could have guessed... And now they threaten to destroy not only his life, but hers.


Master and servant, aristocrat and commoner... Passion brings them together, but pride will tear them apart. When Marian is in danger, will Evan risk everything - his fortune, his title, his life - to save the woman he loves?

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Thanks to Patricia Schoon for her help in editing this book!

The Billionaire's Touch (A Billionaire Alpha Romance Part 2)

Copyright 2015 Olivia Thorne

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to (or another online retailer of ebooks) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, used, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Olivia Thorne.

Edition: August 2015