by Cat Johnson
The Naughty Billionaire’s Virgin Fiancée
Cat Johnson
The best laid plans...
Branson Welles doesn't want a fiancée, but he better get one fast before his controlling grandfather yanks his trust fund out from under him. How convenient that recent college grad Jen needs money to pay her school loan just when Bran needs to hire a girl to play the role of his new lady love. It's the perfect plan, until the sexual attraction makes it impossible for them to keep it strictly business.
One night together leads to another and before he knows it, Bran doesn't want to fake it any longer. Could the naughty billionaire playboy really be ready to settle down, and with a virgin?
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.
THE NAUGHTY BILLIONAIRE'S VIRGIN FIANCEE
Shades of Naughty Collection
Copyright © 2013 CAT JOHNSON
Cover art by Amanda Kelsey
Edited by Trinity Scott
ISBN: 978-1-936387-58-8
All Romance eBooks, LLC Palm Harbor, Florida 34684 www.allromanceebooks.com
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First All Romance eBooks publication: May 2013
Chapter 1
A loud slap echoed through the racquetball court. The ball bounced off the far wall and sped toward them with a velocity that had Jon cursing under his breath as he dodged out of the path of the rubber projectile.
“Jeez, Bran. You trying to kill me?”
There were people Branson Welles had wished dead over the years, but Jon wasn’t one of them. He blew out a loud breath. “Sorry.”
Shaking his head, Jon bent to retrieve the ball from where it had rolled. “It looks like you need a drink more than a workout today.”
That statement was truer than Jon could know. After years of rooming together, beginning in prep school, it didn’t surprise Bran his friend could read him so well.
“You don’t mind if we call it quits?”
“Chasing a ball versus sipping some whisky?” Jon let out a snort. “What do you think I’d prefer?”
One corner of Bran’s mouth lifted in spite of his foul mood. “Good. Let’s go.”
After a quick stop by the locker room, they walked into the country club’s lounge. Jon tilted his head toward the two leather wing chairs by the roaring fireplace. As Jon led the way, Bran followed, holding up two fingers to the server as they passed the long wooden bar. The man nodded and reached for the bottle of whisky.
There was something to be said for being a regular. More than a regular actually. Bran’s grandfather had sat on the board of this club for as long as Bran could remember. The staff knew his drink of choice, the way he liked his steak cooked, and to leave him alone when he was in a mood, such as now.
Scowling, he flung his six-foot frame into the seat and kicked his feet up onto the ottoman between the two chairs.
“You going to tell me what the old man did this time, or are we just going to drink our way through this one without discussing it?” Jon cocked a brow.
Bran let out a short, humorless laugh. He needed a nice stiff drink, which he’d have shortly. He needed a good fuck too, but that wasn’t on the immediate horizon, so he might as well vent as long as Jon had asked.
Glancing up, he saw the cocktail waitress on her way toward them. “Hang on until she’s gone, and then I’ll tell you.”
“Gentlemen.” The brunette bent at the waist and Bran got a nice view of the globes of her breasts showing above the buttons of the white shirt.
She lifted the first glass of amber liquid off the tray and handed it to him. She pivoted toward Jon, giving Bran a close-up view of the curves of her ass beneath the clingy black pants of her uniform.
He raised the glass to his lips and watched, amused, as Jon’s gaze dropped to her cleavage as she bent to serve him.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” Jon asked.
“Yes, sir.” She bobbed her head in a nod.
“Well, it’s nice to have you aboard.” Jon shot her the smile that Bran had seen charm the panties off more than a few females, sometimes two at a time.
“Thank you.” She smiled in return, but it had a professional feel to it. That of a person who wanted to keep her new job.
A woman immune to Jon… Interesting.
Bran guessed she was young, not long out of college, but she was no girl. She had all the curves of a woman. She adhered to the club’s employee dress code, but with an extra button left undone, a heel to lift her ass a bit higher, and trousers that fit like a second skin, she managed to ensure the male patrons had something to look at, as well as guarantee herself a nice tip at the end of the day.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” Her blue eyes, so intense in color they appeared almost a violet-blue in this light, moved from one man to the other.
Oh, Bran needed something all right. To sweat out this foul mood of his. Since racquetball hadn’t done it, perhaps bending her over the arm of the chair and spanking that sweet ass before he fucked her would, but Granddaddy would most definitely frown upon that behavior. Besides, this girl didn’t look the type.
He nodded, dismissing her. As she turned and made her way back to the bar, Jon shook his head. “She did that on purpose.”
Bran lifted a brow. “Did what?”
“Bent over so I’d get an eyeful of tit.”
“Of course, she did. She works for tips.” Bran didn’t blame her one bit. She did what she had to do to survive, just as he did.
Truth be told, her way was a hell of a lot more palatable to him than what he’d been forced to endure from his family, all in the name of keeping his trust fund—the carrot his grandfather had dangled and then threatened to yank away for most of Bran’s life.
