Quarantine and Cash Read online

  What do you want for your birthday, Jazz?

  I’d gotten my acceptance letter from UCLA the week before and knew I would be leaving just after Miles’ graduation. There was Luca, looking as cocky and perfectly forbidden as ever. So fucking beautiful it hurt.

  I want you to be my first kiss.

  “The catch?” Luca’s hand is on me again, his long fingers lingering at a completely respectable distance from my ass.

  Damn him.

  “Tomorrow.” There’s a rough undertone to his voice, something gruff and unfamiliar. “You’re mine, all day. Let me give you a Spring Break to remember, Jasmine.”

  We’ve come up to the massive gates leading to Luca’s villa. Tropical flowers and climbing vines glisten around the wrought iron. The scent of them is heady and intoxicating. I can still pick up the familiar smell of Luca standing so close to me. A billion dollars later and he’s still using the same aftershave my dad recommended.

  I swallow hard past the sudden dryness in my throat, unsure whether or not I’d even heard him right. One look into Luca’s devastatingly handsome face tells me I did.

  “I— Luca, there’s a quarantine. We can’t leave.” Logically, I realize this is not the question that needs asking. The needy wet heat between my legs screams at my stupid brain for ruining my one chance at losing my virginity with the literal man of my dreams.

  “Jazz, let me worry about that. I promise we won’t break any rules. Does that mean you’ll stay?”

  There are a million and one scenarios where this ends badly. Including but not limited to the ones where I get my heart trampled to death and my brother kills us both.

  “I want my own room.” I eye him warily, then look up at the two story hotel that passes for Luca’s place. “Make that my own wing. And wings— as in chicken. On demand. I imagine you must have your own chicken farm somewhere on this island, right?”

  Then again, there are a lot worse ways to ride out a quarantine than on a private island with a gorgeous billionaire.

  “Wait, so this is a whole other kitchen?”

  I look from the seamless granite countertops to the six-burner range. Above us, warm lights blink to life as Luca flips a switch at the wall.

  “Yes. A smaller one for parties and— Please don’t start singing Hard Knock Life again, Jazz, I’m begging you.”

  I’m already halfway across the expansive room. The heels I kicked off a quarter of the way into Luca’s house tour are dangling easily from my middle finger, otherwise I’d offer it to him now.

  “You liiike it,” I sing-song, slipping easily back into my old role as first rate brat around Luca. There’s nothing quite like the look in his eyes when I’m getting a rise out of him.

  I want to see him rise, alright.

  “Do you really eat this much sushi, or are you harboring designer sea otters?”

  Luca’s reply is muffled by the fact that I’ve crawled about halfway into his built-in fridge. It’s got more square footage than the apartment I share with two roommates in LA. I’m contemplating what rent on the crisper drawer is going for when a set of strong hands grips my hips, catching me off guard.

  “Luca!” I laugh, spilling forward on my already precarious stance.

  It doesn’t phase him. There’s nothing respectable about his fingers now— they’re spayed wantonly along my hips. Luca nudges me forward as I turn around to glare at him over my shoulder. Cold refrigerator air sneaks up my exposed thighs as the motion pushes the hem of my dress up to something almost obscene.

  Luca isn’t laughing now, though. His fingertips trace a slow pattern up the back of my leg. I didn’t even know I could get so many goosebumps at once. Despite the chill along my skin, a feverish heat starts to spread inside me. Slick wetness builds between my smooth pussy lips.

  My heart hammers in my chest, every inch of me aches as I wait for Luca to push my dress all the way up.

  Apocalypse or not, I can die a happy girl if Luca Romano decides to bend me over and thrust his cock inside of me on any of his kitchen floors.

  What a way to go.

  Instead, Luca’s hand slides from my thigh all the way up to my hip in one smooth motion. I don’t miss the thick bulge in his designer pants as he does, though. Or the deep growl when he winds his arm around my waist, pulling me up to a standing position.

