Bound To Him: Three Dates with a Billionaire (7 page)

Maybe I could walk away and forget this ever happened. Maybe I could chalk it up to experience.

Like fuck I could.

T
roy

I rinsed myself off in the shower, humming softly. I hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Maybe ever, I didn’t know. Cassie was a gem, perfect. Her adorable gaucheness and her awkward attempts at sophistication amused me, but in the sack she was dynamite.

Maybe my exile to New York wouldn’t be too bad after all. I’d taken the job as a last resort. Finally my reputation caught up with me. They’d killed off Foxman, the character that had brought me to public attention, or I think they had. Even I didn’t know if they planned to bring him back, but I assumed they wouldn’t. I mourned Foxman, but life went on — for me, at least.

I lifted my head and let the shower rinse my face. Contentment filled me, like I hadn’t felt for a long time. Cassie was a sweet thing, and sexy as fuck. I could happily climb off and on her all night, if the handcuffs didn’t bother her. She’d accepted them in her stride, once I’d shown her how the locking mechanism worked. I was actually proud of her. She was obviously inexperienced, but when I’d introduced her to her kink she’d watched, listened and learned.

Cool. I’d see if she wanted dinner tomorrow. She needed treating right, so I could prove to her that she deserved it. I spent a minute dreaming up the things I could do with her, and for her. Clothes for one thing. Those dowdy rags she’d worn in the museum made me shudder. She should do that gorgeous body justice. Even if she had to wear jeans she could have a good pair. The mental picture of a great pair of jeans hugging that ass made my mouth water. Those handcuffs were about to take another workout because once wasn’t nearly enough.

At last life was looking up.

I hummed as I toweled off. Dropping the wet towel on the bathroom floor, I went through to the bedroom, and paused, transfixed.

Cassie lay on her side, her breasts squashed under her arm. She was fast asleep. The poor darling must have been exhausted. Perhaps that bastard she worked for pushed her too hard. I bet she was with old man Witley because her boss had ordered it. When I’d seen her sitting at table with that lech, fending off his hands I knew it must be her boss who’d put her up to it. Witley was far too well known for anybody to date him voluntarily. He even employed girls from shady escort agencies. The good ones wouldn’t have him anywhere near them.

Watching Cassie made me long to lie down next to her and hold her while she slept. I might even risk it. She was so sound asleep she wouldn’t wake up, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had a woman in my arms. I just didn’t do it. Mind, the kind of women I had sex with weren’t the cuddly kind.

But she looked adorable, lying there. Her phone was on the bedside table, probably set for some ungodly hour in the morning. I wondered if I should stop it, and give her an extra hour. Maybe send for those jeans and find her a T-shirt for her to wear, something that hugged her curves instead of ignoring them.

She breathed deeply, a sigh, moving her arm so I had a better view of her breasts. Mouthwatering, with those cute little berry-colored nipples tipping them like the cherry on a mound of gelato. The minute I set eyes on her, on her knees putting that Roman pavement together like a jigsaw, she’d captivated me. Of course since the first view I had of her was her ass, that was more or less a given. Even her shapeless jeans had to give something away sometimes.

In the dress she’d worn to the dinner at the museum, she’d looked more edible than the shit they put on my plate. I nearly sent the meal back, but I remembered my Dad warning me I was on probation. After the last scandal, I’d have to do something right before he had me back and since he was one of the most influential men in Hollywood, that meant I’d be a useless, out of work, wealthy actor. It was my old man’s fault that I couldn’t do anything else anyhow. He’d only insisted I go to college because it looked good in the media. Even then I’d studied drama, and not the subjects I’d wanted to. I’d had dreams of studying the business side of the movie world. After all, that’s where all the money is made. But no, I inherited good looks so acting was my thing.

I hadn’t done too badly at it, even if it did mean I had to work out with a personal trainer. All that shit just to get a good shape had finally paid off.

I watched Cassie sleep for a few more seconds before I made my mind up. I’d risk it. Hold her while she slept. As long as she had her back to me I should be fine.

I turned to walk around the bed, but I spotted something on the floor. A lipstick. Well, it couldn’t belong to anybody but Cassie. She must have dropped it. Together with her business card, apparently.

