Buying A Bride
~A Romance Collection~
© 2018
By Cassandra Dee and Kendall Blake
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© 2018 Cassandra Dee and Kendall Blake
Kindle Edition
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ALSO BY THE AUTHORS
The#BABYCRAZY Series
#BABYMACHINE
#BABYMAKER
#BABYFEVER
The Filthy Wrestling Club
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring
Claiming His Virgin In the Pool
Standalones
Pregnant By My Boss
My Boyfriend’s Boss
My Friend’s Dirty Uncle
The President, My Lover
Client No. 6
His Captive
Buck Me Cowboy
Beg Me: Sold To My Dad’s Boss
Daddy’s Pretty Baby
Loving the Babysitter
Reverse Harem
Seven Brothers of Sin
Six Ways to Sin
The Billionaires Club
Sold at the Auction
Virgin for Sale
Serving Him
Buy Me
Anonymous Encounters
MFMM Ménage Romance
All the Best Men
MMF Bisexual Romance
Double Dare
Double Exposure
Their Secret
The Falling Series
Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend
Falling for My Boyfriend’s Dad
Box Sets
Love Unbound
DEDICATION
To all the girls who deserve something amazing.
This one’s for you!
NOTE FROM CASSANDRA AND KENDALL
Hi! Thanks so much for reading Buying A Bride: A Romance Collection. I hope you enjoy the steam between Melanie and her man.
Plus, be sure to join our Facebook group Alpha Males on Top to hear about new releases, discounts, and freebies.
Love,
Cassie and Kendall
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Buying A Bride: A Romance Collection
Melanie’s mom is a schemer. One day at a bar she meets billionaire Aaron Black and propositions him on behalf of her daughter. To Mrs. Conway’s surprise, Mr. Black agrees.
Aaron Black is used to buying what he wants. Fast cars, gorgeous women, and big houses are par for the course. So why not a bride? It’s the next logical purchase. But what he doesn’t count on is getting a curvy girl with a mind of her own and a feisty spirit that leaves him craving more.
Hey Readers -- This is a mouth-watering romance between our innocent virgin and an alpha billionaire with a dirty mind. But if you’re looking for a good time, then this book is gonna satisfy your need for heat! As always, read with an ice cold drink nearby :) This collection includes Rags to Riches, Client Number 6, and The Wicked Virgin, as well as a sneak peek at bestseller Sold at the Auction. Enjoy! Love, Cassandra and Kendall
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Buying A Bride
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Rags to Riches
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Client Number 6
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
EPILOGUE
The Wicked Virgin
ABOUT THE BOOK
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
A SNEAK PEEK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
MORE BY THE AUTHORS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Chapter One
Aaron
Why am I even here?
With all the money in the world, I’ve wound up in this dive bar.
I sighed before ordering another vodka tonic. At this point, alcohol was the only way to take the edge off. As I waited for the bartender to fill my order, I glanced around the Surly Wench. It was an obvious hole in the wall, with sticky floors and grimy counters.
Just the kind of place I’d always taken care to avoid.
I don’t belong here.
To be honest, I’m more of a Four Seasons high-end fancy hotel bar type of guy. But here I am, for better, for worse.
While everyone is savoring the start of the weekend, chatting away about their nine to five jobs, I’m sitting here, all alone, in a designer sports coat and wing-tipped shoes imported from Italy.
Well, I say ‘everyone’ but there’s a whopping five other customers total, all grouped around the dinky pool table. It’s so beat up that the green felt lining has turned beige and one of the legs is completely missing – someone sawed it off, believe it or not.
Some things you just don’t try to understand.
One man, dressed in a worn biker jacket, leaned forward to make his shot. He closed his left eye as he aimed but his pool stick was so crooked that the cue ball veered in the opposite direction. His buddies hooted with joy, swigging down their beers. Next came a skinny girl with bright red hair pulled into two pigtails. She moved slowly, and a small smirk painted her lips as she rode the bank straight into a pocket. Some of the men whistled, clearly impressed by her skill.
Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted.
“Here you are,” the bartender announced. “Is there something else I can get for you, sir?”
“No.”
With a nod of her head, the bartender walked away to the opposite side of the bar where she diligently worked on cleaning grimy looking glasses. No matter how much she cleaned them, they still looked dirty – just like everything else in this place.
