by Chase, Jenna
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
TEMPTING THE HEIRESS
1: DAPHNE
2: LOGAN
3: DAPHNE
4: DAPHNE
5: LOGAN
TEASING THE HEIRESS
1: LOGAN
2: DAPHNE
3: LOGAN
4: DAPHNE
TAKING THE HEIRESS
1: DAPHNE
2: DAPHNE
3: LOGAN
4: DAPHNE
5: LOGAN
TAMING THE HEIRESS
1: DAPHNE
2: LOGAN
3: DAPHNE
4: LOGAN
5: DAPHNE
TWO MONTHS LATER
About the Authors
Billionaire Bad Boy
The Complete Collection
Jenna Chase + Cynthia Dane
BARACHOU PRESS
Published: October 9th, 2016
Publisher: Barachou Press
This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Please see the Jenna Chase Author Central Account on Amazon for a full list of titles.
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Http://authorjennachase.com/updates
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TEMPTING THE HEIRESS
Chapter 1
DAPHNE
This insufferable asshole.
I’m not even sure he’s a man – more like a boy.
We met not two minutes ago, and I’m already prepared to rip his throat out and make him watch me devour it whole. I’m not kidding!
His name is Logan Dean. Yes, that Dean. The first thing I learned about him is that his mother is Camilla Dean, the actress with more Oscars than Meryl Streep. The second thing I learned about him? He’s a jackass.
Right now I’m learning that he has one of the pearliest white smiles I’ve ever seen. Because he’s laughing right in my face from across the table we’re seated at. At this rate he’s not going to be keeping that nice smile for much longer.
“So, Daph…” He pops more artisan bread into his mouth, flakes and crumbs falling from between his teeth. Gross.
I’m frozen, though. What gives him the right to shorten my name like that after knowing me for two minutes? Besides, what does he think I am? Some commoner?
“It’s Daphne.” My teeth are gritted to the point I can barely understand my words. The recipient of my murderous look is my supposed best friend, Ashleigh Lee of the Cantonese hedge fund Lees, who was responsible for dragging me into this quagmire.
Logan’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “That so? I think Daphne suits you so much better. It’s very… homely.”
What? What did he just call me?
Luxurious. Stunning. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Patient. Regal. Those are the words people call me. Those are the words I appreciate being called!
Homely? Fuck right off with that shit!
He definitely notices my anger. Logan is going to ride my rage into the sunset, like I’m some deranged bucking bronco (mare?) in need of taming and training. “Daph,” look at him take great joy in calling me that, “I hear you’ve shacked up with plenty of dudes over the years. So what made you choose Angus of all assholes over here?”
Beside me, Angus Smith, the worst date I’ve ever had, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Ashleigh is responsible for this mess, but it’s only because Angus and Logan are good friends and the former needed a date – and I’m single. I have no idea how Angus and Logan are friends, though. They couldn’t be more different!
Let’s start with Angus Smith. Perfect, London-bred, little bit on the short side but who’s measuring… he’s got the boyish good looks to make up for it. You might even say he’s our city’s very own Prince Harry. Every girl I know, whether from the country club or my alma mater Winchester Academy, has some nasty, dirty dreams about Angus Smith.
Then there’s this damned Logan Dean. Nouveau riche, I shall say out of politeness. We all know his illustrious mother, a classic rags to riches story starting as a teen in the ‘70s. Nobody knows who his father his. Does Camilla Dean know which Hollywood riff-raff knocked her up to create this piece of work? Logan looks more than fine on the outside – what? I can admit when a guy I greatly dislike is hot. He’s taller than me when I’m in my sky-high heels. His thick hair begs for someone to either mess it up or comb it to perfection. Now look at those broad shoulders and that muscular chest. Or so the tabloids – which I read religiously for a mention of my name – are always talking about. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been looking.
The thing the tabloids have forgotten to mention to loyal readers like me is that he’s a terrible fuckhead who should not bother being in my presence.
In a matter of ten minutes, this double-date has gone straight to hell, and there is no one to blame save for Mr. Dean. Even though he is my friend’s date, he has made several crude remarks about me, shot me down even after polite answers, and managed to trip me on the way into the restaurant, breaking the heel of a Louboutin. While I hobbled into the restaurant, he laughed it off and pinched Ashleigh’s ass.
Back to the gross thing he asked me. “I think that’s a bit inappropriate to ask,” I snap, although I’m blushing. I don’t want to be blushing. Logan’s shit-eating grin makes me wonder if this isn’t a blush of embarrassment, but pure, righteous anger.
I look to Angus for some support. All he does is clear his throat.
“Come on, Logan, don’t be a dick.” That’s all the help I get?
“So,” Ashleigh chirps, since we’ve all but forgotten the woman responsible for this mess. I’m dropping boulders in her face with this glare of mine, but she won’t meet the avalanche heading her way. “Thanks for conning me into this, Ash,” I want to say. “You kept going on about how hot Logan is, and then I had no choice but to come when it turned out he was Angus’s friend.” I keep my trap shut. “Have we decided what we want to order?”
