The Backdoor Billionaire's Bride

by Roz Lee

  A brush of warm air on her pussy warned of his intent. The first swipe of his tongue along her slit had her straining to get away. Too much. Too painful. Too wonderful.

  Then his hands were under her ass, lifting her. He fastened his mouth to her pussy, and she lost it. The orgasm tore her apart, smashed her to bits, and through it all, he rode her pussy, licking, sucking, biting, until she collapsed into a wrecked and sniveling mess.

  “Baby. Look at me.” Ford’s hand on her cheek, wiping away the snot and tears broke through to her. She managed a weak smile for the beautiful blur above her. “Good girl. You’re doing fine, Becks.”

  Her lip trembled as she fought back another round of tears.

  “Happy tears?” he asked.

  She managed to nod.

  “Ready for another O?”

  Is he crazy? She’d never been a multiple-orgasm person anyway, and after the one she’d just had? He could try, but success seemed impossible. She shook her head. Ford laughed and stroked her face again.

  “Hang on, babe.” As he adjusted her hips, sliding them up onto his thighs, three things registered in her endorphin-drugged brain. He’d released her ankles, he had removed his clothes, and stretched one of their new road hazard red Safe Sheaths over his cock. How long had she been out of it?

  Something big and hard pressed against her entrance. “Perfect,” he said. “I’m sorry, Becks. They say they hurt worse coming off than they do going on.”

  She struggled to make sense of his words, had only begun to decipher the code imbedded in them when he reached for the clamps. At his touch, pain ricocheted through her then the insistent pressure on her nipples disappeared. Her brain registered relief for a nanosecond before blood rushed into deprived tissues, the blinding pain levitating her off the bed. In the same instant, Ford entered her. The stretch and burn of his possession, magnified by the sensation in her nipples, pushed her over the edge into another orgasm, taking what remained of her, flinging it out to the universe.

  She cried out and gripped the nylon bands around the bedposts, anchoring the top half of her body while Ford held her thighs in his strong arms, holding her open for his thrusts. As she came down from the highest high ever, she opened her eyes. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as Ford with his head thrown back, his jaw clenched in ecstasy. The muscles in his arms and chest, coated in a sheen of sweat, flexed as he pounded in to her, seeking his own release. His big cock stretched her tight, but her body adapted, took every inch of him, so when he became impossibly bigger, she noticed. Seconds later, he ground his hips against her like he was trying to dig a tunnel to her heart. A curse exploded from his lips at the same moment his shaft pulsed inside her. She welcomed his weight as he collapsed on top of her like a broken construction crane.

