Divorced The Billionaire, Married His Boss

In the VIP suite, Leo Gray gently rubbed a thick, dry towel over Chandler's wet hair. She helped Chandler out of the freezing, soaked dress and slipped a massive, plush hotel bathrobe over her shivering shoulders. Leo guided her to the bed, pulling the heavy duvet up to her chin. The brutal shock of the ice water had temporarily suppressed the drug. Chandler's body temperature dropped, and sheer physical exhaustion dragged her down. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she slipped into a dark, heavy, semi-conscious state. Seeing her breathing steady, Leo dimmed the bedside lamp to a soft glow. She quietly walked out of the bedroom, exiting the suite and hanging a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outer door handle. Midnight passed. The silence in the room was absolute. But beneath the heavy duvet, the warmth of the bed began to act as an incubator. The drug, which had only been forced into dormancy by the cold, began to rebound. It surged back into Chandler's bloodstream with twice the ferocity. Chandler groaned in her sleep. Her head tossed side to side on the silk pillowcase. The heat radiating from her core was unbearable. She kicked the duvet off her legs. Her fingers blindly clawed at the belt of the bathrobe, yanking the knot loose. The thick terrycloth parted, exposing her flushed, burning skin to the cool air of the room, but it provided no relief. Her eyes snapped open. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the irises completely. Her throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. A desperate, hollow ache gnawed at her lower stomach, making her muscles twitch. She let out a ragged, painful whimper. Driven by pure, blind instinct, she rolled toward the edge of the bed. She needed water. She needed to cool down. She dragged her legs over the side, her bare feet hitting the carpet. As she tried to stand, her knees gave out completely. She pitched forward, her shoulder clipping the heavy wooden nightstand. The brass lamp wobbled and crashed to the floor with a loud, heavy thud. Outside the door, Brennan had just returned. He had changed into a fresh, dry suit at his office and rushed back. He heard the crash through the thick oak door. He swiped his keycard and shoved the door open, striding rapidly into the bedroom. He stopped dead. Chandler was collapsed on the carpet. The bathrobe had slipped off her shoulders, pooling around her waist. She was panting heavily, her skin glowing with a feverish, unnatural red hue. Brennan crossed the room in three long strides. He dropped to one knee beside her, his large hands gripping her bare arms to help her up. The moment his skin touched hers, the heat radiating from her body shocked him. The drug was completely out of control. Chandler felt the cool, firm grip of his hands. To her drug-addled brain, he felt like an oasis in a desert. She didn't try to stand. Instead, she threw her arms around his waist, burying her burning face against the cool fabric of his shirt. "Please," she sobbed, her voice broken and slurred. "Help me. It hurts. Please help me." The raw desperation in her voice shattered the last remaining wall of Brennan's legendary self-control. His breathing turned harsh and ragged. He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs tracing her flushed cheekbones. He forced her to look up at him. "Look at me," Brennan demanded, his voice a dark, gravelly rasp. "Look at my face. Tell me you know who I am." Chandler blinked, her eyes hazy and unfocused. She looked at his sharp jaw, the gold-rimmed glasses, the expensive suit. Her mind clung to the only logical explanation Mickey had given her. She let out a breathy, delirious giggle. "You're my VIP," she whispered, her fingers trailing up his chest to grip his lapels. "I paid for you." That sentence was the final nail in the coffin of his restraint. If she wanted to believe he was a transaction, he would let her. He would take the excuse and use it to claim what he had wanted for seven long years. Brennan's eyes went completely black. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her off the floor in one fluid motion. He carried her to the bed and dropped her onto the center of the mattress. He reached up and pulled the gold-rimmed glasses off his face, tossing them onto the nightstand. He leaned over her, his large hands pinning her wrists to the pillows above her head. He lowered his face, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her earlobe. "If this is a transaction," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin, "my price is going to be very, very high. And there are no refunds." Chandler didn't understand the threat in his words. She only felt the glorious pressure of his body against hers. She arched her back, her hands breaking free from his grip to frantically tear at the buttons of his shirt. Just as her fingers popped the third button, a sharp, buzzing vibration cut through the heavy air. Brennan's phone, resting in his suit pocket, was ringing. The screen lit up, casting a harsh blue glow in the dim room. The caller ID flashed brightly: Avery Osborn. Brennan froze. His muscles locked. He looked down at the glowing screen, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Chandler whined in protest at the sudden loss of friction. She shifted her hips, reaching up to press her soft lips against the hard, bobbing column of his throat. Brennan's gaze snapped back to her. The dark possessiveness in his chest exploded. He reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the phone. He didn't just silence it. He looked at Avery's name, pressed the red reject button, and held down the power button until the screen went completely black. He shoved the dead phone into the pocket of his suit jacket lying on the floor, severing all ties to the outside world. He turned his full, undivided attention back to the woman beneath him. His long fingers moved down, finding the loose knot of her bathrobe. With one swift pull, he stripped the fabric away. Chandler gasped as the cool air hit her skin, but before she could shiver, Brennan's mouth crashed down on hers. There was no more holding back. The kiss was consuming, desperate, and completely unhinged. The lights of the Manhattan skyline glittered outside the massive windows, but inside the room, the world shrank down to the heat of their skin and the frantic rhythm of their breathing. Brennan guided her through the haze, his touches demanding but anchored with a deep, hidden tenderness. When the final barrier was breached, Chandler let out a sharp cry, her nails digging into the muscles of his back. A single tear of overwhelming sensory overload slipped from the corner of her eye. Brennan caught the tear with his lips, kissing it away. He held her tight, anchoring her to him as the drug and the sheer physical intensity dragged them both under. The gears of fate locked into place, forever altering the trajectory of their lives.