My Dark Romeo: The Unputdownable Billionaire Romance

I  didn’t have many expectations for my Parisian honeymoon.

And still, my husband managed to disappoint me.

After we landed in Paris, the most romantic city in the world, Romeo and I checked in to the extravagant honeymoon suite at Le Bristol Paris.

What I should’ve done was tear off his hoodie and rinse away the flush from our earlier encounter on the plane.

Instead, I twirled my suitcase by its handle, admiring Montmartre through the open terrace doors. “Do you want to do brunch, then hit some tourist spots?”

Already, Romeo stripped off his tux jacket, laying another crisp suit on our bed. “I have back-to-back meetings with some clients and an old university friend.”

He was leaving me to fend for myself on our honeymoon?

Since trying to appeal to his MIA conscience proved futile, I settled on another approach. The whipped cream tactic.

“Sounds good.” I shrugged, unzipping my suitcase by the foot of the bed. Cara had packed me enough lingerie to seduce the entire French nation. “I’ll see you around when I see you around, I guess.”

He stalled in front of the bathroom, scars peeking past his unbuttoned dress shirt, and produced his phone, tossing it into my hands.

“Put your number in here. The last thing I need is for you to get lost.”

With any luck, I’d be kidnapped for ransom à la Taken. Surely, the kidnappers would be better company.

I punched in my number, volleying his phone back.

He pressed dial and killed the call when my ringtone pierced the air.

Such trust issues.

“Good girl.”

“Bad husband.”

“Stop pretending you want to spend time with me any more than I want to spend time with you.”

Pathetically, I did want to spend time with him.

I missed human interaction. I wouldn’t exactly define him as human, but he came close…ish.

Once he sprung into the shower, I shimmied into a pencil skirt, silk blouse, and sheer black pantyhose with a red line in front. Then I trotted to the nightstand, flipping open his wallet.

He’d never offered a substitute to the credit card he’d canceled, so I interpreted his wallet laying out as an open invitation to help myself.

And help myself I did.

By the time he finished showering, I was long gone, my phone turned off, his Centurion Card in tow.

First, I treated myself to a four-course lunch on Champs-Élysées. When I couldn’t stomach more, I spread the wealth, metaphorically and literally, footing the bill for every patron on the premises.

After that, a cab escorted me to Rue Saint-Honoré, where I bought myself a few humble wedding presents in the form of three Hermès bags.

Since I couldn’t possibly embarrass my new beau by purchasing one of the more affordable (read: less obnoxiously expensive) Birkins, I had no choice but to swing for the respectable limited-edition ones.

120K a pop multiplied by three.

An actual bargain.

No wonder I returned to purchase one for Momma and two for Frankie.

From Hermès, I moved to Dior, then Chanel, before making my last stop at Balmain.

But it would be inhumane to leave without supporting the local designers, so I ended up dropping some serious cash on one-of-a-kind boutique finds, too.

The exhausting ordeal lasted ten hours, during which my phone remained off and the Black Card worked out like Tracy Anderson.

I’d ironed close to seven-hundred-thousand dollars before hailing a taxi around nine at night.

Paris still buzzed with activity. Dazzling lights glittered like fireflies in the dark.

Loved-up couples swarmed the sidewalks. They held hands. Laughed. Fell deeper in love. Did things I’d never do. Things as unattainable as kissing the sun.

Jealousy impaled my heart. All the money in the world couldn’t buy me what they had.

Genuine, content love.

The taxi stopped at the hotel entrance. I tipped five hundred euros and slid out, wrestling dozens of bags.

A bellboy rushed to my rescue. He unburdened my arms and transferred my purchases into a golden luggage cart, trailing me.

The easy, measured clicks of my heels as they slapped the marble lobby didn’t fool me. I knew what awaited me in the suite.

A furious husband.

I envisioned Romeo cracking his knuckles and licking his lips, waiting to punish me.

Once I scurried into the elevator, I switched my phone on. Just as I’d suspected, three missed calls flashed across my screen, along with numerous texts.

