Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire Rebel and The Angel (Alexander's Crave): Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Alexander’s POVShe let up her eyes, it’s just a little bit wet. Don’t cry Angel. I hate that too.She’s nibbling on her lips again, her unintentional seductive jab. Stop nibbling angel. Do you have any idea the damage you’re causing, the trouble you’re calling?“I have…a lot of concerns” A bit of struggle in her tone.“Oh…Please share” I shrug, unmoved. She swallows. Her lips move first, exposing red tongue. Crimson red like she had just had a lollipop . Damn, the things I could do with it.“Number 1” Her soft voice interrupts my mind savagery.Masking my dirty thoughts, I anchor my devouring gaze on her. “Yes” Waiting.“No expectations of companionship?” Her eyes take mine, gauging them.“Yes” I rasp, almost flipping.Her eyes fall again. “No expectations of romance?” They snap, nearly bulging out, her voice trips.“Yes” I rasp again, ignoring her fast shifting emotions.“No expectations of passion…no expectations of loyalty…you could keep a concubine and I am not to complain?” Her

Alexander’s POV Harry Clifford, the chosen brother, the best of the Clifford genes, loved, celebrated, doted on, the child everyone wanted and me neglected, ignored, overlooked, not his worthy opponent, not his second, not even his spare but invisible. Harry Clifford, now hanging on the wall, nothing but a fucking portrait on the wall. Obliterated from the world. I blow a huff, digesting the giant portrait of my brother in his favorite place at the Clifford Manor. The boring, dandy, depressing study, an empty room of books and echoes. I often wondered why he loved this place so much and now I wonder what it will be without him. I had taken the next flight out of Spain back to Sussex; leaving Olivia to simmer in the Clifford Manor, until I was well away. We couldn’t have anyone finding out about our affair, especially not fresh after her husband’s death; people would crucify us, Olivia more than me. Not that I cared for people’s gossip but Olivia definitely needed a breather, so be

Catherine’s POV How could someone be so beautiful? dark eyes glistened under very relaxed black brows. His medium length mid-brown hair tucked behind his ears, slightly parted at its corner. His hawk nose pointed to his thick lips, red, like it had color in it. full, they looked so skilled, like they had done a lot of kissing, perfect for fantasizing. His chiseled jaw hosted his perfectly carved stubble. I imagine running my fingers through. My teeth biting into my lower lip, lusting dangerously. His eyes had a fire, like it was on a hunt, I got the sense it was always that way. My eyes did a full walk over his 6 foot 5 inches of biceps and calves cuddled by a lazy black polo shirt winged by a leather jacket; the kind only bad boys wore. A walking fantasy, a proper fantasy God, I moan inwardly. Catherine Kent! Stop lusting, his brother just died; your intended just died, behave yourself. My eyes fall to his long legs kissed by tight black jeans. Damn I wish I were the pants. I

Alexander’s POV The burial ceremony commenced with hymns from the choir and sermons from the priest. I was seated at the front row seat of the two way funeral arrangement with Arthur’s widow by my side. Partners, friends, dignitaries from all around the world spread out around me. Arthur Clifford was a powerful man and everyone wanted to pay their last respect. Stop! I yell inwardly as sympathetic gawks track me; concoctions of pity, gross care and attention flood my direction. Where were they when I needed them?. No one saw invisible Alexander, until now when my grandfather and beloved brother lay lifeless on the ground, I finally get a little bit of attention. Well guess what? Alexander Clifford does not need it, he outgrew it, he survived without it, he can do without it. Simon was delivering the Eulogy of my grandfather and brother and as I listened, it dawned on me why I refused to deliver it in the first place. I couldn’t speak of a love that I neither showed nor received

Alexander’s POV “Did your father not teach you not to eye another man while your husband is standing right there in front of you?” I rake, tearing at her vapid blue eyes. Her lips parted and then her eyes fell to the tight grip of my hand on her wrist. I unplug my hand instantly. She rubbed on her tender wrist, her eyes milking mine. Don’t do that Angel; that’s not going to work on me. Answer the fucking question. “Would you rather be in Simon’s bed?” I drill her further, refusing to allow her emotional tantrum work on me. “No” She trembled, a teardrop leaving her right eye. Fucking soft angel, I curse under my breath. “Don’t cry” I command. Her cheeks flush, her jaw tightens, her nostrils flare outward and it is evident that a struggle was going on in her mind. Come on Angel, say what you want to say. “Are you jealous?” She rasps. I scoff and then laugh a little. I actually find it amusing that she would think she could muster the power to make me jealous. “You flatter y