Boxed Set: Books & Billionaires

by Nikki Steele

  “Well-”

  She pulled a crisp sheet of monogrammed paper from a deep snakeskin purse at her side. “Just put your signature here, and we’ll get this over and done with.”

  I hesitated, eyes avoiding her. “Actually, I was hoping we could settle this amicably.”

  There was silence. I looked up.

  Her eyes were narrowed. “This is being amicable.”

  “I… well, I was kind of hoping we could talk about the conditions of the pre-nuptial arrangement. You know, woman to woman.”

  Her eyes narrowed even further, a viper paused before the strike. “What about it?”

  “Well, it’s really a technicality, isn’t it? You’re with someone, he’s with someone-”

  “So?”

  “So it was obviously a typo, the word ‘mistress’, right? If I signed this, would you agree to sharing the money? Splitting it 50:50?”

  “I don’t share well.”

  “Well maybe,” I said, getting fed up, “I won’t share my signature!”

  The woman suddenly smiled, like we were best friends on a girl’s day out, and indicated the pelt around her neck. “Do you like it?” she asked, giving a little turn. “Clouded leopard cub—they’ve got the softest fur.”

  The sudden change took me by surprise. “That’s… um, no. Sorry, but actually I don’t.”

  The smile left her face like it had never been there. She stalked toward me. “Good. You’re not meant to like it. You’re meant to be reminded when you see it of the power I have. I can do anything I want. Kill anything I want.”

  I backed away. “Are… are you threatening me?”

  “Just sign the form.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You don’t want to go there.”

  I put the pen on a nearby table, continuing to back away. “This was a mistake. I don’t like you. And I don’t want you to get Booker’s money. You’re already with someone else, why can’t you just be happy for him too?”

  She began stalking toward me. “Because he has things I want. And I told you, I don’t share well.”

  “You’re a horrible person, you know that?”

  I’d backed up as far as I could go. Her finger jabbed into my breast. “Sign the form.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Sign the form.”

  “No!”

  Her eyes narrowed, and then suddenly she was so close I could see the mascara smudges under her eyes. “God dammit you little cunt! Sign the form or I’ll fucking slit your throat and wear your skin like this leopard!”

  I wanted to melt into the wall. My body started to shake. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

  “I can talk to you any way I want. I’ll fucking kill you, I swear it!” Spittle was frothing at her lips. “I’ll chop off your fingers one by one, until there’s just two left. Then I’ll make you sign the form and shove the last two down your throat so far you’ll think its Booker’s dick! I can make you disappear just like that.” She clicked her fingers. “There wouldn’t be enough left of you to piss on when I’m done.”

  I’d never had anyone speak to me like that, ever. I stared at her, a hare in headlights.

  “You don’t think I could do it?” she snarled. “I’ve hunted endangered species on three continents. I slit their throats and watched them bleed out in front of me, and you know what? Nobody could do a goddamn fucking thing about it; because I was so fucking wealthy I could buy, shoot or scare anyone that stood in my way.”

  She looked me dead in the eyes. “I’m not losing that power. I’d kill to protect it.”

  She seemed to take stock of herself, calming down. “Of course, we can do it the easy way, if you want. You sign the form, I hand over the divorce papers right here and now, and we both go on our merry little way. You get what you want, I get what I want. Everyone’s happy.”

  My shoulders slumped. “You’re a nasty piece of work, you know that?”

  “I know.” She thrust the document into my chest. “Now sign the fucking form, before I really lose my temper.”

  Hand trembling, I took the affidavit. It was short, just three quick paragraphs.

  I (insert name here) attest before God and Country, upon threat of perjury and with absolute truth, that Booker DeVale and I have an ongoing sexual relationship and have knowingly been in such since (insert date here) whilst he is married to his lawful wife Stacey DeVale.

  I acknowledge that my admittance of such may be used in a court of law as evidence of his infidelity, and also proof of the fact that he has cheated on his lawful wife, and that I am his mistress.

  I irrevocably waive my right to council on this matter. I sign this document under my own free will.

  There were tears in my eyes as my hand scrawled my name across the page.

  Stacey moved to snatch it from me, but I held the shaking document up. “Your end of the bargain, please.”

  She pulled a sheaf of papers in a manila envelope from her bag and threw them on a nearby table. “Here. They’re already signed and dated.”

  Then she ripped the paper from my hands and with a laugh, click clacked across the café floor, carrying Booker’s entire fortune on one little piece of paper with her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Booker found me in tears shortly after; when he rang to give me goodnight words and heard me sobbing instead. He was 20 minutes away but arrived at the café within 10, the tires on his Ferrari smoking as they slid into the parking lot.

  “Clara! Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

  I shook my head, unable to talk.

  “Is it something I’ve done? Has someone hurt you?”

  I shook my head again, head buried in his chest. “It was your wife.”

  “What about her? Did she do something to you?”

  I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, pulling myself off Booker’s chest to look him in the eyes. “She’s not very nice, Booker.” Even now, her crude words made me feel physically sick.