   ROMEO COSTA   

  I’m done with my meetings.  

  Where are you?  

  Very typical of you to give me the silent treatment the only time I do not wish for you to shut up.  

  Answer your phone.  

  200K? Shopping?  

  Have you no concept of what money means?  

  $700,000 IS A WHOLE FUCKING HOUSE.  

Oh, boy.

He’d used profanity.

He never used profanity.

Somebody wasn’t looking at the glass half-full. That card had a 1.5% cash back reward on it. I’d earned him $10,500—and Daddy once complained that I’d flunked algebra.

The elevator pinged open. I stumbled into the hall on wobbly legs.

Now that it was time to face the music, I was reminded of how tone-deaf it was to spend enough money to buy an impressive mansion in most states, just to spite my rude husband.

The bellboy wheeled my shopping bags behind me, unaware of the storm brewing. It took four tries to slide my keycard into its slot.

As expected, when I flung the door open, Romeo sat in the common area, legs folded at the ankles over a table, chewing gum and enjoying whisky with his suit half undone.

His glacial expression didn’t change at the sight of me breezing in with half the contents of a Chanel store behind me.

Resting his Macallan on a recent Bloomberg issue, he fished change from his front pocket and stood, stuffing a fistful of bills into the bellboy’s hand.

With a parting thanks, the kid went his merry way, shutting the door with a deadly click.

It was just me and Romeo now.

Standing in front of one another like two enemies before a duel.

Romeo’s languid body language jacked up my vigilance.

He cracked one of his rare yet vicious smiles. “Have a good day, sweetheart?”

Would I ever look him in the eye without feeling like I sat on a roller coaster, just about to tip over the edge?

“Fine.” I scuttered to the mini bar, collecting an Evian. “Yours?”

“Good. Been anywhere interesting?”

I shrugged, my back to him. Weren’t my shopping bags a telltale sign?

After draining half, I set the water beside Romeo’s whisky when his palm curled around my throat. He applied gentle pressure, sloping my face up so our gazes clashed.

His stony grays penetrated my skull. “I’ll ask again, and this time you’ll give me a full, satisfying answer. Where have you been, Dallas Costa?”

“Shopping. Where else?”

“Somewhere discreet, where you can spread those nice legs for someone else.” His lips hovered a breath away from mine. “Someone like Madison.”

Unease slithered down my spine. “Madison?” Romeo’s jaw locked. He tore himself from me, stalking to the bedroom. I hated that I trailed him. That my curiosity got the best of me. “What are you talking about?”

“I do hope, for his sake, you fake orgasms better than you do innocence. Don’t pretend not to know Madison is occupying the suite two doors down.”

He faced me. For the first time, a distant cousin of angst swept past his eyes. He was still the same aloof Romeo. But something else lurked beneath the surface, too.

A glimpse of boyishness.

Uncertainty you’d find on a child’s face when dropped off at a new school for the first time.

“I didn’t know Madison is in Paris.” It was the truth. “How do you know he’s here?”

He gave me a how do you think look.

I closed my eyes, digging the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. “You’re having him followed.”

Lord. What had happened between these two?

“Your talent at natural deduction is unparalleled. Are you sure you’d like to keep your major as English Lit when there’s so much more you can contribute to the world of mathematics?”

“I told you—I didn’t know he was here.”

“That would be convincing had you not told me less than twenty-four hours ago you two were conspiring against me. And flashed me his engagement ring.”

Oh, screw you.

I squeezed past him, scurrying to the bathroom. He followed me, his steps unhurried, his broad shoulders lax.

“Did he steal your ex-girlfriend or something?” I yanked a brush from the vanity and jerked it through my hair. “I know you’re not jealous because you give one dang about me, so it must be something else.”

“Madison lacks the ability to steal a grain of sand from my backyard, let alone an entire human.” His intense stare snared mine through the mirror’s reflection. “What is he doing here?”

No clue.

But I already knew he wouldn’t accept that answer.

“My guess? Playing with your psyche.” I sighed, hating to throw Madison under the bus.

