Accidentally Married to the Billionaire (The Billionaire's Touch, #1)

by Sierra Rose

  “I would’ve guessed wrong. I figured you for a Fifty Shades girl.”

  “Ugh, no. That’s not romance.”

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance reader at all.”

  “Then you would’ve pegged me wrong. So what about you?”

  “I like Jack London, those ‘man against nature’ reality shows, color, I don’t really care, vacation spot would be Thailand.”

  “Not bothered about pesky things like human rights?”

  “Not bothered by zombies eating people’s brains?” he countered.

  “Fair enough.”

  Marj ran a hand through his gorgeous locks. “I want you so bad, I can’t stand it.”

  With that, Brandon Cates swept back Marj’s auburn hair and kissed her neck. Sparks of desire slithered up her body, a chill tingling through her as the touch of his hot mouth made every nerve ending stand at attention. She stroked his chest, working at the buttons of his shirt until it hung open to reveal his flesh.

  He was lean and strong, not heavily muscled like Luke had been—Luke with his gym membership and his vanity and the set of hand weights he kept under his desk to squeeze in some extra reps. This man was no Luke, that was for certain. She had never had the impulse to lick Luke’s chest. She had never felt her pulse kick up so fast or wanted him instantly on the couch or floor or any flat surface available.

  What was it about Brandon Cates? Was it the forbidden thing because he was her boss? Because he was a handsome stranger? Was it the fact that he ordered flowers and cake just for her? Or was it the blackout-hot charisma and the gorgeous predatory smile? Whatever it was, he was a lethal combination and she was ready to go down in flames.

  He moved her to the couch, unzipping her dress and pushing it off her shoulders. She stepped out of it gingerly, not wanting to snag the lace with her stilettos. Stripped to her thong and her strapless bra—unfortunately, the one that always left red pinch marks on her skin because it was so tight—she felt shy all of a sudden. Sure, she was in great shape, but he was like a being on a higher plane, too handsome, too perfect looking to be real. He was irresistible, and she didn’t think that any amount of Pilates or boot camp could elevate her to the level of goddess.

  He shrugged off his shirt and lowered himself on top of her. The heat of him stretched out over her, pressing her into the cushions with his delicious weight made her wind her arms around his back, nearly purring. He slid a hand up her side and reached beneath her, unfastening her bra to let her breasts spill forth. She sighed then not with arousal but from relief. His kisses on her neck, his hands on her body had made her nipples so hard that the lace of her bra had felt irritating. Now, his hands rubbed them, making her grind against him.

  She slid her bare legs against the smooth fabric of his trousers, his knee pressing hard between her thighs. His fingers stroked her neck, her collarbone as his mouth dipped to her breasts. His tongue was hot and velvety, teasing her taut nipples until it was almost unbearable, her hands raking through his hair with desperation. She rocked her hips against him, the desire and lust in her building to a frenzy of breathless moans as she tore at the button on his pants. Gently, he guided her hands until his trousers were unfastened and on the floor with her dress.

  She ran her hands along the muscular swell of his ass and bit down on his lip with arousal. The handful of hard, powerful muscle made the idea of his thrusts within her so real that she shuddered. Now, and more, she whispered as he hooked his fingers inside her panties, dragged them down her long legs and stripped them away.

  “Cates, quit playing with me,” she said, her voice husky.

  “So would you say this is in the plus column or the negative one,” he teased.

  She dug her nails into his bare shoulders and groaned with a mix of desire and frustration as his fingers pressed between her legs.

  “You. Know. What. I. Want. Now give it to me,” she demanded, pushing her hips against his hand, pumping against him, wanting her release.

  “It’s our wedding night, precious, I thought you’d want me to be gentle and go slow,” he said.

  “Dammit, Cates,” she ground out.

  Marj ran her hands through his dark hair and kissed him full on the mouth, letting him feel her desire, her frantic need for him. And it was, she knew as clearly as anything in her blurry, drunken haze, him that she needed. Not release, not a man or a particular stroke, but Brandon Cates specifically. He kissed her back with equal passion, the strokes of his tongue deep and persuasive. He rubbed her nipples, trailed a hand down her stomach and back to the sensitive spot at the juncture of her legs.

