How to Seduce a Billionaire

by Portia Da Costa

‘I think you should take your skirt and your shoes off.’

  Jess gasped. What the hell?

  The dazzling, roguish god laughed, his white teeth glinting.

  ‘No, I’m not planning to ravish you …’ He paused, and for a moment a more saturnine expression crossed his face. ‘Well, not unless you absolutely insist. But really, your skirt is still wet at the hem, and I swear I can hear your shoes squishing as you walk.’ He nodded at the offending footwear. ‘It’s bloody cold today, considering it’s supposed to be summer round here at the moment, and like I said before, I’d never forgive myself if you ended up catching a chill.’

  Thunderstruck, Jess said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Why? It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Oh, I think it is, in a way. The big boss is visiting, so you chose to wear a smart but rather flimsy suit and insubstantial shoes. It is my fault.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. I always dress smartly for work.’

  He narrowed his sea-blue eyes.

  ‘All right … Yes, this isn’t my usual work suit. It’s my interview suit. And these are my best dressed up shoes.’

  ‘Well, take them off for a while then. I’ve had the heating turned on, so we can slip your skirt over the radiator and your shoes beneath.’ He leant over and patted one of the curious items on the nearest settee: a thick, fluffy bathrobe in navy blue. ‘You can wear this while they dry off, and we can have a nice little chat and drink some hot chocolate. That’ll warm you up.’ He nodded towards a tall vacuum jug standing on one of the tables, with china cups and saucers, and a basket with what looked like home-made cookies nestling in a white table napkin. How had he assembled all this stuff in just an hour? Had he decided the moment he’d first seen her that he’d hijack her from her desk like this?

  ‘I can’t take my clothes off just like that. It’s … um …’ She clasped her bag, as if it were a weapon with which to defend herself from him. ‘I mean … you’re like the super duper boss of me. I only met you for a few minutes less than an hour ago, and this is an open office, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Who do you think is going to ogle you? It’s just storage across there, as far as I can tell, and I don’t think the birds are particularly interested in us.’ He gestured towards the building across the road. He was right; the only living creatures that could overlook them were a few pigeons roosting on the windowsills across the way. ‘I’ll turn my back, of course.’

  The situation was hurtling into the surreal. Jess shook her head. It was as if she’d stepped through a magic portal at some time since the blue Citroën had drawn up beside her. Or maybe that was the event horizon, entering his car.

  ‘Okay then, if you don’t trust me not to look, Jacobson has a small executive bathroom.’ He waved towards a door at the end of the computer bank. ‘You can change in there instead.’

  Stop acting like a ninny, Jess. Just treat this like a game, a hoot. Pretend it’s all a big giggle and an adventure. He’ll be gone in a few hours, and he’ll most likely never come back. You’ll laugh about this afterwards and he is fabulous fantasy material …

  ‘I trust you not to look, but I think I’ll still change in there.’ Kicking off her wet shoes, she swept up the thick, luxurious robe and then hurried off towards the door to Jacobson’s bathroom.

  This was the weirdest situation she’d ever found herself in, and she needed a moment to regroup. To think and to look at her reflection in the mirror and convince herself she wasn’t in an extended and augmented version of one of her own erotic fantasies. A freaky dream that she’d wake up from in a minute, and then have to drag her half-asleep body out of bed, to go to work.

  And she needed a minute away from the challenging, macho aura of Ellis McKenna … The only man she’d ever met who actually honest to God turned her on.

  3

  Ellis pursed his lips as the door slammed.

  What the hell are you doing, man? Being Mr Impulsive and playing up to your reputation for eccentricity is one thing … but this, this is different.

  She’s different.

  Jessica Lockhart. What was it about her? Everything about her initial impression upon him had been unpromising, and yet, oh dear God, he’d been aroused the minute she’d slid into the Citroën in her soggy suit and her waterlogged shoes, and with her dark, saturated hair hanging in thick, wet rat’s tails.

  Frowning, he retrieved her shoes, imagining the shapely feet they’d protected. He wasn’t a foot fetishist, but it was easy to imagine the lovely legs those feet were attached to. And the luscious thighs. And the lithe yet curvaceous hips.

