Page 33 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Breathe, Tennyson. Just try to relax.” She comes to stand near me, and she is a brave girl to get this close to me when I am this angry. I would never harm her, but I feel on edge. I am brimming with hate and need to get it out.

“Relax? Relax? God, Willow, if you knew, if you knew what she really was,” I say, undoing my top two buttons as she stands to the side, watching me.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to speak with her. You don’t have to go anywhere near her,” she assures me, her hands up in front of her chest like she is trying to tame a wild beast. Concern is laced in her features as she tries to help me calm down.

“That is very fucking hard to do when she is my mother. She is always there, always in my face, always digging into our lives. No doubt she is already trying to figure out exactly who you are and why you were holding my hand,” I pant, trying to get air. The last thing I need is my mother coming near Willow. Hell will freeze over before that happens.

“Good. Let her see. I am not scared of her,” Willow sasses, her hands landing on her hips, and I stop pacing to look at her.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who doesn’t give a fuck that I am a Rothschild.”

“Nope, your surname means nothing to me,” she admits, and if I liked her before, then I idolize her now.

“She is so fucking deranged. Deluded. Horrible, conniving. I hate her. I just hate her.” I am almost yelling, my hands clenching and unclenching.

“Okay, take some breaths,” she says, her voice soothing, but I am so far gone, I can’t rein it in.

“I can’t,” I admit, my voice almost panicked.

“Here, with me. Breathe in and then out.” She steps forward and takes my hands. She watches me breathe a few times, but it isn’t the breathing that is helping, it is her. And now my attention is only on one thing… what I want the most.

“Fuck,” I yell out in frustration and step toward Willow, grabbing her around the waist and pushing her back against the wall. My forehead presses against hers, and I hold her hips tight. We are panting, her chest rising and falling in time with mine.

Her eyes widen as they look into mine.

“Tennyson,” she whispers, her tone a mix of pleasure and warning, and it is nearly my undoing. I know I can’t touch her. Not like I want to. But it is really fucking hard, especially because I know she wants me just as much as I want her.

“Fuck, I want you. I fucking want you, Willow. I have thought of nothing but you since that night months ago. I want you in my bed again. I want you screaming my name, moaning around my cock. I want to taste you, hold you, mold your skin to mine. I fucking ache for you,” I grit out, barely hanging on, my fingers digging into her flesh as my pelvis presses into her. She makes me feel, for the very first time in a long time, and I don’t want to run from it anymore. I want to run to it.

Her hands grab my upper arms, her body arching slightly into mine.

“Tennyson,” she says again, her voice warning me, while her body is telling me something entirely different. I know she wants me, but the predicament we are in from a professional standpoint has clouded things. I don’t let her finish.

“I know we can’t. I know we shouldn’t. I know you take your work seriously, and I would never jeopardize that. But God, Willow, what are you doing to me?” My voice is pained, like the feeling in my body.

Before she can say anything, there is a loud knock on the door.

“Tenn, everything all right?” Eddie yells. Obviously, he has gotten rid of our mother and is coming to check on me.

“Fuck,” I groan, pulling back from Willow, frustrated that we got interrupted, but even more so at this entire night. I see her straighten her dress and hear her clear her throat. Our moment is lost.

“I want to go home,” I say to her, defeated. Exhausted.

“Then let's go,” she says, not asking questions. Not trying to get me to stay. It is then I realize she is on my side. My team. Here to help me. She has my back, and I will make sure she knows that I have hers too.

CHAPTER TWENTY - WILLOW

We both sit in comfortable silence as we relax in the back seat, each reflecting on the evening. By the time I got us out of the venue and into the car, Tennyson had calmed down. He was right on the brink tonight; I could see it. I could feel it. I am starting to learn that he is a passionate man with lots of layers. Telling me how much he wants me, though, that almost did me in. My heart hasn’t raced like that for a very long time, and his declaration mixed with his proximity had my body almost jumping out of my skin.

I have no idea what it is about his mother that makes him so angry. I have done my research, and I know she isn’t a nice woman. But to the extent that Tennyson gets upset, there must be more to it. It's very personal for him. Almost like it is raw and still carving into him. I’m not a psychologist but the deep-seated anger is probably what is pushing him and has created the reputation he now holds.

We lasted only forty-five minutes into the dinner before we told Tennyson's brother, Eddie, to give our apologies, and we walked straight out the door to a waiting town car.

“Take a left here,” I tell the driver, who looks from me to Tennyson, wanting his approval. Tennyson remains quiet, but nods. He glances at me quickly, then gazes back out the window. His shoulders are still stiff as his hand runs back and forth across his mouth, deep in thought.

“Just take the next left, and then pull over near the yellow building,” I instruct the driver again, who nods this time, not looking at Tennyson for confirmation.

“Where are you taking me, Willow?” Tennyson asks with a sigh, his voice deflated. Any other client, I would have taken home straightaway. Probably called their manager or family member and told them where they went wrong. Tennyson is different. He is a client, but I care for him on another level. He is hurting, and I need to take his mind off things.

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