But I didn’t want said bus to run over me a hundred times until it pancaked me to the street.

Anyway, Madison was a douchebag. Coming here was provocative and in poor form. He’d placed both of us in danger.

It was time I fended for myself—and only for myself.

“Perhaps I should beat him to the punch and take your virginity before he does. What do you say?” He advanced toward me.

I swiveled, realizing I’d pinned myself against the vanity. My lower back dug into its marble. Romeo was flushed against me in seconds, his hand between my skirt-clad thighs.

It was amazing how quickly my body submitted to him, in complete contrast to how my brain fought him every step of the way. I clutched the countertop behind me.

“What do you say?” With a savage sneer, Romeo claimed my lips with his, kissing me hard. He slid his gum into my mouth, and though I’d normally find the gesture distasteful, if not downright gross, I let it rest between my teeth. “Should I damage the goods?”

I clamped down on the gum, refusing to degrade myself but unwilling to stop him, either.

He dropped to his knees, hiked up my skirt, and tucked it into the waistband of my underwear. I gasped when he tore my designer pantyhose, ripping them at the center, and dragged my panties to the side.

He dragged his hot tongue up my slit.

“Ohhh.”

Romeo’s teeth grazed my pussy. “Better move quickly, judging by your eagerness to lose your virginity. Or has he tarnished you already?”

He thrust his tongue between my lips, striking my nerves. It felt like he was French kissing me down there. Lapping in a sensual rhythm.

My knees turned to water, heat spiraled in my core, and my nipples pearled.

Oh, Lord.

It felt better than anything I’d ever experienced.

Definitely better than the dirt bike.

Romeo removed his tongue from inside me, sucking on my clit now. “Answer me.”

All I could do was moan as my first-ever orgasm curled like ivy around my ankles, riding up the rest of my body.

He drove his tongue into me, massaging my clit with his thumb. “Did he take your innocence?”

I knew what he was doing. Tearing me apart. Making sure he destroyed my hymen.

And still, every rational thought fled my brain.

I struggled to conjure words. “No, no, I swear. I haven’t seen him today.”

“Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

His tongue sank deep inside me. I arched my back, dropped my head, and moaned so loud I skated on the edge of screaming.

“Ahhhhh.”

“I bought the cow. Only fair I get the milk.”

He explored the terrain—me.

I felt the tip of his tongue find resistance. Pain accompanied the pressure, but so did pleasure. So much pleasure, I thought I’d die if he stopped.

I was so sleek, so wet for him, my lust dripped down my thighs, past my knees.

“Please.” My knuckles turned white around the counter. “Please, I’m close.”

“Like taking candy from a child.”

Another thrust.

Then another.

Then another.

The climax seized every muscle in my body. Ivy-laced. Head to toe.

An odd sensation—of floating in warm water—conquered me. I rocked back and forth against his face, unraveling inch by delicious inch.

A shrill chime clawed through the haze. Just like that, Romeo pulled away, rising to his feet.

He pressed his phone to his ear and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Pink streaked his tongue and lips. Another trophy of my innocence stained his left cheek, too.

My blood.

He had my hymen’s blood in his mouth.

Wolfish satisfaction touched his lips.

“He’s lucky you weren’t sullied yet.” His fingers curved around my neck, drawing my ear to his lips. “Or I’d have killed him and made you watch.”

Sticky desire glazed my thighs. Probably my blood, too, but I didn’t dare drop my eyes to confirm.

With Romeo’s tongue a safe distance from my sex, my panties had snapped back. Most definitely stained. Most definitely another trophy for my husband.

I was no longer a virgin.

He did it.

He claimed me.

Romeo frowned, pressing his phone to his ear. “Did you triple check?”

My pulse charged across my skin. I thought my heart would explode into red confetti in my chest.

Why was I so anxious? I had nothing to hide. I’d spent my evening with an army of salesmen.

Romeo slid his phone into his pocket, observing me with detached dissatisfaction. As if nothing had happened between us just seconds ago.