  His jaw tightened. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Booker, the other night at the party…”

  “Yes?”

  “Her private investigator found me. He threatened me.”

  The confusion in his eyes began to clear. “That’s why you wanted to leave early!”

  I nodded.

  “What did he say?” he growled.

  “That if I knew what was good for me, I’d sign a form. That your wife would hurt you if I didn’t.”

  Booker’s fists clenched, and he turned, as if looking to punch something. “That bitch!”

  But he didn’t hit anything. Instead he turned back to me and took my shoulders. “Clara, it’s okay, I’ll protect you. You don’t have to cry.”

  I sniffed again, and then snorted out a pathetic laugh. “That’s not why I’m crying.”

  His hand went to the back of his neck. “Then why, Clara? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

  “I… I met your wife.”

  Booker’s face paled so suddenly you’d swear someone had slashed an artery. “You what? When?”

  “Just now, at the café.” I was on the verge of tears again. “She… she wanted me to sign a document saying we were in a sexual relationship.” Now I did burst into tears, burying my face into his chest. “She said she would kill me if I didn’t sign them!”

  “That bitch!” Booker growled again. “Not if I don’t kill her first.” I’d never seen Booker so angry! “Did you do it?” he asked. “Did you sign the documents?”

  I nodded into his chest.

  Booker sighed. “Good, I guess. It’s not how I wanted it to go, but you’re more important than all the money in the world. I’m sorry you met my wife, but I’m glad you’re safe.”

  My tears renewed. His thumb went to my cheek, wiping it dry. “It’s okay, you can stop crying. It’s finally over.”

  I shook my head, looking up at him. And for the first time, I smiled. “I don’t want to stop crying.�
�

  He looked at me, confused. “What’s wrong?”

  “Booker,” I said, laughing through my sobs. “They’re tears of joy. We’re finally safe.”

  “Well I’m glad you’re taking this so well.” His eyebrows rose, and he smiled too. “I guess I’m going to have to get a job! Do you think they’ll have any openings at the library for me?”

  I giggled, tears still streaming down my cheeks. “There’s no way you’d be allowed to work at the same library as me!”

  “And why not?”

  “Because we’d never get any work done,” I said.

  I paused, pulling back off him, wiping my face. “And besides, you won’t need a job.”

  “Why, are you going to support us both?”

  I shook my head. Then I pulled a tiny black microphone from between my breasts. A cord trailed from it, down my cleavage to a USB recorder at my back. “This will.”

  His head cocked. “You recorded the conversation with my wife?”

  I nodded. Then I unhooked the recorder and replayed it.

  “I’ll fucking kill you, I swear it! I’ll chop off your fingers one by one, until there’s just two left.” His wife’s voice came through the speakers, violent and cruel. “Then I’ll make you sign the form and shove the last two down your throat so far you’ll think its Booker’s dick! I can make you disappear just like that. There wouldn’t be enough left of you to piss on when I’m done.”

  Booker took the recorder from my hands. “I’ve heard enough,” he said, face white with fury.

  The smile on my face crept wider. “Really? Because I could listen to that all day.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No,” I said. “Do you know what this recording means?”

  “Yes. My wife is a violent, homicidal maniac,” he replied. “I’ll be glad when I’m rid of her—even if she won.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “What?”

  “Booker, she didn’t win. We did.”

  “But she said she’d kill you, and forced you to sign the form!”

  I nodded. “She did. And it was truly one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. But it was worth it Booker. For what it means for us.”

  He nodded, thinking he understood. “I know. We may have nothing, but at least we have each other.”

  I shook my head. “You’re still not listening. She threatened to kill me. That’s blackmail.”

  A light slowly dawned in his eyes, burning the confusion from his mind. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “You know what the penalty for blackmail in a court of law is, right?” I asked. I’d looked it up. “You go to jail for a very long time.” I grinned. “What do you think her lawyer is going to say when we play this back to him?”

  “I think he’s going to say your signature is invalid.”

  “Aaand?”

  “And,” he said thinking, “and he would also tell her that money is worth nothing when you’re in jail for 25 years. I think he’d tell her to rip up the pre-nup in the hope that we never go public with the recording.”

  “It’s got her admitting to illegal poaching on it too,” I said. I was growing excited. “We did it Booker. We found the only thing more important to her than money—her freedom. We can hold this over her head for the rest of her life!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  We’d called in quickly to Booker’s apartment so I could reapply makeup, then driven straight back out. But this time we’d taken the Bentley, ‘just for something different.’

  I’d wanted to go back to the cocktail party, but Booker had shaken his head. “We’ve done that.” Then he’d driven up a long, winding road on the outskirts of the city, bringing the Bentley to a stop at the deserted lookout at its top.

  A million starry lights shone above us. A million city lights shone below. Booker reached into the back seat, and then he was popping a bottle of Cristal and pouring it into two tall champagne goblets. “To us,” he said warmly.

  I giggled. I’d been horrified the first time I’d done that in front of Booker. But I was doing it more and more now—something about this charming man that I was in love with had brought out the teenager within. “To us,” I saluted him back. “And to your wife.”

