Read Taken by the Billionaire Online
Authors: Kendra Claire
Taken by the Billionaire
By
Published on Amazon - Copyright 2014.
Sarah Langdon has been translating international conference calls for billionaire Peter Ibramovic for two years, and even in her dirtiest of fantasies, she never thought for a moment that the handsome executive actually had his eyes on her. What starts out as a simple translation session quickly ignites into a passionate fling, and a new world of sensual pleasure opens up to Sarah as she learns just how deep Peter's darkest desires run.
When a gunman breaks into the office late that night looking for Peter, Sarah is caught up in the action. Someone wants Peter Ibramovic dead, and now she's a target too.
Sarah's billionaire lover has a secret, and she needs to uncover it before it's too late.
This work was originally published as "The Billionaire's Secrets".
Chapter I
"S
orry I’m late, Mr. Ibramovic,” I whispered as I slipped quietly into the small meeting room and closed the door behind me. I was nearly five minutes late, and judging by the French voices chatting on the line, I was the one holding up the meeting.
Peter Ibramovic—my company’s CEO—shot me an angry glare, tapped his watch with a sigh, and then gestured to the chair across from him. My face flushed in embarrassment as I hurriedly took my seat and hit the ‘unmute’ button on the speaker-phone.
“Hello, everyone. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to attend this conference,” dictated Peter.
“Bonjour! Merci d'avoir pris le temps pour participer à la conférence,” I repeated, translating the CEO’s words for his audience across the Atlantic.
I translated their responses back to Peter, who nodded approvingly and cleared his throat before launching into his prepared speech. It was more of the usual stuff: tough economic times, growth not in line with expectations, things about to turn around in the next two quarters. Every international stockholder meeting was the same to me, really. They only differed in which language I had to speak.
Not that I’ve ever gotten to use my best one,
I thought, already bored out of my mind.
My favorite language was still sign language—Croatian, at that—but talk about a worthless language to learn. CSL doesn't exactly net a girl a translation job. I have no idea how I fell into that as my main language; it just clicked for me in university and I stuck with it.
My mind started to wander as Peter’s speech went on and on and on. I could translate this stuff without even turning my brain on, so my attention quickly flew off to more attractive things. Like his eyes, for example. God, he had such gorgeous gray eyes. I could stare at them all day.
I leaned forward in my chair and watched as his deep gray eyes scanned back and forth while he read his prepared statement. My lips moved along with his, about five seconds out of sync, as I translated his speech. I’d done this in Spanish yesterday, and I still remembered most of the words.
Jesus, Peter was such a good-looking man. What sort of luck must someone have to be as attractive as he was, and on top of that, to become a multimillionaire by your mid-thirties? The guy was only a few hundred million short of being a billionaire, and he had a good half his career still ahead of him!
He suddenly looked up at me, and I quickly averted my eyes. There was a long silence, and I could feel his stare boring a hold in the side of my head. One of us was off-script, and I didn’t know who it was.
“... and we fully believe that we will meet our investors’ third-quarter revenue growth expectations,” finished Peter, and he looked up at me again, with a curious expression on his face. “Anyone have any questions?”
“Quelqu'un at-il besoin de poser une question?” I finished, and I sat back in my chair, crossed my legs, and smoothed out my black pencil skirt as I waited to field the French investors’ questions.
“Why have no cost-savings measures been applied this year with respect to personnel?”
I translated the question, hit the ‘mute’ button on the speaker-phone, and glanced up at Peter. His brow furrowed as he thought over how to word the answer.
Man, he’s hot,
I thought, watching him as he stood up and started to pace back and forth. He’d done this before in meetings, and sometimes I got the impression that he was as bored during these awful things as I was. His sleek black suit looked so handsome on him that I could die, and it fitted him perfectly around the shoulders and waist that I could almost see the outline of his muscles through it. Or at least it fooled me into imagining them, and
God
what an imagination I have sometimes.
Yeah, I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was mentally undressing him as he paced the room. I have a knack for getting myself into all sorts of trouble like this, and I'd gotten myself turned on imagining his strong shoulders and tight, rippled abs. Not that I had any shot, of course. I was way, way out of my league.
Little Miss Translator—at times glorified secretary—lusting after a billionaire CEO? Yeah, right. Keep dreaming. Two years of awesome but unrequited dreaming hadn't gotten me anything more than an occasional glance from him.
“Our expense reduction task force,” said Peter, stopping behind me as he paced around the room, “performed a cost-benefit analysis on personnel reductions, and they determined it was not a suitable action this year.”
I unmuted the phone and glanced up at him to confirm he was finished. He nodded as he continued pacing around the small meeting room in a circle, and just as he passed behind me, I began to translate his answer.
My voice suddenly caught in my throat halfway through relaying the answer as I felt Peter’s hand touch gently against the back of my neck. He slowly ran his fingers up through my shoulder-length blond hair and traced a long, tingling path from my neck all the way up to the top of my head.
I shivered uncontrollably at the tingle. What the hell was he doing? If my brain had a jaw, it would be dangling wide open right now in shock.
“...they... um... not suitable. Not suitable this year,” I finished awkwardly, completely blowing the translation, but as I reached out to hit the mute button, Peter grabbed my hand and stopped me.