  “Fuck, Becks. I think you killed me.”

  ~~~

  The first rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds when Becky slipped out from under the heavy arm pinning her to the mattress. Ford slept the same way he lived his life—with everything he had. She lay on her side, taking in his relaxed form. She’d spent most of the night learning every detail of his body, down to the small scar on his shin, the result of a bicycle accident when he’d been ten, he’d said. He’d returned the favor, slowly cruising up and down her body, more than once. Her nipples were still sore from the clamps, and probably would be for a while. The pain had been unbearable until he’d distracted her in the most amazing way possible. Her nipples were uber-sensitive and every touch to them telegraphed need to a spot between her legs. She smiled, knowing she’d carry the reminder of their night together with her for some time.

  Ford snored, then rolled to his back. The strip of handmade Irish lace edging on the top sheet pulled up to his abdomen emphasized his raw masculinity in a way she decided he wouldn’t appreciate, but she sure did.

  Before she gave into the temptation to wake him and beg for a repeat of last night, she slipped out of bed. Wrapped in her old terrycloth robe, she took care of her morning needs then headed to the kitchen.

  Her shirt and shorts lying on the kitchen floor brought a blush to her cheeks. God, she could still feel the solid weight of him pressing her into the mattress. He’d ignited a fire inside her that had both consumed and transformed her. He’d set the bar so high no other lover would ever come close to matching him. Maybe once the memory of his touch had dimmed she might be interested in another, but she couldn’t see far enough into the future. Maybe then she’d look for someone she could spend her life with. Someone who shared her love of home and family, someone who wanted to put down roots. Someone who would love her as much as she loved… Ford.

  A sharp pain in the region of her heart made her gasp. She clutched the edge of the counter to steady herself. Shit. She’d gone and fallen in love with the man. There was no maybe about it, and ignoring her feelings wouldn’t make them go away.

  How could you? He’s not your forever man. She’d known the truth from the start, but when he’d accused her of knowing what would happen when she invited him over to help her with the clamps, she couldn’t deny it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d known, or at least hoped.

  The clothes she’d been wearing when he arrived were right where she’d left them on the kitchen floor—a sure sign she’d lost her mind. She picked them up and folded them into a neat stack on the corner of the counter.

  Destined to get her stupid heart broken, she had no one to blame but herself.

  As she started the coffee, she considered her options, quickly deciding she had none. She mentally steeled herself for what she had to do.

  She needed to get Ford out of her house, and fast. If he didn’t want to take the trail back to his house, she’d have to find a way to sneak him out to her car for the ride up the hill. The rumors about her and Ford’s father were without foundation and had evaporated as untruths tended to do, but if someone saw Ford leaving her house in the wee hours of the morning, the news would burn up the Butte Plains grapevine before the diner switched the breakfast menus for the lunch specials. Not only would her mother be embarrassed, she’d get ideas in her head about rose-covered arbors and wedding vows. Last night had one-night stand written all over it.

  “So, this is where you are.”

  At the sound of his gravely, morning voice, Becky turned from mindlessly staring at the stream of black liquid trickling from the coffee maker. Ford stood in the doorway with her grandmother’s lace-trimmed sheet wrapped low on his hips. She had an insane urge to run her palms over the scruff darkening his jaw. Lord, if their customers could see him this morning…. “Huh?” Smooth. Get a grip.

  “I woke up to an empty bed.” He crossed to the coffee pot, opened a couple of cabinets until he found a mug. The brewer conveniently chose that moment to spew the last drop into the carafe. He filled a cup for her, then one for himself. He leaned against the counter and eyed her over the rim of the cup. “You aren’t regretting last night, are you?”

  How the hell did he expect her to think with so much of his skin showing? “Uh. No.” She shook her head in answer to his question and in an effort to jolt her brain into functioning. “Not at all. I was just thinking.”

  He took a sip of his coffee, smiling as he lowered the mug. “About?”

  She shrugged. “About how to get you out of here without anyone seeing you leave.”

  “I see.” He set the cup on the counter and started opening cabinets again. His back proved as magnificent as his front. The play of muscles as he went from one cupboard to the next made her mouth water and her fingers itch to touch. “Do you have anything to eat? Cereal or something?”

  He looked over his shoulder. She pointed to the left.

  “Pantry. I should have milk in the fridge, but I’d give it the sniff test first.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to the grocery store.

  Her guest slapped two bowls of dry cereal on the table, sniffed the milk before pouring. He unceremoniously tossed her a spoon
before digging into his breakfast as if he’d been denied food for a week. Skeptical of the expiration dates on both ingredients, Becky toyed with hers until her companion came up for air.

  “’s good,” he said, nodding at her bowl. “You should eat.”

  She stirred the soggy flakes. “I’m not much of a breakfast person.” But I could eat you. She forced the wayward thought away before she gave into temptation and the thought a reality.

  He glanced at her. “It’s the most important meal of the day.” He took another bite then shook more dry flakes into his bowl. “Besides, you’re going to need your strength.”

  “For?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. His wicked smile told her exactly what he had in mind.

  “No.” She held up a staying hand. As much as she wanted to strip her grandmother’s sheet off his body and take him up on the offer of more mattress calisthenics, she couldn’t think of a worse idea. Her heart would never survive another round with him. Plus, they had a business to run. “We’ve got to be in early today, remember?”

  His expressive brows knitted in confusion as he puzzled out her comment. “Oh, yeah. We’re signing papers on the new property today.”

  “And taping three shows.”

  “That, too.”

  Ford scooped the last flakes out of his bowl, downed them then rose to take the dish to the sink. “I’d rather stay in bed with you. I enjoyed last night.”

  “About last night… I sort of forced myself on you. I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t force anything on me. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.” He leaned on the counter, his ankles and arms crossed. He could be intimidating, even wearing nothing but a sheet. “You needed help testing one of our products. Actually, we managed to test several of them, if memory serves. I’m always available to help with testing, research, or whatever you need.” The matter-of-fact way he offered his services reminded her last night had been nothing more than sex for her partner.

  She squared her shoulders, causing her bathrobe to drag across her sore nipples. Stifling a gasp, she dug deep for the strength to resist his offer. “I’ll keep your generous offer in mind. In the meantime, you should leave before the neighbors see you.”

  Ford held his ground for the longest then casually straightened. “We aren’t through, Becky Jean.” He headed toward the bedroom.

  She needed to be careful and not read too much into his words. Last night had been fun, but Ford didn’t belong to her, no matter how much she wished differently. They’d made a mistake, taking their relationship outside the realm of strictly business, and no amount of chalking it up to product research would make it right. A shiver danced along her spine. Morning-after regrets were a bitch.