  Brandon pressed first one finger, then two inside of her and she bucked under him as explosive waves of pleasure ripped through her body. She cried out, high pitched and long, as her climax took her. She clawed at his back as if trying to climb him, her legs writhing against his, her body twisting, wracked with helpless pleasure.

  Breathing raggedly, Marj subsided, practically limp on the couch below him. He kissed her cheekbone, her forehead, her upper lip.

  “Put that in the plus column,” she said breathlessly, and he laughed.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “I was hoping this wasn’t over,” she said.

  Marj scooted out from under him and told him to sit up. He obeyed, and she straddled his lap seductively.

  “Now put your hands behind your head. We’re doing honor system, no restraints, so you have to keep your word. No matter what I do, you don’t get to touch me. Deal?”

  “Ugh, I don’t like this deal.”

  “Deal?” she prompted.

  “Fine, deal,” he said grudgingly.

  Brandon leaned back against the cushions with his hands behind his head, appearing for all the world like he was completely relaxed. Except the powerful erection jutting out of his shorts told another story entirely. She had clear evidence that he was as aroused as she was. There was something about him, she thought again, that she just couldn’t resist. Her legs were still weak from what he’d done to her, her breathing shaky, but she braced a hand on his shoulder and started to lower herself over him.

  “There’s a condom in my wallet,” he said.

  “I’m your wife,” she protested.

  “And, as such, it’s my duty to protect you. We’ll both be tested for STD’s and then you can do the Pill if you want or something but until then, I’m keeping us both safe,” he said seriously.

  With an annoyed huff, she bent over and fished his wallet out of his pants.

  “You may be the first woman to have no interest whatsoever in my wallet.”

  “I’m special like that. Here.”

  Marj handed him the condom, and he put it on.

  “Just so you know, I have an IUD. I’m not going to try to trap you with a baby.”

  “We’re married. The trapping part is sort of already accomplished for you.”

  “Just for a year, Cates. Then we’re free again. And I don’t want the complications of custody and child support and visitation...” she sighed. This was without a doubt the least sexy pillow talk ever. It made her unaccountably sad. It brought home the fact that this was only a charade, that there could be no real marriage, no love, no babies. It was for the best, she told herself. She didn’t want to end up in a dead end loveless relationship like her parents, with her mom drinking herself into the grave just to cope with the unhappiness.

  Better to have a good time with him and not dwell on the sad parts, she thought. Live in the moment, that’s what she’d always told herself. Live in the moment, but be prepared for the worst. She’d never expected her worst case scenario to be a hot naked man sprawled on the sofa, waiting for her, and insisting on using protection. It was so very ironic.

  Brandon reached up and tugged on her shoulder, bringing her back down into his lap so he could kiss her.

  “What happened to keeping your hands behind your head?”

  “I suck at the honor system,” he told
her, his mouth against hers.

  He held her there, kissing her until she relaxed against him and he stroked her body back to life, back into flames until she needed him desperately. He held her hips and entered her, moving in her with a steady rhythm that didn’t give her much time to breathe. He was going harder than she expected and it was flattering and oh so good. He filled her, rocked her until all she could do was cling to his shoulders. She held on, clinging shamelessly, reveling in the way his strong arms wrapped around her back, anchoring her to him. The inexorable movement, the waves of pleasure crashing over her...they seemed to mingle together until she could not tell which arms and hands and legs were hers and which were his. Enmeshed as they were, shuddering and crying out.

  Marj leaned her head on his shoulder, taking air in great gulps because she’d felt dizzy, had spiraled so far out in her ecstasy that she’d feared she would actually pass out. He stroked her back and held her, still on his lap, until her breathing eased, her pounding heart slowed to a more reasonable pace.

