Banking Her: A Billionaire Bad Boys Novella (Book 2.5) (Bad Boy Billionaires) Read online

  In that moment, with Nick, my ex-boyfriend from a relationship that ended in an unplanned pregnancy and a disastrous breakup, I’d just needed sex.

  And that’s all it was. Sex, pure and simple.

  It was an epically stupid choice, obviously.

  Now that a full year had passed since that wine-fueled decision, my brain was starting to feel the effects, frequently fantasizing about what it would be like to have the kind of sex that made your hands fist the sheets and sweat trickle down your skin. The kind of sex that left you wanting more. The kind of sex that made sleepless nights worth the fatigue.

  God, I want that kind of sex. I want it so bad.

  “Not the only one?”

  Wes’s voice pulled me from my sex-fogged thoughts, and I stared back at him in confusion.

  Not the only one? What in the hell was that supposed to mean? He wanted to have sex, too? Right now? With me? “Huh?” I asked eloquently.

  Could I have sex with Wes? No-strings-attached sex?

  Naked. Rough. My hands clenching his hair. His hands clutching my ass as he thrusts inside of me. His lips to my ear, whispering dirty things that have my nipples tightening from the sheer audacity of his filthy mouth…

  Welp, no need to phone a friend, there’s your answer.

  He tilted his head to the side, and a slight smirk crept across his full lips. “You said Thatch wasn’t the only one nervous about Cassie’s pregnancy.”

  “Oh…oh, right.” My cheeks heated in embarrassment. Sweet baby kittens, I had been three seconds away from ripping my blouse off and mounting him on my desk. I cleared my throat and rubbed my now sweaty palms down the top of my skirt. Shit, I was losing it, sitting here, fantasizing over visuals of Wes spreading me out over my desk and burying his face…

  For the love of God, I needed a shrink.

  Or an orgasm…from Wes Lancaster.

  I pushed those thoughts aside and grabbed my phone from the top of my desk and unlocked the screen, my fingers quickly finding the group text conversation with Cassie and Georgia. I held it up for him to see. “Georgia has been demon-texting me and Cass for the past seventy-two hours. She’s not too happy Cassie is traveling so much.”

  He took the phone from my hand and started to read a few of the texts aloud. “Goddammit, Winnie Winslow. You’re a doctor. Help me out here! Tell Cassie she’s not allowed to travel anymore. It’s not healthy for her or the baby.” His hazel eyes shone with amusement, and he glanced up at me with a grin. “How far along is Cassie again?”

  “Three months. You’d think she’s forty weeks and ready to deliver with the way Georgia is trying to put the kibosh on all of her travel plans. She’s hell-bent on Cassie being put on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy.”

  “Wait…forty weeks? I thought it was nine months?”

  “Ten months, actually. Due dates are calculated at forty weeks.”

  “Damn,” he groaned while a small smile kissed his lips. “It’s about to be a long seven months for all of us.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. It definitely is.”

  My phone pinged with a notification as Wes continued to read the insane text messages Georgia had been sending Cassie and me. His brow furrowed, and he quickly averted his gaze from my phone. “Here,” he said, handing my phone back. His voice no longer tinged by warmth and amusement. Instead, his tone hinted at irritation. “You got a text message.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I said, but I couldn’t help the confusion wrapped around my words.

  What the hell? That was the quickest one-eighty I had ever witnessed in my life.

  This man was a conundrum of surly mood changes and rare smiles. Well, at least around me, he was. I had noticed when his friends were around, his smiles were more frequent, and he never held back his witty retorts and sarcastic quips. But around me, and the public, he seemed less thrilled, less laid-back, and more jaw-clenchingly vexed.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling of wishing Wes would give me more of his smiles, his laughter, that easygoing charm I knew lay beneath his broody layers.

  It was stupid, I knew that much, but I couldn’t stop myself from feeling that way about him.