Again, I wondered why I was here.
&
nbsp; Maybe it’s my depression kicking in.
I don’t get it, though, because I have no reason to be depressed. I have everything I could ever want – a billion-dollar company, a mansion, and a garage full of luxury cars. What else is there to life?
But lately, I’ve taken to drinking and hiding out in seedy dive bars where no one recognizes me.
I took a sip of my drink, downing most of it in one swallow.
It burned my throat, which was exactly what I needed. After all, cheap alcohol does that. It’s nothing like the black label stuff I have stocked in my personal bar, but today for some reason, I couldn’t stand the idea of drinking all alone. At least here, I could watch other people leading semi-normal lives.
It was comforting, in a way.
Before I could take another swig, someone new walked in. I turned in my seat as the bell chimed over the door.
She was an older woman, in her mid-fifties Her face was puffy and drawn with sun damage and fine lines that showed in the dim bar lighting. She was a drinker, no doubt about it. Besides, she was already stumbling over her own feet as she made her way to the bar. I ignored her. I didn’t have time for middle-aged women clad in skinny jeans and revealing tops. It’s not my thing.
So I stared down at my drink, wishing this weight on my shoulders would disappear. I had to find a way to get out of this rut. Clearly, spending my time in shitty little bars wasn’t going to help but for now, it was my only solution.
At least it kept me sane. Sort of.
Suddenly the woman knocked into me, colliding straight into my back. I braced myself against the counter and grabbed the sticky surface to prevent myself from crashing down to the floor.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, honey.” She spoke with her words drawn out and slightly slurred. “I didn’t see you there.” A giggle escaped her lips. “There aren’t many people who sit down at this bar.” She trailed off and I could tell she was waiting for my reply.
I didn’t say a peep.
“Sorry, again.”
I nodded.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” she asked, hand on her hip, lips pressed together in a hard, disappointed line. It seemed I had offended her. Great, just great. Exactly what I needed.
“What would you like me to say?” I finally broke my silence, my voice deep and gravelly after a night of drinking.
“I don’t know. You can start by accepting my apology.”
“I have.”
She narrowed her eyes in my direction, clearly unconvinced. “You aren’t mad I bumped into you?”
“No. It’s fine. I’ll live.”
A smile painted her face. Her teeth were tinged pale yellow. She was definitely a drinker. Without another word, she clambered onto a nearby stool with as much grace and poise as a flopping fish.
This woman was a mess.
And it was only midnight.
I would hate to see what she’s like in a couple of hours.
With nothing else to do, I downed the rest of my drink. I knew I should get going but whenever I looked up, I saw the woman still staring at me. Obviously, she wanted to talk.
Okay, we’ll talk. It’s not like I have anything better to do. I’m already at this grimy little bar. I might as well make the most of it.
Fuck.
What’s gotten into me?
I really needed to get my shit together.
“I’m Aaron, by the way.” I said, holding out my hand in her direction.
She stared at it, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Right. Too formal. She probably thinks I’m trying way too hard.
Finally, she clasped her hand with mine, squeezing it tight.
“Name’s Miranda.”
“Nice to meet you,” I responded, accustomed to polite trivialities. Business meetings were chalk full of them despite most people hating each other. Then again, most businessmen are sharks, and I’m no exception.
“I’m going to be honest with you…” She leaned in, placing a hand on my arm. “You seem like a nice guy but I gotta say, you seem… how should I say this? Kind of lost?” Her speech was crude and jumbled like it was taking her brain a long time to funnel information to her mouth.
“Lost?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, you know, lost.” She nodded.
“I don’t think I follow.”
She leaned in even closer and a cloud of alcohol tumbled from her mouth. “Lost… like… you don’t belong here. Every other guy in here is wearing a leather jacket, but you? What is this, cashmere or something?”
“Suede, actually,” I corrected her. She made a face.
“Suede? Who wears a suede jacket to a bar?”
“It’s a blazer.” I started but then I stopped myself. “Actually, it doesn’t matter.”
“Hmm, I guess so.” She nodded in agreement. “So, tell me, Aaron, what brought you in here?”
I hesitated to answer. I didn’t know this woman. Why would I share my life story?