  ~~~

  Out of breath from his mad dash home, Ford slammed the back door of the gatehouse. He snatched a water bottle from the fridge, downed it in one long pull then braced his hands on the counter, willing the cold liquid to douse the fire burning in his gut.

  He’d come within an inch of dragging Becky Jean back to bed and keeping her there for the rest of the day. He’d had a lot of sex, but last night had been off-the-charts hot, the best ever.

  He could still hear those little gasps she made every time he filled her. And he’d never forget the breathless way she said his name when she came. Hell, no woman had ever given him as much as she had, not even Ronnie. Especially not Ronnie.

  Shit. Ronnie. Their relationship had been dead for months, but they’d never acknowledged as much. Hell, how could they when they rarely spoke? He made a mental note to talk to her soon, make it clear they were through.

  Popping a pod into the coffee maker, he rinsed the mug he’d used the previous morning and placed it under the spout in time to catch the first drip. While the beverage brewed, he recalled every minute in Becky Jean’s kitchen.

  He’d been distracted by the thin V of skin showing between the lapels of her robe she’d put on when she got out of bed. The sight of her mussed hair had taken him back to the night before when her hair had spilled across the white pillow case and tangled with the lace edging.

  He blew on the steaming cup of coffee then took a sip while he fished a protein bar out of the open box on the counter. He couldn’t imagine not holding Becky Jean again, not sinking into her welcoming heat, losing himself in her incredible blue eyes. She was the most caring, genuine person he knew, and she deserved better than him.

  He arrived at the plant to find Becky Jean already hard at work, looking sexy as hell in another of those suits capable of inciting a riot. “Good morning, Mr. Adams,” she said. “Taping begins at ten this morning in the new studio. I’ve put a new proposal on your desk. I’d appreciate a response no later than the close of business today.”

  Damn. Seeing her in her prim-and-proper business-woman mode turned him on. Memories of just how un-businesslike she had been in bed the night before were gasoline on a bonfire he had no chance of putting out. He’d have to be careful, or he’d be consumed by the conflagration. He returned her polite smile with one of his own. If she wanted to pretend she hadn’t begged him to do wicked things to her last night, he’d let her. For now. “Good morning to you, too, Ms. Parker. I’ll read over your proposal, but I’m certain whatever you have in mind is in the best interest of Adams Manufacturing.” He stepped into the hall then leaned back into her doorway. “See you at the taping.”

