His: A Claimed by the Billionaire novella

by Kami Kayne

  He cocked one eyebrow. “A first.”

  “One of many tonight. The limo. The restaurant. The wine.”

  “I’m glad to be the one to introduce you to so many new things.” His smile was one hundred percent genuine. But there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes. I liked that flicker. It made him seem younger, less intimidating.

  I drank some more wine, welcoming the warmth that swirled through my belly as I swallowed. This stuff was really, really good.

  “Your mother tells me you’re graduating from school in June,” he said as he set his glass on the table. His fingers traced the line of the stem. For some reason their subtle movement caught my attention.

  “Yes,” I answered, staring at his hand. “Only one more month.” His nails were neatly trimmed, his fingers tapered and elegantly shaped but still masculine.

  “What are your plans after graduation?”

  “I’ll be looking for a full-time job.”

  “No college?”

  “No. Not right now. My mother…” I didn’t finish the sentence.

  From his understanding nod and I-get-it expression, I knew didn’t have to.

  Our waiter returned, this time with some plates and an appetizer. Zip, he was there, and zoom he was gone. Silent. A ninja waiter. The man had talent.

  “I have a question for you,” Mr. Sharpe said as he placed one piece of the appetizer on a plate. He handed it to me.

  “Thank you. Shoot.” I set the plate down and inspected the contents. Looked to be some kind of fish wrapped in something. I poked at it with my fork.

  “If you knew your mother was cared for, would you want to go to college?”

  “That’s a tough one. I’ve been living under the assumption I would be working after I graduated…” I considered his question. Would I consider leaving her if I knew she was okay? It was hard thinking like that, when I knew my mother needed me, now perhaps more than ever. Her health had recently declined rapidly. Her doctors had warned me that she wouldn’t be able to work for much longer. This was my reality. I couldn’t really step out of it. “I honestly can’t say. But I will admit I couldn’t go far away to school, even if she had a full time caretaker. I couldn’t leave her alone.”

  “Understood. What about marriage?”

  I couldn’t help laughing at that question. “Marriage? I would have to have a boyfriend or fiancé to be thinking about that.”

  “There’s no one?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  He seemed pleased at my response. Considering we were on a date, I supposed there was a good reason for that. Emboldened by all of his personal questions, I decided to ask him one.

  “What about you? Are you looking to get married?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “But didn’t you say you want children?”

  “Ah, I see you have been listening.” One side of his mouth quirked up, forming a lopsided smile. Charming.

  “Of course I’ve been listening.”

  “I do want children. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I must get married.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that response.

  A part of me was starting to feel uncomfortable, unsettled, by this conversation. Maybe it was what he was saying. Maybe it was the way he was looking at me. Maybe it was the fact that my mother had lied about the blind date. And maybe it was because he seemed so far out of my league I didn’t understand why he had wanted to go on a date with me in the first place.

  “You disagree?” he asked.

  “Well…maybe.”

  He lifted a brow, an invitation to explain, I surmised.

  So that was exactly what I did. I said, “Having been raised for most of my life by a single mom, I think it’s better if a kid has two parents in her life. Mom and dad. Together. Kids deserve stability.”

  “What if I were able to offer stability to my child, but without necessarily marrying the mother?”

  “Why not marry her?”

  “Why marry her? In my situation, marriage greatly complicates things. I have to get my attorneys to draft a pre-nup, and even then I risk losing what I’ve worked so hard to gain for the last twenty years.” He leaned closer, staring straight into my eyes. “Try to put yourself into my shoes, Allison. Try to imagine what it’s like. There are hundreds of women throwing themselves at you all the time. They all want something from you. Money. Houses. Cars. A lifestyle they can’t get on their own. They all claim to love you, but you can’t ever be sure they mean what they say.”

  “Some of them might mean it,” I suggested. Why wouldn’t they? Mr. Sharpe was intelligent, gorgeous and polished. There was more to him than his bank account. I could see that, and if I could, then I had to assume other women did too.

  “Sure, but how would you determine who does and who doesn’t?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. The only way for me to know is to make it clear I can’t promise them anything. Then, if they’re looking for a ring, a bank account, and a name change, they give up.”

  “Surely you’ve had a few stick around.”

  Looking grim, he shook his head. “Not one.”

  “None?” I asked, wondering what I was missing. Was he being a complete jerk and that was why they’d all dumped him? Was he leading them to believe he was a player?

  “Not a one. So, you see why I’ve given up?”

  “I…guess so.”

  “But I want a child someday. I will have a child. And that child will be well-provided for. He will have everything he needs.”

  Something struck me then, as I sat there, in that fancy restaurant, looking into Mr. Sharpe’s eyes, listening to his proclamation about his child.

  It was no wonder they’d all ran off, if he was going to talk like that.

  My stomach sank to my toes.

  Was it just a defense mechanism? Or was he serious about not marrying any woman, no matter who she was or what she did? Was I being a fool, letting myself imagine he might be looking for a genuine connection with me? Friendship. Companionship.

  “I think I would like to go home now,” I said, suddenly feeling a little sick.

  He tipped his head and gave me a questioning look.

