Billionaires and Bad Boys
7-Book Box Set
Nikki Chase
Copyright © 2017 Nikki Chase
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is for mature readers. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some.
All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.
Contents
Guilty
Prologue
1. Cole
2. Emily
3. Cole
4. Emily
5. Emily
6. Cole
7. Emily
8. Emily
9. Cole
10. Emily
11. Cole
12. Emily
13. Cole
14. Emily
15. Emily
16. Cole
17. Emily
18. Cole
19. Emily
20. Cole
21. Cole
22. Emily
23. Cole
24. Emily
25. Cole
26. Emily
27. Cole
28. Emily
29. Cole
30. Emily
31. Cole
32. Emily
Epilogue
Stripped
1. Jessica
2. Jacob
3. Jessica
4. Jacob
5. Jessica
6. Jacob
7. Jessica
8. Jacob
9. Jessica
10. Jacob
11. Jessica
12. Jacob
13. Jessica
14. Jacob
15. Jessica
16. Jacob
17. Jessica
18. Jacob
19. Jessica
20. Jacob
21. Jessica
22. Jacob
23. Jessica
24. Jacob
25. Jessica
26. Jacob
27. Jessica
28. Jessica
29. Jacob
30. Jessica
31. Jacob
32. Jessica
33. Jacob
34. Jacob
35. Jessica
36. Jacob
37. Jessica
38. Jacob
39. Jessica
40. Jacob
41. Jessica
Epilogue
His Virgin
1. Caine
2. Daisy
3. Caine
4. Daisy
5. Caine
6. Caine
7. Daisy
8. Daisy
9. Caine
10. Daisy
11. Caine
12. Daisy
13. Caine
14. Daisy
15. Daisy
16. Caine
17. Daisy
18. Caine
19. Daisy
20. Daisy
21. Caine
22. Daisy
23. Daisy
24. Caine
25. Caine
26. Daisy
27. Caine
28. Daisy
29. Caine
30. Daisy
31. Caine
32. Daisy
33. Daisy
34. Caine
35. Daisy
Billionaire Protector
1. Alice
2. Alice
3. Alice
4. Seth
5. Alice
6. Seth
7. Alice
8. Alice
9. Alice
10. Seth
11. Alice
12. Seth
13. Alice
14. Alice
15. Alice
16. Seth
17. Alice
18. Alice
19. Seth
20. Alice
21. Alice
22. Seth
23. Alice
24. Alice
25. Seth
26. Alice
27. Alice
28. Alice
29. Seth
30. Alice
31. Alice
32. Seth
33. Alice
34. Seth
35. Alice
Epilogue
Virgin Fiancée
1. Piper
2. Piper
3. Raphael
4. Piper
5. Raphael
6. Piper
7. Piper
8. Raphael
9. Raphael
10. Piper
11. Raphael
12. Piper
13. Piper
14. Raphael
15. Piper
16. Piper
17. Raphael
18. Piper
19. Raphael
20. Piper
21. Piper
22. Raphael
23. Piper
24. Raphael
25. Piper
26. Raphael
27. Raphael
28. Piper
29. Piper
30. Raphael
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Single Dad’s Fake Bride
1. Megan
2. Megan
3. Ethan
4. Megan
5. Ethan
6. Megan
7. Ethan
8. Megan
9. Ethan
10. Megan
11. Megan
12. Ethan
13. Megan
14. Ethan
15. Megan
16. Megan
17. Megan
18. Ethan
19. Megan
20. Megan
21. Ethan
22. Megan
23. Ethan
24. Megan
25. Ethan
26. Megan
27. Megan
28. Megan
29. Ethan
30. Ethan
31. Megan
32. Ethan
33. Megan
Epilogue
The Billionaire’s Bride
Prologue
1. Ali
2. Ali
3. Zeke
4. Ali
5. Zeke
6. Ali
7. Ali
8. Zeke
9. Ali
10. Ali
11. Ali
12. Ali
13. Zeke
14. Ali
15. Ali
16. Ali
17. Ali
18. Ali
19. Zeke
20. Ali
21. Zeke
22. Ali
23. Ali
24. Ali
25. Zeke
26. Ali
27. Ali
28. Ali
29. Ali
Epilogue
After the Happily Ever After . . .
1. Megan
2. Ethan
3. Megan
4. Ethan
5. Megan
6. Ethan
7. Megan
8
. Megan
9. Ethan
10. Megan
About the Author
Guilty
A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
Prologue
What just happened?
Everything’s dark. Black.
There is some red too, running down my face, turning my vision into a pink, hazy blur.
Out of nowhere, a completely irrelevant thought slips into my mind: This is probably not what people have in mind when they say “rose-tinted glasses.”
There’s more red splattered on the ground, countless little droplets of it covering tiny shards of glass.
I can even taste that red in my mouth. It’s a lot like rust.
Water.
I need water. I need to wash down that metallic taste.
But where?
