Girl Meets Billionaire

by Brenna Aubrey et al.

  “Then let me resolve your other concerns,” he said, taking a bite of his spicy chicken po’ boy and commenting on how good it was.

  “I don’t think you can.” I said in between my next bites.

  “Try me.”

  “I don’t think we’re compatible.”

  “How compatible would we have to be for one night?”

  I shrugged. It wasn’t what I’d really wanted to say. It wasn’t compatibility that concerned me. It was this scorching sexual tension that crackled through the air whenever we were near each other. Or at least that’s how it was for me. I had no idea what he was feeling. He seemed as calm, cool and collected as on the day we’d met.

  I cleared my throat and leaned forward, my elbows on the table in front of me. “Mr. Drake, it’s very important to me that you understand that I am in control of this entire situation. It was my auction, my drive, my desire to see an end to an archaic value system that for centuries worked against women and to turn it on its ear.”

  When he looked at me, his eyes sliced right through me, lanced me to the core. “It all sounds very noble and revolutionary when you put it that way. And here I’d been convinced this entire time that you were doing it for the money.”

  I sat back, watching him. So the Manifesto hadn’t fooled him in the least. I affected a shrug that I didn’t feel. “I won’t lie. I could use the money. I want to go to medical school and I don’t want to be in debt. Some women waitress at topless bars to put themselves through college. Some dance at strip clubs or sell phone sex over the Internet. My decision was to use one night in my life to change the course of things, if possible.”

  He didn’t have to know about my mother’s hospital bills and her cancer treatments or even the threat to the mortgage on the ranch property. He didn’t have to know about the way I felt like vomiting whenever I thought of any of those things, of the panic that laced the edges of every thought that concerned money. I’d let him think I was just doing this for me. I’d never claimed to be a selfless saint.

  His forehead creased and he got that strange, cold look he had when he’d dismissed me at the end of our first interview. “But ultimately, no matter who it is you choose to submit to, you will end up ceding control. You won’t be in control of the entire situation for the entire night.”

  I looked away but hesitated from biting into my sandwich. “I’d like to feel like I’m in control now.”

  “And my coming here to change your mind threatens that?”

  I tilted my head to the side, considering. “It depends on what you’ll do if you fail to convince me.”

  He hesitated a moment, then set his jaw. “I’ll step aside.”

  We watched each other over our empty plates—or at least his, for he had finished his sandwich and half of mine remained. I was still hungry, but that other half was earmarked as my dinner. It was another cost-saving measure I regularly employed. Any time I ate out, I saved exactly half my meal to have later. That way one meal became two.

  He stared at my plate. “You didn’t eat much. Didn’t you like your sandwich?”

  “It was great,” I said in a cheerful voice as I asked our server to bring me a take-home box.

  He scowled. “Eat the rest of your sandwich, Emilia.”

  “I’m saving it for later.” I blushed, refusing to admit that I was so destitute that this half sandwich, a box of cereal and half a carton of milk were about all I had to eat until payday.

  When the waitress returned, he took the box from her before she could hand it to me. He ordered two more sandwiches—one of which, I’d told him when I’d been suggesting things for him to order, was my second favorite here. “Can you bring those boxed to go? She’s decided to finish this one.”

  Then he turned and looked at me. “Now will you finish that?”

  It didn’t take more convincing. Though I was embarrassed, I mumbled my thanks around my last bites. His perceptiveness impressed me. Most guys wouldn’t have picked up on the fact that I was still hungry. Even Heath probably wouldn’t have. He’d never commented on my boxing up my leftovers.

  Drake carried the sandwiches back to my apartment as we walked the three blocks in silence. I crunched noisily on the peppermint candy the waitress had left with the check.

  “Do you always chew your hard candies like that?”

  I darted a glance at him and raised my eyebrows. “I don’t suck, remember?”

  And to my astonishment, he laughed. “How could I forget?”

  He came in again, but only to lay the sandwiches on the kitchen counter; then he headed for the doorway.