  I stood. “Frankly, I don’t understand what we’re doing here. First, you get my mother to set us up on a blind date, and then you tell me you don’t trust women and have no interest in any kind of serious relationship. Who says that on a first date? What the hell do you want from me?”

  He caught my wrist. Strong fingers circled it. “Please, sit down.”

  “I think you’re your own worst enemy here.”

  “Allison.”

  “Ryan. I want to go home. Take me home.” I glared at him. Then, when he didn’t get my drift, I shifted my mean eyes to his hand, still gripping my wrist. “Now.”

  “I will, but only if you promise me one thing.” He slowly unfurled his fingers.

  Painfully aware of where he’d been holding my wrist, I rubbed it. It wasn’t sore. He hadn’t hurt me. But my skin sizzled from his touch. I hated that my body reacted that way to him. I despised it. “I don’t need to promise you anything. I can get home on my own if you won’t take me.”

  “It’s a small thing.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “What do you want from me? Why did you go to all this trouble? The date. The limo. The private room here at this fancy restaurant. What is this?”

  “I wanted to get to know you.”

  “Why? You don’t want a girlfriend. You’ve made that clear. If you want sex, you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m a virgin. Yes, you heard that right. And I have no plans on changing that anytime soon, especially not with a man who doesn’t know what the word commitment means.” God, I was confused. And embarrassed. And…did I say confused? All I wanted to do was get away from this man. Far, far away. He made me feel unsteady and uncomfortable and off-kilter. I didn’t understand him. What the hell did he want?

>   He motioned to my chair, which I had abandoned.

  Reluctantly, I sat.

  He cleared his throat. “First, allow me to take you home. I insist.”

  “Fine, if you insist.”

  “Second, I wanted to get to know you because…I saw a picture of you and I thought you were beautiful. I know you’re a virgin. That was one of the things that attracted me to you.” He lifted his wine glass took a drink then set it down again. That sharp gaze of his remained locked on me the entire time. “I want to be your first, Allison.”

  I swallowed a guffaw.

  What?

  Had he just said what I thought he had?

  I’d decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t have sex until I was married. Married. With a ring. And a license. And you can bet I’d suffered because of that decision. More than one boyfriend broke up with me because I wouldn’t ‘put out’. But after watching three girls in my class waddle around our high school’s halls pregnant, enduring the whispered insults and leers from classmates, I had decided I would not take any chances on getting pregnant. If you don’t have sex, you can’t get pregnant.

  Now this guy I barely know takes me on one date and talks about having sex with me as if it was some kind of business transaction?

  My stomach twisted. “I don’t even know how to respond to this.”

  “I want you to think about it. Think hard. There are some distinct advantages to be gained if you say yes.”

  Was he…? “What, you’ll pay me?”

  “I can make sure your mother has a job for a very long time. A well-paying position. Paid vacation. Health insurance.”

  This was crazy. Insane!

  My mother couldn’t have known what her boss was thinking. She wouldn’t pimp me out to him, no matter what he promised. No way. When he’d talked to her about me, she had to have misunderstood. Or he had to have lied to her, led her to believe he wanted more than a quick fuck.

  “Promise me you’ll think about my offer,” he demanded.

  “Yeah, sure. I promise,” I lied. If he wanted to believe me, then so be it. As long as I got home in one piece…and never had to speak to him again. I felt so…dirty and used. And he hadn’t even touched me.

  “Would you like me to have your dinner boxed up so you can take it home?”

  I started to say hell no. But then I changed my mind. If this asshole was going to insult me by bringing me to this fancy place and then pull this I-want-to-be-your-first-fuck crap, he should have to pay for my dinner. And my mom’s too.

  What a great fucking birthday.

  Happy Birthday to me.

  “Sure, I’ll take it home. And have another prepared for my mother too.” I shot to my feet again. My eyes were burning. And my skin was crawling. I felt dirty. Humiliated. I had to get out of there. Now. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  “Very well.” This time he didn’t try to stop me.

  Thank God.

  Chapter 3

  Mom heard me slam the door. There was no way she couldn’t have heard it.

  I dragged the back of my hand across my face as I stomped into the kitchen to put our dinners in the refrigerator. Being as upset as I was, I couldn’t eat now.

  Mom wheeled into the kitchen just as I was shutting the refrigerator.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. “I brought you something. Don’t have a clue what it is, though.”

  “You’re upset.”

  “Yes.” I sniffled. I snorted. “Mom, he offered to give you a permanent job in exchange for having sex with him. The dirty jerk.”

  Mom’s gaze dropped to her hands, clasped in her lap. “I…know.”

  “You knew he was looking for a whore?”

  “What?” Her eyes bugged, snapping to mine. “A whore? No. He wouldn’t treat you like a prostitute.”

  “How the hell—“ I interrupted myself. I didn’t want to know any more. I didn’t want to hear my mother tell me she’d pimped me out to her boss in exchange for a steady paycheck. So I rushed past her, running toward my room. I slammed the door, shutting myself in, wishing I could escape the insanity that easily.

  What the hell? My own mother was part of this. The woman I loved and trusted. My world had flipped upside down and was spinning backward. Nothing made sense anymore. How could she? What was she thinking?