  My back is presses against his broad chest, my pulse hammers in my throat. I’ve never felt so small before, so overpowered. Luca’s stubble is rough and erotic along my skin as his lips ghost down my neck and collar. I open my mouth to say something and nothing comes out.

  “Come on, Jazz.” His own voice is sandpaper in my ear as Luca smooths my dress down and spins me around to face him again. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is so tender I almost forget how hard and tight my nipples are. “Let’s get you to your room.”

  There are at least a dozen things I want to say as I follow him down a long corridor.

  Unfortunately, I still seem incapable of forming coherent sentences. The island is quiet beyond the windows and lanai that wrap around the villa. Christina and Greg are off on their honeymoon and the last of their guests have been shuttled off on Luca’s boat to their hotels. It really is just him and me now, for however long this lasts.

  “Your suite, Little Orphan Annie.” Luca opens the double doors of his master bedroom with a flourish.

  Even after I’ve stepped all the way into the room, it takes a moment for the magnitude of luxury surrounding me to hit.The California King bed beneath the window is covered in layers of sumptuous blankets and pillows, all of them crisp, bright white. It’s the perfect compliment to the cerulean blue of the walls— the same color as Luca’s eyes and the Pacific Ocean just beyond the floor to ceiling windows. All throughout the space are bold splashes of color and luxurious touches. It’s tasteful and understated in the way that only real money can be.

  “First of all, that was clearly the Jay-Z version.” I plop my shoes and purse on a chair by the door that probably costs as much as my tuition.

  “And second,” I go on over his snort, “you don’t have to give up your room for me, Romano.”

  Luca gives me an unreadable look. One of his dark eyebrows raises as he gives me a long, slow look up and down. I imagine it's the same look a python gives a mouse just before devouring it.

  And just like that I’m thinking about his python again.

  “Why, Jasmine Turner. Are you inviting me to spend the night with you?”

  “What?!” My voice cracks in a way that it hasn’t since— well, since Luca.

  I smack his shoulder harder than strictly necessary.

  “No, you big jerk. I just meant you don’t have to give up your bed. I wouldn’t give up that bed if it were mine. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of rooms around this place. I’ll take a closet under the stairs, Luca, seriously.”

  He’s framed in the half-light of the doorway. The playfulness is gone from his eyes. He’s all predator again now, the same hungry man he was when his fingers were digging into my hips in the kitchen.

  I want you to be my first kiss, Luca.

  God, I wanted so much more from him.

  I still do.

  I lock my knees together, willing my thighs to stay closed long enough to keep the wetness between them from trickling down and leaving a puddle on his polished wood floors.

  “Goodnight, Jasmine.”

  The door hasn’t fully closed behind him before I regret not taking him up on the offer to spend the night.

  4

  Luca

  I wanna be on the cover of Forbes Magazine. Smiling Next to Oprah and The Queen. — Billionaire, Travie McCoy

  The vibration of my phone wakes me from a restless sleep. Thoughts of Jasmine filled my mind all night, and no matter how many times I took the matter into my hands, I couldn’t sate my thirst.

  It was hard enough keeping my hands off her when she was just my best friend’s cute little sister. There’s alw
ays been something about her that draws me to her. Maybe it’s the way she always wins any argument, no matter how it starts or even if she’s at fault. Jasmine’s tongue is undefeatable, something Miles and I both learned many years ago.

  Thoughts of her tongue threaten to spiral out of control. I can feel my cock twitch, even as sore and beat up as it is.

  Four weeks of this and I should qualify for Sainthood.

  I check my phone. There are an unsurprisingly large amount of messages. I swipe away most of them, but shoot off a sarcastic message about social lives to my surfer friend Sebastian.

  I grimace as I open up my conversation thread with Jasmine’s older brother.

  Miles: Is Jazz with you?!?!

  Miles: Is she safe, do you know where she is?

  Miles: If she’s with you, get her to call me ASAP. If she isn’t, fucking FIND her.

