by Sykes, Julia
Captured by the Billionaire
Julia Sykes
© 2012
Books
Pursued
Captured
Teased
Bound
Tested
Collared
Pursued
Book 1 of Captured by the Billionaire
Julia Sykes
© 2012
For Jocelyn xxx
Chapter 1
Butterflies fluttered in Mallory’s stomach as she slowed her car to a stop in front of the huge, intricately crafted wrought iron gates. She jumped slightly at a tapping on her window. A kindly-looking man in a security uniform motioned for her to roll it down.
“ID?” He asked in a routine manner.
“Um, yeah,” Mallory fished her driver’s license out of her purse and handed it to the man. “I’m with the catering company,” she explained, somewhat unnecessarily; she was wearing a white button-down shirt with the Carly’s Catering logo on it. The real guests at this party would be decked out in ball gowns and tuxes.
The guard checked her name off a list and handed back her ID. “Okay, Miss Williams, you can go on in,” he gestured with a smile. The gates before her slowly eased open, admitting her to the exclusive estate. Even in the dimness of twilight, the grounds were impressive. The drive up to the old plantation house was lined with huge Live Oaks, hundreds of years old. Gray, lacy Spanish Moss dripped down from the elegantly curved branches that reached out over the road, creating a canopy of lush greenery that was illuminated by her headlights. Manicured lawns stretched out to either side, the gardens disappearing into the darkness.
Mallory wondered for a moment what it would be like to live here, to have a life like Jake Cleary’s, heir to the Cleary fortune: beautiful homes all over the world; a multi-billion dollar company handed to you by your father; and more money than God. Hell, the guy probably hadn’t worked a day in his life until his father died last year. And even now he probably just sat back and let the board of directors handle everything, throwing fancy parties at his leisure while other people looked after his fortune. He sure as hell had never had to steam lattes for pretentious assholes to help pay his way through college like Mallory had.
I bet he’s an entitled douchebag, she thought, assuring herself that a hard work ethic and gritty, real world experiences had gained her more character than he would ever have. Then she rounded a corner, and the Cleary mansion came into view, illuminated by warm yellow lights. A douchebag with a nice house, she admitted grudgingly.
The old plantation house was enormous, a sprawling white antebellum manor with dark blue shutters and a jutting, semi-circular porch supported by towering columns. Mallory had visited several plantations on the South Carolina coast, but this one surpassed them all.
She could see two men in white-tie finery, waiting to open the double doors for the first guests. But it was too early for that; no one would arrive for at least another hour. Only the servers would be here now, setting up. With a sigh, Mallory pulled her car around the back of the house, where the catering staff was supposed to enter through the back door.
More like the servant’s entrance, she thought with asperity.
Mallory had been working in the service industry since she was sixteen, saving up money for college. She had nothing but respect for the people who worked hard to earn a living, but this was not what she wanted to do with her life. She had just graduated from the College of Charleston, with honors no less, but she had not been able to find employment in her dream field: Mallory wanted to teach. Thanks to government cut-backs, there weren’t many positions to go around, so even though she had studied hard and ticked all the necessary boxes, she had found herself unemployed four months after graduation. Despite her years of careful scrimping and saving, money was running out, and rejection after rejection for employment was disheartening her.
So when her best friend Sally had cajoled her boss into offering Mallory a job with the catering company that she worked for, Mallory had jumped at the opportunity. Although she had never catered a private party, she had worked plenty of waitressing jobs; How different could this possibly be? Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous her first day on the job.
Swallowing back the butterflies, she turned the engraved brass doorknob on the back door and entered the mansion. She followed the signs left for the service staff and quickly found the kitchen. Although the house was at least three-hundred years old, the kitchen was sleek and modern. Dozens of people bustled around, calling orders to one another, their number filling the large space and making it feel cramped despite its size.
Mallory quickly pulled her long, straight brown hair back into a tight ponytail, tying it with a silky black ribbon, her one personal, feminine accent that she was allowed. Then she waded into the chaos, tying a crisp white apron over her black pencil skirt before entering the fray.
The next hour passed by in a haze of polishing, plating, and pouring. Mallory adroitly zipped around the kitchen, dodging and weaving as she completed her assigned tasks. Before she knew it, a tray of champagne flutes was being thrust into her hands as she was pushed out into the hall.
Mallory walked carefully down the corridor, anxious not to spill a drop of the precious fizzy liquid. As she progressed, she couldn’t help admiring the family portraits that lined the walls, starting with the Cleary patriarch, dead for two generations now, and ending with none other than Jake Cleary, the current holder of the family fortune. Mallory paused at his portrait, undeniably taken in by Jake’s good looks. He had his mother’s deep blue eyes, a shade darker than Mallory’s own, and he had inherited his father’s strong, masculine jaw and midnight-black hair. The man could have made a personal fortune being a male model if he wanted to.
Mallory shook herself. Of course the painting was flattering; the artist had been paid to make the family look good. I bet in real life he has a lazy eye or something. No one should have good enough karma to be that attractive and that rich.