  A soft knock sounded on my door. I stared at it but didn’t respond. She knocked again. “Allison?”

  I flung myself onto my bed and buried my head under my pillow “I need time to settle down. I can’t talk right now.”

  “Please. Let me explain.”

  Explain? She actually thought she could do that? That she could somehow make what she’d done make sense?

  The doorknob rattled. I hadn’t locked it. I never locked my door. I had never had any reason to do so. But now…did I even know the woman on the other side of that door?

  It slowly creaked open.

  I pressed on the pillow, shutting out as much light as possible.

  “Allison, I’m sorry,” she said from the doorway. “I made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me.”

  I flung the pillow aside. It smacked the wall and landed on the floor. “That was crazy, Mom. Freaking insane. How could you?”

  “You have no idea how long it took me to get up the nerve to even consider it.”

  My stomach convulsed. My God, I was going to throw up. “That was your first mistake.”

  “I see that now. But a part of me saw this as an opportunity, a way to get you out of this shithole. I did it for you.”

  “For me? You did it for me? I’d rather live in a trash can than become some man’s whore.”

  My mother’s gaze dropped to her hands, folded in her lap. She said, softly, “I understand.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. Can you imagine how shocking it was to find out my own mother had pimped me out to her boss? That’s something you read in the tabloids.” I lifted my hands, as if displaying a headline, “Mother forces daughter to screw boss for job. God, it’s disgusting.”

  Mom’s head jerked up. Her eyes were hard, her lips drawn to thin lines. “Then you should have some idea how desperate I am to help you get out of this hell.”

  “What hell? I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” She wheeled into my room. “You’ve given up on your dreams. For me. You’ve abandoned your youth. For me. You’re facing decades of hard work. Because of me.”

  “So what? That’s my choice. It’s better than--”

  “A man like Ryan Sharpe can open doors for you, Allison. He can offer you opportunities you have never dreamed of.”

  “Oh sure, but at what price?”

  “One night.”

  “One night? Are you sure about that? Would it only be once? Or will he expect more?”

  “Would it be so bad, Allison? Did you look at him? He’s extremely good looking. And I’m sure he will be a skilled lover. He wants you. Badly. You could use that to your advantage. Just one night and you could have everything you need, everything you’ve ever wanted. A real home. In a safe neighborhood. A future. Hope.”

  I grabbed my other pillow—the one I hadn’t thrown across the room—and sat up. “That sounds great, but—“

  “One night,” she repeated. “That’s all it will take. Look at him. You could do worse.”

  Shit, she was right about that part. In truth, Ryan Sharpe was the most handsome man I had ever met. He was sexy, those hard, penetrating eyes, that stubble-covered jaw, those broad shoulders. “This all feels so dirty.” I scrubbed my face with my palms. Now, thanks to what my mother was saying, I was more confused than ever.

  Could I actually consider…? Might I actually agree to…to become a billionaire’s lover?”

  “What did he say to convince you to agree to set me up with him?”

  She wheeled up to my bed, reached for my hand. Her hand trembled. “He told me my job would become permanent, Allison. And I would get a significant raise. With full benefits. But
that isn’t why I did it. I didn’t do it for me. I want you to have a life, a future.”

  I stared down at her hand, resting on top of mine. It looked weak and small, like the rest of her. “This is so confusing.”

  “The man knows how to get what he wants.” My mother’s expression was still very apologetic, and sad. And I realized she hated failing her daughter and having to deal with this situation. “He wants you, Allison. Badly. I think he’ll do anything to have you. Please use that to your advantage.”

  * * * * *

  One week later, I was resolved.

  Ryan Sharpe wanted me; he would have me. He would take my innocence.

  But on my terms. Mine. Not his.

  I prepared a contract. In it I stated my demands. All of them. He would sign it, or he would have to find another virgin. Period.

  He’d sent very specific requirements for our first meeting. He sent an outfit for me to wear, a school uniform. White shirt. Plaid skirt. Knee socks. It was ridiculous. And he’d asked me to wear my hair in pigtails.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. He’d demanded I bring along a written statement by my doctor that I was a virgin. I had been forced to endure my first gynecological exam because of him. The bastard.

  Saturday afternoon, the limo rolled up to my house at four o’clock on the dot. I didn’t go outside. I forced him to come up to our door and knock. Then I took my time answering.

  His gaze raked up and down my body when I finally opened the door. There was no missing the lust darkening his eyes. Instead of being angry or repulsed by it, however, I felt…powerful. I had this man--who had enough money to buy anything or anyone he wanted--in the palm of my hand.

  He wanted me.

  Size fourteen, sometimes sixteen, me.

  No-date-for-the-senior-prom me.

  Voted the-girl-most-likely-to-be-forgotten me.

  “Shall we?” He motioned to the door.

  I placed the envelope with my contract in his hands and strolled past him, toward the car. Just to make him suffer a little, I swayed my hips. My skirt swooshed back and forth, and my pigtails bobbed with each step. I ducked into the car and took a seat. A few seconds later, he joined me.

  The car started rolling.