“I just needed a drink.” I finally said, erring on the side of caution. When you’re a billionaire like me, it’s best to keep things private. The less people know the less likely they are to screw you over. But maybe I’m being a bit too cynical.
“A drink, huh? I’ve heard that one before. I wouldn’t mind one myself,” she suggested.
The gentleman in me took over. Immediately, I hailed the bartender, ordering another round of vodka tonics.
“Thanks,” she said with a smirk. “That was mighty nice of you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“You know, if I had to guess, something’s bothering you.”
“No.”
She chuckled. “You can deny it all you want, but it’s written all over your face. Don’t worry, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Gently, she patted my hand with her cold, dry one. “We’ve all been there at one point or another. In fact, I’m right there with you.”
The drinks arrived.
As soon as her glass touched the counter, she picked it up, tilted her head back, and slugged it down.
Damn.
That’s…impressive? I didn’t actually know what to make of this woman. She was different from the well-kept women I saw on a day to day basis. Miranda had a wild edge to her that made me a bit wary and yet, the more time I spent with her, the more relaxed I became. Her sheer crudeness was like a sting of fresh air.
“So, what’s eating you, Gilbert Grape? An ex-girlfriend or something?”
I shook my head. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “That’s the worst, isn’t it?”
I ordered her another drink.
“I’m lucky, in a way, you know.”
“Why’s that?” I asked. Really? She thought she was lucky? It didn’t seem like it, given her grizzled appearance and obvious drinking problem. But the woman was one step ahead of me. She let out a sigh before looking me straight in the eye.
“Because at least I know exactly why I drink too much.”
I shot her a skeptical look.
“It’s my late husband,” she proclaimed. “I miss him so much.” Even in the darkness of the bar, I could see the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes. Or maybe her eyes were just glassy from too much alcohol. But now, Miranda was caught in her own world.
“Yeah,” she continued, eyes growing murky with the memories. “He was a great guy. Love of my life. I loved him to pieces, I did. But in the end, he was still a dumbass. A big fucking dumbass.” She shook her head, fingers tightening around her empty glass.
The bartender returned.
Together we downed another round of drinks. I held up a hand to signal for more, and the bartender responded with a subtle nod. Good girl.
As the night progressed, I drank more than I wanted to. I was talking far too much with Miranda, the alcohol loosening my vocal cords.
“So, you going to tell me why you’re here or do I have to kick your ass in pool?” Miranda asked, jutting her thumb in
the direction of the green velvet table.
“Please.” I shook my head. “You wouldn’t catch me near that piece of shit.”
We both burst into laughter.
“What? Are you too good for it or something, Mr. Hotshot?”
“Actually, I am,” I said wryly. “I’m Aaron Black, CEO of Tucson Technologies. They call me the Tuscon Terror sometimes.”
Usually, I don’t throw my name around, but again, too much alcohol is dangerous. Miranda clapped with delight before she finished off yet another drink. I shook my head.
“They say all sorts of crap, but I built my business from the ground up. Got my first loan when I was eighteen and funneled every single penny into a startup venture. Thinking back on it now, I could have made a huge mistake and driven myself into a mountain of debt but somehow, everything worked out.”
“That’s good,” Miranda nodded, swaying slightly in her seat.
“But now I have everything and look at me,” I snorted. “Drinking all alone in a bar like this.”
Miranda shot me a sympathetic look.
“It’s love, ain’t it? Or lack of love. Trust me, I can sense it from a mile away,” she proclaimed, taking another swig from her glass.
I shook my head.
“Naw, I’ve never been in love. It’s not my thing.”
But the older woman wasn’t convinced.
“How do you know if you’ve never had it?” she asked wryly, the creases around her eyes getting deeper. Man, her skin was so leathery from decades in the sun. “Let me tell you, young man, you’re missing out. Me and Harvey? Well, I still miss him to this day,” she said, growing teary again. I was about to console her in my own awkward way when suddenly, the woman straightened abruptly.
“You know,” she started, eyes growing bright. “I have a daughter. She’s really pretty, smart, and single.”
I shook my head. Everyone tries to set me up, and I always say no. Blind dates with a young, pretty airhead with an eye on my wallet? No thanks. My time would be better spent with a working girl who knows her place.
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