  Luca: Jazz is safe with me.

  I sigh. I know I should have told Miles sooner that she was safe with me. Guilt swells in my chest. I had put it off for purely selfish reasons — namely, that if I didn’t tell her brother, I could pretend she wasn’t his sister. Just for a bit.

  It takes a bit longer to clear out the rest of my messages. I’m almost done when a fresh message arrives. I’m expecting it to be Miles, but my heart leaps in my chest as I see it’s from Jasmine. I open it greedily, ready to devour her words.

  It’s a selfie. Fresh from the shower. My shower. Her, wrapped up in one of my big white fluffy towels, showing just enough skin to tease but not enough to be indecent. I have to tear my eyes away from it down to the caption below.

  “Breakfast?”

  Unbidden, the image of having her for breakfast fills my mind. It’d be so easy to stalk down the hallway, rip that towel off, set her on the bathroom counter and eat her until she passes out.

  My phone vibrates again, and I open the message faster than I ever have before, anxious for more Jazz.

  Miles: She better be, Romano.

  Before the wave of guilt can hit me, there’s another message, this time from the right Turner sibling.

  Another picture. This time, just the towel on the floor of the bathroom, no Jazz in sight. The thought of her naked and wet is enough to make me begin stroking my cock again.

  “Hurry up.”

  I wonder if she’s aware of what’s stalling me. A devilish thought fills me, and I stuff myself back into my boxer briefs, snapping a picture of the resulting bulge.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. Even if I can’t have Jazz, flirting with her is the only thing that has ever felt this good.

  I caption it with a simple “Sausage?” and hit send. Then I force myself into the shower.

  A cold one.

  Even a cold shower is the best place to get thinking done. I begin to plot and plan the rest of the day. I think of fun activities. Helicopter tour — no. We might need the fuel, later. Maybe just a light lunch?

  I still can’t think of anything better ten minutes later. The icy water has deflated me somewhat, but one glance at my phone is enough to get my engine cranked again. I dress quickly, hoping that distracting myself with some more mundane, normal activities will help.

  I have a sinking feeling it won’t.

  I make my way down to the kitchen and begin to whip up the requested wings. It’s not quite lunchtime, but I still decide that this occasion calls for a signature drink. I keep myself busy for the next half hour. I’m almost done when I hear her walk in.

  She’s scrounged a white sundress from somewhere that looks absolutely stunning. My chopping grinds to a halt as she enters the kitchen, heels clacking. Jasmine has always been pretty. The older she’s gotten, the sexier she’s become, and that didn’t stop just because I wasn’t around to see it. The way she fills out that dress makes me want to bend her over the island right here and now.

  Images of last night fill my mind. Jasmine, bent in half. Her curves illuminated by the refrigerator. The feel of her hips in my palm.

  “Do I need to worry about why this dress was in one of your closets?” She asks as she sits down, dragging the plate full of wings and the drink I’d mixed over in front of her.

  “If you’re asking if that belongs to an ex, then no.” I roll my eyes. She’s already on the offensive, as usual. Everyone has known for years that Jazz is destined to be a killer prosecutor someday.

  She always goes for the jugular.

  One of the things I treasure about her so much. She has my same predatory instincts.

  “No,” she replies, swallowing her mouthful of chicken.

  “More like, do you enjoy wearing pretty pretty dresses? It would explain a few things about you.”

  I groan. I’d forgotten just how exasperating Jazz could be.

  “Relax, Romano. Your secret is safe with me.” She winks at me, and my knuckles go white on the handle of the knife.

  Deep breaths, Luca. Think about Miles. Remember that Jazz should be like a sister to you.

  The problem is I’ve never felt that way about her, and I’m beginning to think I’m not alone.

  “I do have a secret, but it isn’t a dress.” I sit down opposite of Jazz, pulling the plate piled high with my hot wings back over to my side of the kitchen island.

  “Oh? A reclusive billionaire with a secret. You’re not —” She gasps theatrically. “Batman!”