  Disentangling herself, a bit embarrassed, Marj retreated to the bathroom of the suite. Her reflection was a caution—cheeks red, dark makeup under her feverish eyes, lips swollen and bruised. Her hair was a tangled mess that would require half a bottle of detangler and a flatiron to tame. She smiled at herself in the mirror without meaning to. She scrubbed her face and tried to drag a comb through her hair, gave up and wished for a hair tie.

  Unfortunately, complimentary hair ties were not in the free toiletries tray. There was an eyelash curler, still in its cellophane wrapper, which seemed weird but she tried it. It made her eyes look more open and her lashes look longer. She wished she had a pocket to stuff it in, before remembering that she didn’t need to steal toiletries. She was married to a rich guy now.

  “First order of business,” she said when she emerged from the bathroom, “is to lay down some ground rules.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m keeping my job but giving up my apartment. I love my apartment but it looks too suspicious to hang on to it once we’re married. So I’ll let it go, but I have to keep busy and my job will help me do that. I’ve always taken care of myself.”

  “I can see this is going to be a problem,” he sighed.

  “Don’t tell me I signed on to be a housewife.”

  “Listen, you’re welcome to work three jobs if it makes you happy, but be aware that I have public appearances and work trips all the time and you’ll be needed for most of those. There’s a lot of grooming and shopping and crap you have to do to keep up with the social engagements. I’m mainly concerned with the part where you insist on taking care of yourself. I’m your husband, and I’m paying the bills. By tomorrow afternoon you’ll have a credit card.”

  “What am I supposed to do with that? By formalwear?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Like an airplane?”

  “We have an airplane, and the company has a larger one as well. So you already have air travel at your disposal should the whim strike you to shop for emeralds in the Virgin Islands or the like. I was thinking more of anything you felt was wanting in the home we’ll share, wardrobe, personal effects. That sort of thing.”

  “Boxed set of zombie DVD’s?”

  “If it makes you happy. I’m not putting restrictions on you. I’m not going to comb through the credit card statement and question you. My accountant will pay it without raising an eyebrow.”

  “No restrictions whatsoever?”

  “If you start building an arsenal of assault rifles and grenade launchers, yes, it’ll be flagged and I’ll ask you about it.”

  “Define arsenal. Like more than ten guns? More than twenty?” she laughed.

  “I’m not comfortable setting a number on that. I’d prefer zero grenade launchers personally.”

  “I’m kidding, Cates. Relax. I’m much more likely to splurge on a decent spray tan.”

  “And cover up those freckles? I like those freckles,” he grinned.

  She lay down on the sofa where he was stretched out at full length, and she wedged in until her head was on his chest, her ear against his heartbeat. Instantly, she settled down, soothed, eyes beginning to droop.

  “So you’ll accept the credit card?” he asked.

  “A paid line of credit with no restrictions outside of probably illegal firearms? Who wouldn’t?”

  “Someone far too independent for her own good?”

  “Right. Count me in. I’ve already accepted your diamonds. I might as well take living expenses, too.”

  “We’re heading home to New York tomorrow. There will be photographers when we get off the plane. You’ll need to go shopping before we depart, choose a going away outfit. There are plenty of places to shop in Vegas, I believe.”

  “I’ve looked at pictures of the Forum shops at Caesar’s. The place looks like a museum or a cathedral with painted ceilings and statues and, like, a Cheesecake Factory in the background. It’s crazy and tacky and I would be in paradise there. Especially with a credit card.”

  “Then the car will take you there in the morning. I have other business, but we can meet back here before departure.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she said.

  Marj was a little disappointed that he didn’t plan to come with her. She realized it wasn’t a real marriage, a real honeymoon. It must have been the sensational sex that confused her, she thought. It wasn’t in her best interest to start being clingy. It was smarter to take what he offered and ask for nothing more. It was better than scraping by to make rent, giving up her weekly latte and being lonely all the time. It would be nice to have a man around, even if he was only a friend with benefits.

  He stroked her hair as he gazed into her eyes. “Thank you for everything. You singlehandedly saved my ass, saved my estate, and my future. I’ll always be indebted to you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His lips softly brushed against hers.