  The proposal met his every expectation. While increasing payroll, adding more shows featuring products from other manufacturers would add to their bottom line without stretching their capital reserves the way the new facilities they’d committed to would. Becky Jean had been wasting her time as an office manager. The woman had a head for business like no other he’d ever seen—which turned him on like crazy. The way she said spreadsheet got a physical reaction from him every damn time.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Becky waved Amy away. “That’s fine,” she said, examining her hair and makeup in the mirror. She could do her own makeup, but they could afford to hire someone to come in on taping day, and the extra money her former classmate earned allowed her to hire a part-time person in her salon. “I think I’m done. Why don’t you see if Ford needs anything?”

  Amy met her gaze in the mirror. With an understanding look, she patted her on the shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Go on television with Ford week after week to sell sex toys and not jump his bones. It must take nerves of steel.”

  Becky turned and made a beeline for the rack of dresses the owner of the new downtown boutique had sent over for her. Three hung facing out for today’s tapings. “Ford and I are business partners.” She fingered the multi-colored silk she planned to wear during the nipple-clamp show. When she’d tried it on, the fabric had skimmed her curves in a gentle caress reminding her of the way Ford had touched her face, soothing away the pain and stealing another piece of her heart.

  “I’m just sayin’, you two are H.O.T. on screen together. It’s no surprise your toys are selling like hotcakes.”

  “Sex sells.” Becky fell back on her standard answer.

  “Remember, the blue dress first then the pink block print. The watercolor silk is last,” she said. “No one would blame you if you hooked up with him. You know that, don’t you?”

  No. She didn’t know any such thing. She’d been on the wrong side of the grapevine before, and she didn’t want to be there again. “This is business,” she repeated. Maybe if she said it enough times, she’d begin to believe it herself.

  “Whatever you say, girlfriend.” She opened the dressing room door. “I’ll check on Ford, then take a break. Text me when you’re done with the first show. The pink is going to require a few changes in your makeup to keep you from looking like a clown.”

  Becky waited until she heard the door close behind her friend before she allowed her knees to buckle. Business her ass. She was ass-over-teacups in love with Ford Adams and up to her ass in t
rouble. If the chemistry between them before convinced people to buy their products, what would happen now? In the past, she’d only imagined Ford helping her test the products she endorsed on each show. Last night, they had tested all three of today’s featured products—together, and thoroughly. Putting her experience into words, sharing it with the viewing audience? She shook her head. She couldn’t pull it off. Everyone would know she’d slept with the man.

  She yanked the blue dress off its hanger. A sedate sheath, it combined business appropriate with understated sex appeal. From the assortment of costume jewelry, courtesy of yet another shop recently opened in town, Becky chose a string of chunky pearls and a matching bracelet. To complete the look, she slipped on a pair of nude-tone heels provided by the new shoe store. All would be listed in the closing credits in return for their generous donation. Afterward, everything she wore would be sent to a charity in the county seat set up to help abused women escape their circumstances and find jobs to support their families. Adams Manufacturing had hired several from the program and hoped to hire more.

  No matter what she had going on in her personal life, the business she and Ford were building was making a difference. Butte Plains had grown. Closed-up shops were reopening as new enterprises. People were moving in, not out, for a change. Ford hadn’t mentioned selling or moving in months, but had he noticed the changes in his hometown? He seemed to spend all his time in his office or at home. Even when his friend Scott visited, they rarely hung out together.

  A knock sounded on her door. Becky took one last look in the mirror then turned to answer. Ford leaned against the doorjamb, looking like he’d stepped off the pages of GQ. His smile was as wicked as ever, but a new, darker flame burned in his eyes as he raked his gaze over her from head to toe. “Lordy, you could make a flour sack look sexy, Becky Jean.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated southern accent and pseudo compliment. She stepped out, shutting the door behind her. “I’ll take your hillbilly remark as a compliment and ignore the fact you just called a very expensive dress a flour sack.”