  I followed closely to see him out. Before he opened the door, however, he turned back to me. Given the narrow entryway, we were in close quarters. My heart started hammering at my throat again.

  He looked at me for a long moment. “Emilia, I’m asking you to reconsider. The choice—the control— is in your hands, of course, but don’t eliminate the possibility just because of some fears that can be dispensed with.”

  Despite the strong physical reaction to him, my ire rose to his challenge. “You think I’m afraid?”

  He paused, studying my face. “I think there are some things you don’t understand. Like this effect we have on each other…” My throat tightened. So he was feeling it, too. My heart rate kicked up a few notches as if I was already in the middle of my run.

  Breathing was difficult, too. “I’m quite aware of it.”

  He watched me, eyes boring into mine. “But do you understand it?”

  “I’m quite capable of understanding sexual attraction, Mr. Drake.”

  “Adam,” he said quietly, his eyes lowering to focus on my mouth. My heart skipped a beat in its frenetic pace.

  “Adam.”

  “Why does it make you uncomfortable to call me by my first name?”

  I locked gazes with him, suddenly intensely aware of how close we were standing. I could smell him—a subtle scent, masculine, clean, like the ocean and the hint of peppermint candy on his breath. I could almost feel the heat and power oozing off of him in waves. I swallowed in a suddenly dry throat.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to give you one more thing to think about.”

  “And what is that?”

  He leaned closer, his head approaching mine. I didn’t have the time to step back nor, I think, the willpower to do it even if it had occurred to me. His mouth met mine in a firm, sure kiss.

  It wasn’t overpowering. That was the first thing that surprised me. It was a subtle give and take—gentle, at first, a warm pressure of his lips on mine. Then he took a step closer and slid a hand around my waist, the other going to my back.

  He retreated, just slightly, just enough to allow me to pursue him. His mouth moved against mine, teasing, pressing it open. Now his body pressed against mine, his head angled down to reach me, for I was at least five inches shorter than him.

  I opened my mouth to him then and his tongue slid in easily. Nothing tentative in this kiss. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was telling me I had the control, declaring the decision mine and then swooping in and taking no prisoners.

  His hands stayed put. I was glad of that though I wanted his touch everywhere—my aching breasts, the throbbing between my legs. Goose bumps prickled up and down my arms. His tongue explored my mouth with surety, easy possession. And—to my utter humiliation—I let loose a small whimper at the back of my throat.

  The arm around my waist tightened when he heard it, responding immediately, almost instinctively. He pulled his tongue back, as if inviting me to follow him with my tongue. And tentatively, I did.

  I’d been kissed before—back in high school when I was normal and I actually dated. But it had been years, now, and I’d never, ever been kissed like this. My tongue entered his mouth and he made a noise at the back of his throat, not quite a growl, kind of more like a huff. It emboldened me. Empowered me. I thrust my tongue, lacing my hands around the back of his neck. Our head
s moved together for long minutes and I felt like I hadn’t breathed in a lifetime.

  Everything was spinning around me and I—I was spinning, too, delirious with want. Like a woman drowning in the middle of a stormy sea, in desperate need of a life raft. That sea was Adam Drake and he was pulling me adrift, stranding me in some strange and forgotten land.

  When finally he ended the kiss, he pulled away so slowly that I could hardly tell our lips had parted until cool air passed between us. It was then that I saw that he was as affected as I was—his cheeks flushed, his breath coming fast, his eyes dark and drunk with desire.

  I licked my lips and took a step back, but I didn’t remove my gaze from his. He stared at me for a long moment and then fished his sunglasses out of his pocket.

  Before speaking, he coughed into a fist, as if consciously trying to affect that previous cool demeanor and knowing he was failing. “It was…That was just something else to consider. I hope you make the right decision.”

  And with that, without even waiting for me to say good-bye or reply in any way, he was gone.

  I fell back against the wall, aware of my aching, awakened senses. Every time I thought about his smell or the feel of his mouth on mine, a new shard of arousal cut me to the bone.

