Wanted: A Monster Billionaire Romance Read online

  Wanted

  A Monster Billionaire Romance

  Jani Kay

  Normandie Alleman

  Edited by

  Hot Tree Editing

  Illustrated by

  Louisa Maggio

  Contents

  Copyright

  Wanted

  1. Foster

  2. Addison

  3. Addison

  4. Foster

  5. Foster

  6. Addison

  7. Foster

  8. Addison

  9. Foster

  10. Addison

  11. Foster

  12. Addison

  13. Addison

  14. Foster

  15. Addison

  16. Foster

  17. Addison

  18. Addison

  19. Addison

  20. Foster

  21. Addison

  22. Addison

  23. Foster

  24. Foster

  25. Addison

  26. Foster

  27. Foster

  Epilogue

  More Monster Billionaire Romance

  Also by Jani Kay

  Also by Normandie Alleman

  Contact The Authors

  Copyright © 2016 by Jani Kay and Normandie Alleman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes, copied, or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied for reviews.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Pirating is STEALING

  Created with Vellum

  Wanted

  FOSTER

  I spent the last five years locked in a cage for a crime I didn’t commit.

  Crucified by the press and social media. Hated by all.

  But now that I’m a free man, I’m determined to prove I’m not the evil mastermind everyone thinks I am.

  I just need someone to believe in me.

  Someone like Addison James…

  ADDISON

  Foster Cruise is sexy as hell and worth billions. But he destroyed my family.

  He may have gone to prison, but he hasn’t paid nearly enough for what I’ve lost.

  He has no idea who I am, but I’m determined to prove what the law failed to—and put him back behind bars where e belongs.

  I’ll offer him my body and sell my soul to that handsome-as-hell devil to make things right.

  Trouble is, I’m afraid he’s already stolen my heart.

  Adult content suitable for 18+

  Language and sexual situations

  1

  Foster

  The sunlight hit my face and I squinted as I stepped outside and drew in a deep breath.

  Ah, fresh air.

  During the last five years, my cage hadn’t been completely indoors, though it might as well have for all the freedom the exercise yard gave me.

  The world smells different when a man is free. Cleaner to be sure, and full of possibilities.

  Inside, the air was stale. Stagnant. It smelled of piss, punctured lives, and withered dreams.

  The far north wing of the prison was dedicated exclusively to white-collar criminals and there, anything could be bought for a price. I wouldn’t say I lived in luxury, but the conditions on that end of the grounds were far more comfortable and the rules more lenient than where the rapists and murderers were housed. Yet, my freedom of choice had been taken from me and that was the one thing I’d learned to value.

  A few moments earlier when those metal bars clanked closed behind me for the last time, I vowed I’d never let anyone lock me up again.

  Most inmates accepted the small stipend given to them by the prison and took a bus to their next destination, but I wasn’t most prisoners. I had money, and I intended to use it. I’d arranged for a cab to pick me up because a limo would’ve been ostentatious and might have sent the wrong message, like I wasn’t remorseful for my sins.

  I was sensitive to that, even though I’d never committed a fucking crime.

  I, Foster Cruise, am innocent.

  It was as true five years ago as it was now, yet nobody believed me. Story of my life.

  Nobody knew better than me that looks were more important than the truth. Hell, appearance is everything.

  I learned that important piece of information after I’d been convicted for helping one of the most notorious thieves in the world, my boss, bilk hundreds of people out of their life savings. I hadn’t known a thing about it, but the authorities claimed that my boss, Arnie Hirsh, had taken their money, claimed to invest it, and had basically stolen it for himself.

  A red, white, and blue cab pulled up next to the dark gray prison building just a few feet outside the electric fence topped with loops of razor wire.

  I slid into the back seat and slammed the door shut. I never wanted to see that damn place again.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror but not making eye contact.

  “The airport.” No sense going back to where I used to live. Everything I owned was in storage, except for the one suitcase I had with me. Plus, the last time I was in New York, everywhere I went, people were ready to tar and feather me. My face had been plastered across every television news station and all over the internet. It was one of the reasons I’d grown a beard while inside. People were less likely to recognize me, especially on the other side of the country.

  A few hours later, as I settled into the comfortable first class seat on the airplane, I took pity—for a moment—on those poor bastards sitting in coach. Was it my imagination, or had the airlines made the seats smaller back there? It looked like first class was getting even more luxurious. I placed the noise cancelling headphones over my ears, reclined my chair to a practically laying down position, and flicked through the new release movie menu for something to distract me from the constant chatter in my brain about both my past and my future. For a few hours, I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to sip on some decent Scotch and relax after I quenched my thirst with an ice-cold beer. Later, when I felt more relaxed, I’d access the internet to check the latest news.