“I’ll have the ossobucco,” Logan begins, up to no good beneath our table. Ashleigh’s visage goes from happy to horrified in about two seconds. “And I wouldn’t mind having you for dessert, if you know what I mean.”
I lift up the tablecloth and find Logan’s hand on my friend’s bare knee, trekking dangerously close to her small thighs. There is not much to grab there, so he’s about two inches away from being in a place he has no business being.
“Ow!” Yes. That was my foot meeting Logan right in the shin. He got his hand off my friend, didn’t he? Except now that icy grin is directed right at me again. “What’s the matter, Daph?” he asks through those pearly whites. “Jealous? There’s more than enough room, so you’re definitely free to join us for a ménage a tois. I hear it’s the trendy thing around here.”
Both he and Angus laugh like that was the most hilarious joke in the world. Me? I’ve had enough.
My napkin hits the table. My chair screeches as I push it back abruptly. Now no one is laughing. “You may treat girls like that in California,” I say, “but we have standards here in New England.” I use the last of my energy to give him the most d
erisive glare I can devise. Not even Angus Smith is worth this bullshit. “Come on, Ashleigh, let’s get out of here and let these boys laugh alone.”
Ashleigh is squeamish, shifting back and forth in her chair. Finally, she meets my gaze. For the first time in a long while, she’s defiant instead of compliant. Damnit. The one time she decides to grow a backbone!
“Looks like you’re on your own.” Logan swings his arm across the back of Ashleigh’s chair. Ownership isn’t cute, Dean.
Fine. I will snatch my purse and leave with my head held high. At least I’ll have tha…
“Ah!” My heel! It’s broken! Shit, shit, I forgot! Here I go, down, down to the floor in one of the city’s nicest brunch spots, latching onto the tablecloth as if it’s going to save me.
Haha. More like I take the whole damn thing down with me!
The tablecloth drapes over me as I look up at the ceiling. Cutlery sings around me as it plunks onto the floor. The whole restaurant has stopped functioning. Why pay attention to your own table when you can gawk at the mess I just created? Pull out more cell phones and snap more pictures, why don’t you!
Logan is the first to try to help me up. While I would love to shirk him off out of principle, I grasp his hand and wobble my way back to my feet, sans one heel. Nope. Can’t do it!
He slams back into his chair as I topple onto him. “Oh boy,” he grunts, catching me by the armpits, my left foot scrambling for purchase on the floor. I’m such a mess by now that all I can do is sink to my knees.
My head rests most unceremoniously on the side of his lap.
“I was gonna buy you a drink first,” he murmurs so only I can hear. “But hey, if you wanna get right to it…”
I’m up in a flash, hopping on one foot in a mad dash to get away from this morbid humiliation. A waiter is rushing up to me, asking me in accented English if I need someone to call 911. Ashleigh’s getting up and rounding the table. Angus has both hands on his face, and I can’t tell if he’s gasping or holding back more awful laughter. Everyone at the nearest table continues to gawk.
I ignore them. With my chin tilted far too high, I slip out of my broken heels and carry them with me out of the restaurant, barefoot. Who knows? There might be a pap around here, and if I’m gonna show up in the The Daily Social, it will be with my pride intact!
Then here I am, standing on the sidewalk, realizing that I forgot my purse, cell phone, and sweater in that cursed place.
Deep breaths. Remember, you’re Daphne Fucking DeMarco. One of the most put together girls in all of New England. Heiress to a department store empire.
I’ve got what many women don’t. Long legs. Hair made of silk. Blue eyes and the lightest brown hair around, as expected of an upstanding young woman. Plus a mega rich Daddy who thinks I’m his shining star.
Nobody… nobody fucks with me and gets away with it!
Daggers fly from my eyes as Logan Dean steps out of the restaurant with my things. I yank them from his grasp, tell him one more time that I do not appreciate being treated like a rotten piece of meat, and go hail the first cab I find.
We drive by him still standing on the sidewalk. “Sorry,” he mouths. Too little, too late.
Chapter 2
LOGAN
I met a girl today.
Just a regular ol’ walking cliché, that’s me.
This one, though? She’s special. Really special. I’m not talking about the size of her rack or the firmness of her ass, either. I’m talking about the whole damn package.
Feisty. Big, smart mouth. Yet still so damn elegant in the way she chews my balls off. You know, the only kind of girl I could think of as “my” girl, if I were to settle down at this point in my life. Not that I have any intention of doing so. I’m young, I’ve got wild oats to sow, and no lack of women lining up to take a ride on the Logan Dean Express. I learned that good shit from my mother. You might know her… Camilla Dean? Even though she had me later than most at the time, I still had about four different Daddy figures and a real Dad who didn’t give a shit about me growing up. That does stuff to a young, impressionable guy.