She continued her progress to the ballroom. When she arrived, there was a man in butler’s livery waiting to open the door for her. As she stepped through the doorway and into the cheerily-lit room, she had to stop her jaw from dropping. She stood dumbly for a moment, overwhelmed. The room was massive, with a floor and walls of the same light-hued, polished wood. The wood panels on the walls were exquisitely carved with geometric patterns, the grooves creating bold shadows that stood in contrast to the smooth plains. Light from three crystal chandeliers reflected off the wood and filled the room with a warm, yellow light. Classical music swelled from the corner where the instrumental band was set up, and couples were waltzing elegantly in time on the dance floor.
The ballroom exuded opulence and refinement, as did the people that filled it. Men were dressed in sharply tailored tuxedoes, while the women were clad in gorgeous gowns, many of them slinky and jewel-toned, creating a riot of color that contrasted with the men’s black-and-white garb.
Forcing her parted lips to close, Mallory approached the couple closest to her, discretely murmuring “Champagne?” as she neared them. They each took a glass without so much as a “thank-you” or even a glance in her direction. But Mallory was used to being an invisible, inconsequential cog in the service industry machine, so the behavior didn’t bother her. Much.
She continued to make her way through the crowd, her tray rapidly emptying as she wound her way around the edges of the dance floor. Having made it halfway around the circuit, she was down to two glasses of champagne. She turned, deciding to head back to the kitchen for more. Only as she swung around, her tray came into contac
t with a very hard something. She watched in horror as it tilted, champagne flying out of the glasses before they tumbled to the floor, shattering on impact.
The tinkling sound seemed to echo throughout the room, drowning out the music. She could feel dozens of reproving gazes on her, making her cheeks flame red. Unable to look at anything but the floor in embarrassment, she dropped to her knees to gather up the shards of glass, reaching out with a thick cloth napkin to sweep it into a small, manageable pile.
But before her fingers brushed the floor, a strong, warm hand encircled her wrist, stopping her short. She looked up to find the last person in the world that she wanted to see crouching over her: Jake Cleary. The wind was knocked right out of her. He really was as handsome as his portrait made him out to be. Perhaps even more so. He had the same stunningly masculine features, but there was something about the energy around him that made him even more impressive. He seemed to radiate power, and Mallory found herself overwhelmed by it, caught in the intensity of his blue eyes. They were twinkling slyly, and his full lips were quirked up at the corners as though in amusement. Mallory would have been angered by his mocking expression, but she was too mortified to be affected by it.
“We don’t want you cutting yourself, now do we?” He asked, a hint of a chuckle in his deep, rumbling voice. He straightened, standing, and his grip on her wrist pulled her up as well. Then she took in the full height of him; he must have been over six feet tall, dwarfing Mallory’s five-foot-five-inch frame. As her eyes roved down his body, she saw that the front of his crisp white shirt was sopping wet.
The champagne! She had bumped into one of the richest men in the world and spilled his own champagne all over his fancy tux.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She squeaked, hastily pressing the linen napkin against his chest, trying vainly to absorb the liquid. As she did so, she couldn’t help admiring the harness of his muscles, her touch inexorably lingering around the curves of his defined abs. Despite her situation, she licked her lips unconsciously as heat shot to her sex. She imagined what he looked like out of that tux...
His grip on her free hand brought her back to reality, and she blinked up at him in surprise. Her gaze locking with his, he stilled her efforts to dry his shirt. He was looking down at her, still smiling. But now there was something hard about his expression, a merciless glint in his eye. Mallory suppressed a shiver at the intensity of his demeanor, completely overwhelmed by him.
“That’s quite enough of that,” he said softly. Mallory’s cheeks heated impossibly more, and she wrenched her hands free of his grip. He raised a long-fingered hand and snapped twice. A waiter appeared out of nowhere and immediately knelt to sweep up the shattered glass. Jake never even looked at him, instead keeping his eyes on Mallory. She had to stop herself from physically squirming under his scrutiny.
Imperious asshole, she thought in some indignant corner of her mind. But mostly she was embarrassed, and undeniably turned on by her proximity to the sexy billionaire.
“Jake, what happened?” Came an angry female voice, jerking Mallory’s attention back to the world around her. People were staring, many of them disapprovingly. But none so reproachfully as the woman who had wound her arm through Jake’s. She was blond and pale-skinned, with striking green eyes and a statuesque figure. And she was glaring at Mallory as though she had intentionally thrown the champagne in her host’s face.
Despite her predicament, Mallory couldn’t help returning the snooty woman’s glare. She might have just fucked up big time, but she wasn’t some sort of servant to be admonished by the high and mighty; this was the twenty-first century.
“It’s fine, Celeste,” Jake answered the blond coolly, never taking his eyes off Mallory. But the woman’s arrival had broken whatever spell he had worked over Mallory, and she no longer felt trapped by his power. She just wanted to get out of there. Now.
Seizing the opportunity to flee, she mumbled a quick “sorry,” in Jake’s general direction and darted for the door.
