His Greed (Billionaire Blind Date Book 1)

by Jacinda Chance

  “So,” Hollis said, putting his own menu on the pile. “How did you two meet?” he asked me.

  Grant raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  Don’t lie. I cleared my throat. “On a blind date, actually.”

  “A blind date?” Hollis laughed. “Why would either of you need to do such a thing?”

  “I needed a date for a family wedding.” I looked at Grant, putting the ball firmly back in his court.

  “And I heard her talked up so much, curiosity got the best of me. It was a good decision.” His thumb stroked the back of my hand.

  Hollis grunted, nodding. “But you’re already engaged? How long ago did you meet?”

  “Not long,” I said. “It’s been a whirlwind romance.” I turned to Hollis and gave him a genuine smile. “Grant swept me off my feet. I couldn’t say no.” I was doing it, and despite myself, I did feel a little thrill. Especially since the look of approval in Grant’s eyes was like a warm caress on my skin.

  “Marriage is such a commitment. Sometimes rushing into things can be exciting, but . . .” Hollis stared at his water glass, and I imagined he was thinking of his own marriage. Marriages? Divorces? I had no idea, but he looked sad.

  “We haven’t gotten a ring yet,” Grant said, also facing Hollis. “But the moment she walked into the restaurant, I knew I had to pull out all the stops.”

  Grant’s gaze fell on me again as he stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Look at her. Who could blame me? I couldn’t stand the thought of any other man stepping in before I had a chance.”

  I scoffed but couldn’t stop smiling. This was ridiculous, but hearing the words made it feel almost real.

  “I love it when she blushes like that,” Grant said, and then leaned over to kiss my cheek.

  “You two are adorable.” Hollis took a sip of water. “What do you do, Sophie?”

  “I’m an artist. I specialize in commercial art.”

  “Oh, an artist.” He sounded impressed. “I have a department in desperate need for a revamped logo. Would that be something you’re interested in?”

  I looked to Grant, not sure what I should say or do. Could I say yes? How would that affect anything? He gave a tiny nod.

  “I can send a resume with samples if you’d like to see my work.”

  “Excellent. You don’t happen to paint portraits, do you? My son’s mother is looking for someone.”

  Not married, at least not to that woman, then. “I do paint, but portraits aren’t really my specialty. I’m sure I can recommend someone, though.”

  “You paint, then. Interesting. Artists have interesting souls.” He winked at Grant. “You’ve doubtless seen her work. She any good? I’d take your recommendation over samples and resumes.” He smiled at me, as if he hadn’t just asked a man whether I was worth hiring with me sitting right there.

  Grant kissed my hand again, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll have to confess, I don’t know much about art, but yes—she is remarkable.”

  He was so smooth, so slick, never actually answering the question, never quite lying, never quite being truthful.

  The server came and took our order, and Grant and Hollis started talking about the exporting business. I listened attentively in case anyone asked me a question, but Grant’s thumb stroking my hand, and then our joined hands resting high on my thigh, made it hard to concentrate.

  As we ate, they chatted about business and other things I didn’t know much about. Grant smiled at me frequently, used an index finger to slide my hair back. He touched me every few minutes, it seemed, never letting me forget that he was right there, warm and enticing and confident.

  I sipped the pinot grigio Grant had ordered again for me, but mostly drank the water. I didn’t want to get tipsy.

  We were nearly done eating when Aten said, “We should toast your engagement, since this is the first I’m hearing of it. Any excuse for a toast.” He grinned, his slightly crooked white teeth gleaming in the low light of the restaurant, and held up his glass.

  “When is the wedding?” he asked, before launching into his toast.

  “We haven’t set a date.” Grant drank red wine like Aten, and swirled it in his glass. “We’ve been too caught up in just being together since we met, we’ve barely had time to think about anything else.”

  “To your bright future,” Aten said, beaming. We clinked glasses and drank.

  Aten’s phone buzzed, and he frowned at the screen before shaking his head. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment.” He walked away to take his call.

  “You need a pendant,” Grant said.

  “What?”