  Thank goodness I was already decked out to run. I had planned on 5k but I ended up running twice that before I could even begin to feel the sexual energy burn off. This man had fired me up, intoxicated me. And why? Because of his gorgeous face? His solid, masculine body?

  Because of his confident manner? He possessed maturity beyond his years. He seemed much more experienced than other twenty-something men I knew in college. Could life have changed him so much since his college days or had he always been that way?

  I found questions like these sliding through my mind constantly for the rest of that day—all through the night as I worked. They harangued me on my day off, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and wanted to call and ask him to come over and give me a good night kiss like the one he’d given me the day before.

  I laughed at the thought. How silly. But I surprised myself with the realization of how much I really wanted it. On day three after The Kiss, I called Heath and told him to throw away the New Yorker’s contact information. We would proceed as planned.

  Still, my feelings were mixed. I had a hard time reconciling the behavior of Adam Drake at the hotel conference room the day we’d met and the man who’d come to my place and bought me lunch and, thanks to his perceptiveness, dinner, too. I’d told Heath, but I waited a few more days to tell Adam that I’d decided to go through with it. I didn’t want to appear as eager as I was beginning to feel, after all. I didn’t want to be eager at all.

  This was business. And every time I relived the fire of that kiss in my memory, I had to remind myself of that. Business. Business, Mia. Just business. Nothing meaningful would ever result from this encounter between us. I’d designed it expressly to be that way. One night of anonymous abandon from which I’d emerge a new woman—or maybe just the same old me, without my virginity but with a lot of money in my bank account.

  But now, this man was stirring a whole different pot. A bubbling, roiling cauldron of thrilling need. This night might be too dangerous, like staring into the sun or flying too close to the fire or…

  Mr. Drake,

  I’ve decided to go through with the agreement as it stands. Please proceed with the business arrangements as outlined in the packet of papers provided to you by Mr. Bowman.

  If you prefer, you can speak with him if you have any questions. You’ll need to set a date at least two weeks from now but no more than three months. We can discuss locations, choosing from the list I provided.

  Regards,

  Mia Strong

  My heart thumped in my throat when I hit “send.” I sat and stared at the screen for almost twenty minutes, numbly paging through my regular gaming news sites and clipping things for my blog. I stared at that e-mail icon until it drove me crazy that he wasn’t replying. Did I think he’d change his mind? Was I afraid he would? Or was I just dying to see what he’d say in reaction to this?

  Maybe he was in a meeting or on a business trip or unable to get reception. Maybe he was screaming through the atmosphere on his private jet with a pretty hostess in his lap and a martini in his hand. I scrunched up my face at that picture, like he was some kind of young, American James Bond, and laughed at my own silliness.

  After I got home from that afternoon’s run, I checked again. Nothing. Then I made dinner and sat down to watch an old Friends rerun while I ate. I’m proud to say I only interrupted my meal once to check my computer and make sure the alerts were working properly.

  Maybe he had changed his mind? Maybe he’d decided it was too much trouble. After all, I had to question why he’d be interested in this deal, anyway. He was young, rich and gorgeous. Weren’t there women beating a path to his door? Why would he bid so much money on a woman he’d never met—before he’d ever seen a picture of my face—for one night? Why did he care? Why did it mean so much to him to remove the virginity of a stranger?

  After dinner, I dug into my study books for a couple of hours before finally dozing off around ten. Yes, I was living the high life. When I woke up, Gray’s Anatomy was digging a sharp corner into the small of my back. I pushed the huge book to the floor and the computer chirped.

  I don’t think I’ve ever jumped awake faster in my life. I opened up my e-mail and saw his address flashing with the “unread” tag on it. I plunked into my chair and, with a shaky hand on my mouse, opened it.

  Ms. Strong,

  May 18th. Amstel Amsterdam. 15:00 local time. Check in at the desk, reservation under my name. Pack light. Bowman will make the flight arrangements per my instructions.