  His mind flashed a vision to him of those enticing legs and hips naked, and the mysterious grove of her sex, fully revealed to him. If she were a natural brunette – as he had every reason to believe – she’d be dark-haired down there too, the contrast against her creamy skin stark and stunning.

  But great legs and an enticing little pussy were characteristics of a thousand girls. What was it about this particular girl … this woman … that had hooked him? Still musing, he placed the shoes close to the radiator, but not close enough to ruin them by cracking the leather.

  Maybe it was the fact that he did perceive her as a girl?

  But she isn’t one. She’s a woman. Later twenties. Not all that much younger than me, if truth be known.

  But his journey through the valley of grief had aged him prematurely. Not physically, but emotionally. He felt as if he was a thousand years old in loss and regret, but in reality, thirty-six was no age at all. And he’d found a way to deal with his life as it was. A set of workable parameters …

  But even so, that still didn’t explain why Jessica Lockhart shook him up like this. She didn’t remind him of Julie. Not in the slightest. They were entirely different types, except perhaps for that elusive quality; that of being untouched, yet curious. The way his wife had been at the dawn of their relationship.

  A sudden image of Julie in her wedding gown pierced him like burning spear, hitting so hard he almost cried out, his excitement and arousal instantly forgotten.

  No. No. No. That’s the past, a paradise that can never be revisited. That state, that love that I once had … That’s a closed book now, and never to be reopened.

  He turned away from the window, and the vision of the waterlogged metropolis and its unknown humanity, all hurrying about their business. Not that he’d even been seeing them.

  The room, for all its sterile utilitarianism and lack of real character, was warm now, both physically and in an obscure, discreet sense that had everything to do with the woman he’d brought up here.

  Perfection was a thing of the past for him now, but he could still have something different, something distracting. The pleasures of the flesh in all their delightful forms were still available to him, and some amenable company for a strictly limited while would be welcome.

  Hmm … flesh. He was back to musing on her thighs again, and back to considering the mouth-watering curve of her bottom as she’d walked away in her trim but damp skirt. His fingers flexed, anticipating soft skin and firm musculature, as he imagined touching and squeezing, not to mention exploring and perhaps even a bit of judicious spanking, should things develop along those lines. She hadn’t ever played any kinky games, he’d wager the entire income from this rather mundane company on that certitude.

  What will your cries of surprise be like, Jessica? Will you moan with pleasure when I touch you? Will you whimper and cry out my name when I’m between those silky thighs of yours, thrusting?

  Ellis McKenna smiled to himself. Life still had the potential to be good, even for him, and as he unscrewed the top of the vacuum flask, the hot, rich cocoa smell only added to his excitement and the gathering thrill.

  His cock leapt, as he imagined those deeper pleasures, better even than the luscious taste of chocolate.

  He always felt better when he was planning a seduction.

  4

  The robe was divine, if huge. Its quality was all tha
t Jess would expect from a multi-millionaire, a man used to the finest of everything.

  How wealthy was he? It sounded as if his entire family was wealthy, loaded with old money.

  She ran her fingers over the deep pile of the towelling, loving its density. Was this one of his personal robes? He’d obviously driven himself to Windsor, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t have a cadre of minions who’d arrived here separately. PAs and concierge type people who could source anything he desired at the snap of his long, elegant fingers. It’d been around an hour since she’d got out of his car. Plenty of time for diligent gofers to convey this robe from his hotel, or somewhere, to here. She tweaked the lapel as she peered into the mirror.

  Oh, hell, Jess! Just look at you! What a fright!

  All semblance of style had fled from her hair, and even an attempt to dry it on one of Jacobson’s towels hadn’t done much to improve matters.

  Was this what women looked like fresh from Ellis McKenna’s bed? Hair all messy, recently ravished body swathed in his dressing gown? She breathed in deeply, but the garment mainly smelled of laundry. Mainly.

  There was a hint of something, something spicy but very faint, an echo of the delicious aura of shaving lotion that hung around him.

