CHAPTER 5: DADDY’S GOOD GIRL (I)

XAVIER POV

It had been years since I last set foot in L.A., and these boardroom clowns thought the perfect way to get me to sign was to throw me into a goddamn fancy masked welcome party—just weeks after my arrival.

Without my signature, the company’s next investment round dies on the spot. That’s why I showed up.

I even had to dress the part—mask and all— which made me look more gothic than executive. I hate unnecessary things.

What I didn't expect—what I never saw coming—was her.

The same woman from the bar weeks ago—the one who turned me down flat when I asked my assistant to invite her into my private VIP lounge.

Until earlier tonight.

I spotted her across the room, standing in the middle of all this masked bullshit, when some woman—the one my adoptive son, Jason, supposedly pulled out of a fire—reached up and yanked the mask right off her face.

And in that moment, when I see her caramel-toned skin, luscious pink lips, and hazel doe eyes… the contract, the board, the whole fucking empire—it all fades out.

I’m not the type to ask permission when I want something. And I don’t particularly care if that something happens to be my adopted son’s girlfriend… or ex-girlfriend.

The boy was never meant to be anything more than a signature on paper.

Years ago, the board got twitchy—kept hammering on about “stability” and “hostile takeover risk” and “what happens if you get hit by a bus tomorrow?” They wanted an heir on record, someone to park the shares with so no one could snatch them in probate or force a redistribution. A wife would’ve been expensive and noisy. A blood kid would’ve been permanent. An adopted son? Cheap, quiet, and—most importantly—revocable.

So, I told Kade, my personal assistant, to handle it. “Pick whoever. I don’t care.”

He came back with some random paperwork from an adoption center. I signed without reading, the way I sign most things that aren’t contracts worth nine figures. Didn’t even ask the kid’s name.

I wasn’t interested in playing father, and I certainly wasn’t looking for drama.

I barely spoke to the little boy after that. He was young when I took him.

But none of that matters now.

I don’t care about him.

His woman has my focus—and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make her mine. I don’t think I’d be leaving L.A. for New York anymore.

I open the back door of my Maybach myself and set her carefully on the back leather seat, as if she is made of glass.

She sways a little, blinking up at me with those hazel eyes, still red-rimmed from the smoke.

My bodyguard, Luca, opens the other door without a word and slides into the front passenger seat. I climb in beside her, the door shutting with a soft, expensive thud.

The partition is already up. Good.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, then looks at me—really looks—and catches me staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her voice is quiet, a little hoarse from the coughing earlier.

“Because I can’t stop.”

Her cheeks flush. She glances away, toward the tinted window, then back. I lean forward slowly, giving her time to pull away, and brush my lips against hers—light, testing.

She presses a hand to my chest and pushes gently.

“Wait.” She swallows. “You are serious back there? About…revenge sex, I thought it was just for the plot?”

I let out a low breath, almost a laugh. “I don’t make empty promises, sweetheart.”

Her breath catches. I watch her throat move. My hand settles on her thigh—slow, deliberate—then slides up to her waist, fingers spreading over the curve of her hip. With my other hand, I trace her lower lip with my thumb, feeling the soft give of it.

“Let me devour your body, Amor.”

She searches my face, eyes wide, uncertain. “I… I just got out of a really bad relationship. I can’t just… hand my body over to a stranger. And th…thank you very much, by the way—for pulling me out of that room. I thought I was done.”

“My pleasure.” I lean closer, lips near her ear. “And I mean what I say. I’ll make you forget that boy.”

“I’m not here to save you, or fix you, or promise you forever. But I’m not him. I’m offering you pleasure as a weapon. There’s a difference.” She studies me for a long beat.

“You think sex is a weapon?”

“I think forgetting him for one night is a weapon. And I’m very good at making women forget.” Let me ruin you, princess.”

Something shifts in her expression—anger, hurt, want. Then, suddenly, she surges forward and kisses me.

Not soft. Not tentative.

Deep. Hungry. Like she is trying to erase everything that happens tonight.

I groan into her mouth, one hand sliding into her hair, the other tightening on her waist.

My pulse thunders in my ears; I can hear hers too, racing just as fast.

She clutches the lapels of my coat, pulling me closer, small sounds escaping her throat that drive me insane.

The car slows. “Boss,” Luca says quietly from the front. “We’re home.”

I don’t wait for him to open the door. I get out, round the car, and lift her into my arms again. She doesn’t protest—just wraps her arms around my neck and holds on as I carry her through the private lobby and into the elevator.

The penthouse doors open directly into the living room.

I set her down on the low, careful again, like she might break. “Something to drink?”

She shakes her head, tucking her legs under her. “I’m good.”

I smirk, walk to the bar anyway, and pour two glasses of the 1996 Château Margaux I save for no particular reason. I hand her one.

She stares at it for half a second, then takes it and drinks—deep, steady pulls, like she needs the burn.

“More?” I ask.

She holds out the empty glass without a word. I refilled it. She drinks half this time, then sets it down and finally looks at me.

“My ex-boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend.” I stay quiet, letting her talk.

“We have been together for five years. I was there during his toughest moments. And tonight, he treats her—the girl he’s known for a few months—like she is everything, like I am disposable.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. She picks up the glass again, fingers tight around the stem.