Like he hadn’t taken something so precious from me.

“Wash yourself and put something on. We’re leaving.”

“You had me followed?” Anger robbed me of my breath.

Never in my entire life had I been subjected to such misogynistic behavior. Even in the small, religious town I grew up in.

Romeo turned, headed for his wallet and keycard. I snatched the hairbrush and pursued him, shoulders quaking with the remainders of my orgasm and fresh, hot rage.

“Answer me!”

But he didn’t.

He just…didn’t.

And in that wretched moment, I was so mad, so upset, so lost in this twisted universe he’d tucked me into, I swung the brush back and launched it at him.

It crashed into his triangle back with a thwack! and tumbled to the floor.

He stopped moving.

I stopped breathing.

What had I done?

Assaulted your husband.

I’d never hit anyone before.

Ever.

It seemed like an eternity passed before he twisted to face me. His eyes turned the color of ash, dead and dusky.

“I…I didn’t mean to…” The rest of the sentence lodged in my throat.

I tripped backward as he advanced toward me. There was no anger in his posture. Just measured strides, sensible and proficient.

I matched each forward step with one foot back. When my spine thumped against the wall, his arms boxed me in.

He fingered my chin, tilting my face up. His hot breath skated down my flesh. He smelled like me. Or rather, like what he’d done to me.

A shaky inhale rippled my throat, and I swallowed the gum he’d disposed in my mouth.

“Let’s get one thing straight, my beautiful, unhinged wife. Seeing as your ex-fiancé would like my head speared into a dagger on his wrought-iron gate, I will stop at nothing to ensure you and Madison aren’t out for my throat. Don’t confuse my desire to eat out your cunt with affection. Those two have nothing to do with one another. I will destroy you at the drop of a hat if you show real, potent disloyalty to me.”

“I’m not—”

His thumb grazed my collarbone, halting my protest. “As for the shopping… This is an open invitation for you to burn my money to the ground, but if you purposefully refuse my calls and shut off your phone, you will be punished. Last but not least, in this marriage, we do not lay a hand on each other without consent. This also applies to inanimate objects, pets, and small babies. Do. Not. Throw. Anything. At. Me. Am I clear?”

I couldn’t believe he’d let me off with a warning after I’d narrowly avoided cracking his skull open with the hairbrush.

I mean, the momentum was there. The world of shotput had missed out on a natural talent.

Though he’d made himself more than clear, that didn’t mean I accepted the terms he laid out for me. But now wasn’t the time to argue. Not when he could call the police on me.

Face turned sideways, I answered by freeing myself from his grasp.

“I swear to God, Dallas—”

“You have no God.”

I tried pushing him away. He captured my wrists in his hands and flattened me against the wall with his weight.

His eyes breathed fire. The sharp lines of his jaw were so rigid, I feared his muscles would leap through his skin.

“Whether you like it or not, we are married. That won’t change. And the unsavory consequence of my employment includes a real risk to both our lives. Your phone stays on, charged, and ready for use. At all times. As for your questionable lifestyle choices—”

“My worst lifestyle choice is being married to you. Actually…” I tried and failed to free myself. “That wasn’t a choice.”

“Is it really so horrible being married to me?”

He seemed puzzled. As if the idea of not being desired was completely foreign to him.

I guess it was.

“Yes. Yes!” Heavy desperation latched onto my throat. “Are you kidding? Your whole existence gives me whiplash. You force me into marriage, drag me into your house, desert me, threaten me. You eat me out one second and berate me the next. You…you—”

“Truce.” He pulled away all of a sudden, giving me space.

I nearly collapsed on the tiles without him holding me upright.

Slanting my head up, I scowled. “Huh?”

“I’m offering you a cease-fire. A white flag. An opportunity to start over. I’m willing to hear what you have to say and make this arrangement more bearable for you. We both know there is no way out of this marriage for either of us. Might as well make it manageable.”

Hard to say no to an offer so charming and romantic.

I studied him, unsure. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“There’s always a catch with you.”

