The Rake_Billionaire Seeking a Bride

by Melanie Marchande

  “It’s such a sweet story,” Meg says, and I jerk myself back to reality. “The matchmaker and the client, getting together. Who would’ve thought?”

  Who indeed.

  “Yes, well, sometimes it’s the places you least expect.” Devon smiles at me meaningfully, and I really wish he wouldn’t. This whole act is playing hell with my emotions - emotions I didn’t even know I still had.

  “I have to say, I love it,” says Adrian with a grin. “Maximum efficiency. Cut out the middle man.”

  Devon’s laughing as he refills his wine glass. “I honestly never thought of it that way, but you’re right. Probably the best business decision I ever made.”

  “Thanks. That’s very sweet.” I roll my eyes at him.

  “Get used to it,” says Meg. “They never change.”

  “Well, that’s just a lie,” Adrian cuts in. “I’m starting to think you’ve completely forgotten what I used to be like.”

  “Trust me, sweetheart, I wish I could.”

  She pats his hand, and he just scowls - but it’s hiding a smile.

  ***

  After dessert, Meg and Adrian take their leave. I’ve planned it this way, giving me and Devon some valuable down time to go over the night’s events.

  “She’s glowing,” Devon says. “I know what it means when a woman glows.”

  He looks very proud of himself for that.

  “There’s no reason to jump to conclusions,” I mutter. Mostly, I’m annoyed that he caught on. He’s a lot more perceptive than I’ve given him credit for.

  “Oh, I’m jumping,” he says. “I’m very comfortable with that jump.”

  “That’s what people usually say, right before shattering their kneecaps.”

  He snorts. He actually, honest-to-God snorts. I don’t think I’ve ever made a client snort-laugh before, at least not to my memory.

  “This was fun,” he says. “But I’m looking forward to next week. If I recall, that’s when I get to take you out for a surprise again. I’ve been playing it close to the vest, you know. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  I gloss right past that. “You once told me that you tried dating outside your social circle, but it didn’t go well. What did you mean? Don’t know whether she likes you for you, or because of your parents’ new swimming pool?” I tease. “The classic elementary school conundrum?”

  “Basically,” he says, with a slight quirk of his mouth. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s a real problem. And if I’m going to commit the rest of my life to someone, I need to know they’re in it for something more than money. Things change. Economies crash. Maybe tomorrow, aliens land, and they abolish all currency and become our new socialist overlords. I want a partner who’s going to be with me no matter what.”

  “Outlandish example aside…I have to respect that,” I admit.

  The wait staff is hovering nearby. Normally, for a customer like Devon, they wouldn’t - but they’re obviously anxious to go home. I glance at my smart watch, such a stupid and pointless purchase, but it’s nice for the status symbol.

  I gasp.

  “It can’t really be that late, can it?” I wonder out loud.

  “Apparently so,” says Devon, with a chuckle. He scribbles something extra on the receipt and puts away his AMEX. It’s not a black card, but he must have an account. There’s no way he doesn’t. He must be one of those people who asks for a normal-looking card so he doesn’t flaunt his status everywhere. I can’t decide if that’s admirable, or deluded.

  “Shame,” he says, standing up and pushing in his chair. The server gives an audible sigh of relief. “I wanted to continue our conversation. Can I persuade you to come back to my place?”

  I consider this for a moment.

  “I’ll ride with you,” I tell him. “We can talk in the car.”

  He just smiles. He knows he’s already won.

  ***

  “I said I’d ride with you,” I repeat, standing at the entrance to Devon’s incredibly posh apartment building.

  “You did,” he says. “But you didn’t say you wouldn’t come up, either.”

  “That was implied,” I point out.

  “Maybe it was,” he concedes. “And yet I didn’t infer it.”

  I just stand there, searching for the right words. I know they’re not going to come. I know what I’m going to do, and I hate myself for it.

  “You’re hesitating,” he says. “Is there something else you wanted to say?”