Chapter 2
Tears were pricking at the corners of Mallory’s eyes. I will not cry, I will not cry, she repeated the mantra in her head over and over again as her new boss- soon to be her old boss- yelled at her. She was being fired for the first time in her life, and it sucked. Mallory was not a confrontational person, and she had no tolerance for shouting. She would stand up for herself if someone was picking on her, but in this case she knew that she deserved the dressing-down she was getting. What kind of inexperienced idiot spilled drinks all over the host of the party that they were catering? Now the Clearys would probably never hire Carly’s Catering again, and landing this job had been the best thing that had ever happened to the company.
Mallory felt like shit. Mumbling her earnest apologies, she agreed to help in the kitchen for free for the rest of the night and then return her uniform in the morning. She went about her tasks mechanically, putting herself on dish-washing duty as extra penance for her blundering. After several grueling hours of avoiding the staff’s glares, the party was finally wrapping up, and Mallory prepared to leave.
She untied her apron, heading for the door, but she was stopped short by a tapping on her shoulder. Turning, she saw a man in butler’s livery trying to catch her attention.
“Are you Mallory Williams?” He asked.
Mallory had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she nodded. “Mr. Cleary would like to speak with you,” he said. Mallory’s stomach outright dropped, like the ground had fallen away beneath her. She swallowed and forced a small, genial smile.
“Okay,” she lied. “I just need to straighten up a few more things.” She returned to the kitchen, fussing over drying a few dishes until the man left the room. Then she darted for the door. No way could she bring herself to face Jake Cleary. She had been yelled at enough for one evening, thank you very much; she didn’t think she could take any more. Especially not from him. She thought of his powerful, intimidating demeanor and suppressed a shiver. No way was she going to face him.
Coward, she accused herself. But she didn’t care. She had already been fired, so she didn’t have to worry about making Carly look bad by not following her client’s request. And she was definitely never going to see Jake Cleary again, so what did it matter if he got peeved that she slipped out?
It doesn’t matter, she assured herself. Just get home and try to forget that this night ever happened. She climbed into her beaten-up old Carolla and shoved down the urge to tear out of the driveway, instead forcing her foot to only gently press the gas and drive at an appropriately slow speed. Within minutes, she had passed through the tunnel of Oak trees, and her headlights once again illuminated the closed wrought iron gates.
What? She thought. They screen people before they go out, too? What was this guy, some sort of paranoid control freak?
The security guard was at her window again, and she rolled it down with a sigh.
“Miss Williams?” He asked.
“Yes,” she answered, surprised that he remembered her.
“Wait just a moment please, ma’am.”
Mallory’s brow furrowed, puzzled as the man pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt clip.
“Miss Williams is at the gate,” he said into it.
There was a moment of static, then: “Tell her I want to speak to her.” Even through the distortion of the radio, Mallory recognized the voice: Jake Cleary. She again felt that sinking feeling in her stomach.
The guard turned his attention back to Mallory. “Mr. Cleary would like to speak with you,” he told her.
“Yes, I heard,” she said, somewhat snappily. So what, he wasn’t going to let her leave his property without him admonishing her for the stupid mistake she had made? I knew he was an asshole. She was fuming.
The security guard was staring at her expectantly. “Fine!” She exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperated defeat.
“She’s on her way, sir,” she heard him say into the walkie-talkie as she rolled up her window.
She made a three-point turn and drove back the way she had just come, muttering curses about elite snobs and their condescending douchebaggery. When the house was back in view, she parked her car- in the front lot this time- and headed for the non-servant’s entrance. Seething, she boldly knocked on the door, letting some of her anger spill out as she rapped her knuckles on the wood with a sharp, satisfying sound.
She prepared a few choice words to hurl at Jake as the door opened, but she quickly swallowed them back as the butler came into view. Jeez, how many people does this guy keep on staff? How difficult could it possibly be to answer your own door?
But Jake wasn’t the type to do anything mundane for himself, that much he had made clear. He couldn’t even come talk to her on his own after the party; he had sent people to summon her to his presence. He totally was living in the wrong century if he thought this sort of behavior was acceptable. And Mallory was going to tell him just that.
The butler led her through a series of corridors and up a staircase before gesturing that she should enter one of the rooms. “In here, please, Miss Williams.” As if she had a choice. Jake had practically trapped her, confined her to his property so that he could scold her like some child.
Bracing herself and clinging hard to her righteous anger, she stepped through the doorway and into a lavish study. The floor was covered by a deep red and blue Oriental rug, and the walls were lined with thousands of books. At the back of the room was a darkly polished mahogany desk, and behind it sat Jake Cleary. She again found herself momentarily stunned by how gorgeous he was: his sharp, masculine cheekbones, his bright blue eyes, and his hard body…
No! She reprimanded herself. He’s not hot. Well, maybe he is physically, but his personality is a total turn-off. And that was precisely what she was going to tell him. He hadn’t even stood up when she entered the room. Weren’t Southern gentlemen supposed to do that? Instead, he sat far back in his chair, considering her. It made Mallory’s skin crawl. Or was that a pleasurable shiver?