“Take my offer or leave it, Shortbread. But if you leave it, don’t expect it to be on the table five minutes from now.” His jaw flexed. “It’s bad business to have bad blood with a person who possesses easy access to your belongings and happens to be tight with a man who wants to take you down.” A beat of silence trickled past. “Plus, sampling you wouldn’t be the worst thing I could do with my spare time.”

“Stop it, I’m getting starry-eyed.”

“Sadly, I’ve yet to reach the height of ardor like Madison Licht, who spent the length of his engagement to you shoving his genitals into every possible hole it could fit into.”

“He’s really here?” I frowned, remembering how our fight had started.

Romeo nodded. “Did you buy anything interesting?”

I shook my head, relieved he let the subject go. “Just a bunch of designer stuff. Oh, and the entire Henry Plotkin series in French. I collect them in all languages. That was the highlight of my shopping spree.”

“Interesting.”

“No, it’s not. Not for you, anyway.” I toyed with the limitless card inside my pocket. “You know, if I really overspent, you could’ve canceled the card. I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“It was the only proof of life I had.”

“You mean you’re not having me followed?”

“You slipped your security detail after the lunch crowd congregated around your table to thank you for treating them to thirty-thousand euros’ worth of overpriced Parisian cuisine.”

“If you tried their fricassée de coquillages, you wouldn’t find them overpriced.”

For once, and despite me doing absolutely nothing different to alter myself, he didn’t seem utterly appalled by my existence.

He stared at me with reluctant acceptance. Like I was a chore he needed to get over with.

I could tell whatever was happening here was completely new territory for him.

“Let’s start over, shall we? I have a reservation at The Eye of Paris. It’s on a terrace overlooking the city. You will join me.”

I rubbed my ear. “So weird. My hearing must be off, because I can’t seem to register the P-word.”

“Calling you a parasite seemed unfitting in this instance.”

“I meant please.”

I could tell I was driving him to the brink of throttling me, but I had to score a few small wins after he’d literally snatched my virginity with his tongue, just to make sure Madison wouldn’t beat him to it.

He looked like he’d rather rub his genitals against a rusty cheese grater than say the word, but he finally muttered, “Please.”

“Let me grab a quick shower and put something on.”

Thirty minutes later, an off-the-shoulder olive satin gown with a trumpet silhouette swathed my curves.

“You look adequate,” Romeo grumbled when we crossed the lobby to the waiting chauffeur service.

“Stop, or I’ll swoon.”

He opened the door for me. I slid in, unsure how to behave now that we were in a so-called truce.

“Any special requests tonight?” Each word spat out of his mouth like it was nailed into his tongue.

“Drop dead?” I bit out before I could help myself.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a helicopter trip or jewelry.”

If my whole body could eye roll, it would.

Uniformed personnel welcomed us at the restaurant entrance and led us to an exclusive table upstairs. After we ordered, I clutched a champagne flute, watching cars zip across the Seine River, waiting for Romeo to break the silence.

An array of insults anchored my tongue. I had little to say without their familiar company.

The alternative would be to press him about his scars. A question that often occupied my mind. But I knew he wouldn’t answer.

The sour mood sure to follow would only ruin my parsley-butter escargot.

When our silence began drawing curious looks from neighboring tables, I finally snapped. “When we have kids, I’d like to raise them in Chap—”

“We won’t have kids.” Romeo snapped his napkin over his lap with a flick of the wrist.

“I don’t mean soon.” I shot him a murderous glare.

It wasn’t like I was smitten with the idea of him fathering my children. I could find more emotional intelligence in a key lime pie. More comfort, too.

“We won’t have children. Not soon. Not later. Not ever.”

“And why not?”

Surely, I hadn’t heard him correctly.

Forget the poor manners, absence of conscience, and general assholery. This was my dealbreaker.

In fact, I wanted just one thing in life.

Kids.

Four of them.

I loved children. Loved everything about them. The chubby cheeks, rolling laughter, and pure adoration.

Even on that Sunday Romeo had snatched me from my house, I’d spent my time at church playing with the little ones outside.