  Perhaps he had worn it before her? A heavy shudder rippled through her, dark and deep.

  Damn! I can’t lurk around in here, fiddling with his bathrobe. It might not even be his. What if old Jacobson has a dressing gown fetish and it’s his, not Ellis McKenna’s?

  Again, the surreal nature of the day hit her. How had this happened? It was all completely crazy, like a badly scripted film.

  And yet it was real, and there was a beautiful man who could have been the star of last night’s fantasy waiting for her out in the office, a man who could do things to her without even touching her. Without her even knowing anything about him other than his public persona in the broadest of terms.

  As she put her hand on the bathroom doorknob, she wished she knew more about him. The takeover of Windsor was a done deal, nothing any of the staff could do about it, so she’d not really taken much interest in Ellis McKenna. There’d been a rather small photo of him in the staff newsletter, and a lot of financial stuff, but she’d not really thought about the man himself. Now she wished she’d Googled him, found out more about him as a person rather than a business Leviathan. At least that way she’d have had a better arsenal at her disposal in order to deal with him. Facts. Mundane or otherwise, to ground her and stop her mind racing to those most dangerous places in his presence, the unknown country of bed and sex and pleasure.

  He rose as she entered the room, unfurling himself from the furthest sofa, elegant and sleek, sophisticated despite his crumpled, lived-in clothing and the fact, she now noticed, that he wasn’t even wearing any socks inside his casual canvas shoes.

  ‘There, that’s better,’ he said, advancing on her, hand outstretched. For a moment Jess wondered what he was doing, but then he took her damp skirt from her, and darted across the room to arrange it carefully across the radiator. The room was nice and warm now. Had Ellis been feeling the cold? His holiday clothing seemed to suggest he’d recently arrived from hotter climes.

  ‘Please, Jessica, sit down and relax,’ he urged, returning to her and slipping a confident arm around her shoulders as if they were old friends, old lovers; almost as if he’d eavesdropped on her fantasies. He guided her to one of the sofas, and then set her pulse racing all over again by flopping down beside her, rather than on the one opposite. ‘Hot chocolate?’ he asked, nodding to the tray at his side on one of the small tables.

  ‘Yes, please!’ The lovely cocoa smell made her stomach rumble. There’d been neither time nor appetite for breakfast this morning.

  ‘And cookies too, by the sound of that growling stomach?’ His grin was so impish, so boyish. Somehow it was hard to take umbrage at his high-handedness, or be awed by his status. He was clearly enjoying himself. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself too?

  ‘Absolutely. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.’

  ‘Tut, tut, Jessica! That’s very unwise. Breakfast is important. Even if your hideous ogre of a new boss is visiting.’ He put one of the large white china cups into her hands, tucking a couple of biscuits onto the saucer. For the first time, she registered the narrow golden band on his ring finger. She’d seen it before, she realised, when ogling his strong, elegant hands, yet somehow skipped over it. He’d been just an unattainable man giving her a lift, his marital status not an issue when barely moments of interaction were involved.

  ‘In fact, especially when the big ogre boss is visiting,’ he continued, ‘you never know quite what you’ll need all your strength for.’ He gave her that wink again, so sly and naughty, a clear sexual challenge.

  Stay calm … stay calm … Men as hot as he is are natural flirts, even when they’re married. They just can’t help themselves.

  The hot chocolate was divine though, and just cool enough to allow a long, reviving sip. She took one, then another, and then met his sea-blue gaze.

  ‘You’re not an ogre, Mr McKenna, and nobody calls me Jessica as a rule, just “Jess”.’ Good God, she couldn’t imagine ever saying that to old Jacobson in this room, but it seemed easy with Ellis McKenna.

  ‘“Jess” … I like that.’ He paused, and took a sip of his own chocolate, his tongue lingering suggestively over his lower lip. ‘And I’m “Ellis” … and you don’t know me well enough to know whether I’m an ogre yet. But I’m hoping we can rectify that soon.’

