Her Dominant Billionaire

by Lily Harlem

  “You astound me.” He didn’t look surprised.

  Had he known she was single?—yes, of course he had.

  “How come a beautiful woman like you hasn’t been whisked off her feet?”

  She refused to break his steady eye contact. “Because I haven’t allowed anyone to take my feet from under me. I can stand up on my own perfectly well.”

  For a moment she thought he’d snap back a clever answer. But he didn’t. He tipped his head and laughed. A great big guffaw that came up from his belly and rumbled around the large room. “Well, you are just priceless, and I should have expected that,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth on his napkin.

  “Why?” she said, not sure what had been the reason for such mirth. It was true, she hadn’t found time to date because no one had convinced her they were worth the slot in her schedule. An occasional one-night stand could sort out an itch, just to stop her from feeling completely celibate, but overall she was happy to be single. “Why should you have expected that?”

  “Because you’re not the type of person to do anything you don’t want to, including falling in love,” he said.

  She had fallen in love once, a long time ago, but he didn’t need to know that. “So how come there is no Mrs. Kane Ward?” she asked.

  “Fair enough.” He nodded, then put a forkful of food into his mouth. When he’d finished eating he said, “I thought there would be once upon a time, but it seemed I couldn’t give her what she needed.”

  “But you could give her anything?” Imogen tried not to feel jealous of this faceless woman who’d nearly netted Kane Ward.

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I could have given her anything money could buy. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted my time, more than I was able to give her.”

  “Time.” She paused. “So your work, your empire and the running of it got in the way of the relationship.”

  “It more than got in the way of it. It was the reason it ended.” He glanced out at the racetrack and picked up his drink. “But that’s ancient history. She is with another do—man now.”

  “It’s easy to fall into the belief, in our lines of work, that being rich equates happiness.”

  “Sensible words, Imogen. Wealth bring status and it can make being unhappy a whole lot less miserable, but it won’t make you happy.”

  Imogen set down her knife and fork on her empty plate. “Are you unhappy, Kane?” Damn, she hoped she wasn’t speaking out of turn. But they were sharing, talking about love and the past.

  “No,” he said, turning back to her. “I’m not unhappy at all.” He paused.

  “So does that mean you’re happy?”

  “Right now, this minute.” He smiled suddenly. “Yes. How could I not be? I’m at the races, I have wonderful company and fantastic Michelin star food.”

  “And if you had to lose one of those things?”

  He thought for a moment. “The races. We could be anywhere enjoying each other, good food and having a wonderful date.”

  “Date?” Her mouth stayed open a fraction.

  “Ahhh…” He sat back and folded his arms. “I’ve been rumbled.”

  “Is this a date?” She’d been emphatic to Clarris that it was business.

  “Would you like it to be?”

  “I’m on work time. I…” She wasn’t on a date with Kane Ward. That was ridiculous. She was here in a professional capacity. Wasn’t she?

  “Is that a yes or a no?” He raised his eyebrows and an amused flash crossed his eyes.

  “But you said… the business venture. You wanted to discuss it.”

  “Back to that. Okay. Shall we get the business matter out of the way?”

  Imogen paused as a waiter topped up their drinks, cleared their plates, then left them alone.

  “Maybe it would be for the best?” She could feel her head swimming slightly and it wasn’t just the champagne. It was also the realization that Clarris had been right. Kane Ward had tricked her into going on a date with him. A date at Royal Ascot, no less, and in a private catered viewing box—no doubt the most expensive and exclusive available. She should have seen the signs, recognized the hints. Instead, she’d fixated on the word business and had gone along with it all.

  If her superiors at Coutts could see her now?

  “So this new venture,” she said. “What’s the deal?”

  “Clubs.”

  “As in night clubs?”

  “They’ll be open at night, yes.” He nodded slowly.

  “And where are you planning on opening?”

  “So far I have earmarked locations in London, Berlin, and Rome.” As he said each one, he tapped his finger on the table.

  “Good choices.”

  “This type of… hospitality venture is new to me. It’s more personal, it feels like I want to put an accent of myself into it.”

  “As in manage it? On the ground?”

  “Good heavens, no. I’ll have full staff at each club. I mean I want to have more than usual input into the creation of them. The layout, the equipment, the décor.”

  Imogen nodded. “I can understand that.” Though she couldn’t believe he had much input into the interior design of his chain of hotels. She could almost imagine him waving his hand at a subordinate and saying ‘do your stuff.’

  “And that’s where you come in.” He leaned forward and steepled his fingers under his chin.

  “How can I help?”

  “I need you to come to an existing club with me. I suppose you could say a rival club, except that I know the owner very well and consider him a good friend.”

  “How would that be of use to you?”

  “Because…” He paused. “I need a female perspective. A feminine angle when it comes to designing my own playground.”

  Playground?

  Imogen couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a ruse to get her to agree to another date with him.

  “You see,” he went on, “I want my clubs to appeal to both men and women, and I fear I may be too heavy-handed on the masculinity. I don’t want to make it hard and unwelcoming for the softer sex.”