Grandmamma always said a house without a child was like a body without a soul. I didn’t disagree.

Romeo piled foie gras on his spoon. “Because I don’t want them.”

“But I do.”

“Good luck conceiving them by sucking my cock and having your pussy licked, because that’s about the only sexual encounters you’ll be having.”

A woman behind him choked on her pickled mackerel.

My cheeks flamed. “You mean you don’t want to have sex with me?”

“I want to have sex with you. There are few things I want more, Shortbread. Coincidentally, not having children is one of them, so the answer is no. We won’t have sex.”

I was so speechless, I didn’t even care that half the people around us had stopped eating and chosen to watch us like we were a movie premiere.

“Never say never.”

“That might be the silliest saying I’ve ever heard in my life. People say never to many things. Bungee jumping without a rope, hard drugs, pineapple pizza—”

“I like pineapple pizza.”

He downed half his drink. “Christ. It keeps getting worse.”

I sat back, trying to figure out what I found more unappealing—my husband’s personality or the snails on my plate, which tasted like they were 3D-printed.

“Why are you so against children?”

“Other than the fact that I detest them personally? They interrupt your sleep, lower your quality of life, demand every moment of your time, and are generally a crushing disappointment when they reach adulthood.”

My glare alone called bull.

But since he refused to catch my gaze, I said, “You and I both know that children are a vanity project, not an investment. It is a knee-jerk reaction of civilization to preserve itself. There’s something bigger that’s keeping you from having children, and it’s not discomfort. You’re in a financial position to rear offspring without ever having to deal with them.”

A flicker of interest zinged through his eyes. “You’re not a complete idiot, are you?” I folded my arms, tilting a brow up. “Well, you happen to be right. There is a bigger agenda behind all this. I don’t want to have children because I want to cut the Costa dynasty off.”

“I thought you and Bruce are fighting over Costa Industries.”

“We are.”

“Why do you need to inherit this company if you’re not going to pass it down to your hypothetical spawn?”

“You do the math, Shortbread.”

It took me less than a second to figure it out.

So, he could ruin it. Run it to the ground. Destroy it like he did everything else his cold hands touched.

Such a Romeo thing to crave destruction.

From one family dinner, I’d gathered that Senior cared about one thing and one thing only—Costa Industries.

To kill his only love would be a cruel blow before he perished.

An act of pure vengeance.

The reason behind Romeo’s hatred taunted me. I wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d actually confide in me.

Nonetheless, an idea sprouted in my head.

Romeo didn’t want children. I didn’t want him in my vicinity. What would he do if I fell pregnant?

Would he divorce me or send me back to Chapel Falls with my dignity and wedding ring intact?

The plan wasn’t completely ideal.

For one thing, it hurt to think my child wouldn’t have a father figure in Romeo. But I refused to abandon my dream of becoming a mother.

Anyway, this hypothetical kid of mine would have the entire Townsend family at their disposal. Sans Daddy, who was officially stripped from grandfather duties for being a complete wuss.

It was pointless to tell Romeo about my plan for us.

So, I sipped my champagne. “Fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you take me for a fool? You would never give up so easily.”

“Sorry, hubs, but your DNA doesn’t exactly scream hot commodity.”

“You would reproduce with a Trader Joe’s organic bag if you truly wanted a kid.”

“Would you like me to get down on my knees and beg you?”

“Yes, but not for a baby.”

Laughing hollowly, because there was nothing funny about our situation, I pointed out, “You’re not wrong. Children are too time-consuming and exhausting for a lazy, messy girl like me. We can have sex without getting pregnant, you know.”

“Thank you for the astonishing piece of news.” His eyes smoldered as he cut through his dish with the precision of a neurosurgeon. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Well, safe was the last thing we’d be. I’d kill his plans by getting pregnant—giving him the heir he never wanted—and free myself from his talons.

His fork hovered before his lips. “Enjoying your dish?”

“Almost as much as the company,” I cooed.

For the rest of dinner, we pretended to be a normal couple.