  My phone pinged and lit up with three more text notifications, and I finally glanced down at the screen to find the group chat with my four older brothers flooding with their mindless chitchat, that generally revolved around razzing each other and asking me to do favors.

  Remy: When’s Mom’s birthday?

  Jude: The same day. Every fucking year, Rem.

  Ty: I hope Winnie buys her something nice and lets us sign the card again.

  Remy: Seriously. What day, you fucks????

  Flynn: Winnie, how much do we owe you for Mom’s gift?

  Jude: Yeah, Win. How much? If it’s over two hundred, I need to borrow money.

  Ty: Says the idiot who just sold his “vacation home” in the Hamptons to buy a bigger “vacation home” on Martha’s Vineyard.

  Flynn: How Jude can walk the fine line of cheap and pretentious is mind-blowing.

  Remy: WHAT DAY IS MOM’S BIRTHDAY???

  See what I mean?

  I chuckled and typed out a response.

  Me: The 28th and get your own fucking gift for Mom.

  “So?” Wes’s voice pulled my attention away from my phone. “Are we going to look at Mitchell’s MRI, or are you going to keep texting with Remy?”

  My brow furrowed at the way he said my brother’s name—until my brain caught up with his insinuation. He thought Remy was a date or a boyfriend or basically anything but a blood relation.

  I opened my mouth to offer a rebuttal of, “Um, Remy is my brother,” but quickly thought better of it and stopped myself.

  It wasn’t any of his goddamn business.

  And why in the hell did he sound so pissed about it?

  Whatever. Maybe this is what I need to hold him at arm’s length since I’m so obviously failing at doing that on my own.

  I set my phone on my desk and handed Mitchell’s MRI report to him. “I think he should be good to play by Phoenix.”

  He quietly read the report and then looked up to meet my eyes. “You don’t think he can play the game against Minnesota this weekend?”

  “No.” I shook my head and focused on what I knew would be a fight. I hadn’t planned this discussion, really, but it was obviously one we needed to have and one I knew wouldn’t go easily. “I think he should sit out one more week and continue to go through physical therapy sessions twice a day.”

  “This report is telling me otherwise, Dr. Winslow.”

  Go figure, I was Doctor now. It seemed Wes referred to me as Dr. Winslow when his stodgy, pissed-off persona came to visit. Basically, it was the equivalent of my mother using my full name, Winnie Marie, when I was a kid and in a shitload of trouble.

  “Yeah, well, that report is just that, a report,” I retorted hotly. Unfortunately for everyone, the bad in him seemed to bring out the antagonism in me. “I’m looking at the full scope, the big picture, and I’m assuming you want Mitchell healthy and playing for the duration of the season, and hopefully, the postseason.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Well, it goes without saying that I want that too,” I reminded him. “Which is why I’m not clearing him to play until Phoenix.”

  “You’re not clearing him?” He held up the MRI report. “After reading this report, that decision seems a bit conservative, don’t you think?”

  I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “No. I don’t think it’s conservative at all. I think it’s the right decision.”

  A humorless laugh left his lips. “Why even ask me to look over the report if you were already set in your final decision?”

  “Ultimately, it’s your team. I just figured you’d like to know.”

  And I wanted you to come into my office so I could ogle the way you fill out your pants. Son of a bitch.

  “That’s right, it is my team,” he repeated with far too
much venom. “And I’ll be honest, Mitchell sitting out in Minnesota doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “It doesn’t sit well with me either.”

  He tilted his head and scrutinized my expression. “Are you sure? Because from here, it doesn’t seem like you’re having too difficult a time digesting the news.”

  I stepped closer to him, meeting his eyes without flinching or backing down. “I actually got this report two days ago. I’ve been mulling over this decision for the last forty-eight hours.”

  “Interesting.” He stepped closer, and his voice dropped a few octaves when we were practically nose-to-nose. “And you didn’t think to ask me to discuss this forty-eight hours ago?”

  “No,” I whispered angrily. “I didn’t need your assistance, Mr. Lancaster.”