“He only ever helps me when it suits him. My dad has hepatitis. Now there’s a tumor in his brain. Surgery is…” She exhales shakily. “A lot. Jason says if I come to that party and play the perfect girlfriend in front of his adoptive father, he’ll pay for it. So, I did. Worst of all… his adoptive father didn’t even make it to the party.”

My jaw tightens. The thought of that little bastard I adopted bargaining with her father’s life makes me want to lose my mind.

She looks up at me suddenly, eyes glassy. “Do you think I’m worthy of being loved?” I set my glass down, move closer, and cup her face gently with both hands.

“Cariño,” I say, voice low, “you are worth far more than that boy ever deserves. And tonight, I’m going to show you exactly how much.”

She hesitates, then nods.

“My name’s Veronica…” she starts, then laughs under her breath, a little breathy sound. “Veronica Harper. I’m—uh—23. Medical student at Horizon.”

“Nice name.”

She ducks her head again, cheeks pinking up. “Thanks.” Then quieter, almost apologetic: “I’m so sorry for just blurting all that out. You didn’t ask.”

“No… no, I like it.”

“I might as well have to start getting sick more often. Give you an excuse to use those pretty hands to treat me.”

She giggles—sharp and sudden, hand flying up to cover her mouth like she’s embarrassed by how loud it came out. “Oh my god, that was so cheesy.”

She peeks at me through her fingers, still smiling, then drops her hand. “So tell me… how old are you?”

I pause just long enough. “You don’t bother to know my name. Anyway, I’m thirty-nine.”

“Woah… thirty-nine?” Her eyes widened, genuine surprise. “I was definitely not expecting that.”

I smirk, leaning in a little. “Why? Haven’t been with older men?”

She bites her lip, shakes her head once—quick no—then another soft, nervous laugh escapes. “I… I haven’t.”

I close the distance slowly, deliberately. My lips brush hers—barely there at first, just a graze. Her breath hitches. I pull back an inch, voice dropping to a whisper against her mouth. “Trust me, amor… you’re gonna enjoy every bit of this night.”

The kiss starts slowly, carefully. My lips brush hers—once, twice—giving her every chance to pull away. She doesn’t. Her hands come up, gripping my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric.

I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, tasting red wine and her warm vanilla scent.

A soft sound escapes her throat—half sigh, half whimper—and she presses closer. I slide one hand from her cheek down her neck to her shoulder. My other hand rests at her waist, pulling her gently until she is half in my lap.

I break the kiss just long enough to trail my lips along her jaw, down her neck. She tilts her head back, breathing shallow, giving me access to the scent that has me undone.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” I murmur against her mouth, giving her one last out.

She shakes her head fast, strands of hair sticking to her flushed cheek. “No—don’t stop.”

That’s all I need to hear.

I reach up and slowly pull off the mask on my face, letting it drop behind me. The cool air hits my face; her eyes flick over my features like she’s trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t know she had.

Her lips part from mine mid-kiss, just enough for a soft, startled breath to escape. Her pupils blow wide.

“You look… really familiar.”

I let one corner of my mouth lift. “Yeah? Where from?”

“I don’t know.” She gives a small, helpless laugh that ends too quickly. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. It’s right there, on the edge of my brain, but I can’t—”

She stops talking when her gaze locks on mine.

“Your eyes…” she whispers, almost to herself. “They’re… God, they’re really mesmerizing.”

“What else?” I ask.

“And your lips…”

Before she can finish the sentence, my mouth crashes onto hers again. This time I kiss her slower, deeper, savoring every soft slide of her tongue against mine. My hand moves from her waist, tracing the curve of her ribcage through the dress.

My thumb circles her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress, teasing it to a hard peak as she whimpers softly, her body arching toward me like an invitation I can’t refuse.

I pull back just enough to slide the straps of her dress down her shoulders, exposing her breasts to the cool air of the penthouse. They’re full and flushed, nipples begging for attention.

Her breath hitches sharply—sharp enough that my fingers freeze on the hook.

I pull back a fraction, searching her face.

“Hey, Amor,” I murmur, my voice low and steady, thumb brushing the underside of her jaw. “What’s wrong?”

She bites her lip, eyes flicking down, then back up to mine.

“I… it’s just that I haven’t done this with anyone except Jason…” Her voice cracks on his name.“I feel scared.”

I cup her face with both hands, holding her gaze.

“Then we go slow,” I say quietly. “As slow as you need. I’m not him. I’m not going to hurt you, amor.”

She searches my eyes for a long second, then nods—small at first, then firmer.

I lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Don’t be scared, kitten… I’ve got you,” I whisper, letting my breath warm her skin.

She exhales shakily, shoulders relaxing under my palms.

“I feel better now…” she murmurs. “I want to do it… I need to numb the pain too.”

I lower my head and take one peak into my mouth, slow and filthy sweet. My tongue swirls, sucking hard enough to make her back arch, then softer, laving the sensitive tip like I’m worshipping it. She whimpers, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there while I switch to the other breast, giving it the same greedy attention—sucking deep, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp my name.

“Fuck… please…”