EXES - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance Novel Read online

I don’t know what to say, she finally answered back. Except thank you.

  Don’t say anything…until tonight. He answered with authority. Then I expect to hear every detail about how you look wearing it. And nothing else.

  Chapter Seven

  Sexy…sultry…naughty…super naughty…just down right slutty.

  Alma drifted across the window display of a high-end lingerie boutique at the Merchandise Mart, perusing its merchandise of seductive lingerie and torturing herself about whether or not she had the guts to go inside and make a purchase.

  White satin chemises…black corsets trimmed with lace…pink chiffon babydoll nighties...siren red garter belts and matching G-strings. Black leather chastity belts.

  Sure, they all looked appealing on perfectly sculpted plastic mannequins. But it was hard to imagine herself in any of them, much less standing in front of a man and keeping a straight face.

  There was, however, one option beyond the window display, near the rear of the shop, that caught her eye. It was a sophisticated lavender bra and panty set, embellished with petite white and pink rose buds and embroidered with floral lace. With its soft palette of pastels, it was as enchanting as an impressionist painting while still offering a hint of the risqué with its peekaboo promise to conceal almost nothing beneath the sheer veil of lilac tulle.

  Alma convinced herself that its authentic beauty drew her through the boutique’s main entrance and into the quaint surroundings of the lingerie shop—where only a few other women were browsing the tables of French-cut thongs laid out like colorful candies. Rows and rows of silk hangers lined the walls—all with provocative satin pushup bras and bustiers, arrayed in every shade of red, pink, green, turquoise, and ivory.

  God, what was she even doing there?

  The only time she had ever worn lingerie in her life was when she was married, and that already felt like a life lived by another woman. It no longer was her—now—and certainly not when she was the one buying it for herself.

  Or perhaps…buying it for his benefit.

  Passing by the drawers of pantyhose near the rear of the store, she sought out the lavender bra and panty set and lifted the hanger to inspect its padded bra and satin straps. She was so used to wearing sports bras, buried beneath her overalls and heavy sweaters that she barely could remember what it felt like to wear something uniquely feminine and seductive.

  “Twice in one day—it must be fate.”

  She closed her eyes, too horrified to look ahead of her in the mirror and confirm the identity of the male voice directly behind her.

  “I assume that’s for Jacques?”

  His accusation infuriated her. She spun around to challenge his smug chiseled face and the glinting blue eyes. Her emotions changed from tingling embarrassment to red hot retaliation.

  “It’s none of your business, Harvey.”

  He flashed her a smile, as if he detected the flush in her cheeks and savored it. “I’ll take that as a yes. That’s definitely your color,” he noted, peering down at the bra and panty clenched in her hands. “But I doubt Jackass knows anything about getting a woman in or out of one of those…so you might have to draw him a diagram.”

  “Unlike you, right?”

  His smile widened, like a schoolboy cherishing the negative attention. “Well, I’m certainly not an amateur. But neither are you, if I remember correctly.”

  He held her gaze. Until this afternoon, she had forgotten how attractive he looked when he hadn’t bothered to shave in the morning or when the right angle of light fell on his tanned skin. He was coatless, as if the bitter wind didn’t faze him, and the long sleeves of his denim-blue shirt were rolled up past his elbows. During the frigid spring months of Chicago, only men who worked outside had sun-kissed skin, and that was Harvey—golden, fearless, and looking for trouble anywhere he could get it.

  “Okay, so you’ve guessed what I’m doing here,” Alma said, fueling his false assumption about her relationship with Jacques, just to test if he was truly jealous. “So tell me then…what are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing here?” he shot back.

  Ugh, that was so typical Harvey. Never give a straight answer, especially if it allowed you to conjure up the worst case scenario about him.

  “Enlighten me,” she sassed back.

  “A true gentlemen doesn’t kiss and tell, sweetheart. So, let’s just say…I’m here for the same reasons you are. But I’m actually more surprised to see you here than you probably are to see me.”

  “Well, I’m a new woman now. I buy my own lingerie.”

  “That’s a shame. Jacques isn’t doing his job then.” He pushed his lips closer to her ear, and whispered his words down her neck. “Part of the fun is imagining what she’ll look like in every single sultry piece. At least, that’s what I used to do when I came here to buy it for you.”

  Alma tried to avoid getting lost in the nostalgia of the past, but his masculine scent of pine and musk brought it all back. She tried equally hard to push from her mind that she was actually in a lingerie shop with her ex-husband—who was buying sexy outfits for someone new in his life.

  “You’re forgetting the stockings,” Harvey suddenly said, turning his attention onto a collection of long silk hosiery.

  “No, I haven’t,” Alma replied, trying to hide the bra and panty set beneath crossed arms. “I just haven’t decided on the right color.”

  “White—if you want to keep it...clean,” he instructed her. “Black—if you want to make sure he’s straight.” He lifted a pair of slinky black stockings, trimmed with deep purple lace at thigh level. “I always liked seeing you in something a bit more…” his voice trailed off as his eyes roamed the store for an example of his point.

  “Whorish?” she offered, finishing the thought for him.