  I shake my head, but the word no won’t quite come out of my throat. I’ve never been a good liar.

  “Come up for a nightcap,” he says, soothingly. “Maybe a drink will shake it loose.”

  God, I hope not.

  But I don’t have the strength to refuse.

  I walk up to the entrance of his building. I’ve actually been here many times, just never with him. I wonder how long he’s lived here. I wonder if he’s ever caught me in the corner of his eye, or how many near-misses we’ve had when I was seeing other clients.

  Clients. But he’s not just a client anymore, is he? The air is thick with possibility. If I don’t put on the brakes, I know something’s going to happen tonight. Something I’ll regret. But I’m basking in the warm glow of the night and right now, anything seems possible.

  The doorman greets him with a nod. I wonder how many other women he’s seen come and go on Devon’s arm. Dozens, maybe. Hundreds.

  I’m better off not thinking this way. Tonight, it’s just us. We’re the only ones who matter.

  I follow him into the elevator like I’m in a trance. In a way, I am. I’ve let myself slip into this dreamlike state where I can pretend that nothing we do tonight will have any consequences, that if I give in just once, I’ll be able to move on from my obsession.

  We’re at his front door. God, he’s perfect. Tall and broad-shouldered and smelling of sandalwood and spice. If only he were someone else. If only I were.

  Now’s not the time to think about those things. I’m standing in the sitting-room that adjoins his foyer, and it’s sleek and gorgeous and very much not like a place where a real person lives. Then again, Devon is more than just a real person, isn’t he? He’s a legend. A sleazy legend, but still.

  And a legend who is currently offering me a glass of something golden-brown. It smells sweet, like almond or licorice, and it slides down my throat like liquid candy.

  “Still nothing, hmm?” he intones, and I remember why I’m supposed to be here. As if either one of us really believes that pretense.

  “I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For not embarrassing me.”

  “I would never.” He shakes his head, taking a sip of his own drink. I wonder if he poured himself the same indulgent liqueur that he gave me, or something more bitter. It looks darker, but the lights in here are dim. “But I think you know that.”

  “You’re always a surprise,” I reply, smiling over the rim of my glass.

  There’s a few beats of silence. We both know where this is going, but for some reason, we’re both determined to prolong it as much as possible. Maybe he’s afraid if he acknowledges it, if he says anything, invites me into his room, he’ll break the spell. Maybe he’s right. I’m still not sure why I’m here, why I haven’t walked away yet. I know this is going to end badly. I know he’s going to break my heart.

  But right now, I don’t care.

  “Tell me something, Cassie.” He sits down on one of the gorgeous white leather sofas, so perfect, so spotless, I wonder if anyone’s ever used them before. He pats the cushion next to him, and against all my best judgment, I go to him and sit obediently.

  “Why are you really here?” he asks me, his voice low and quiet and smooth. It’s persuasive without being pushy. It’s seductive without being sleazy. I can understand it now, how he’s done this. I imagine myself at the other end of his lens, back in his photographer days, and it’s not hard to understand the seductive pull he must have had with them.

&nbs
p; “Because you asked,” I tell him. It’s the closest thing to the truth that I’ll admit.

  “Because I asked,” he echoes, with a smile. He crosses one long leg over the other. “So if I hadn’t asked, you would have just left? You wouldn’t be here right now. It’s so easy for things to go sideways, isn’t it? So easy to lose these little moments.”

  I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me anymore, so I just nod, and finish my drink. The warmth, the burn, goes right to my stomach, but I’m already lightheaded enough without alcohol. It’s him. He’s got me under his spell.

  “When we first met, you told me you didn’t think any ‘quality’ woman would ever want to be with me.” He glances at me sidelong. “Do you still believe that?”

  I shrug. “First impressions mean a lot.”

  “But not everything,” he says. “I could convince someone to give me a chance. More importantly - you could. That’s your job.”

