Back In The Arms Of My Billionaire Ex Husband

Seven Years Later  A royal-blue Rolls-Royce Phantom screeched to a halt outside Luxe Haven.  The man in the back seat spoke up, his voice low and edged with irritation.  "Luxe Haven? You brought me to a club?"  His driver shifted nervously in the front seat. "Apologies, sir. The hotel I booked fell through at the last minute. This... was all I could get," he stuttered.  Dante didn't reply. One icy glance was enough to make the man wish he'd found a room in another city entirely. The driver scrambled out, opening the door with a mumble, "Right this way, boss."  Dante stepped out elegantly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the area. He wore a charcoal tailored suit that hugged his frame, the cut exuding quiet luxury. His diamond cufflinks caught the dim light, glittering in a way that left no doubt about their authenticity.  One glance at him was enough to tell anyone that the man could afford a weekend getaway in a foreign country without a second thought. He tucked his hands casually into his pockets, the subtle raise of his sleeves revealing the platinum watch resting against his wrist.  He strode into the building with smooth confidence, his driver trailing behind with the luggage. Inside, the faint thud of bass-heavy music reached his ears, drawing a faint sneer.  He hated noise.  He hated chaos.  He scrunched his face at the muffled beat echoing from the club floors.  The elevator was just ahead when a figure stumbled into view, a girl swaying on her heels, clutching a half-empty wine bottle. Before he could sidestep, the bottle slipped from her grasp, shattering at his feet and splattering across his suit trousers.  Her head lifted, a tipsy smile spreading across her lips. "You're so handsome," she slurred, biting her lower lip with clumsy seduction.  Before she could throw herself into his arms, Dante caught her wrists and shoved her aside, not with enough force to hurt her, but enough to send her sprawling.  "Watch it," he said coldly.  He despised any form of physical contact, especially from strangers.  The driver muttered a curse, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at Dante's shoes. His glare toward the girl was sharp enough to cut glass. She was dressed in what could barely pass as clothing a skimpy scrap of fabric that left little to the imagination.  "Get lost, bitch," he spat, before leading the way toward the elevator.  Neither of them spoke again until the elevator door closed, swallowing the muffled chaos of the club.  "My sincerest apologies, boss," the driver said quickly. "The whole place will be cleaned first thing tomorrow."  Dante's expression eased only slightly, and just then, the elevator chimed, announcing their arrival on the fifth floor. The driver set down his luggage and excused himself.  The first thing Dante did was shrug out of his suit jacket and toss it straight into the waste bin. He removed his watch with precise movements before heading into the en-suite bathroom to freshen up.  By the time he emerged, a towel hung low around his waist. Droplets from his jet-black hair slid down his toned abs and across his shoulders as he ran a hand through it.  He froze.  A woman lay sprawled across his bed, barely covered by sheer lingerie, her body shifting as she groaned softly.  "How did you get in?" Dante demanded, fury tightening his voice. Realizing he hadn't locked the door earlier, he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Who are you?" he asked, squinting at the masked figure.  Ashley didn't answer or even look at him. Her eyes remained half-lidded, her hands fumbling at her own chest in a disoriented manner.  Dante's patience snapped. After a fifteen-hour flight, the last thing he wanted was to deal with whatever mess this was.  He stepped forward to grab her and drag her out, but her mask slipped away.  His hands froze.  "Ashley?" he breathed, the name tasting both sweet and bitter on his tongue.  The face he hadn't seen in over a decade. The woman who had once stood beside him at an altar, wearing his ring, promising forever.  His ex-wife.  His mistake.  His everything.  But she didn't seem to recognize him. Her gaze was unfocused, her movements clumsy. It was clear she wasn't acting of her own free will.  He crouched beside her, and before he could say another word, she surged forward, pressing herself against him. "Touch me," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear as her breasts pressed against his chest.  He tried to pull away, but she clung tighter, a whimper escaping her. "Do something... please," she pleaded, her voice breaking.  Dante pried her off, his jaw clenched. Her cheeks were flushed, and when her eyes blinked open, they still looked hazy and unfocused.  She giggled, biting her lip as she reached for his bare chest, her fingers tracing over his skin. "What are these?" she murmured playfully.  He eased her back onto the bed, adjusting the pillow beneath her head. But she hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him down again.  "Kiss me," she breathed, her lips pouting.  He scoffed and pushed her away. Her touch was already affecting him, and he hated it. The tension in his lower body made him curse under his breath. He turned toward the bathroom, determined to take a cold shower before his restraint gave way.  Only he knew how long it had been since he'd let himself lose control like this.  "Hey!" Ashley sat up suddenly, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her breasts pressed firmly against his back.  This time, his resolve snapped.  With a growl, Dante turned and pushed her onto the bed, holding her down. His hands moved over her with the urgency of someone deprived for too long, tearing the thin lingerie as his control slipped away.