  “What about an interior designer?”

  “Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all.” He held his hands up. “It has to be you.”

  “But, surely someone trained—”

  “No. I want you to do it.” He’d spoken in a very authoritative tone, as if the decision was already set in stone.

  The waiter appeared with two fresh plates of food.

  As he set them down, Imogen took a moment to digest what Kane was saying. He really was being very adamant about her help, and only her help. Which she was happy to give, if it was all on the straight and narrow and wouldn’t mean she was skiving off work, which today was feeling decidedly like she was.

  “It’s rather an unusual service for Coutts to offer,” she said when they were alone again. “But it’s not unreasonable as long as you know I’m no expert in décor.” She thought of her messy apartment that was all about function and comfort rather than style.

  “You might surprise yourself.” He held up his glass. “To teamwork.”

  She clinked. “Teamwork.”

  “Oh, and by the way. This club you’re going to be visiting, Imogen. It’s in New York City.”

  “New York?” she said, almost spluttering on her champagne.

  “Yes. I’m afraid even I can’t arrange to have the entire club brought to London.”

  “But—?”

  “You might have to take some time off work. Unless, of course, you can persuade your department that it’s all business.”

  “And is it?”

  “I’m hoping there will be some pleasure to be had.” He picked up his knife and fork and cut into a steak that appeared as soft as butter. He kept his concentration down, as if trying to make his comment non-suggestive.

  But it was as suggestive as hell. Fuck, just Kane saying the word pleasure sent a bolt of heat over her neck and cheeks tha
t threatened to come to boiling point.

  He glanced up at her. A sensual smile tugged at his mouth even though he was chewing. He knew damn well the effect his words had had on her.

  “Okay,” she said, tipping her chin and refusing to be embarrassed by her flush. Though she did hope her nipples weren’t pressing against the inside of her dress and poking out. “I’ll come with you. When do we fly?”

  Chapter Four

  Imogen stared out of the limo window at the majestic skyscrapers. This was her first time in Manhattan, though she’d been to the United States on business before. “This is like a movie set,” she said, imagining King Kong swinging from the top of the Empire State Building.

  “I often think that too,” Kane said.

  Feeling the heat of his attention, she turned to him.

  As she’d suspected, he was staring straight at her, the angle of his jaw set tight and his chin tilted. He wore a black short-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, teamed with a lightweight leather jacket. She’d thought many times on their journey over the Atlantic how gorgeous he’d looked. She’d also caught one of the flight attendants on his private jet giving him an appreciative glance and even suspected a female passenger at the airport had taken a sneaky photograph.

  She crossed her legs as a bubble of excitement spun in her belly and her short pencil skirt hitched up her thigh. She was the woman sitting with Kane Ward. She had his attention. She wasn’t sure exactly why or for how long or what he really wanted from her, but she was happy to go with it while it lasted. What the hell did she have to lose?

  Since their day at Ascot, she’d been thinking more and more about the undercurrents of his quietly spoken words. The words about pleasure that seemed to hum right through her every time she remembered them. And what exactly was this club that only she could help with?

  Naturally, thoughts of Kane had drifted into fantasies of him getting hot and sweaty and using those damn fine hands of his on her. She’d woken in the middle of the night on two occasions with erotic dreams—him as the star—still vivid in her mind. She’d reached beneath the sheets, spread her legs, and brought herself to swift, frantic orgasms while calling out his name and imagining him pounding into her.

  She looked at him now, studied the way the flick of his hair licked over his brow and how his neatly cut, slim sideburns fed down into his facial hair. What would he think if she told him about her nighttime activities? Would he dismiss her as a fool for believing she had a chance—that he would ever touch her like that? Or would it turn him on? Would he get hard, create a fantasy of his own about her, reach into his trousers and touch himself the way she had?

  She knew which option she’d prefer. How she’d like him to think of her as a sexual woman and not just a banker.

  “I will take you,” he said quietly, leaning a little closer.

  Her heart rate picked up and the hairs around the base of her neck tingled. She could feel his body heat spreading over her arm through the cool air conditioning of the car. “Take me?”

  “Yes.” His gaze slipped down her chest to the tops of her legs.

  She followed his line of sight and saw that the very tip of her sheer stocking was displayed from the hem of her skirt. It was delicate and made of ghost-thin white lace.

  “I will take you…” he repeated and placed the tip of his index finger on her knee. “There.”

  Imogen caught her breath. It was as if all of her nerves zoned in on her right kneecap. Her skin positively buzzed, even with this tiny physical connection to Kane.

  “There?” she managed as he drifted his finger oh, so gently up her right thigh and let it settle over the lace of her stocking. God, if just his finger could make her feel like ripping her clothes off, what would…?

  “Yes,” he said, leaning closer still, “there, up the Empire State Building. I’ll take you as high as you want to go.” His breath had warmed her cheek as he’d whispered the last words, drawing them out long and slow.

  As high as she wanted to go?