  Glancing around the cabin, there weren’t any women who caught my eye. Not that I was looking for a mile-high encounter, but it had been a long five years with nothing but my hand to keep me company. I may have been hard up, but at least I didn’t look it. My clothes were probably a bit dated, but most people weren’t as knowledgeable about fashion as I was. Keyword: was.

  Thank God, I’d picked up some magazines at the airport. That would help catch me up, and when I got to California, I’d go on a shopping spree. Build a new wardrobe from scratch.

  To be a new man, I needed new clothes. Hell, I was going to have to recreate my entire life. I might as well look good doing it.

  No one from my past life was left, except one old friend who’d been too busy with his soccer career to do much other than sen
d me an encouraging note once in a while. The rest of my so-called friends all took off as soon as the indictment came down, and while I was behind bars, my supporters dwindled. Even my family abandoned me.

  My mother’s one and only visit was so “traumatic” that she burst into tears and left after only fifteen minutes. What did she imagine life was like for me in there? Regardless, ever since then, the contact with my parents progressed from infrequent to non-existent. During my stint, I’d been lucky to get an e-card at Christmas or on my birthday, and when I e-mailed to tell them I was being released, they didn’t bother to respond.

  I tried not to let it bother me. Hell, I was a grown man. I didn’t need Mommy and Daddy anymore. Fuck, I didn’t need anyone. Thanks to a trust fund bequeathed to me from my maternal grandmother, I could buy a small island and never work another day if I wanted to. And fortunately, I’d been smart enough not to let Hirsh get his filthy paws on it.

  Okay, that wasn’t completely true. I gave Hirsh a small investment when he first hired me as a show of loyalty. The fucker didn’t need to know I’d be worth billions when I turned thirty. When the money I gave him disappeared, I barely missed it.

  A pretty blonde flight attendant approached. She leaned over and gave me a glimpse of her ample cleavage. “Can I get you anything?” she asked in a singsong voice that was more annoying than cheerful.

  You, bending over this tray table and me taking that ass. An image of her naked flashed through my mind. I was dying to sink my cock into that bubble butt of hers. Shove her panties in her mouth to shut her up. My cock stirred, pressing against my pants.

  “A beer, please. Imported.” Damn, five years was too long to go without a woman.

  The beer tasted better than I remembered. It went down smooth, and I ordered another one.

  After the second one, I had to piss. I got up from my seat to make a trip to the lavatory.

  While I was taking care of business, I couldn’t believe how incredibly small the airline’s restrooms had become. There wasn’t room for a big guy like me to stand up straight in there, much less partake in any mile-high action. Two people even fitting in there would be a tight squeeze. Not that I minded getting up close and personal, but I’d crossed mile-high fucking off my bucket list years ago. Been there, done that.

  I closed the door behind me and as I headed toward my seat, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  The nerdy man seated across the aisle was stuffing something into the seat back in front of my chair.

  I took a few long strides and I was on him, towering over the seated man who was now nervously shifting his eyes from side to side.

  “What are you doing?” My voice was sharp. If there was one thing I learned in prison, it was not to back down from a confrontation. Pussy out and the jackals would pick their teeth with the bones from your carcass. The penitentiary where I served my time had been mostly populated by white-collar criminals, but there were still some badass motherfuckers in there who taught me a thing or two.

  “Oh, nothing. Sorry. You seem to have dropped your boarding pass.”

  I shrugged. Who the fuck cared about a piece of paper on the floor?

  “Are you really Foster Cruise?”

  My guts fell through to the floor and it wasn’t the turbulence. Not. This. Shit. Again.

  All right. I tried to give this guy the benefit of the doubt, but this little prick was wearing on my nerves now. “You’d better keep your hands to yourself, and stay outta my backyard,” I said, pleased with how it came out. Much more menacing than I ever could have managed before prison. Huh—unforeseen upsides.

  The nerdy guy flinched, curling into himself.

  “You got that?” I wanted to growl at him, but I refrained.

  “O-o-okay.” He gulped, just as the flight attendant rushed over, probably excited to show off some new “conflict resolution” techniques she learned at the latest training seminar.

  “Everything all right here, gentlemen?” she asked.

  I sat down and buckled my seatbelt. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

  “Uh, Miss, can I please talk to you?” The nerd pointed toward the front of the plane. She nodded, and glasses-boy got up gingerly, eyeing me the whole way as he followed the blonde to the front of the airplane.

  I watched them for a second, him whispering to the flight attendant. She said something back I couldn’t overhear, so I put on my headphones and turned my attention back to the television series about zombies that I had just discovered but everyone else in America seemed to be talking about.