  “Well, Dr. Winslow, next time, you let me know the second these kinds of reports come in.”

  “Fine,” I snapped.

  “Fine.”

  Neither of us moved, our faces mere inches from one another. It was a world-record-worthy stare down, and the longer we held it, the heavier the air seemed to become. My breaths came out in exaggerated waves, my chest practically heaving up and down and brushing up against the buttons of his dress shirt.

  I wanted to smack him. I wanted to swallow him whole.

  He blinked. I blinked.

  My cell phone vibrated with a call against my desk, but it didn’t even register on my radar.

  His eyes searched mine until they flickered down to my lips, to my heaving chest, and then back up to my lips again.

  I wanted to crush my mouth to his so I didn’t have to listen to his fucking questions.

  I wanted him to kiss me.

  His mouth moved infinitesimally closer. My mouth followed suit.

  He was close, so close now I could feel the warmth of his breath brush across my lips. One more inch and our mouths would be touching. One more inch and we’d be sharing the same air. One more inch and I’d know what Wes tasted like against my tongue.

  One more inch…

  The obnoxious ring of my desk phone broke our ridiculous trance, jolting us into action—and away from each other. Concerned it might be Lexi’s babysitter, I walked around my desk on shaky legs and picked up the receiver. “Dr. Winslow.”

  “Winnie,” Georgia’s voice filled my ear. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? And why are you at work so late?”

  “Because I’m busy working, Georgia.” I sighed and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window of my office. I couldn’t decide if it was the best-timed phone call or the absolute worst.

  “Can I call you back—”

  “No!” she shouted into my ear. “This is an emergency, Win!”

  “It is not an emergency.” Cassie’s annoyed voice joined the line.

  “Go ahead and take the call, Winnie,” Wes interrupted. My eyes met his and we searched one another’s gaze for something, but I wasn’t sure what. Desire? Want? Need? Regret?

  His eyes flickered down to the hand clutching at the silky material covering my chest, and I abruptly let go, feeling like an idiot for being so affected by him. The green notes of his hazel eyes flared brighter as he briefly looked at my lips again, but any depth of warmth disappeared as his gaze met my own. “I’ve got to head out anyway.”

  “Who is that?” Georgia questioned.

  “Is that Wes?” Cassie chimed in. “Are you in your office with Wes?”

  “I’ll call Mitchell on my way home,” he added.

  “Holy shit! That’s definitely Wes!” Georgia’s voice shrieked, and I had to pull the receiver away from my ear before my eardrum started to bleed.

  “Are you playing naughty secretary and naked boss tonight, Win?” Cassie singsonged.

  “She’s a physician, Cass. Not a goddamn secretary.”

  “I know, Wheorgie. It’s called role-playing.”

  Even without the help of speakerphone, their voices echoed inside my office. I quickly tapped the hold button before they started saying things I’d prefer Wes not to hear.

  “You’re going to call Mitchell?” I asked, curious what exactly he was going to tell him.

  He nodded. “I’ll let him know we’ve decided that he won’t be ready to play in Minnesota, but if he follows your orders and physical therapy schedule, he should be good to go by Phoenix.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “We’ve decided?”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “We’ve decided.”

  My brow furrowed in exasperation. Partly because of our ongoing battle, and partly because I couldn’t read him like I so desperately wanted.

  Obviously, he knew my decision was the right decision, but why in the hell did he always have to find an argument with everything?

  Before I could respond, my office phone started ringing again. Those impatient bitches had obviously hung up and called back on a different line.

  “I think you better get that.” He chuckled lightly and headed for the door, but he turned back to look me in the eye before he left. “Have a good night, Winnie.” He sounded surprisingly sincere.

  “You too.”

  With one last nod, Wes was gone, and Georgia’s rambling filled my ear again. “Don’t ever put me on hold again, Winnie Winslow. Not when we’ve got an emergency. And anyway, why was Wes in your office so late?”