He swallowed another long swig of whisky. It scorched its way down his throat. Bran savored the burn. It was sure as hell preferable to being numb and feeling nothing, like his father. The man had become nothing more than a puppet to Bran’s grandfather. That’s what a life under this family’s thumb did. Bran wasn’t about to let that happen to him.
“Bran.” Jon saying his name brought Bran’s head up from where he’d been transfixed watching the liquid swirl in the glass.
“Yeah?”
A frown creased his friend’s forehead. “There’s no one in here but us, so talk.”
A houseboy moved passed them and added another log to the fire, but Bran knew what Jon meant. It was early in the day. The bar was empty of members, save for them. There was no one here who would overhear and report back to his grandfather.
Letting out a sigh, Bran said, “Granddaddy has decided I need to grow up.”
The furrows in Jon’s brow deepened. “You work full time administering the foundation. You sit on how many boards? Hell, you even bought yourself a damn sedan to drive instead of that hot new British two-seater I tried to talk you into. How much more grown up does he want you to be?”
“He wants me married and popping out new pawns for him to control.”
“Married?” The shocked expression on Jon’s face was enough to make Bran snort out a laugh. “You’re not even thirty yet.”
“Yes, I know. But Grandfather was married by thirty, so apparently I have to be, as well.”
“Have to be.” Jon’s eyes op
ened wider. “Shit, is that written into the terms of your trust fund?”
“No, he’s more subtle, and manipulative, than that. My trust is fully revocable at any time by his whim alone, up until my thirtieth birthday. What he did say was he strongly suggested I find a woman to settle down with because he, and I quote, ‘would hate to have to reevaluate the future of the family’s holdings’.”
“That’s crazy. I couldn’t live like that. What are you going to do?”
“Finish this drink and order another. Where’s the waitress?” Bran leaned forward in the chair and craned his neck to search for her. She wasn’t in the room. He fell back with a huff.
“Hey, that’s an idea…”
“What’s an idea? Remain so drunk I don’t notice I’m destitute when he yanks it all away from me?”
“No, my idea is a bit more fun than that, and you get to keep your money.”
“Do tell.”
“We’re rich. It’s about time we started acting like it.”
“I’m rich for now, until Granddaddy says otherwise. And what do you mean act like we’re rich?” Bran pointedly eyed the immediate surroundings. The oak paneled room. The polished sterling silver trophies on the mantle that surrounded a fireplace large enough a grown man could almost stand upright inside. The life-size John Singer Sergeant portrait of the exclusive club’s founder hanging above.
“I meant you can buy a drink, so why can’t you buy a fiancée?”
“Oh? Is there a new store in town I missed? Fiancées-R-Us?”
“No, smart ass, but I have an idea where you might be able to get one. Here she comes. Be quiet and let me do the talking.” Jon pulled his feet off the ottoman and planted them square on the floor.
“She who?” Bran frowned at his friend.
“Shh.” Jon leaned forward and raised one hand to signal the server.
The waitress stopped and stood so close Bran could breathe in the light floral scent she wore. Subtle, but penetrating enough for him to detect it above the smell of the smoke from the fireplace.
From his seated position, Bran only had to pivot his head to get an eye full of the silhouette of her very nice, rounded ass. Her hair was dark, but her complexion fair. Her skin would be white as porcelain and would show every mark he made on her, whether it were with his hand or something else.
“Another round?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Jon answered and smiled.
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
Bran watched her walk away and drew in a deep breath. It had been too long since he’d indulged in a woman the way he liked. Girls in college would fall all over the boys in his fraternity and do anything and everything Bran’s very creative imagination could conjure. The alcohol and the drugs might have helped with their compliance, as did the fraternity’s reputation for being the best on campus. Whatever the reason, Bran had more than enough entertainment in that area back then.
Now—not so much.
The women he dated wanted nothing more than a rock on their left hand and access to his bank account. In exchange for their fine company, he got to take them out to an overpriced dinner and be bored to death by their chatter.
His grandfather’s plan for him to marry might as well be a death sentence. The last thing Bran wanted to do was saddle himself with one of those women. They’d probably report him to the police should he even suggest a few of the things he’d enjoyed so much in the past. Nowadays, he had to make do with his imaginings about kinky sex with the occasional attractive server.
Speaking of… Jon looked too excited about something and Bran feared it had to do with his current dilemma. He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “What are you up to?”
“You’ll see.”
“Here you are.” She was back, filling his senses with her presence as she leaned low and handed Jon a glass. She pivoted and bent toward the table next to Bran, placing the drink on a cocktail napkin. He dipped a toe into the pool of her eyes as she met and held his gaze. “Anything else I can get for you?”
If she only knew what Bran wanted. It certainly wasn’t on the bar menu. “No. Thank you.”
“Actually, yes.” Jon slid to the edge of his seat, reached out and grabbed her arm.
She raised a brow and glanced down at where he touched her. “Yes?”