  He smirked and peered through her lenses, seizing the attention of the real woman hiding behind them. “I’m pretty sure you enjoyed it, too.”

  “I can’t remember,” she lied, breaking eye contact. “But I’m sure your newest conquest will enjoy whatever item you choose. Here…let me help.” She drifted over to a black and white ruffled ensemble that looked suspiciously like a naughty French maid’s uniform with its triple D nipple circles cut out.

  She fingered through the selection before passing over a nylon gold bodysuit with matching gold-studded leather collar. He accepted it, but his attention stayed squarely on her, as if he couldn’t get enough of her sassy comebacks and undertone of disdain.

  “Tell me something, Miss Castillo. After you divorced and banished me from your life, what did you do with all those whorish outfits that I forced upon you?

  “Why? Do you want them back so you can re-gift them?”

  She held up another option—a black spandex bodystocking with single slit over the crotch.

  Amused, he relaxed his weight against a rack of garter belts. “Maybe I just want to know if it was as easy to get rid of them as it was to get rid of me.”

  Unexpectedly, she noticed that his wedding band was gone. Of course, it was gone. They were no longer married. But it was the very first time that Alma had actually registered that it was gone. When they were married, Harvey had been so stubborn about wanting to wear it, even though he knew men on his construction sites who had lost fingers after their rings were caught on heavy machinery. Still, Harvey refused to take it off. Now, he stood there, casually staring at her, waiting for her reply. But she could barely remember the question.

  “I donated them to my local church.” She stared straight at him, bluffing again.

  Without warning, he edged closer and lifted her chin to meet her eyes. For a moment, she feared he would kiss her until she realized it was simply a vague whisper of hope imprinted in her heart.

  “I’m sure the nuns were most grateful,” he whispered, passing his lips over hers before letting her go and sauntering toward the door.

  The store clerk noticed his imminent departure and called out to him.
“Is there something I can help you find, sir?”

  Harvey stopped in his tracks and glanced back at her with his easy, Hollywood smile.

  “I’ll come back another day when it isn’t so crowded.”

  Then his marble blue eyes seized onto Alma. His jawline flinched, as if he was holding himself back from leaving the store without saying another word.

  “And just for the record, Alma…you were never just a conquest. You were my wife and the love of my life. So no matter what you choose to believe about me now, I won’t let you believe anything less than that.”

  He turned and passed out the door, disappearing from sight. After a moment of silence, the store clerk glanced at Alma for clarification.

  “He’s a Leo,” Alma shrugged, pretending to ignore the impact of his unexpected confession. “They’re all melodramatic like that.”

  “Ohhhhhh,” The store clerk groaned and grinned with relief. “I totally get it. I was in a relationship with a Leo once, too. It’s true. But he was also the best kisser I’ve ever dated, probably because he was so freaking sensitive. Totally get the melodrama.” She quickly turned back to her inventory list. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

  The store clerk’s words echoed in her mind while the memory of Harvey’s expression arrested her—you were my wife and the love of my life.

  Was she being too hard on him? Was she still bitter and angry about everything that had happened between them? He talked a good game now, but when it really mattered—when things were distant and troubled between them—she only remembered the sound of silence.

  Did it really take a divorce and a year apart for him to realize that marriage wasn’t like one of his demolition projects? Something abandoned and neglected over time before patching up and sold away to the highest bidder?

  Harvey Zale—the one she had married—was as passionate about art and architecture as much as she was, and together they had indulged their dreams of finding and preserving all the historical treasures within a city they both loved as much as each other.

  Alma shut her eyes and dismissed the past and everything painful within it. It had already been an emotional day, and there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the darkest and most depressing parts of her life. Harvey Zale had made his billions dismissing the romantic ideals of preservation in favor of capitalistic greed at whatever cost. And regardless of his spontaneous declaration tonight, there was nothing in his actions or words that proved otherwise. Their relationship had simply become another one of his properties—neglected and in need of preservation. But the truth was: it was easier to destroy it with a wrecking ball than maintain it over time with an inextinguishable flame of eternal love.

  “I’ll take this one,” Alma suddenly announced, replacing the lavender bra and panty set in favor of a black leather bustier with a chrome zipper running up its middle and squeezing everything together into a perfectly sculpted, heart-shaped fantasy of deliciousness. Then she selected a pair of sleek black garter stockings to match the black zippered G-string thong.

  Harvey had been completely wrong in his assumptions about her and Jacques, but if there was one thing that he was right about, it was the stockings. She wasn’t looking for anything clean tonight. In fact, she was determined to prove to herself that she was capable of indulging in the exact opposite with a man other than Harvey Zale.

  Chapter Eight

  There was nothing more she had been looking forward to more all day than returning home, taking off all her clothes, crawling into her bed, and waiting for his call.

  His phone call.

  Tonight would be different than all the others. It would be a significant evolution in their flirtatious sexting affair. It would be the very first time she would actually be hearing his voice, saying all those naughty, provocative exchanges rather than reading his texts and imagining the man behind every sly, cocky comeback and confident sexual directive. She never thought it would develop into anything meaningful, much less breach the sacred barrier of her real life as Alma Castillo. But he was attempting to ensnare the mythical seductress that he inspired within her—an infinitely more invincible and alluring woman, a playful, teasing temptress who attracted his attention and enjoyed the challenge of remaining just beyond his reach.