  Within a few minutes, he came back to his seat, packed up his things, and the flight attendant got him settled in a seat three rows ahead.

  What the hell? So the guy recognized me even with the beard. What did he think I was going to do, steal his life savings from across the row?

  What a dick.

  This was exactly what it had been like in New York.

  Everywhere I went, people talked about me, whispered behind my back, or even publicly chastised me. My favorite was the time I got out of the limo outside the Guggenheim on my way to view an important art opening, only to have a bucket of fish guts tossed on me. The fuckers found ways to track my movements, and going anywhere became a challenge.

  After the fish incident, I mostly stayed home and had my assistants do all my shopping and errands. I got so tired of being a prisoner in my own home that I started to look forward to going to prison. In fact, I asked my attorney to negotiate for me to go in a week earlier. If my movements had to be that restricted, I at least wanted the time to count.

  Now, on this fucking airplane, I noticed out of the corner of my eye more and more people walking past my seat, glancing down at me, their eyes widening in some combination of recognition and horror. The way one might look at a pedophile.

  Suddenly, I was in the cage again. Spectators standing outside talking, whispering, pointing.

  I took a deep breath, hiked up the volume, and focused on the zombies in front of me falling apart as they trudged slowly down the street. I could relate.

  Fuck. This was going to be a long-ass trip.

  When I arrived in Los Angeles, it was still late afternoon. As the hired car traveled up the coast to Malibu, I wound down the windows to suck in lungs full of the sea breeze to help me relax. The west coast was even more beautiful than I remembered. The sapphire blue ocean with its cresting waves and occasional dolphin popping out of the water calmed me. The jagged coastline and sandy beaches called to me. Maybe this was the right choice. This felt like it could be home.

  The peace and quiet were just what I needed. A chance to be alone so I could create a brand new life for myself, and preferably one where everyone who ran across me didn’t treat me like a pariah.

  My realtor had sent me a packet with detailed information and photos on several different properties. I chose the one that stood out above the rest, and had my attorney take care of the purchase while still incarcerated. Then I hired an interior decorator to furnish the whole place. As the car pulled up to my new address, my stomach did a flip.

  The house had a modern vibe with lots of straight lines and windows. The views were incredible, and excitement built inside me that I hadn’t felt in ages. For countless nights, I’d dreamed of the ocean, my new place, and a fresh start. I’d stared at the picture of my Malibu mansion so much that I’d worn a hole in the paper it had been printed on.

  I tipped the driver and got out. With no luggage to weigh me down, I ran up the driveway, key in hand. I hadn’t seen the interior furnishings yet; I’d told the designer I wanted it to be a surprise. In reality, I knew if I had pictures of the interior of a beautiful house that belonged to me, but that I couldn’t live in, couldn’t touch, couldn’t enjoy while I was trapped in a concrete box, it would be torture. And if I didn’t like something, it could be replaced. After spending over ten million on the property, I’d get what I wanted.

  I inserted the key in the lock, turned it
, and stepped into my new life.

  2

  Addison

  I reread the headline for the umpteenth time: Billionaire Purchases Mansion in Malibu.

  My hands trembled as I stared at the picture in the newspaper clipping. He’d grown a beard and his hair was shorter on the sides, but I’d recognize Foster Cruise anywhere. Eyes hidden behind dark glasses, hands in his pockets, he still looked like the self-assured cocky bastard I’d witnessed in the courtroom five years ago.

  Reading the short article again, a small smile twisted my lips. California. I’d always wanted to go there, and now I would.

  My gaze went back to the picture as if drawn by some invisible magnetic force. I could deny it all I wanted; it wouldn’t matter—I was obsessed with Foster Cruise.

  The beard suited him. Although it hid the dimple in his left cheek, it accentuated his strong, elegant Romanesque nose and dark thick eyebrows. Pity I couldn’t see his steel blue eyes in the picture, but I knew they were bright and intelligent, almost laser sharp in their focus.

  I hated admitting that he was hot, and although I wasn’t normally a fan of facial hair, this man could melt the panties off a nun. He had a mysterious air about him, and he looked mighty fine in the tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt that appeared to be his signature trademark.

  It didn’t fool me. Looks were deceiving. Simple and elegant yet expensive clothing couldn’t hide that the man was a self-centered hedonist. Yeah, there wasn’t much I didn’t know about Foster Cruise. I’d followed the trial and scoured the internet and newspapers for anything I could find on him since he’d been sent to prison.

  Back then, during one of the longest trials in New York’s history, he hadn’t spared me a second glance, and why would he? I’d just turned nineteen. I still hadn’t fully grown into my body, and I kept my mousy brown bangs long to cover my face so I could hide from the world.