I need to get up and fix this. Whatever’s happening, it’s not good.
I focus on the tips of my fingers and will them to move.
Why is it so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard.
With horror, I watch my fingers twitch weakly through my foggy vision.
That’s the best I can do? When I’m exerting all my strength?
Help. Somebody.
I need help.
Is there even anybody around?
Everything within my eyesight is covered by a pink cloud.
It’s like one of those pictures that people take with expensive cameras where everything in the background is unclear.
Except my sense of sight is not supposed to show still pictures. My eyes are supposed to be able to refocus.
But all I can see are my hands, just inches from my face. And I can’t even move them.
God. Whatever this is, I hope it’s temporary.
Sometimes, in my more morbid moments, I’ve thought about which of my five senses would be the worst to lose. The answer is always eyesight.
I wouldn’t mind losing my hearing as much. At least as a deaf person I’d still be able to walk places.
It all feels like a joke right now, because none of my five senses is working.
I feel like I’m underwater. I can’t see or hear anything. Not clearly, anyway.
I can still breathe, although my lungs feel like they’ve been crushed. I once watched this show on Discovery Channel with old cars being flattened into cubes by huge metal plates. That’s kinda like how my lungs feel right now.
But I’m still breathing, so I’m probably above ground. That’s one good thing, at least.
My ears are ringing. Instead of the cacophony of noises I’m used to hearing in the city, there’s just a single high-pitched tone.
Wait.
Is someone touching my arm?
I can’t see any moving shadows in front of me. Whoever’s touching me must be behind me.
I close my eyes and strain my ears to listen.
“…okay.” A woman’s voice. It sounds close and far away at the same time.
I force my mouth to open and manage to let out a small groan.
The hand on my bare arm strokes my skin soothingly.
“You’ve been…going to be okay…hospital…”
I can only make out a few words. Sounds like they’re the important words, though.
My heart is still racing, but cold anxiety slowly drains out of my body when someone throws a soft blanket over me. I let the warmth seep into my skin as my thoughts drift away to a happier place.
Cole
“Hi, Cole.” A girl appears from the darkness and hooks her hand around my arm. “Long time no see.”
Three minutes. A personal time record from just walking through the door of a bar to having some girl attach herself to my person.
“I’ve been busy,” I say. I don’t remember her, but then I don’t remember most girls. I sit down at the bar and she follows, planting her ass on the high stool next to mine.
“I’ve missed you,” she says, pouting her glossy pink lips and fluttering her fake eyelashes. Studying her face, I wonder if she’d be more attractive without all those layers of make-up. “Where have you been?”
“Well, I’m here now,” I say. I raise one hand to catch the bartender’s attention. Maybe if I ignore her she'll leave me alone. “Does it matter where I’ve been?”
“Not really,” she says, pulling my upper arm closer and pressing them between her tits, which are almost spilling over her black corset. “It’s just been so boring without you.”
I give her a polite smile, and she blushes and looks away. What is it with girls who hit on you and then act all coy when you’re only trying to be friendly? It’s fake as fuck.
But then again, what isn’t fake these days? Fake girls with fake lashes, fake tits, fake lips, and fake personalities. I haven’t admitted this to anybody, but I may be getting too old for this shit.
I should be worried. I’m only twenty-seven, after all. And I happen to have a reputation. Some people would be seriously concerned about my well-being if they heard about me losing interest in women.
I usually take pride in the quality of my work with the ladies. I get drunk on hearing my name on the lips of naked, sweat-covered, writhing women as they scream out prayers and profanities all at once.
They’d rave to their friends about their toe-curling orgasms. That’s how I get a stellar track record and repeat customers.
Business and women — they’re not so different after all.
I just find myself preoccupied with the former rather than the latter lately, especially now that I have my own project that’s separate from the family business, and it’s beginning to take off.
“Hey, Mr. Big Shot,” Shelley says as she approaches me from behind the bar. She glances at the girl hanging possessively on my arm and shoots me a sympathetic look. “The usual tonight?”
“You know it. And whatever this lady wants.” I’ve been taught to always offer a round to company when I drink. If my mother were still alive, she would’ve found it unbearably rude of me if I didn’t offer the girl a drink.
“A Macallan coming right up,” Shelley says. She turns her attention to the girl. “And for you?”
“Cosmopolitan,” she says as she tightens her possessive hold around my arm. I was hoping to have a quiet, relaxing drink tonight, but I guess that’s not going to happen now.
“Good choice,” Shelley says.
Tall and statuesque with a supermodel strut, Shelley must make women jealous all the time. We had some fun as friends with benefits years ago. Those were good times. The benefits disappeared when she met her boyfriend, but the friendship remains.
That’s the perfect relationship in my books. No fuss, no drama, and no messy loose ends.
Too many girls think “just sex” really means “it’s only a matter of time before we fall madly in love with each other.” And then when I don’t catch feelings on their schedule, somehow I’m the bad guy. Don’t blame me for sticking to the initial agreement.