The Billionaire's Wife (6 page)

“Hrble?” I said intelligently. I
glanced around, disoriented.

“Here we are, ma'am,” the driver
said, and when I looked up at him, I saw the slightest bit of sympathy in his
eyes. I felt pathetically grateful for it.

“Thank you,” I said. He helped me
out of the car, and I pretended to fix my clothes—an impossible task as they
were designed to be unfixable—and tried to figure out where I had ended up.
Story of my life.

To my surprise, I discovered that I
had been delivered to a small Mom and Pop place called The Villa. This didn't
really tell me anything, because there are a thousand Mom and Pop Italian
places called The Villa, but at least most of them were good. That I had not
been deposited in front of a high-end sushi bar or a sexy French bistro
surprised me, but only for a moment. I gathered my courage and went in.

Anton Waters was waiting for me
just inside the door. Even though I was semi-prepared to see him, he still
stopped me in my tracks.

Dammit. I'd forgotten just how
arresting he was. He sported a light dusting of dark stubble today, accenting
the squareness of his jaw. His stupid full lips quirked in that faint smile of
his when he saw me, and I felt like those vivid green eyes, muted in the gloom
of the intimate little restaurant, were staring right through me.

“Miss Dare,” he said.

I tried to toss my hair back arrogantly,
but I wasn't used to wearing such high heels and the gesture made me stagger.

One large, warm hand caught me
before I fell on my ass, and then Waters was pulling me close to him. His lean,
hard body fairly hummed with energy, and he stared down at me.

“Watch your step,” he said. Then,
gently, he let me go.

I swallowed hard. “Mr. Waters,” I
said.

He held out a hand. “Please. Let's
be seated.”

I gripped my purse, holding the
strap in front of me like a talisman that could ward him off, and glared at
him. He dropped his hand, somehow making the gesture elegant rather than
awkward, and turned into the dining room. I followed him.

We wove through the other diners. A
few stopped chewing and stared at him as he passed them by, but most of them
ignored him. I, in my hooker-on-a-holiday getup, attracted far more attention.
I didn't like that one bit. Mercifully, we were seated at the back of the
dining room in an intimate little booth. I took one side and put my purse next
to me to deter him from sharing my bench, but he didn't even try. Instead he
slid in across from me, poured two generous glasses of red wine, and ordered
the asparagus salad for both of us from the waitress who stood next to our
table, practically vibrating at attention.

“Of course, Mr. Waters,” she
gushed. She didn't even look at me. I wondered if I would have to get used to
that
sort of thing as well when we got married.

No. If.
If!

Dammit.

I smoothed the white table cloth
under my hands as she ran off to the kitchen. “I'm not fond of asparagus,” I
said.

“You will be with this asparagus,”
he said. “It is delicious.” I watched as he shook out his napkin and laid it in
his lap. I envied that napkin. I followed suit, though the table cloth was so
long it seemed like it could do double duty as a napkin just fine. I shoved it
out of my way and laid the cloth across my gaudy red skirt.

“Care to explain what you are
wearing?”

I looked up.

Waters sat across from me, one arm
propped on the back of the booth, his head tilted at an arrogant angle. He wore
another linen shirt today, this one just as impeccably tailored as the one
yesterday, and a tie was conspicuously absent. Every day was casual Friday in
the Empire empire, apparently.

“Just something I had left over
from college,” I said. Which was mostly true.

He arched one perfect brow. His
green eyes glinted. “I see,” he said, his tone of voice conveying that he
didn't see at all. I felt like a contrite schoolgirl dragged in front of the
principal.

Oh no, don't paddle me, Mr.
Principal,
I thought, and was immediately angry. It was becoming
increasingly clear that I was fighting a losing battle, and it wasn't with
Waters; it was with myself.

Of course it was Waters' fault for
being so sexy. It wasn't fair.

I shrugged at him. “Well, you hung
up on me before I could ask you what I should wear.”

“And this is what you chose?”