  Why is he talking about this now? Why is he reminding me of our business relationship while he’s trying to talk me into his bed? What the hell is wrong with him?

  “Do you consider yourself to be a quality woman, Cassandra Strickland?”

  I stand up, on unsteady legs.

  “I really need to go,” I tell him, without conviction.

  He stands up, too. “I’ll show you to the door.”

  I swallow hard. “I can see where the door is.”

  “It’s a figure of speech,” he purrs. “If we were really dating, it’s what I would do.”

  I can hardly hear my own voice, over the sound of my own heart thumping in my ears. “And what else would you do, if we were dating?”

  He’s suddenly standing so close to me.

  “I’d probably kiss you.”

  He murmurs it so close to my lips, like a foregone conclusion. And that irks me, just a little. Even though it’s not exactly…wrong.

  “Would we?” My voice is so husky I barely recognize it.

  “We would,” he assures me. “You wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation.”

  His fingers brush against the back of my hand. It’s a question, and I answer with a flick of my eyes up to his face, lashes fluttering. I swear I’m not doing it on purpose. It just happens.

  Ever so slowly, his thumb and forefinger encircle my wrist. I stiffen, and he stops. Waiting. Feeling, I’m sure, the way my pulse quickens under his touch.

  He says: “Would you?”

  My head is swimming, and it takes me a second to remember what he’s referring back to.

  “I might,” I tell him, softly. “I’m not your usual, Mr. Wakefield. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy. You’d have to win me over with something other than your money and your superficial charm.”

  Devon huffs out a laugh. “Sugar daddy? That’s what you think I am? Trust, Ms. Kirkland, my conquests have been satisfied by a lot more than the size of my bank account. But I think you know that already.”

  “Conquests,” I echo, with a slight shake of my head. “So disappointing. I really thought you were different.”

  His fingers tighten. “You thought I was enlightened?” His voice has dropped a few octaves, grown rougher. “We’re all animals when it comes to this, Cassandra. We’re all the same. Pure instinct.” He exhales softly. “Lust.”

  His thumb brushes the sensitive skin over my pulse point, and I stifle a gasp. Every nerve ending is on fire, and I’m aching for him to touch me everywhere. Lust, no joke. I didn’t know the meaning of the word until this moment.

  I don’t want to be a conquest.

  Oh, but I do. I want him to conquer me, to own me, carry me over his shoulder to the proverbial cave, and for once I’m okay with that. It doesn’t have to be a conflict. It doesn’t have to be anything. It just is.

  But it’s fun to play. To flirt a little, to dangle the bait and then jerk it away.

  You could have this man right now.

  The thought hits me suddenly, out of nowhere, and the force of it knocks the breath out of my lungs for a second.

  He’s all yours. Look at him. You’re going to have his head between your thighs within the hour.

  I feel lightheaded. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t in the back of my mind from the beginning, the hint, the promise of something more. From the first suggestive email, when all I could think was oh, but he wouldn’t, there was still a part of my brain that had to ask: but what if he would?

  There’s no questions anymore. No answers. Just the heat and anticipation thrumming between us.

  “Animals,” he says, again, his voice low and dark. “And you, most of all. You’ve been in heat for me since before we met, and if you think I’m too much of a gentleman to take advantage of that - you’re dead wrong, darling.”

  “Don’t worry,” I breathe. “I’d never make that mistake.”

  He’s still gripping my wrist, and now he raises my hand so it’s caught between us, pushed up against my chest. “This is on my terms, and my terms only. Don’t forget that either. I know how much you like to be in control, but I’m paying you. It’s high time you remembered that.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m not sure I like what you’re implying, Wakefield.”

  He growls. “I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you that if we do this, I’m in charge. You submit to me. I want to see that professional facade crumble when I crook my finger at you. I want to be your only weakness. If you resist, it’ll be at a cost. Is that understood?”