Not that I blame my mother for any of it. Considering our unique situation, she did the best that she could raising me between here and California. Let’s say she was working her ass off to win another Oscar when I was hitting puberty and had no idea where to transfer my crazy sexual urges. So started my life of a different girl every week. Okay, sometimes only one for a whole month. You get what I mean!
The sudden thought of having one girl for the rest of my life is brand-spanking-new to me. I’ve got Daphne DeMarco to thank. That gorgeous vixen who hails as one of the country’s most expensive heiresses.
She’s snobby. She’s annoying. She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a million.
It’s not unusual for me to see a hottie and instantly start thinking of sex. How I’m going to seduce her. How I’m going to make her mine. Even if it’s for one day, I want that woman thinking that she’s all mine. I’m going to blow her mind and take care of her unlike any other man. They usually leave in the morning, but they’ve got that fantasy now stashed away for the next time they’re alone – or with another guy who can’t find her clit.
That’s what I was thinking when I met Ashleigh a few days ago. That I wanted to see how quickly I could get under that tight skirt and bury my cock beneath that skinny ass of hers. Here’s a secret: girls with the smallest asses tend to have the deepest pussies. Don’t ask me how it works! I’ve got a large sample size to work with here. And a, uh, bigger sample size elsewhere…
Anyway. Daphne DeMarco. A girl I’ve only heard of in passing and in the tabloids, when I bother to flip through them. When I saw her today, strutting into the restaurant like the hottest shit on Earth, I was overcome with that same feeling of make her mine. Yet it was somehow different. It wasn’t just my cock begging me to do unseemly things to another one of society’s good girls. It was my… heart? Yeah, that thing. Thumping harder than ever! I could make a crack about it pumping extra blood to my cock so I could whip it out and impress her with it, but I don’t think that would make my point well.
So what did I do? What I always do when I have no idea how else to seduce a woman. I make fun of her. I mock her. I tease her.
I take it way too far so that she absolutely despises me and storms out of the restaurant in the middle of a double-date.
Great job, Logan!
***
I’m quiet for the rest of the day. Ashleigh is all over me with her superficial attraction. I can tell it’s fake by this point in my life. I doubt I could tell her anything about myself and she would actually care. She’s simply seen the photos, read the stories, heard scandalous tales from her social circles, and now wants a piece of me.
Usually I would give it to her. I’ve got a reputation to keep up, you know. It wouldn’t be hard. Kiss her. Touch her. Throw her down on my bed and give her the ol’ Logan Dean rough ‘n ready. Sometimes when I’m already bored I make a game out of sex. How fast can I make her come so I can come? Those can be the best times if it turns out our quiet and sweet high-society girl is actually a freak in the sack.
I’m not interested in that now.
Somehow, though, we end up in my apartment.
She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. Ashleigh Lee is down to fuck, and she’s hot enough that most guys would call me an idiot for turning her down. “Look at the way she’s shoving her tits up toward you, man! How many references to boning has she made? You think she’s playing coy? Duuuude she’s totally gonna bend over your bed and pull down her panties at any moment! Come on. A ten-minute quickie if she’s already wet enough! You gonna love yourself or not?”
Except it’s like a switch has gone off in my head, and try as I might, I don’t feel attracted to her anymore. Daphne’s face keeps transposing itself on Ashleigh’s every time I look at her. Even I know that’s messed up and wrong.
While we’re standing in the m
iddle of my apartment, talking about nothing at all, Ashleigh stands on her tip-toes and plants a kiss on my lips.
I’m sure it could turn passionate, but I never open my mouth to find out.
Ashleigh’s confused and offended when she steps away and gives me a hard eye. “What’s wrong?” she asks, getting ready to unleash her spoiled rich-girl pout on me. “Did I do something wrong?”
Aw, shit. I can tell from the look on her face that she’s not prodding me to open up. She really thinks she has done something wrong. Ashleigh Lee is one of those girls… worries about every single thing and is obsessed with what others think of her. They’re a handful. Their egos are as small as mine is big. Sometimes I wish I could chip off a piece of my ego and fuse it into them. Every bit helps, right?
“Hey, Ashleigh,” I say, forcing her to meet my gaze. Here’s a hint: I don’t say a girl’s name like this unless I’m about to let her down. “You’re a beautiful girl. Seriously. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
She’s smiling, but I can see the traces of worry on her lips. You could probably tell Ashleigh Lee that she’s the queen of your universe, and she would still doubt you. No wonder she’s friends with Daphne DeMarco.
Honesty is the best policy, right?
“Listen, there’s someone else on my mind right now. I hate to tell you this late, but I didn’t think it really meant anything. Sorry…”
I’ve never seen someone blink as much as Ashleigh does. It’s like every time a synapse fires in her brain, she’s gotta blink. Some kind of strange reflex. Wait, do I do that too? “Is it Daphne?” she asks meekly.
“Uh…” I wasn’t going to be that honest. What? You think I’m mean enough to tell the girl I’m on a date with that I think her best friend is hotter and more worthy of my cock? Maybe my reputation really is that bad after all… “Why would you think that?”