  He touched the base of my throat with a fingertip and dragged it down to my cleavage. “A long, chunky pendant to hang between those perfect tits,” he breathed.

  I hadn’t worn any jewelry on my date, mostly because I’d forgotten. I don’t often wear it when I’m working, especially if I’m working in mixed media, and sometimes forget to put it on when I go out. I had a black onyx teardrop pendant I’d thought about wearing with the dress, but had been in a hurry and forgotten.

  “Men’s eyes are already drawn there, but the right pendant would be stunning. Wear one next time we go out.”

  He sipped his wine, leaving a trail of fire on my skin where he’d touched me. I should have revolted against being told what to wear, but something inside me liked it. Then Grant busied himself with his phone, sending texts rapid-fire.

  Hollis returned, and I thought the evening was nearly over when Aten put his knife and fork on top of his plate and pushed it away. But he wiped his mouth with the napkin, leaned back and said, “Sophie, tell me what drew you to Grant. Aside from the obvious things, like that he’s handsome, wealthy. I want to get deeper than that, and I trust a woman’s judgement of character over most anything else. What about Grant makes you want to be with him?”

  I opened my mouth, wondering if I could pretend illness to get out of there.

  Nine

  Grant’s eyebrows rose higher than I’d seen so far, and the tiny smile betrayed just a hint of uncertainty, probably about whether or not I could field such a question with his never lie mandate in the back of my mind.

  “Well,” I said, and took a sip of wine to fortify myself. “Grant is . . . unique. Not many men have the kind of confidence he does.”

  Hollis nodded thoughtfully, and Grant looked down at his plate, blinking slowly. I felt like I was losing a bet.

  “I don’t know,” I blurted. Both men stared at me. “There’s something underneath the good looks and the expensive suit, something deep inside that most people don’t get to see. It’s in the eyes.”

  Grant’s look shifted to me and intensified, and if I’d seen a stranger look at someone like that, I might have thought he was furious. But his hand on my thigh said differently, as it slid up, closer to my body. I swallowed hard.

  “He stepped into my life . . . and everything changed. And even though he can be irritating and demanding, he’s . . . I feel like I’m in good hands. I feel . . . safe.”

  I hadn’t had that much wine. What was I doing?

  “That’s quite an endorsement, Grant.” Hollis held up his wine glass. “Let’s talk tomorrow at 3? See if we can start hammering out some of the details?”

  Grant nodded, but kept looking at me. “Yes, let’s.” He tore his gaze away and toasted with Hollis.

  My phone buzzed. I almost ignored it, but I remembered Grant asking me to turn it up if I didn’t think I’d be able to hear it in the restaurant. I held it beneath the level of the table, trying to be unobtrusive. The message was from a number I didn’t recognize.

  Look concerned or mildly upset, excuse yourself and wait for Grant outside the bathrooms in the back.

  He must have texted one of his employees to send me that message while Hollis was taking his call. I frowned at the phone, put my fingers to my lips.

  “Excuse me for a moment. Ladies room.” But I acted as if my need to leave was a little mor
e urgent than that.

  Grant and Hollis stood as I left. When I reached the restrooms in the back, I stood there, smiling at people coming in and out, checking my phone. Had he wanted me away from the table so he could talk about me, or talk about something else without being overheard? I felt ridiculous standing there with no purpose.

  Grant appeared around the corner. I started to ask what he was doing, but he held a finger up and stepped into the men’s room. A couple of men came out a few minutes apart, and then Grant emerged followed by a man who had to be the bathroom attendant—I’d never been anywhere fancy enough to actually have a bathroom attendant before, at least not that I knew of.

  Grant took my hand and pulled me into the men’s room. The attendant stayed outside. Grant locked the door and took my handbag. A long counter of sinks covered one wall in front of a counter to ceiling mirror. He tossed my bag onto the counter, near the end.

  “What are you doing? I can’t be in the men’s room,” I said, alarmed but trying not to be too loud.

  “You already are. I paid him to keep the bathroom out-of-order until I’m done.”