  My blood’s gone molten. I lick my lips, slowly, watching his eyes darken as they trace the path of my tongue. “You’re disgusting, Wakefield. Is this what all those desperate gold-diggers put up with?”

  “First rule.” He squeezes my wrist, and I whimper a little. I can’t help it. It’s much more arousal than pain, but either one works, I guess. “No talking about other women. When we’re together, it’s just us.”

  I meet his gaze, as calmly as I can. “That’s very presumptuous of you. There’s no us.”

  He lets out a low, throaty laugh. And then he pushes forward. I step back, and step back again, yielding to him until he has me pushed up against the wall. My heart’s hammering so fast I think it might explode, and then he kisses me.

  Oh, but he really kisses me. Lips, tongue, teeth and all. He’s not doing things halfway, and neither am I, because I’m tired of playing this game and I’ve waited too long to taste him. He finally lets go of my wrist, freeing me up to grab him and pull him closer, my fingers digging into the taut muscles of his ass.

  Yeah, I’m in it to win it. This isn’t the kind of opportunity that comes along just any day.

  Devon groans his approval, and I feel the sound more than I hear it. It takes a few seconds for me to remember that we’re still outside my door, that any of my neighbors might look out through their peepholes and see me groping the notorious billionaire playboy in the damn hallway.

  Oh well, let them have a little thrill.

  I let go of him just enough to fumble with my key and push the door open behind us. We stumble inside, and he kicks it closed, smiling against my lips as he pushes me forward, forward, until we’re in the kitchen and he’s raising my arms above my head as my ass presses into the fridge. My collection of kitschy magnets is sliding around behind my back, and I think I hear a few of them clatter to the floor.

  I’m straining towards him, as much as I try not to. It’s impossible to resist.

  Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly…

  But which one of us is which? Who’s really devouring who?

  From the outside it looks like he’s the one in control. His hands directing my body, his eyes commanding me. But it’s a feather-light touch, really, for all his strength. I could shake him off if I wanted to. I could give him one look, or one word, and he’d step away.

  I don’t.

  I melt into him, letting myself sway under his influence, drunk on his power, and I don’t feel even the slightest pang of guilt. We both kn
ow what this is.

  Suddenly, he releases me.

  I wobble, bracing myself against the fridge as my hands reluctantly fall to my sides.

  “Kneel,” he says.

  Chapter Ten

  Devon

  Her eyes flash fire.

  “You want me to kneel?” she whispers, her chest rising and falling so rapidly that I can’t tell if she’s trembling, or just panting. “Fuck off, Wakefield.”

  “Why, is there something you want more?” I smirk at her, shoving my hands in my pockets, playing at nonchalance like I’m not about to lose control. “Maybe you want to be disobedient, hmm?”

  She swallows, hard. It doesn’t do anything to make her voice less husky. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “I doubt it,” I reply. “But, maybe we ought to take this a little more slowl -”

  Before I can finish my sentence, she’s knelt down in front of me, unzipping my pants.

  How is it possible that she’s doing exactly what I wanted, yet somehow still surprising the hell out of me?

  Her lips close around me, and I let out a ridiculously undignified noise.

  I like to pride myself on having stealthy sex, when necessary. I’m good at being quiet. The best, even. Of course I can make approving noises when the situation allows, but I can control it.

  I swear.

  But her tongue is doing this thing. My whole body jerks in response, and this time I manage to cut off the noise in the back of my throat, just barely.

  The dull roaring sound in my ears tells me this isn’t going to last. I’m groaning, my hips jerking reflexively to shove my cock deeper into her mouth, and she is fucking loving it. Her eyes glint as they lock with mine.

  I own you, Wakefield.

  And I don’t mind one bit.

  All the same, I grab her hair to remind her who’s really in control. That’s what I’ll let her believe, anyway. Really it’s to ground myself, because I feel like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces, and that’s the sort of thing only romance novel heroines are supposed to say.

  This is really happening. I can’t believe this is really happening.