  He grimaced. “Please—let’s not talk about her any more. This is our night now.”

  I smiled coquettishly. “What do you want to talk about then?”

  “I don’t know—you, me… the future.”

  I leaned toward him, hand snaking into his lap. “How about we just chat about the first thing that comes up?”

  His eyebrow rose. “Really? I thought we’d already done that.”

  I shook my head. “I seem to remember differently. I promised you fun on our way home, then didn’t deliver. I’m thinking maybe I deliver now…”

  “Right here, at the lookout?”

  I nodded. “Why not? I don’t want you driving, not for what I have in mind.”

  “But what if someone sees?”

  “It doesn’t matter now—that’s half the fun.” I poked him playfully. “What are you, chicken?”

  He reached under his seat, and suddenly it was sliding all the way back. “Why don’t you come here and find out.”

  The Bentley was a spacious car, and suddenly I was glad we were in it and not the Ferrari. I crawled into his lap, champagne forgotten.

  My arms were lifted above my head, and then my dress was lying on the seat beside us. My hand went to his designer jeans. I stroked him eagerly between my legs. “Is this our first fight?”

  He shook his head. “That was some time ago, when you refused to go out with me. But this might be our third. Why don’t we kiss and make up?”

  “Good idea.” I wiggled his jeans down and then leaned into him. Our mouths met; the feel of his hard member delightful against the cotton of my panties. I began to grind him slowly, enjoying the sensation as his hard naked shaft slid up and down me.

  Booker’s hands ran down the straps of my bra, caressing my covered breasts, then moved lower; over my hips and between my legs. A small jolt of electricity zapped through me when they slid behind the cotton.

  It wasn’t long before he had pushed the cotton aside, and we were sliding flesh on flesh. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted Booker right now. How wet just the thought of a life together was making me.

  I lifted myself off him, and as though we were of one mind he reached down, positioning himself below. I could feel the head of him at the lips of my opening. I lowered myself, just the tiniest bit, enjoying that initial flare and stretch of his ridge. Then I lowered myself all the way down.

  The electricity came again, stronger this time, shimmying up my body as I slid down. That first feel of him always took my breath away. I felt like the temperature in my groin had suddenly skyrocketed. Everything started to tingle.

  On top, I was in control. I began to move slowly, my hips undulating back and forth as I kept him deep in me—his member a lever which I could rock back and forth at will. He groaned, fingers raking my back, and I picked up my speed just ever so slightly. I could feel him, throbbing like a heartbeat in my core.

  I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation; the feeling of taking in all of him, the sparks as his member pushed delight through all of my body.

  I wanted more of those sparks. I began to move faster, coaxing them out with every slippery movement inside me. Booker let out a groan, and I opened my eyes to find that he had closed his, lost in the pleasure of the moment. I bit my lip, anticipating his reaction, and then adjusted my legs into a squat on the seat, and began to pump up and down.

  His eyes flew open as the sensation changed for the both of us, his hands moving to my backside in appreciation of the motion. “Whoa. That just bumped it up a notch.”

  I grinned, delighted with his reaction; delighting in my own reaction too. In this position I could feel him as deep as he’d ever been inside, reaching all the way up as if he was possessing me wholly
. It was incredibly hot; I almost orgasmed just at the thought.

  I’d meant to draw this out, but now? I wanted more. I wanted that pleasure to spike higher and higher, taking us both over the edge. I began to move fast upon him, bouncing up and down, the weight of my bra-bound breasts in his face as I moved. His head buried in my cleavage and then he was helping me, hands around my waist to rock me even quicker.

  There was no slowing down now. Each thrust deep within drove the electricity higher. Each pull as I slid back off him was an agonizing delay to the plunge back down once more. I began to groan into his ear, head bouncing dangerously close to the roof of the car as he leaned back into the seat and we worked each other into a frenzy.

  The electricity was getting halogen bright; a blinding, raging storm within me making lightning strikes with each movement. Soon the storm must break. I gritted my teeth, fighting to hold it off, fighting to prolong the pleasure. But Booker’s hard thrusts and urgent breathing wouldn’t allow respite—there would be no delay. He took me higher, and higher, until suddenly I was floating over the storm and I could see it breaking beneath. Lightening crackled and then I was crying my pleasure in the front seat of his car, riding his urgent thrusts as my body contracted upon him.

  The hard clench of my legs was his final straw—I felt him swell and break inside me, and then he was leaning into me and pulsing a warmth which set me off all over again. Time seemed to stand still as I leaned back, the steering wheel digging into my hips, and convulsed over and over until the storm had died, and the electricity had gone from blinding lightning to warm glowing sparks.

  Dimly, I became aware of a sound. I pulled off the steering wheel and it stopped. The horn.

  I giggled as his head pulled out of my cleavage, a look of glowing pleasure on his face. “What?” he asked.

  His question burst me into full bodied laughter. And I thought I was bad—he hadn’t even noticed!