  See you in two weeks.

  Drake

  My heartbeat thrummed on every inch of my skin. My forehead broke out in beads of sweat. He’d thought everything through. Amsterdam had been on the list, of course, because of the legality issues of what we were doing. And I’d secretly hoped he’d agree to it, as I’d always wanted to go there, even if it was just for a night. Maybe I could do some sightseeing. I’d always dreamt of seeing Europe. Holland was an excellent start.

  I immediately opened up another window and did a search for the hotel and gasped at the pictures I hit. Easily five stars, over a thousand euros a night. I was getting my cherry popped in style.

  But…he had made all the arrangements without consulting me. And while they were splendid arrangements, I was still irked by his assumption of command—again. He’d promised me he’d let me drive this, let me be in control. It was likely that he didn’t even think about things like that. That they were so easy for him to arrange that it didn’t even occur to him that he was wresting anything from my grasp that I didn’t want to cede.

  After minutes of staring at the blinking cursor in the reply screen, I picked up the phone and dialed Heath. There was no answer.

  With a huff and a sigh, I closed the program and shuffled off to bed. Despite being exhausted and having to report for an early shift in the morning—as in five a.m. sort of early—I couldn’t sleep.

  I kept wondering if I should be irked or not—if I should be reading so much into his gestures. Were there ulterior motives or was this just second nature to him?

  My mind wandered over everything and ultimately kept returning to that feeling I got when he watched me with that intense stare. My skin flushed all over in response. And that kiss. I could remember the tiniest detail of it. Would sex with him be like that—only more?

  His mouth had felt so good I couldn’t help but wonder what his lips, his tongue would feel like on my body. My nipples immediately tightened at the thought of that hot tongue sliding over them. I imagined the pressure of his hard, heavy body on top of mine, pressing me into the mattress.

  My hand moved between my legs, stroking faster and faster against that knotted ache that had stirred into being when we’d
kissed.

  My eyes screwed tight as the pleasant anticipation built. His hands on my body, his body between my legs. His back under my stroking hands. Yes.

  I gasped as I tumbled down that precipice, my body convulsing with the orgasm.

  At two a.m. I finally drifted off, but not before becoming aware of an unease at the edge of my fatigued awareness. I was captain of my own ship, yes. But I still had to answer to the sea, the weather, the storm on the horizon. And Adam could be any one—or all—of those things. And in my sleep-induced haze, I couldn’t help but fear that he was.

  Chapter Five

  “To Save a Distressed Damsel”—Posted on the blog of Girl Geek.

  Have you ever noticed that one of the greatest motivators for champions embarking on an epic fantasy quest almost always involves a woman?

  Either the knight-errant departs on a crusade to prove his love to his lady fair or, more commonly, the lady has been captured and dragged off by big baddies and awaits her hero while locked in a tower or (shudder) a dank dungeon.

  Take, for example, the latest in a series of mysterious quests in our oft-bemoaned but much-loved game Dragon Epoch. Players have been summoned to action by the capture of innocent elf princess Alloreah’ala by the race of evil Stone Trolls, who live far under the Golden Mountains.

  Every quest, every motivation has something to do with our princess. Every illustration referring to the new expansion of the game has her scantily-clad likeness splayed across it—just to reinforce why it’s important to save her. Because she’s PRETTY and innocent. And helpless.

  Oh, and because the King has issued the edict to save his beloved daughter.

  Okay, that bag of gold and laundry list of magical equipment might be pretty important, too.

  My question is this: why can’t these games assume that the women can fend for themselves? My Spiritual Enchantress has a pretty mean Bedazzle spell in her arsenal and she’s capable of holding her own.

  So why is this nonplayer female character so pathetic—one of a long line of pathetic females? Why can’t she defend herself? Why can’t she pull some kickass moves, steal the jailer’s weapon and keys, bash in some bad-guy heads and save herself? Why must she sit and wait, imprisoned, and in the process become just an object to save?