The Alastair Affair 2: Sylvain (A Billionaire Dark Romance) Read online

  She had a very delicate bone structure to her face: high cheekbones, a small chin, a little forehead.

  She was my beauty. If you saw her on the street, you would never be able to tear your eyes away. If you met her at a gathering, you would be drawn to her as only a person blessed with the most magnetic charisma draws others. And if you spoke to her, and she granted you the courtesy of speaking back…

  Well, you would doubtless fall in love.

  “Ah!” she made a precious, amazing little gasping sound. “What do we have here, hmm?” She slipped one leg over me and sat on my chest.

  I exhaled in ecstasy. Already, I was lost in bliss.

  She was facing away from me. I could feel her buttocks close to my face. I imagined her as she was now: no bra, a pair of panties, sheer silk, black or red I didn’t know, but those were the only options.

  They were her two favorite colors.

  Her hair would be flowing down her neck. The raw beauty of her naked back would call to me, the—

  “Oh God!” I exclaimed as she thrust her hand beneath my briefs and seized my cock. She twisted hard.

  Her hands were small, but they could be very, very cruel when she wished them to be.

  She held me like that, and I gritted my teeth together against the pain. She leaned forward and pulled me out.

  She scraped her teeth against the tip.

  I shuddered when I felt her there. She liked to tease me, first. She always teased me. It gave her a sense of power, or satisfaction, I don’t know, but it never failed to make me feel like she was taking advantage.

  Not that I would ever stop her.

  She lay down against me. Her body was small compared to mine. The whole of her fit on top of me perfectly.

  The touch of our skins was electric. My body tightened as she lowered her head to my cock.

  She started playing with it. She moved it side to side before letting go. She pushed it down to watch it spring up. She pressed it against her cheek, and with her glorious lips, she kissed it.

  I was already so much on edge, and so very aroused, that I could not hold back.

  I ejaculated the moment her lips wrapped around the head.

  I groaned in release, even as monstrous shame took me. When I came early with her…

  Well, her payback for that could very easily last the entire night.

  She clicked her tongue in annoyance and tightened her grip on my base. “You will not go limp for me yet, little one,” she warned. She held my cock so tight I thought she was determined to keep the blood from flowing out simply through the pressure of her hand. “And for this, you will be punished. Unless…” I could hear the devious smile in her voice, “…unless, of course, you can get hard for me again.”

  She began to stroke. “We will see if you do it before my patience runs out, oui?”

  Chapter Three

  2008.

  Sylvain Alastair, 33 years old.

  Sylvain came to with a violent shudder.

  He looked around. The airplane cabin was dark. Through the little window beside him, he could see absolutely nothing of the ocean far below.

  Flying. He never liked flying. His hand came up as he held himself against the top curve of the cabin. His other hand tightened on the armrest.

  Turbulence had woken him, and it continued for an impossibly long period of time.

  “Damn Anderson,” Sylvain growled.

  When it leveled out, he got up and went to the bar. He poured himself a drink and returned to his seat.

  He turned the single light above him on. He stared into the tumbler.

  Brandy… just like his father used to drink. He brought it to his lips. He did not part them—he simply wanted a breath.

  The vapors from the liquor were enough. His father drank. It almost ruined the family. Sylvain had escaped from that hell the moment he graduated Oxford.

  But not for long. You could not simply escape being an Alastair. His father shamed him for having run.

  Sylvian stared darkly into the glass. “No, father,” he said softly. “I did not run. I made a future for myself, untainted by your hate.”

  He looked back out the window. He’d made his fortune…

  And now, he was going back.

  Chapter Four

  1995.

  Sylvain Alastair, 19 years old.

  “Hey kid, lighten up. We’re going to make out like bandits!”

  I looked up. Jacob had ambled over from the bar. He slid into the booth across from me.

  “What’s that,” he teased, looking at my drink. “You’ve manned up and gotten yourself a beer?”

  I looked at the clear liquid in the glass. “Water,” I said curtly.

  I pulled the glass closer to myself.

  “Hey, look—everyone’s out having fun.” He glanced over his shoulder to the middle of the pub, where all our colleagues involved in the startup were frolicking. “We want you to join us! You’re part of the team, after all. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “We haven’t done anything,” I reminded him. For a brief moment, I met his eyes.

  Then I quickly tugged mine back down. In a softer voice, I added, “At least, not yet.”

  Jacob furrowed his brow. “What is that?” he asked. He reached over and tugged out the paper napkin I’d been scribbling on.

  “Hey!” I called out. But no sooner did the word leave my mouth than I shrank back.

  Jacob examined the paper napkin critically. He was just as intelligent as I was—I thought—so he could make out the meaning behind the formulas I was writing.

  He grunted and shook his head. “Man, I thought we left all this back in the lab! Forget about it for a night. Come have fun with us.”

  I looked again to the middle of the bar. The invitation was tempting… but also frightening.

  I shifted a little in the booth. “I’d rather not,” I said softly. I reached for the napkin. “Can I have that back?”