I looked down at myself, pretending
to be surprised. “Sure,” I replied. “Why not?”

He studied the glass of wine in
front of him, then reached out and began to play with it, but before he could
answer me the waitress returned with our salads. She chirped something at him,
and he answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too mesmerized by the
slow, deliberate way he stroked the stem of his wineglass. It wasn't until the
waitress bustled away again that I realized he had ordered my lunch for me. I
was really blowing this. Ah, well, at least I could get a meal out of it,
right?

I looked down at my salad and was
perturbed to discover that it was a single piece of asparagus on a leaf of
lettuce, artfully arranged and drizzled with some balsamic concoction that
stung my nose all the way from the table. A lone slice of tomato peeked from
beneath the lettuce.

“You are trying to get a rise out
of me, Miss Dare.”

I looked back up at him. His gaze
penetrated me straight to the core.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

He leaned back. “You will have to
do better than that. What purpose would dressing as a prostitute serve?”

“Well, that's what I'm going to be
for you, right? Your prostitute?”

“No. You would be my wife.”

I scowled at him. “I don't see it
that way, and I doubt many other people would either if they knew the truth. I
just thought I'd rather be honest about what I am to you.”

He pursed his lips. His lovely,
perfect lips. Why was he so distracting?

“I know what you are to me, and you
know what I am to you, Miss Dare. There is no other reason for dressing in this
fashion than to attempt to humiliate me.”

I shrugged. “If you think so, then
fine.”

To my surprise, he shook his head.
"Your opinion of others is so low," he said. "That is
disappointing. Many wonderful women work in the sex industry. I would not be
insulted to be seen with one of them. I hope they would be able to make the
most of it."

Stung, I stared at him. He was
right, of course. I had just assumed, because he was rich and lucky, because of
the circles he moved in, that he would be angry with my outfit. In a flash of
insight, I realized that he hadn't told me how to dress because he wanted to
see what I would do, not just exerting power over me.

For a brief moment I felt ashamed.
"Was this just a test?" I asked.

He tilted his head. "It was
what it was. I now know more about you than before. That is enough for
me." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I wished I could punch it
and not get my name in the papers. I wondered if paparazzi were taking pictures
of us right now. The thought was so humiliating that I swept my hair over my
face and looked down at my plate and its lovingly arranged asparagus.

"But we are here to talk about
the contract, yes?"

I nodded. "Yeah." The
asparagus languished in front of me, begging to be eaten, but I had lost my
appetite.

“Let me see it.”

With clumsy fingers, I extracted
the rewritten agreement from my purse and handed it across the table. Waters leaned
back and began to flip through it as though he had all the time in the world.
Ms. Gray had highlighted the changes in the contract to make them easy to find,
and he lingered over each one, sipping his wine as he did so. Occasionally he
glanced up at me.

At last he sat back. “None of these
changes are very drastic,” he said. “Are you sure this is all you want?”

I'd been staring at my asparagus
salad, trying to ignore him and make a decision about what part of my bounty to
attack first, but at this I looked up in surprise.

“I, uh, didn't know I could ask for
more.”

He speared his tomato and popped it
into his mouth. “You may ask for anything you like. Whether or not I will grant
it is another matter entirely.”

God, I hated him.

Thoughtfully, he chewed and
swallowed. “Your changes are minimal. The major changes appear to be a
requirement to revisit and renew the contract after one year. That is fine with
me. And you wish for the medical clause to go into effect immediately upon
signing.” For a long moment, he regarded me, then signaled a passing waiter who
snapped to attention.

“May I borrow a pen?” he asked.

The blood drained from my face.
Surely he didn't mean to...?

But he did. The waiter whipped a
ballpoint pen from his pocket, and right in front of me Anton Waters initialed
and signed each clause and page, and then signed and dated it.

He pushed it across the table.

I stared at it.

It stared back at me.

I willed it to go away.

It didn't.

I reached out and drained my glass
of wine.

