Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4)

Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

Barron

T here’s a quick knock at the door as I zip up my jeans. Is it Abigail? Did she realize I was with her last night and left before Mom woke up?

“Get up and come out here,” Holly says.

I exhale, disappointed. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so annoyed with Holly, and that’s saying a lot. “Yeah. Be right there.”

“Great! I have pictures for you to review. Come to the office.”

Detouring to the dresser, I grab a white undershirt and pull it over me. I shove my wallet in my pocket before leaving my bedroom.

I find Holly spreading the images out on the conference room table.

“Your mom looks fantastic,” she says over her shoulder.

Pausing at the small refrigerator, I reach for a bottled water. “She always does.” Petite and stylish, she’s the ideal model. Likely why Holly decided to use her for the layout.

The three women she’s using represent the generations who will travel with us. The only one missing is a child…

Once again, the image of Abigail, her belly nicely rounded, fills my mind. My cock stirs at the thought of putting that baby in her.

“Steven did an excellent job.” She opens a manila folder, spreading a second batch of photographs across the table.

I twist off the top of my water and take a long drink as I eye the images. Mom having dinner with a man in a tux. A chef serving an elegant meal. Her choosing from an array of mouthwatering desserts. The waitstaff arranged in a V, each one of them holding a different wine bottle.

Next is Bronwyn, stretched out in a minuscule red bikini by the pool, a waiter delivering her a tropical cocktail with an umbrella. Her face is obscured by oversized dark sunglasses.

I’m surprised. I expected Holly would want to make the most of Bronwyn’s popularity. It’s counter-intuitive to cover her face.

Finally, Abigail’s pictures come up. It’s the Maiden shots, with us greeting people strolling around the deck. Others where she and I are at The Martini Bar. Abigail is sipping her virgin drink while selecting a piece of artisan cheese.

Holly holds one last envelope to her chest, a self-satisfied smile playing across her lips.

“Mine turned out pretty good also,” she states, opening the clasp.

I know exactly what she’s got in there—the shots of Abigail in the barely there lingerie. I can still see her sitting across my lap, gazing at me with those big brown eyes, her full breasts about to spill over into my hands.

“You have to see these.” Holly turns up the flap. “This is a quick and dirty view of what I plan to use for the boudoir package.”

My throat goes dry as she sets the images down, one by one.

Abigail on the chaise lounge, her toned legs exposed. Her in a sheer black teddy, nipples visible through the lace. More intimate shots that show her long hair tousled, lips parted. Each one more enticing than the last.

Has she looked at these pictures? Actually looked at them?

“And…” Holly’s eyes are wide with excitement. “For the cover…”

She holds up the final picture, and I freeze.

That flimsy scrap that passes for underwear is a triangle the width of two fingers at the bottom of thin strings. The material is barely covering the center of her pussy.

The toned muscles at her abdomen lead the eye up to her chest. Her breasts only hidden by my forearm and my hand, a hint still visible underneath.

“No.” I tear the photo from Holly’s fingertips, bile rising in my throat.

“Barron?” Her eyes shoot open.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I snarl, crumpling the photo as I tighten my grip.

The thought of her picture out there for any guy to see is enough to push my temper to the limit. How many fuckers out there will be wishing they had their palm on her tits?

I glare at Holly as if she’s lost her mind.

“She’s perfect. And the Maiden belongs on the cover,” she says defensively, obviously proud of her work.

I won’t have it.

“Abigail isn’t going to be your goddamn Maiden,” I growl through clenched teeth.

Holly lets out an exasperated sigh. “Barron, be reasonable. We put a lot of work into this project.”

“It’s not gonna fucking happen, Holly.” I rake my fingers through my hair roughly, at a loss as to how to make this woman understand. “I don’t want anybody seeing those pictures.”

The underside of her breasts is on display, mocking me. I flip the images, slamming them on the table. I keep a hand on top of them as if I can erase the sight from my mind.

“Find someone else,” I order.

She glares at me. “Barron, who am I going to get this late in the game?”

“At this point, I don’t give a damn who, but it won’t be her.”

“Are you ready to do this all over again?” Holly’s voice is ripe with annoyance. “As much as you complained about it the first time?”

I grimace. I’d dreaded being dragged into the photo shoot. In part because it was pictures, and the rest because it was with her. But something changed that day.

I had her trapped across my legs when she shattered, and things haven’t been the same since. I can still remember the taste of her arousal on my fingers. She was so goddamn sweet I couldn’t think past the need to sink my cock into that welcoming pussy.

“Barron.” Holly’s voice snaps me out of the memory.

Damn it. I got distracted again. I turn back to Holly.

She glances across the array of photos once more. “I was hoping to get these approved so I could show Abigail before she leaves. Oh, they found?—”

My back stiffens. “Leaves? Where is she going?”

Holly straightens, holding the laundry bag up. In little more than a second, the excitement drains away from her expression. Her shoulders slump as she tucks her chin to her chest.

“Sh-she’s going back to Seattle,” she says, guilt covering her features. “She asked me to help her get a flight. Well”—she tilts her head to one side—“she asked me to get her in touch with Steven?—”

“What the hell?” White-hot rage cuts through me at the mention of the limp-dick asshole who dared to touch her yesterday.

“He’s leaving today,” she continues tentatively. “I suppose this way she won’t have to travel back alone.”

I should have thrown him off the ship when I started to.

“I’ll ask Rhys to fly her out to the airport in his helicopter.” She gestures toward the photos. “After everything she’s done, it’s the least I can do.”

Tightening my jaw, I turn, leaving her standing there. It takes two strides to reach the door and yank it open.

“Barron?” Holly’s a few steps behind me. “Barron, wait.”

Her words fade as the roaring in my ears takes over. The few yards it takes for me to get down the hall and across the suite stretch out to the length of a football field.

Abigail’s too fucking far away, and she’s trying to slip through my fingers.

“Bar-ron!” Holly’s plaintiff cry penetrates the fog surrounding me.

“Get out,” I roar over my shoulder, my patience snapping for the first time in years. “Just get the fuck out.”

Ears ringing, I lengthen my stride, eating up the distance to her door.

Holly’s voice is seared into my brain. She’s flying back to Seattle.

“The fuck she is.”