  I chuckle around my bite, grabbing a drink to wash it down. My new recipe came out exceptionally well.

  “No comment. By the way, how’s the drink?” I ask.

  “Delicious. I don’t recognize it, though.” She sips again, her lips pursing tightly around the straw. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks, and my cock throbs beneath the table.

  “That’s because it’s brand new. I just invented it.” I grin. “You’re drinking the world’s very first quarantini.”

  She groans, grabs a bone, and chucks at my head.

  “That’s terrible, Luca,” she says in obvious exasperation.

  “You just said it was good.” I take a long sip, watching her over the rim of my glass the whole time.

  “Mmm. Refreshing. I truly am good at everything.” I smack my lips in exaggerated enjoyment.

  “You’re as humble as ever.” She quips.

  I shrug, aware of her eyes studying the play of muscle beneath my tight vee-neck tee.

  “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” I simply reply.

  There’s a gleam in her eye at that as she stands up and twirls around in the dress.

  “What, like this?” She’s still eating a wing as she pirouettes, in classic Jazz fashion.

  “I like the dress, but the way you’re eating that wing is sexier.” I answer honestly.

  She laughs. It’s a rich laugh, a woman's laugh. Not the little titter of a girl, but the deep belly laugh of someone who is truly amused.

  “I didn’t know you had a food fetish, Luca.” She grins at me wickedly.

  I shake my head in response.

  “No, no. It’s not the food. It’s the way you eat it. You don’t just nibble at it, you devour the entire thing and suck the marrow from the bones.” I indicate the plate of decimated wings.

  “You never hold back, Jazz. It’s one of the things I lo— like about you. Always have.”

  She doesn’t miss my misstep. I see it in her eyes, that she noticed me stumbling over the L word. She squints at me, but apparently decides to let it slide. It doesn’t bring me any relief. I know Jazz won’t let it go.

  “Right, well, What do you have planned for the rest of the day? We can’t exactly jet around the world. Isn’t that the typical billionaire date playbook?”

  I laugh, unable to help it. Jazz is just such a breath of fresh air. The last five years I’ve spent most of my time around the rich and famous. The fake and the insincere. Jazz isn’t like that, and that alone is enough for me to crave more time with her.

  “Well, the jet’s actually on the mainland, and we should probably save the helicopter fuel.” I mun
ch on a wing casually as she sits back down across from me, eyes wide.

  “Ooh, is that where you bring all your supermodel dates?” She asks.

  My gut reaction is to tease her back, but something about it rubs me the wrong way. The way she asks it is just a little too pointed. Biting.

  “Even if I had any, I wouldn’t. Miles didn’t tell you I don’t date?”

  She rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. Without waiting, she refills it from the pitcher beside me.

  “Yeah. He also never beat your ass, so I assume you don’t kiss and tell.” Her eyes are dark, cloudy with memory.

  I know exactly what memory, too. The feel of her lips on mine didn’t fade over five years, and the refresher last night only whet my appetite for more.

  “I don’t. I usually don’t even kiss.” I cross my arms over my chest, aware that the conversation has steered back towards dangerous waters, but unable to resist the temptation.

  “Oh? What do you do, then?” Jazz locks eyes with me. I can feel the heat in them from all the way across my big kitchen island.

  “Fuck.” I growl.

  There’s a long, pregnant pause. I match her stare, and for a moment, we’re lost like that. Both of us are unwilling to look away. Unwilling? No. Unable. Tension floods the room again, just like it did last night.

  Just like last night, I decide to retreat before something happens that we’ll both regret. I stand up, breaking the spell.

  “I’m going to go set up our evening’s entertainment. It’s a surprise, so entertain yourself for a few hours, alright? I’ll come get you around six.”

  She blinks a few times, and it’s only after I’m halfway across the room that she manages to find her tongue.

  “What’s the dress code? Something formal?”

  I answer her without turning around, not wanting to show her just how hard I am for her already.