  I plopped down in the leather chair behind my desk and slipped off my heels, resting my tired feet on top of my desk. “I was showing him Mitchell’s MRI results, Miss Nosy.

  “Were you also showing him your puss-ay?” Cassie asked.

  “Of course. Who do you think handed him the MRI report?”

  Cassie laughed. “You have a flair for bedside manner, Dr. Winslow.”

  “Are you leaving the office now?” Georgia asked.

  “Probably in about five minutes. Why?”

  “You need to stop by Cassie’s apartment on your way home.”

  Cassie groaned.

  “Why?”

  “Do you have latex gloves and some lube handy?”

  “What?”

  “She needs her cervix checked. She’s been crampy, and I think she might be going into labor soon.”

  “I’m three months pregnant, Wheorgie. And I’m pretty sure it’s the chili-loaded nachos I had for dinner that are making me cramp.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Fine,” Cassie retorted. “I’ll have Thatch’s cock check my cervix before I call it a night.”

  “Count me in, honey!” Thatch’s voice boomed in the background.

  “See? Problem solved, G.”

  “No! No! Problem not solved! That could make it worse. Sperm can induce labor!”

  “I really wish you’d stop reading pregnancy books.”

  “Georgia,” I chimed in. “Cassie isn’t going into labor, and even if she were, there is no way in hell I’m going to check her cervix.”

  “But you’re a doctor, Win!”

  “Yeah, but I’m not an obstetrician, sweetheart. Unless she thinks she sprained her vagina, I’m zero help in the pregnancy department.”

  “I’m coming to get you, Cass. We need to go to the emergency room.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Would you just take a breath? You sound crazier than me, and I’m pregnant and my baseline level of crazy is higher than most.”

  “Are you bleeding, Cassie?” I asked, trying to steer this conversation into less outrageous waters.

  “Nope.”

  “Leaking fluid?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you still have cramps?”

  “Nope.”

  “See, Georgia? Cass is fine. Her baby is fine. Everything is fine. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I really hated to admit when Wes was right about anything, but he had hit the nail on the head with the whole “this is going to be a long seven months” sentiment.

  “Okay. Okay,” Georgia finally voiced. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you or my godson, Cass. I worry, o
kay? And you’re just traveling so much. It’s freaking me out a little.”

  “Godson?” I asked.

  “She’s convinced I’m having a boy,” Cass explained. “And let’s get back to the whole Wes being in your office after hours thing. Now that is something I want to hear more about.”

  I groaned. “It wasn’t like that. Just because your vagina’s need to bone all day, every day, is strong enough it could serve as a backup generator for the entire city, doesn’t mean we’re all sex-crazed.”

  “But I didn’t say anything about sex,” Cassie teased. “I think the real question here is why are you thinking about sex?”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Denial is the first sign you have a problem!” Georgia’s voice was the last thing I heard before I hung up the phone.

  They were right. I had a problem, all right. I was pretty sure I’d almost kissed Wes Lancaster in my office, and I was also pretty sure the regret I felt had nothing to do with the situation, and everything to do with the interruption.

  “What was that I heard about needing to check your cervix with my Supercock?” I asked Cassie as she hung up the phone. Arm extended, I handed her the glass of ice water I’d just prepared and watched the line of her throat as she chugged it.

  She’d been so fucking thirsty since we found out she was pregnant—both for actual liquid and for sex. So much so that she’d been making a bid to kill me by dehydration—sperm dehydration, to be technical about it.

  “He’s got a medical background,” I went on inanely, filling the silence as she drank. “It was more as a medic in the Army than as an actual, honest to goodness doctor. So he hasn’t seen much pussy in the medical sense, but he’s definitely familiarized himself with a cervix or two outside of business hours.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and I laughed, surrendering with both hands raised.

  “Hey, I’m just giving you his resume. I’m only a messenger sent here to help you decide whether or not you think he’d be a good fit for your cervical dilation monitoring needs. I, personally, think he fits the bill perfectly.”