  Jacob made a disgruntled sound and flung it back to me. I fumbled the catch.

  It landed right in my water.

  I gasped and pulled it out as quickly as I could. But it was no use. Half of it was already soaked. The ink was starting to run.

  “Aww, shit man, I’m sorry,” Jacob said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know,” I said. I couldn’t help the bitter edge in my voice. It reminded me of my father, and I hated it, but I could not stop. “I’ve been working on that for hours.”

  “It wasn’t our breakthrough now, was it?” Jacob joked. He was trying to lighten the mood.

  But I was immune to joviality. What good had joviality ever gotten me?

  “No,” I said. My voice had become cold. “Leave me be, Jacob. We can celebrate once we’re done. Not before.”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Jacob held his hands up. “I said I was sorry, man. No need to get angry with me. It was an honest mistake, I swear.”

  “I’m not—angry.” I had to bite off the words. My body was trembling. I felt a tightness rise in my hackles.

  Whatever this emotion was—it wasn’t anger. I knew anger. Anger was what my father displayed when he beat my mother. Anger was what raged inside him when he beat me.

  Unconsciously, my hand went to my back. My fingers ran over the welts imprinted there. I could feel them through the jacket.

  I would feel them for life.

  They were a reminder for me not to fail him twice.

  “I’m just,” I continued, “concentrating. Go back to the group, Jacob. Leave me alone.”

  “All right, all right, all right.” He slid out.

  I reached for a fresh napkin, and my pen…

  “And hey, just so you know?” Jacob touched my arm and nodded in the direction of the bar. “That woman over there, the lawyer? She hasn’t been able to stop looking at you all night.” He gave me a friendly jab. “I think you might have a secret admirer.”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” I deadpanned. I kept my eyes on the t
able.

  “You’re too deep in your own head, man,” Jacob said. He turned away. “One day you’re going to wake up and realize that you’re actually a pretty good-looking guy. A woman would do you well.”

  I said nothing. I had no interest in women. All I cared about right now was the problem.

  I waited for him to leave.

  But when he disappeared… and only when I was certain he wouldn’t glance back… did I dare lift my eyes up and look to the bar.

  And there, I saw the most beautiful, sparkling blue eyes of a woman staring right at me.

  Chapter Five

  2008.

  Sylvain Alastair, 33 years old.

  The plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, France. The landing was smooth, until a final jolt at the end threw Sylvain upward.

  He cursed Anderson, not for the first time.

  He really hated flying.

  But then they started taxiing to a private terminal, and some of the edge came off.

  Sylvain took a series of deep, controlled breaths. Precision, he reminded himself. That is the most important thing.

  The plane stopped. Sylvain got off. Anderson was right behind him.

  “Take the luggage to the hotel,” Sylvain said. “I want to take a short detour.”

  “Sir?” Anderson blinked.

  “Just do as I say.”

  “What about security?”

  “Have them follow me. Not too close. I want the illusion of being alone.”

  Sylvain had had more than his fair share of guards shadowing his every move the last five years.

  “Very well,” Anderson nodded. “I’ll see right to it.”

  “And Anderson?” Sylvain said, just as the other man began to turn away. “Prepare the upstairs bedroom as I like it. I might be entertaining a guest tonight.”

  Anderson gave a quick and sudden grin, nodded once, and turned away.

  **

  Sylvian pulled up to the apartment building on the dark street and parked his car.

  He had a hell of a time finding the place. The streets of the city were more clustered than he remembered.

  Five years can be a long time, he thought. Or it can be nothing at all.

  He exhaled and started to get out of the car.

  But with his hand on the door handle, he froze. A light had turned on in one of the high windows of the apartment.

  Sylvain sucked in a breath as he looked up.

  Nobody came to the window. But he knew—and just to check, he did a quick count of the storeys—he knew that window was precisely the apartment he was going to

  He waited. His heart continued pounding in his chest. Precision, he told himself. Precision, and nothing else.

  But there was no precision here. This was rash and foolish.

  But he was here for one reason. He had to—had to, had to, had to—had to know.

  He got out of the car and softly closed the door. Sudden noises echoed in a place like this. He did not want to give himself away prematurely.

  He came up to the apartment’s front doors. He looked at the dial pad with its list of names. Half of them had been scratched out without being replaced. Nobody bothered with the buzzer anymore.

  Nowadays, everybody had cell phones.

  A crude smile formed on Sylvain’s lips. Even five years ago a cell phone was a luxury. How much else had he missed?

  He took out the key that Anderson kept safe for him and slid it into the lock.

  It opened smoothly.

  When he was inside, he stopped at the railing of the stairs. He was not nervous, no, nor anxious. Of course not. Certainly not.

  But what was he doing here? Was this a mistake? Was this rash, unplanned, potentially dangerous?

  Yes, yes, and yes. Not dangerous for his physical well-being, but for his emotional stability.

  Although...

