The Bad Boy Billionaire: What a Girl Wants by Maya Rodale Read Free Book Online Page A

other and Duke was generous, as always, with small, gentle caresses and other little signs of affection.
    I kept writing until my hand started to cramp and I had to pause to shake it out. How did people write so much in days of yore?
    Then Duke’s Kindle battery died.
    With nothing much else to do, we stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows and looked out at the rain.
    “Do you think the rain is easing up?” I asked hopefully.
    “Hard to tell,” he said. But really, the answer was no. This storm wasn’t going to end any time soon.
    “It’ll be dark soon. I don’t suppose you have candles?”
    “Of course not,” Duke said grimly. We both fell silent, presumably thinking about all the Storm Prep Tweets and articles that he’d ignored. It went without saying that my apartment was pretty well stocked with candles, matches, flashlights, food, bottled water, and fully charged appliances.
    “What about a flashlight? That’s a gadget. Do you have one?”
    “On my phone,” Duke said grimly.
    I couldn’t help but smile. My billionaire tech entrepreneur was so out of his element.
    “I’m sorry, Jane. I’ll go out. See if a store is open.” It was just the sort manly, heroic protective thing a guy would do. Offer to venture out into a category 4 storm to get a girl some chocolate. It was also ridiculous.
    “Are you crazy? The city has shut down.” I pointed outside. “Look. Everything is shut. It’s pouring rain.”
    “It’s New York City,” Duke said. “Someone is making money off this. Look—there are still taxis driving around.”
    I looked and indeed, every once in a while a yellow cab slowly cruised through the desolate streets. It was comforting, that. No matter what happened, the city carried on. Maybe I could, too.
    We had a long kiss goodbye, as if he were going off to war or something. My guy was venturing out into the unknown. If something went wrong, there’d be no way of knowing. Using the last of his phone battery, he used the flashlight function to light his way down the pitch-black stairwell. I didn’t envy his walk back up to the penthouse—hopefully with bags full of food and candles.
    My phone still had a bit of battery since I had sensibly switched it onto airplane mode last night. I kept checking the time while Duke was out. First he was gone for a half hour. Then an hour. Then I started to panic. In addition to checking the time, I also watched my dwindling battery.
    Then another hour passed.
    I was alone. The apartment was getting darker and darker as the hours passed. Eventually the sun set, taking daylight with it, leaving me alone in the dark.
    The rain kept falling.
    Eventually, I decided a glass of wine was in order to soothe my nerves. Where the hell was he? In fact, I wanted wine to soothe my temper. What was he thinking to go out in the damn storm? In the dark, I made my way to the kitchen. On my way, I collided with someone.
    I screamed. Bloody-murder-call-the-cops screamed .
    I felt a man’s hard wet chest. I felt a man’s hands close around my arms . . . just like last night. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I struggled to free myself and stumbled backwards.
    “Jane! It’s me, Duke.”
    His voice didn’t register. I tried to break away. I wanted those hands off. We stumbled together in the darkness, all tangled up until my back hit the wall.
    “Jane it’s me. Duke. It’s ok.”
    But it wasn’t. This felt all too familiar. The wall at my back, the man’s weight against me and arms blocking me in. His mouth, inches from mine. His hands, holding me up. I couldn’t tell what was real and what was my memory. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding. I felt trapped, suffocated.
    It could have been ten seconds or ten minutes, I don’t know, but I wrenched myself away.
    “Jane it’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
    “I know,” I gasped. “Just . . . flashback.”
    In the dim light I saw Duke’s jaw tense. Then he turned and slammed his fist