Was this really happening? A pleasant shiver ran down my spine as Peter slowly ran his hands through my hair, simultaneously exciting the sensitive nerves of my scalp and making my heart pound in my chest. This had to be a dream. It must be. There’s no
way
that my boss was doing this. Not now, not in this meeting room, and absolutely not to me of all people.
“How does your marketing plan for your new product differ from your market-leading competitor?” asked an investor in an irritatingly nasal tone over the line.
I translated the question, muted the phone, and as I tried to slide my chair forward and away from Peter, he placed a strong hand on my shoulder and held me in place.
“These calls are so dull, aren’t they, Sarah?” asked Peter. “So many better things to do with our time.”
“Well... um... they are a bit boring,” I agreed nervously. What kind of question was that? I had no idea where he was going with it, and I felt completely out of my depth. I’d admired him from afar, lusted after him in my dreams, but to have him actually toying with my hair in the conference room? This was a new and terrifying line that he’d crossed.
What was I supposed to do? He wasn’t just my boss; he was the CEO! Could I just tell him to stop touching me? Did I even
want
to do that? I wasn’t sure.
“I think we should make this call a little more... exciting,” he said after an uncomfortably long period of silence, and he unmuted the phone as he dictated his answer, all the while massaging my shoulders with strong hands and sending a shiver through my mind.
It felt incredible, but I was still somewhat less than comfortable with the attention. What could I do, though? If I said anything to him, everyone in the conference call would know. Even though I’d be in the right, I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with the fallout from that.
“The new marketing plan focuses on building an image of our device as something sleek and beautiful,” I continued, and I covered my mouth to muffle a gasp as Peter cupped my breasts from behind and fondled me through my white, button-down blouse.
“Go on,” coaxed Peter as his hands sent rippling fire through my body. My nipples were suddenly rock-hard and so gloriously sensitive that even the gentle touch of my bra against my skin was enough to torment me.
“...a curvy, sexy device,” I gasped, completely wrecking the translation as Peter’s commanding hands drove me wild, “that pushes aside technological barriers, erecting and revealing a new image to consumers.”
I reached forward as quickly as I could and slapped my hand down on the ‘mute’ button just in time. A moan of pleasure escaped my lips, and I trembled as I leaned back in my chair again.
“Good girl,” said Peter, laughter hiding somewhere behind his smooth, low voice. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of things.”
“Why are you—” I started, but another question from our investors quickly interrupted me.
I could hardly keep my words straight anymore. Even the simplest of translations flew out of my mind as Peter began to unbutton my blouse, distracting me from my work. I bumbled yet another answer, and my mind spun in excitement and stark terror as button after button came undone.
That one thin layer of fabric made more of a difference to the sensation than I realized, and I nearly squealed in delight as he yanked open my blouse and kneaded my breasts through my sheer, white bra.
“...d'acquisitions cette année?”
Shit, I missed the question.
I slapped the ‘mute’ button again. A euphoric groan escaped my lips as Peter started kissing me on the neck, still teasing me through my bra, kneading me, squeezing and fondling my breasts in a way that made my body ignite with pleasure.
“Go on, Sarah! Answer them,” teased Peter, and he unmuted the phone again.
“Sorry, can you repeat the question?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from wavering as Peter’s hands traced an infuriatingly slow, ticklish path down my stomach toward the curve of my hips.
“Are you considering any mergers or acquisitions this year?” repeated the French woman, and this time I caught the entire question.
“I’m working on one right now, actually!” Peter chimed brightly as he ran his hands down my legs toward the hem of my skirt.
“Il travaille sur une acquisition maintenant,” I translated, desire and longing all but overwhelming my mind.
My body trembled in a strange combination of fear and excitement as Peter hiked up my skirt almost to my hips. I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair as his hands ran up the insides of my legs.
“Nice stockings,” he whispered, and I gasped as he traced a finger along the top of the lace-trimmed band, touching my bare skin.
This couldn’t be happening. I must be asleep. How many meetings like this had I sat through over the last two years that I’d been translating for Peter? He’d never shown so much as a glimmer of interest in me before, and now suddenly he was undressing me during a shareholder meeting? As much as it excited me, I couldn’t believe it. I had to be dreaming!
It certainly feels real,
I thought, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to muffle my cry as Peter’s fingers explored up in between my legs and touched me through my underwear.
Peter muted the phone, postponed his exploratory mission between my legs, and then spun my chair around to face him.
“You’re handling yourself pretty well, Miss Langdon,” he said glibly as if undressing his translator was the most ordinary thing in the world for him to do during a meeting.
Before I could answer, he crouched down and—with far more strength than I expected—lifted me up and out of my chair completely. I gasped in surprise and then laughed nervously as he laid me down on the conference table and pulled my hips right to edge with my skirt bunched up around my waist. I could feel my body waking up and getting excited, and that was enough to prod my mind into agreeing with it. Maybe I could deal with this after all.
I moaned and clutched at the edge of the table as he roughly spread my legs and held them apart. He kissed me first at the inside of my knee and then started leaving a trail of fiery kisses up my thigh, moving his lips higher and higher, closer and closer to my pussy.
“Oh God, this feels so good,” I whispered, my voice shaking, and I arched my back and trembled as a delightful shiver shot through my body.
“Do you think that, after two years, I couldn’t tell that you wanted this?” he growled in my ear, and I gasped as he pushed me down on my back and held me against the table. “You almost radiate desire, Sarah. You’ve wanted to fuck me since your first week of work, haven’t you?”