“Just a few questions and answers.” Jon let his hold drop and leaned back in the chair. “Did you know that my great-grandfather founded one of the longest operating newspapers in the country?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, he did, and that family history has made me an observer by nature. I’m fascinated by people and their choices in life.” Jon’s bullshit was enough to have Bran rolling his eyes. Unperturbed, he continued, “So tell me, what your story? What brought you here to our happy little club?”
She shrugged. “Nothing exciting, I assure you. School loans and a bad economy brought me here, at least until I can find a job in my field.”
“Interesting. And when did you start?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday. Brand spanking new then.” Jon shot Bran a glance filled with suggestion, which made Bran shake his head over the spanking reference. Jon knew far too much about Bran’s sexual preferences. “I suppose you haven’t met Bran’s grandfather yet, have you? He’s been away all week.”
“I’m not sure.” She turned to Bran. “Who’s your grandfather?”
What the devil was Jon planning? Bran had to yank his thoughts back from pondering that question to answer her. “Robert Welles.”
“I don’t think I’ve met him.” She pursed her lips. An image assaulted Bran. He pictured sliding a finger between those lips and telling her to suck, before he took that finger, slick with her saliva, and slid it into her.
He pushed that fantasy away, though not before his cock stirred enough to make him notice. “Oh, you’d remember if you had. Believe me.”
For better or worse, no one forgot his grandfather.
“School loans.” Jon rejoined the conversation. “That must be tough, trying to start a life, build a career, with debt hanging over your head.”
She tipped her head. “I’m getting by so far. I have a roommate, which helps with the rent. And wearing this uniform will cut down on the cost of clothes.”
Pinching pennies, working as a waitress to pay the bills when she was obviously overqualified and probably had an overpriced degree in God only knew what field, this girl was Bran’s idea of a perfect bed partner. She could wait on him and carry on an intelligent conversation at the same time…when her pretty mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied servicing him in other ways. Perhaps that was the cause of this strange attraction he couldn’t shake. Bran liked being the one giving the orders. Simply by virtue of her position here, she’d follow them.
Maybe he should start dating waitresses. If only the club required her to be subservient to him afterhours as well.
“Let me ask you something, um, what is your name?” Jon obviously wasn’t done with whatever he had planned.
“Jen.” She touched her fingertips to her blouse. “My nametag hasn’t been printed yet.”
Jon nodded. “Jen, what if someone paid off your school loan?”
She laughed. “Someone like a fairy godmother, you mean?”
“Sure, someone like that. What would you do with your life if you were free and clear of that debt?”
“I suppose I’d look for a volunteer position in my field to build my resume. People are always willing to let you volunteer for things they wouldn’t hire you for, but once I had that experience, I’d be more marketable.”
“Bran?”
“Yes.”
“I’m seeing a solution to your problem.”
“You are?”
“Excuse me, but was there anything else?” she asked, clearly thinking Jon was done with her and had moved on to other matters.
“Oh, yes. There certainly is.” Jon shot Bran a look, and then focused on
Jen. “What would you say to an agreement between gentlemen, so to speak? It would have to be kept completely confidential. In fact, I think we’d best draw up a contract. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the typical non-disclosure agreement. The usual.”
“I’m not sure I follow.” Jen frowned.
Bran snorted. “Don’t worry. Neither do I.” Surely, Jon couldn't be suggesting what Bran suspected he was.
“It’s simple. You, Jen, need money to pay off your debts. Bran, you have money, but you need a fiancée to appease your grandfather. It’s a win-win for both of you.”
“You can't be saying I should hire her to pretend to be my girlfriend in front of my grandfather.”
“That's exactly what I'm saying. Of course she’d have to quit this waitressing job before he sees her working here, but she won’t need it any longer once you pay off her loan.”
“Hmm.” Bran's kneejerk reaction had been to dismiss the idea as crazy, but the more he thought about it, he realized it wasn’t such a bad plan.
This girl was an unknown. Bran could invent whatever story he wanted for her. Seeing him on the way to settling down would satisfy his grandfather. And they’d only have to pull it off until Bran turned thirty in the spring and took control of his trust fund.
Jen’s brows drew down low as she looked from Jon to Bran. “First of all, even if I did understand, or agree to this plan, I don’t think you realize what kind of money we’re talking about here. How much I owe.”
“Not a problem.” Bran dismissed that concern with one flick of his wrist.
Her lips formed a tight, straight line as the crevice between her brows deepened in a sterner frown. “You can’t be serious.”
Jon laughed. “We never joke when it comes to money, sweetie. Ask your boss over there behind the bar how much we collectively spent last year betting on the Super Bowl.”
Bran remembered very well. Fueled by drinks and the spirit of the moment, they’d bet an obscene amount and his team had lost. No wonder his grandfather called him irresponsible. But marriage? That wasn’t the solution. Married to the wrong person, Bran would likely spend more time here—gambling, drinking, anything to avoid going home to the dreaded little woman.