  A lump filled my throat. My heart somersaulted. “Done?”

  “Fucking you. Take the dress off, Sophie. I want to see all of you.”

  Every part of my body lit up at his deep, rich tone of voice, and his words. But this was a men’s bathroom at a high-class restaurant.

  “I can’t. Not here.” Why couldn’t my voice sound as confident as his?

  “You can. You will.”

  Ten

  I realized I was gaping at him. He expected me to take the dress off and stand there naked in high heels?

  His eyes said that was exactly what he expected.

  But I’d feel so exposed, so vulnerable under the bright lights of the restaurant’s men’s room.

  “This is what you want, Sophie. Heat. Excitement. Something extraordinary. It’s why you got into my limo. You want what you never thought you could have, and I’m going to give it to you.” He stepped toward me and held out his hand. “The dress.”

  I didn’t have to do this. I could walk out of the bathroom. He’d let me pass, I was sure of it. Mostly sure. If nothing else, I could scream. The bribed bathroom attendant would open the door.

  The problem was, I didn’t want to do any of those things. I wanted to hand myself over and do exactly what he asked. The wet heat between my thighs put up no fight at all.

  I wanted this. I just didn’t know if I could because I so strongly felt like I shouldn’t.

  As he approached, I looked down at his feet, and took one step back each time he moved forward “I—I don’t—” My back pressed against the wall leaving me nowhere to retreat, but he kept coming. “Grant, I—”

  “—want this,” he breathed as he slipped a hand between my back and the wall to unzip my dress. I stared at his shoes until he put both hands on my shoulders. “Say you want it, Sophie. You do. Just say it out loud.”

  I licked my lips and tried, I really did, but all I managed in my nervousness was a sort of nod.

  His hands gently pushed, sliding the material of my dress down my arms. Once my breasts were bared, he put his hands on my hips to push the dress to the floor. It pooled around my feet.

  Grant took my hand and tugged so I would step out of the circle of cloth. His fingers nudged my chin until my eyes met his.

  “Feel that coursing through you, Sophie? That thrill of giving in to what you really want?”

  I blinked and nodded once. He half-smiled and let his hands light on my shoulders again. He stroked down to each breast, kneading them as his palms covered my nipples. I breathed in deeply, which seemed to please him, since his eyes closed briefly and he also took in a slow breath. Then he put a hand under my breast, lifting it, as he bent and took the nipple into his mouth to pull hard.

  I moaned and felt my insides quiver.

  His hand flattened on my breastbone as he straightened again. “A big, heavy pendant right here, no clothes, just those heels. That’d be a fucking work of art.”

  Grant moved behind me and turned me with hands on my waist so that I faced the mirror. His hands slid around to cup my breasts as he pressed his hips against me from behind. I felt his hardness against my ass, and ached to touch him the way he was touching me.

  “Look at yourself, Sophie. Really look,” he whispered in my ear before kissing my neck enthusiastically enough that I tilted my head to the side.

  When I saw myself in the mirror, I gasped, drawing a groan from him. His hands on my breasts, mouth at my neck, my lips dark pink, my cheeks flushed, my eyes dark and shining . . . I’d never seen myself like that before. Never imagined I could look—or feel—that way.

  He tugged on my nipples, and then one hand slid down my stomach, his middle finger sliding into my folds to tease me. I watched this, rapt, my self-consciousness fading away as he rubbed and flicked, his other hand still toying with my breast.

  His hand slid further, two fingers curving and pressing into me, thumb continuing the little tattoo of beats against my clit. His other hand moved, he unbuckled his belt, unzipped himself, let his pants drop to the floor and pushed his shirt up. The skin of his stomach slid warm against my back, and I longed to see, to touch, the hard muscle I felt there.

  “Spread your legs for me. Let me in,” he whispered, nibbling on my ear. His leg pressed against my inner thigh, pushing out, making room, as I obeyed. As he moved again, his cock pressing against me, I grabbed the arm that wrapped around my waist, the hand that fingered me. I had a flicker of panic at whether there’d be much pain.