  Ironically, he had become more than just an entertaining diversion. He had become her ultimate escape. Without him, she was only a recently divorced antiques expert working in her father’s antique appraisal business who faced the reality of a failed marriage and the fear of another broken heart. Today she had been unfortunately reminded of how badly she had suffered from that broken heart. She never expected to run into Harvey, much less end up on his property and at his mercy, attempting to convince him not to be the premiere asshole she knew he’d become. She thought that enough time had passed. It had been almost a year since she filed the divorce papers. But if time heals old wounds, then the clock between them had stopped. The pain and resentment of their separation was still as fresh as the day she realized her husband was no longer the man she had married.

  But when he agreed to halt the bulldozer and grant her a chance to inspect the windows in the morning, there had been a brief moment of truce from all the heartache and a glimmer of the way things used to be between them. Was he doing it for his own monetary gain, or had she successfully stirred up the integrity of the old Harvey who she had once known and deeply loved?

  And yet, her secret hope that he had done it to prove to her that he was still that same man quickly faded when she ran into him at the lingerie shop—his favorite place to buy her gifts when they were married. Clearly, he wasn’t there shopping for her. He was there shopping for someone else, and perhaps that realization bothered her more than even his capitalist greed.

  He had moved on from their marriage.

  And she?

  Publicly, she acted like she had. But privately, she knew she hadn’t.

  She moved through the inky darkness of her condominium without turning on the lights. It had been the only thing she requested in their divorce settlement—ownership of their full-floor vintage penthouse within a seven-story, Burnham-inspired greystone overlooking the South Branch of the Chicago River. She had gladly signed away her marital rights to all his other commercial properties that he had acquired during the last years of their marriage and all the billions of dollars in wealth he had made from them. She didn’t want any of it, except the vintage penthouse they bought together when they were both struggling college graduates, striving to rescue and renovate architectural gems along the riverfront that otherwise would have been auctioned off and demolished by opportunistic real estate developers like Harvey Zale.

  Now, it almost seemed painfully ironic that her home was a nostalgic memento of a time when things had been different between them. When he had been a different man. She remembered every inch of its restoration: sawing, sanding, gutting, drywalling, painting and decorating. Side by side, they had done it together. She remembered meticulously researching every renovation option and his insistence that he could create whatever she could imagine for the space. And despite the cathedral ceiling in the loft-style living room overlooking the Chicago River or the embellished silver and pearl chandelier in her dining room from an Adler & Sullivan building they couldn’t save, her favorite room in the penthouse was still her bedroom, a whitewashed haven with arching bay windows and ornate vine and blossom terracotta moldings, twisting up the walls like a protective garden. French double doors sealed off her sanctuary from the outside world and the steady glow from the enormous stone and marble fireplace burned with such warmth and intensity that it made her question all the merits of living in the modern world.

  On a few special nights, the gleaming oak floors reflected the shining rays of stark moonlight through the only source of color within the room—the circular Tiffany stained-glass window, Woman on the Crescent Moon, that he had bought for her at an auction. With its portrayal of a fairy-like woman balancin
g in the curve of the crescent moon, her scarlet gown undulating with the midnight breeze of cobalt blue, it represented the epitome of everything she loved about Tiffany’s work—mythical, sensual, romantic. How many times had she stared at it after they had made love, drifting to sleep in his arms, listening to the steady pace of his heartbeat, appreciating the fact that she had married someone who loved her so completely?

  She had lied about giving away all the lingerie he had bought her. She hadn’t gotten rid of any of it. Moving to her dresser, she pulled open the bottom drawer and peered inside it. The reality was: she had kept every piece, and she still remembered every intimate occasion they shared together while she was wearing each one. And it was true what he had said about her—she did enjoy all the sultry outfits he had bought her because he’d been the only man who she had ever trusted enough to inspire her naughty side, not to mention the only man who had ever made her come.

  Perhaps all that would change tonight.

  She lifted the lid off the powder blue gift box and flipped open the velvet jewelry case. Even in the dim moonlight, the round-cut diamonds still scintillated with brilliance. His final text instructed her to wear the diamond choker necklace…and nothing else. But after meeting Harvey in the lingerie store, she realized she wanted—no, needed—to prove that she could be someone other than the woman he assumed he still knew.

  Lifting the boutique’s shopping bag out of her purse, she set it atop her vanity and slid out the black leather bustier, matching zippered thong, and black garter stockings from the silk pouch. Tonight she vowed not be that same woman. She had a chance to rebel against every limitation she had ever placed on herself, and she intended to indulge in every minute of it.

  And it was all because of him.

  Her mystery suitor had been the one who afforded her the opportunity to disappear from the confines of her everyday persona and reappear in a way that no one in her real life—not even her ex-husband—would recognize. Her mystery suitor had been the one who had liberated her. And it was this liberation that made her yearn to exceed his every expectation for their exchange tonight.