Page 35 of The Damaged Billionaire

“I know you like control. I know you have full oversight of my life now and that is the way you work—by having full control of things. I know you are smart, successful, and as I have already established, beautiful. But let me tell you one thing, Willow Valentine. While you may control my life on the outside, I am calling the shots with us. In the bedroom, you are mine, and I can’t wait for a repeat of New York. I will be patient, though. I will play this game of professionalism with you because I don’t want to jeopardize your business, but be warned, whatever this is…” he says, his finger waving back and forth between us, “the flame hasn’t flickered out after one night. If anything, it is burning hotter and brighter with each passing day, and you and I will combust, and I, for one, am absolutely looking forward to it.”

I am left speechless as I watch him sit back in his seat, smirking at me from across the table as he takes another big lick of his ice cream. He has always been open and honest about his feelings with me, and now he has literally told me exactly how he thinks things will go.

“We should finish up. We have the photo shoot this week and you need your rest,” I say, clearing my throat, moving the conversation back onto safer topics. As we finish our ice cream and leave the restaurant, I am functioning on autopilot. His words roll over and over in my head, the kiss playing on repeat. My lips still tingle from the memory, and as I push through the door to my hotel, I flop on the bed, and it is then I realize that he is right. I will soon be putty in his hands.

Tennyson Rothschild is not the man everyone thinks he is. He is so much more.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - TENNYSON

After I kissed her briefly in the privacy of our ice cream booth, I took her to her hotel and was a total gentleman when I said good night. Until I got home and took matters into my own hands, with her being on my mind ever since. It was good to have my lips on hers again, even if it was only briefly. She was quiet afterward, but I have come to learn that is how she processes. I know my words were correct. She wants me just as much as I want her. How she can act like the world didn’t shift when we kissed, I don’t know, but she hides it well. Better than me, because all I want to do is have my hands all over her.

Now, as our photographer, Natasha, gets into the groove, with tunes on in the background, me dressed in designer jeans and a tight white Henley top, I thought I would feel uncomfortable, posing in front of this small group of people, but I don’t. Because Willow’s eyes are firmly on me, and I can see her trying not to be affected.

But she is.

“That’s it, Tennyson, just angle your head a bit to the left. You are a natural,” Natasha says, before she lowers the camera and walks toward me. Placing her palm on my chest, she stands close, her eyes flicking up to mine as she runs her hand down my torso, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in my shirt before her hands rest on my belt buckle.

“How do you feel about a topless shot? I think it would be a great photo,” she purrs. Her flirtations have been off the charts since I arrived. At first, I thought it was her manner, to get me relaxed in front of the camera and in the mood, but it has gotten worse as the shoot has gone on and seeing the whispers that travel around the room, I know she is coming on to me. Considering she works with male models often, I expected a little more professionalism and I suddenly admire Willow more because of her strong boundaries.

Any other time, Natasha would do it for me. I know all I would have to do is suggest a wardrobe change, and I could have her bent over the shoe rack out the back before I could count to ten. But my eyes rove over her shoulder to where Willow is watching. I am not sure when it happened or how, but my eyes are now on Willow and her alone. No other woman has the same effect on me like Willow does. But if looks could kill, both Natasha and I would’ve been dead thirty minutes ago. She is clearly not happy with the situation, so I decide to use it to my full advantage.

“Sure. Why not?” I say with a smirk, looking forward to showing Willow my body again. I also don't miss Natasha biting her bottom lip. “Just tell me what you want,” I add, my voice silky and loud enough for Willow to hear. Willow’s eyes crease, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She is trying hard to remain professional, but she is about to explode. I can feel it.

“Well, I think your jeans are fine, but let's lose the top. Let’s show the women of Baltimore exactly what you are made of.” Her hands under my top are already tracing the skin on my stomach, trying to lift it from my body. I stand back half a step to create a little distance, because I don’t want to lead her on, even if I do see Willow now coated in a dark shade of green.

“I really don’t think we need a topless shot,” Willow interjects, stepping up to the set, cell phone in hand. I look at her shooting evil eyes at Natasha, but it is her white knuckles that give her away. She is gripping her phone so hard I am surprised it doesn’t break.

“Oh, believe me, his female fans will love it. Even if he just uses it for socials, I can do it in black and white, and it will be tasteful.” Natasha is coy and takes a few photos as she steps back to get in position, giving Willow no chance to respond.

Willow looks at me, and I shrug, but my eyes are firmly on her as I grab my shirt from the back of my neck and pull it over my head and off my body. I see her swallow, her eyes raking over my half-naked body as her cheeks redden.

“So hot, Tennyson. You are built from stone or something,” Natasha calls out and makes me look in her direction. I tense my abdominals and run my hand through my hair, feeling equal parts like a moron, but also turned on because Willow’s eyes are glued to me and I fucking love it.

I turn to face the camera and put my hand on my hips, laughing to myself. This is fucking surreal. Who even comes up with this shit? I have a million things to do at the office. I wonder what my brothers would think if they knew what I was doing right now.

“I think we are done here,” Willow says, calling an abrupt end to the shoot. I give her a wink as Natasha comes up to me.

“I think we have it. Tennyson, those suits you had on earlier were amazing, but this, seriously… You need to be on the cover of some magazines, because wow,” she says, subtly stepping into my side, right into my personal space, and I see Willow eyeing her closely.

“Thanks, Natasha. Will you have those over to me tomorrow? I want to see what I have to work with,” Willow says, remaining professional, but I already know Willow won’t use her again.

“Sure. I might even keep one of those last ones for myself, you know, for my portfolio?” she asks me, again biting her bottom lip as she looks up at me. I huff out a laugh. This woman is serious, and if she doesn’t stop her shameless flirting, my girl is going to gouge her eyes out.

“Sure,” I reply with a shrug like it doesn’t bother me, but I know that Willow will never allow it. I grab my shirt and leave the two women to wrap up while I go in the back to change.

* * *

You could cut the tension with a knife. Willow was quiet the entire drive, so I took the opportunity to reply to some emails, and now as I walk into my office, she is hot on my heels. I can tell by her strut she is upset.

“No interruptions, Melody,” I say to my assistant as I walk past, opening my office door and letting Willow in first before I follow and lock the door behind me. I steel myself for her wrath.

“What the hell was that?” she seethes at me the minute my office door is closed.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, acting innocent, when I know exactly what she is talking about. My girl has a jealous streak, and I like it. I walk over to my desk, lean against it, and cross my arms over my chest and wait.

“Flirting with the photographer, have you no shame?” Her hands land on her hips, accentuating her curvy frame, and I clench my jaw as I take her in. Angry Willow is fucking hot. She means business. Not able to help myself, I push off the desk and walk up to her, standing right in front of her, my gaze lowering and tone serious.

“Why can’t I flirt with the photographer?” For one, it was harmless, but two, Willow has made it clear that we are not to cross a line. So why should she care?

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