Picking up the tube of lipstick, I put it next to her phone, where she’d see it in the morning. As I straightened, I saw something else. A business card. I liked that she had one. Or maybe it was a taxi number. That would be sensible. With my face I got away with a ton of shit, but I wouldn’t blame her if she was ready to run.

I glanced at the card before I put it down. Then I froze.

Madame X
it said
Provider of very special escorts.
Underneath was the line
Call for a list of our services.
And a phone number, and website address, one I knew well.

I wasn’t ashamed of using prostitutes. Sometimes I had the urge but no time to spare to wine and dine a woman. Besides, if I did that she generally assumed I’d want to see her again. I’d dated — and fucked — a few actresses too, but they were a skinny, insecure bunch and while I understood they needed to starve for their jobs, just like I had to work out, skinny just wasn’t my type. Calling somebody discreet and getting a pretty girl who had no expectations above a good tip and a good time suited me fine. Or rather, it had.

I hadn’t called Madame X or any other of her kind since I’d arrived in New York. I was treading a fine wire here, and tightrope walking was making me antsy. I’d promised to behave myself while I was here. The only thing I could do was pray the play closed early. I could claim it wasn’t my fault, then.

But if anybody found out I’d dated a girl from Madame X’s stable, I was well and truly fucked — in every sense of the word.

Anger swamped me. How could Cassie have taken me in so completely? She’d seemed so innocent, so sweet, but all the time she’d been lying to me. I’d had my share of women lying to me. Part of my anger was because I should have known better. I’d taken her at her word.

I’d been set up. Maybe the media had got to her. And if she sold her story, that was the end. My career, my ambitions, they’d all be in the dust and I might never recover from it.

My blood ran cold when I remembered the contract downstairs, the one that bound her not to talk to the media. Fuck, I’d been so eager to get her up here I’d dropped that thing. She hadn’t been keen, and who could blame her? I’d thought our evening would end then and there from the look on her face, so I’d decided to move things along a little.

Only it wasn’t me who’d moved things along, it was her, as it turned out. She’d probably go home and call one of the gossip sites on the net. If she’d done that there wasn’t a thing I could do. Her story would be all over the internet by lunchtime.

Fear shivered through me. Could I keep her here, call a lawyer and confess my stupidity, or maybe I should just run. Christ knew I had enough money not to worry where the next penthouse suite was coming from. That was the least of my worries. Becoming an idle fuck despised by everybody in the world was a very real possibility, and that brought me out in a cold sweat.

But my anger wasn’t gone. With her, because she’d deceived me so completely. With me because I really should have known better. But my romantic side had won through yet again and tripped me up. Cupid hated me, or whatever god made me fall for women so much and so completely.

Damage limitation. I could humiliate her, lose her job for her. But she was an intern, so maybe she’d volunteered at the museum in order to meet me. What a complete and utter swelled-headed bastard I sounded, even to myself.

I should just own up and deal with whatever shit flew my way after it hit the fan. Nothing else to do.

I went downstairs, found a piece of paper by the telephone, and composed a note.

I’ve gone to rehearsals. Please be out of the apartment when I get back. Thank you for your services last night, they were appreciated. The amount I left is an adequate tip. Tell Madame X I enjoyed her latest escort.

Polite, but laying it down like it is. She’d know she’d been rumbled. I counted out five hundred, more than enough for her night’s work. Then I paused and counted out another five. She might be happy with that. She’d been paid to go with Witley, and he was a notoriously bad tipper, so she could just cut her losses and get with the program. Keep her mouth shut.

Some hope of that when she could earn twenty more than the notes I laid on top of my note and the card on the nightstand.

I lifted my box, the one with my personal toys inside. The handcuffs rattled and I paused, waiting to see if she woke. But she was snoring gently now. I’d have thought it cute in different circumstances. I couldn’t bear to part with the things, so I’d had this box made, with a six digit combination lock. At least no curious hotel maid would find them. The handcuffs usually had their own velvet bag to muffle the sound when I moved them. People generally assumed I had gold chains or cufflinks inside, so a bit of noise made no mind.