  Another small smile crept onto Sylvain’s face. Who knew, with this woman, whether he would be physically safe or not?

  Chapter Six

  1999.

  Sylvain Alastair, 24 years old.

  I was pacing the upstairs bedroom, anxious, worried, and not knowing what the hell to do.

  What was taking her so long? Alicia, my Alicia, she was supposed to be here hours ago!

  Could it be work? Another lover? Some sort of unexpected, sudden demand on her time?

  No, no, no, no! She was supposed to be here already, goddammit! She’d told me to come! She even told me what to wear!

  I looked down at myself. Tuxedo pants and a white flowing dress shirt. It had lace at the cuffs, lace at the neck.

  The woman had a penchant for lace. She would never wear it herself, no… but on somebody like me?

  She had no qualms making it known how much she loved seeing me as a dandy.

  A ridiculous outfit, I thought. Of course. Of course. But part of the fun with her was how she would strip it off. She liked to dress me just as much as she liked to undress me.

  Perhaps sometimes, even more.

  I paced back and forth along the floor. First to one wall, then the next. One wall, then the next.

  I was going insane!

  Without warning the door flew open. And there she was, my golden-haired French beauty. Her cheeks were flushed from the run up the stairs. Her small breasts heaved as she gasped for breath.

  “They found it,” she exclaimed. “Oh, Sylvain, they found it.”

  She closed the door as I held my arms out. She ran to me. I held her tight, pressed her small body square to my chest.

  We found comfort in each other, she and I.

  Then I held her back. I framed her face with my hands. She looked so delicate, standing there.

  At that moment I knew I would give up my entire world for her.

  Her eyes glittered into mine. They were scared and uncertain. I had never seen her this way before. She was always cool, collected, confident.

  She’d taught me a few lessons in that over the years.

  But now it was time for me to lend her strength. I brought her close again, and I kissed her. Her lips melted into mine. Her rigid stance softened. The stress flowed out of her body.

  For a long moment, we just kissed. Nothing could touch us. Nobody would.

  Then I pulled back. I touched her cheeks, which were even more beautiful now. The pads of my fingers ran along her swollen lips.

  She held back a tiny giggle.

  “What happened?” I asked her softly. “Tell me. Alicia, what is wrong?”

  “It happened,” she stressed. “Our greatest fear. It, it it. Our plan is ruined. One of the engineers auditing the code—our baby—found a discrepancy. Their entire team showed up at my firm to inform us what it was. They might back out of the deal.”

  “What?” I asked. This was my domain. Here, I was confident. “No. Never. They will not back out, because whatever they found has nothing to do with what I hid.” My hands tightened on her wonderful face. I did not want to hurt her—not ever—but a fierce possessiveness flared in me then. “Alicia… do you trust me?”

  She bit her lip… and nodded.

  “Then believe me when I say what I hid is untraceable. They can audit the code for decades, and they will never find the glitch.”

  “Do you…” her eyes seemed to become bigger, then. “Do you promise?”

  “I swear it on my life.”

  Chapter Seven

  2008.

  Sylvain Alastair, 33 years old.

  “Gah!”

  Sylvain shook himself roughly. The conversation he remembered took place on the top floor of this very building.

  He recalled the anxiety, the terror that pulsed through him when he received the emergency phone call from Alicia. She’d told him to run to their safe house, to the one place only she and he knew about.

  He turned his head up to the top of the stairs. This building held so many memories for him. Secret trysts. Passionate rendezvouses.

  All with the woman
he’d loved.

  His hand tightened into a fist. He’d been a fool to love her. How could he love a woman who changed the men who shared her bed as often as others changed shoes?

  And yet he had. Was he naïve? Undoubtedly. He’d also been blind: blinded by the first woman to show him affection, blinded by the woman who’d made him a man, blinded by the mystique of who she was and what they did together.

  Of what she did to him.

  Sylvain doubted he could ever relive any of those moments again.

  And yet… a part of his soul yearned for that connection. He was not here to rekindle it. Hell no.

  He was not so dumb as that.

  But Alicia could have answers. She could tell him everything he’d missed. She could tell him who had betrayed his trust… perhaps.

  The first step up was the hardest. Sylvain was not used to hesitating. Once, many years ago, when he was just a boy, that was all he did. But he’d cast that part of him aside.

  Alicia had shown him how.

  She’d taught him the heights of pleasure that can be reached only after experiencing pain. She taught him… and she’d hurt him… and in the back of his mind, he considered the possibility that he was here for her to do it again.

  But that would come as it may.

  The second step came easier, as did the third, and the fourth, and the fifth… until, by the final flight, there wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in him at all.

  No. Now all he had was anger. It was very tight and very small—a black ball in the back of his mind that spun and spun on and on and on like a raging vortex.

  He would not let it be unleashed. He would not become like his father. Sylvain kept his anger inside him for always, and he would never let it show.

  He knocked on the door.

  He heard movement on the other side, then the sound of locks being opened. And then…

  Sylvain’s breath was taken away. There she was: Alicia.