“Are you not prepared to sign
today?” Waters asked.

I swallowed. “I...” My thoughts
ricocheted inside my head. All it would take was a flourish of a cheap Bic
ballpoint and my life would change. I would be bound to marry this man that I
didn't even know, my father would be back in business, and my mother would be
in chemo.

The world darkened at the edges of
my vision. I tried to take a deep breath, but it seemed like something heavy
had settled on my chest.

“Miss Dare?”

A movement across from me caught my
attention. Waters had risen from his seat.

I didn't know how to react, but
then I felt the booth dip and he slid in next to me, looping an arm around my
shoulders, shielding me from the rest of the dining room.

God,
he felt good, warm and
strong. If circumstances had been different, and if he had been less of a
douche, I might have enjoyed the intimacy. I might have been able to lean into
him and taken comfort from his strength. I might have been able to
wholeheartedly let him take my burdens from me.

But all it did was make me
skittish. My pulse picked up the pace.

"Let's not pretend," he
said. Reaching out, he poured me another glass of wine. "You need me, and
I want you."

"You don't want me," I
said. "You want a woman who needs you."

"To me, those are one and the
same at the moment." He lifted the wine and brought it toward me, urging
me to drink. I took the glass from his hand and set it on the table.

From the corner of my eye, I saw
him shake his head. "I like to watch you fight it," he said.
"Just like I liked watching you finger yourself in my elevator while you
thought of me."

Security cameras. Of course.

Mortification swept over me. I
stiffened and he leaned in. His lips brushed over my ear. "You are
beautiful when you abandon yourself."

"Don't feel so smug," I
snapped, even as he moved his lips to the spot just below my earlobe. "I
haven't gotten laid in six mo—
ooh..."

Anton Waters pressed his hot, soft
mouth against my hammering pulse.

I melted under him, my body
dissolving into shivers. Panting, I put my hands on the table, gripping the
table cloth tightly as I struggled to keep myself from touching him back. My
fingers itched to feel him. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting him.

"Our marriage would be
mutually beneficial,” he said, breath ghosting over my skin. “I think you might
even enjoy it."

No, no, no, no, no...
"No
one would enjoy being forced into sex for money,” I ground out.

He smirked against my throat and
swept my hair aside. Lightly, gently, he placed lingering kisses down my throat
and up over my neck.

"I would never force you. You
will always want it."

My heart twisted in my chest.
I
know, I know,
I wanted to say, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.

His breath was hot on the back of
my neck. "Do you think I won't be able to please you? Is that it?" he
whispered, and I felt his words sink into my skin, into my bones, zipping down
my body, electrifying me. I wanted him so badly, but how could I tell him that
obtaining orgasms with him was the least of my worries?

His leg pressed against mine. The
heat of his body seeped through the fabric between us and I wished I'd been
more prudent and worn pants instead of a skirt. His fingers alighted on my
thigh and began to trace shivering patterns across my skin. Lips and tongue
played with the sensitive nape of my neck, and his hand drifted down my arm,
fingertips skimming the outside swell of my breast. Between my thighs, I felt
myself grow hot and slick.

"I could make you come right
here in this restaurant," he murmured, and his voice was hoarse.
"Right in front of everyone. I'll make you scream."

His words set me on fire. "I'd
like to see you try," I whispered back. Bravado. My voice shook.

But it wasn't a lie.

Pulling back, he graced me with
another one of his faint smiles. "You are the perfect woman for me,"
he said. "Defiant, with nowhere to run. You'd rather die on your feet than
live on your knees." His fingers drifted up my leg, up under my skirt. I
swallowed around the lump in my throat.

"I'd rather live on my feet
than die on my knees, thanks," I told him.

He laughed, then looked shocked
that he'd done so. I saw him forcibly recover, but I had no time to bask in my
tiny victory. One long, hot finger brushed against the soft mound above my
pussy, robbing me of thought.

"You may live on your
feet," he whispered, "but I will bend you over and fuck you all the
same."