My heart weighed heavy in my chest as I went downstairs, and quietly let myself out of the penthouse suite. I didn’t intend to go back.

T
he maid who came in my new room the next morning shrieked when she saw it was me. I sat up, grinned, and sent her out for some breakfast. Scrubbing at my hair, I yawned, got out of bed and showered. I’d managed to snag one of the ordinary rooms in the hotel, explaining to the desk clerk that I’d had an argument with my girlfriend and I didn’t want to sleep in the same suite as her. She’d been so sympathetic I’d almost felt guilty.

I put on the clothes I’d taken downstairs with me and checked out of the place. I didn’t want any reminders of last night. Anger still simmered through me. I couldn’t think straight, so I decided to walk to the theater. It was on 49th Street, about a mile away from my hotel. Usually I stepped straight into a cab, because people would stop me.

Nobody stopped me today. I called my assistant in LA on the way and asked her to find me somewhere else to stay. “What’s wrong with the penthouse?” she demanded.

“I don’t like the color scheme. Besides, I’m sick of hotels. I’m here for the run of the play, so find me a serviced apartment. Somewhere close to the park.”

Bitter hurt tore at me as I cut the call and put my head down, wishing I’d remembered to bring my dark glasses. The day wasn’t particularly hot, or sunny, but they would have disguised me a bit. But this was New York. When I saw groups of tourists, gazing up as their guide told them about the buildings I was striding past, I looked the other way and quickened my pace.

By the time I reached the theater, I’d left most of my bad mood behind. As usual, it was replaced by a philosophical ennui. I didn’t care, for the most part. That was my trouble, not caring. I could turn on the tap of not caring anytime I wanted to, and now was a good time.

Going into a theater, with its unique smell of makeup, furniture polish and mustiness never failed to rouse something in me, but this morning was an exception. I slouched through the stage door, nodded at the guy standing behind the desk and went upstairs to my dressing room.

Nobody was there. The cleaners must have already visited, because yesterday’s coffee cups were gone. I dumped my black box and sat at the dressing table, staring at my reflection, and seeing nothing.

I wouldn’t get anything done that way. I’d left my laptop and the notes I’d made back at the hotel, but I could go through my lines in my head. There were a fuck of a lot of them, but I had the knack of remembering blank verse. I’d learned them, but I still couldn’t find my way inside them. Antony was a romantic hero, giving up everything for love, and a great general. I thought he was a complete fucking idiot, and I was looking at playing him that way. We were reading through the second act today. We opened in a week, so we didn’t have much left to do. And still I couldn’t get inside Antony’s head. What I was doing would work, but I wasn’t feeling it.

After half an hour of forcing my way through Antony’s speeches, I gave up, grabbed the script I always kept here and went downstairs to where the rest of the cast were gathered on the stage. The director, John Francois, glared at me. “Thanks for coming,” he said sarcastically.

I didn’t reply. We were sitting in a rough circle, all the actors on call, together with the director and the producer, who’d dropped in to safeguard his investments. Tension rose inside me. That was all I needed, for him to check his phone and find out what I’d been doing last night. I felt like a convicted criminal on the scaffold, waiting for the ax to fall.

The hands were practicing scene changes. On the night they’d have to do it in the dark, so they needed to coordinate their movements. The others glanced up and smiled. I nodded back. I tried not to be a bastard with my co-workers. That happened out of hours. I could have banged half the women here, if I’d wanted, they’d made that perfectly clear, but I’d learned my lesson. I didn’t fuck my fellow actors any more. None of them knew how to keep their mouths shut.

I sat next to my co-star, the British actress Sonya Riley. She scared me half to death.

We made a start. As usual, Sonya was brilliant. She only had to open her mouth to make it sound as if Cleopatra was her middle name. She slipped into the part effortlessly. I was still fighting my way out of the script and on to the stage.

Sonya was ten years older than me, and stunningly beautiful. She was a blonde, so she’d have to wig up for Cleo, but the Egyptian queen was hardly known for her casual hair styles. When we paused for lunch, we sent out for sandwiches and decided to work through.