  He shhhhed in my ear as he thrust up, sliding into me with the burn of stretched flesh that faded almost as quickly as it hit. Another push, and I’d taken him all. He groaned in my ear and rubbed circles around my clit with his middle finger. His other hand splayed against my stomach, holding me flush against him.

  He slid almost completely out of me and plunged back in, driving air out of me with it. I closed my eyes.

  “Don’t,” he said. “I want you to see yourself.”

  As my gaze shifted back to the mirror, he squeezed my breast and took me with a faster rhythm, my other breast bouncing lightly with each thrust. The skin across my chest was flushed now, the nipple he kept pulling and pinching darkening with the attention. And his other fingers glistened, covered with my juices, as he toyed with me. He thrust steadily, the heat and tension building in my center, as he growled in my ear.

  “You hoped your first time would be in a bed, surrounded by rose petals, with a lover tasting of chocolate or champagne. You wanted romance, making love, not getting fucked standing up in a restaurant men’s room.”

  My faced heated at that, despite the pleasure building in my core.

  “But look at yourself, Sophie. Look at what I’m doing to you now. You can’t pretend your fantasy would have been better.”

  No, I couldn’t. This was . . . indescribable. I felt dirty, exposed, vulnerable, but so sexy as I watched his fingers dipping into my wet folds, his hand stroking my breasts and belly,

  “You want to come? Just say the words. Say I want this.”

  Eleven

  His fingers played me perfectly. Not even experimenting on my own had I managed pleasure like that. And the hard length driving deep inside me had lit a fire where I’d never reached before, the slight pain of entry completely forgotten.

  “Look at yourself, Sophie. Look at me. Say I want this.” His hand slid up my neck to cup my chin and lift my face higher so I couldn’t avoid catching both his and my eyes in the mirror. My breasts bounced with each thrust. The sight of his hand, fingers glistening when I could see them, working me and bringing me higher and higher . . . no part of me could pretend I wasn’t helpless to this.

  “I want this!” The words burst out of me, and something gave way inside as I said them, some wall that had kept me from letting completely go crumbled against the force of his will.

  He froze, buried deep
inside me, and growled into my ear. “Then come.”

  He jerked back and slammed into me, and I did. My knees went watery with the pleasure of it as the warm tickling in my center went from pleasant to overwhelming in a second, spraying out into my muscles and forcing my passage to tighten around him in spasms. Each one brought its own little explosion in my center that snaked out and seemed to light up my entire body.

  I tried not to shout—we were in a public restroom with people potentially waiting outside, and I knew at least the attendant was there. But I cried out when it hit me, and the small, desperate sounds after that weren’t anything I recognized.

  Grant didn’t care about the noise, that much was clear. And his eyes—they held mine the entire time. His mouth fell open, his tongue spread over his bottom lip, and then he smiled before he slammed forward hard enough that I’d have stumbled if he hadn’t held on. He let go that growl of his, the voice so deep it seemed like he struggled to get it out, but wordlessly. More a groan that he could hardly manage through a throat tightened in the throes of orgasm.

  He stared into my eyes the whole time, still rubbing my clit, sending little shocks through me as my body tried to come down from the heights it had reached.

  When he stopped, leaning heavily against me, panting in my ear, he smiled at me in the mirror. “And I thought you looked debauched in the limo,” he whispered into my ear. “Good girl.”

  He rubbed his cheek against the side of my neck as I tilted my head to let him do whatever he wanted. And something flashed over his face in the mirror, just a moment of uncertainty, or maybe regret? I wasn’t sure how to take that and his remark about the limo, except he obviously liked to see me mussed. The strange expression disappeared as quickly as it came, and then his face and eyes sort of went blank, his look harder than I’d seen.

  He slid out of me, his body and hands gone from me all at once, nearly leaving me reeling. I stepped forward and braced my palms on the counter. He turned and stepped into a stall, yanking toilet paper from the roll as if he might be angry at it, then scrubbing at himself. “Clean up and dress so we can go and say goodbye to Aten. I’ll go out first, just tap when you’re ready.”