  Brandon laid there for a few minutes with his arms around her, seemingly content. Then he levered up off the sofa, draped a cashmere throw over her, kissed her forehead, and mumbled something about having work to do.

  Chapter 9

  Brandon Cates had never needed much sleep. He got by on less of everything, seemingly, except for his damn type one diabetic pancreas of course which demanded insulin, demanded regular low-carb meals. So he downed a bottle of water and sat down with his laptop and vowed not to waste time thinking about his wife.

  It sounded ugly and selfish when he put it that way, but she was, in fact, his rather unexpected wife. Sure, he’d figured out he was going to have to nail down a bride within the next few days, or he’d lose his inheritance, but he hadn’t figured on picking one up in a bar in Las Vegas. An employee, no less.

  His father was no doubt laughing his smug ass off in the afterlife even now. Because Brandon had spoken with his dad, had pulled him aside before the wedding with Lena, and asked if it was really appropriate for him to marry someone who’d worked for him. His father had laughed in a knowing way and suggested that his teenaged son mind his own damn business. Brandon had felt somehow wronged by that, as if his opinion, his righteous and somewhat inflexible adolescent moral compass had been discounted when his father, in fact, should have kept it in his pants and stayed away from the employees and interns instead of treating them like his personal candy store.

  And now, a decade and more on, Brandon was doing the same thing, screwing a woman who worked for Power Regions, Ltd. and expecting everyone to overlook the fact that his position of authority made it seem smarmy and exploitive. A fairy tale is what he planned to spin it as in the press. Of course, most fairy tales were fairly patriarchal, he mused.

  He would get some work done. He’d already sent a photo of his marriage license to the legal team. Now he set to work on the restructuring plan for Simpatico Paper, where his bride worked. If he combined PR and marketing divisions, he could eliminate some redundancies and reassign those employees to k
eep from pink slipping them. He wanted to preserve the existing team as far as possible for the sake of morale, but there were some inefficient methods at work that he needed to remedy.

  And if this girl he’d picked up in a bar, the one with the pretty eyes, and the smart mouth, and the killer ass. If she had looked at him and listened to him like he was really something, well, he wasn’t about to let that cloud his judgment. She was a necessary investment, the kind that protected his interests by her very existence. He would have the papers drawn up, so she was subject to a gag order with punitive damages far in excess of her net worth if she ever violated it. He would make sure a proviso in their post-nuptial paperwork entitled her to ten million if she lasted a year as his wife, fifteen if they were together for longer than that.

  He’d even try to make it look legitimate by throwing in a live birth clause entitling her to an additional million for each Cates offspring she bore. Those were some safe millions, he knew, considering he wasn’t about to take that risk. He didn’t want to be tied to her after the necessity of their union was over. Custody and visitation and child support and all those other complications were things he wanted to avoid.

  If she had seemed disappointed when he’d insisted on a condom, if he’d said it more as a power play than out of any true protective instinct, that was beside the point. She may or may not have an IUD or a tubal ligation for all he knew. He was still using backup birth control when they slept together. He’d be a faithful husband, if only to spite his father’s gloating spirit. Still, the explosive coupling on the sofa—that had been unexpected. He’d intended on a cursory consummation on the king size bed in the hotel suite. He hadn’t intended on getting all hot and bothered watching her eat the damn cake. That cake bothered him...not because he couldn’t eat any of it himself, but because he was unreasonably jealous of it.

  There was no time to be wistful about cake or women. He was about to snatch his father’s empire (the word, her use of it made him smile) away from Lena, who had done nothing but make everyone miserable since the day she married his dad. Lena had been young and obviously his dad had taken advantage of her. He hesitated to use the phrase ‘preyed upon her’ because, from his experience, Lena had exploited Dane Cates as much as he had exploited her. She noticed everything and, by extension, needed to put her stamp on everything. Suddenly, seemingly all of the household linens including the curtains boasted a swirly embroidered monogram of D-C-L.