  “Okay.” She studied the black stubble growing over his top lip and the way his lashes spread finely around his almond-shaped eyes. He was tired, like she was, but still, a heat, no, a raging fire burned in their depths. “I’d like that,” she managed. “To go to the top.”

  “Oh, I can do top very well,” he said, looking back up at her face. “Very well indeed.”

  He moved his finger higher still, her skirt bunching around it in a series of wrinkles. His gaze seemed to penetrate right through her. As if he were trying to see into her psyche and determine what effect he had on her.

  The effect was she knew without doubt they’d moved from the realms of professionalism into a whole other area. An area where nothing was certain and excitement and lust reigned.

  What had she gotten into?

  Her whole leg tingled and she tightened her internal muscles. She was getting turned on, just from this. He was making it very obvious what he wanted.

  The same thing she did.

  The right side of his mouth twitched into a smile and his eyes narrowed.

  Imogen fought to stop herself panting. Yes, she wanted him. Her bones ached from her wanting him. But even so, she didn’t want to look desperate. She needed to retain a modicum of dignity.

  “Kane,” she managed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his mouth hovering over hers. “But all that way on the plane, all I wanted to do was find out if…”

  “Find out what?” She stared into his eyes.

  “Find out if you were wearing stockings.” His eyelids drooped, as though the knowledge had drugged him.

  “I am.”

  “I know that now.” Instead of just his finger, he placed his palm over the lacy trim. “And I’m so glad you are.”

  The heat of his flesh burned through her. She clamped her legs tighter together. Her pussy was dampening and her breasts felt heavy. It was getting harder to breathe.

  “It means all those times I met with you,” he said, “and wondered if you had sexy undergarments on beneath the prim suits, I was right.”

  “You… you thought of that?”

  He swallowed “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Well, I…” She paused. “Kane… why have you brought me here?”

  “I told you. I need your help.” He rubbed around the top of her thigh until his fingers caught on the seat.

  “And… anything else?”

  “That remains to be seen.” He lifted his hand and smoothed her skirt back into place. It was an industrial move, performing a task. The caress had gone.

  Imogen’s heart raced. Her mind was full of blustering, excited thoughts. It hadn’t taken long from touchdown at JFK to him letting her know that he was definitely interested in more than her business acumen.

  “On what?” she asked. “Depends on what?”

  “Ah, here we are.” He straightened and looked out of the window. He shifted away and unclipped his belt.

  The car was drawn to a halt and the engine died.

  “It’s not my regular New York place; my brother is staying there while he oversees a new venture,” he said. “But I think we’ll be very comfortable in the penthouse of The Four Seasons.”

  “What?” Imogen was aghast. “Yes. I would think so.” She’d never in a million years thought she’d stay in The Four Seasons’ penthouse. It was legendary and more than a budget blower, it would bankrupt her.

  A valet opened the car door and Kane stepped out. He turned and offered his hand.

  Imogen took it and allowed him to support her as she stood. Instantly, the noise of car engines and a melody of horns flooded her ears. Warmth filled her nostrils—air infused with exhaust fumes, sweet scents of food, and a medley of things she didn’t recognize.

  She glanced up at the hotel. An ornate metal canopy protected arriving guests from the elements, and huge flags were hanging from above enormous dark windows. She’d stayed in nice hotels before, but knew this was really going t
o be something special.

  “Imogen,” Kane said. “Are you ready?”

  She took her hand from his and adjusted the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  He smiled.

  As the driver and valet unloaded the luggage, Imogen followed Kane through revolving doors into the lobby.

  “Wow,” she said, staring at the magnificent staircase in front of her and the colossal pillars either side. The floor was a work of art in itself, and the scent of vanilla and sandalwood took the place of the outdoor city smells.

  Kane turned to her, his smile still in place.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling a little foolish. “But you’ve probably stayed in a million beautiful hotels, and I’ve enjoyed a few, but this is something else.”

  “It is the best,” he said, “which is why we’re here.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Ward.” A concierge walked toward them.

  “Good afternoon,” Kane said.

  “If you’d like to come this way, I’ll show you to the Ty Warner suite. Your luggage will be right behind us.”

  “Thank you,” Kane said.

  Imogen looked at him. He appeared to drift through life and from one place to another effortlessly. Not having to lower himself with mundane tasks like checking in, or even giving his name. When they’d arrived at the airport, their progress through private security had been incredibly efficient and when they’d disembarked and walked through JFK, their luggage was already in the waiting limousine.

  “This is the suite’s private elevator.” The concierge pressed a button and the doors slid silently open. “It has a pin number, which you can find by the telephone in the suite. You’ll need to use it each time.”

  “Thank you,” Kane said, slipping his hand onto Imogen’s back. “Please, you first.” He urged her forward.

  She stepped in. What would the suite be like? And more to the point, what were the sleeping arrangements? Did it have two bedrooms? Was Kane planning on sharing a bed with her?

  Would she complain?

  Hell, no.

  The concierge hit the top level and Imogen’s stomach dropped a little as they were whizzed upward. No one spoke. The concierge stared at the door, apparently waiting for it to open. Kane removed his hand from her back.