  Jess nibbled a biscuit. Finished it. It was heavenly, soft and buttery and crammed with juicy sultanas, but she barely tasted it. What was he talking about? Was he really coming on to her? She sat up straighter on the deep sofa, trying to regain a semblance of control of her wits. Sitting here, with this beautiful man, and feeling his effect on her, was addling her brain.

  ‘Look, Mr McKenna, what am I doing here? I’m just your employee. One of thousands I don’t doubt. I … I shouldn’t be sitting here with you, half dressed, scoffing biscuits and drinking hot chocolate. It’s … um … well, it’s not right.’

  He laughed, a clear, light, joyous sound. Damn him, he was so relaxed. This was all so easy to him, while she had no clue how to act.

  ‘I’m “Ellis”. Call me “Ellis”, I beg of you.’ He set down his cup and swivelled to sit and face her. ‘And you’re not “just” an employee to me.’ He fixed her with his penetrating gaze. ‘Don’t you realise that?’ A slight, intent frown puckered his brow, almost as if he wanted to see her – read her – more accurately.

  Jess put her cup aside, even though the chocolate was delicious, and reviving. She didn’t want to spill it because her hands were shaking madly. ‘No, I don’t realise anything. This is all too weird. Fantastical … like something out of one of those novels with a pair of handcuffs or a lace blindfold on the cover, not real life.’ She flashed a pointed look at his ring finger, then cursed herself for a prissy Victorian miss. But then, she was one, really, wasn’t she? Apart from the era. And it didn’t sit right with her, him making a pass when he was married. It wasn’t … heroic.

  ‘I’m real,’ said Ellis softly, reaching and enfolding her fingers in his. Raising their joined hands, he tilted his left one, making the narrow ring glint. ‘And if that bothers you, Jess, I’m not married any more. I’m a widower.’ For just an instant, the playful light went out of him, and his face was stark and sad. Then, just as quickly, his sunny charm was back again, on full beam, like something he could flip on and off at will.

  Jess’s mind prepared to run off down a path of speculation. Just how long ago had his wife died? Did he still love her? She opened her mouth, to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but then, almost as if to rein her back in from such thoughts, Ellis gave her what could only be described as a quelling look, and started to rub her palms and her fingers, massaging firmly but at the same time with great gentleness. No discussion of his marriage allowed then.

&
nbsp; ‘You’re cold. Why is that? The heating’s almost tropical now, but you’re still shivering,’ he said. There was speculation in his eyes, and on his handsome face, almost puzzlement.

  He doesn’t get it because he’s not used to women who don’t have a clue. He’s used to partners … and a wife … who know how to respond.

  The realisation made her shake harder. Ellis’s smooth brow puckered in a frown, and then his eyes widened, and brightened. He looked as if he were about to gasp. And perhaps to accuse her of her ‘secret’.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m just nervous. You’re my big boss and you could sack me, just like that.’ Such nonsense. She barely knew him but she knew instinctively that even though he was a demigod of wealth and power he would not go back on the word he’d just given to everyone. He was a good and fair man and he wouldn’t just sack anyone out of hand.

  Strong, smooth hands tightened around hers. He tipped his head on one side. ‘I told you all. I’m not planning to sack anybody,’ he confirmed, pausing to flick his tongue out again, provocative and swift, touching his lower lip ‘although I would like to offer you a new position, Jess.’

  Oh God … Oh God … Oh God …

  The devil-glint in his eyes was unmistakable, even to her.

  But why, why? She was just … just herself … and he was the Master of the Universe.

  But as fast as the demonic sparkle had appeared, it was gone, replaced by what seemed awfully like remorse.

  ‘Ah, I know. Too much, too soon. Please forgive me, Jess.’ He sighed, a deep gusty sound. The quality of his hold on her changed, and became even gentler, less charged. He frowned again, and then ran his hand up her arm, under the big, loose sleeve of the robe. ‘Is the rest of you as cold as your hands?’

  A rapier stab of pain hit her, almost palpable. She was cold, in every sense. There was something wrong with her. She’d never felt anything with a man. If it hadn’t been for her lurid fantasies and her episodes of self-pleasure, she’d have been convinced she was an ice-ball of frigidity.