The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,22

mean, you weren’t stalking me or anything, before I came here to find out this information, were you? Although, it does beg the question, how did you know about my debt?"

He chuckles, "Don’t flatter yourself, babe. We check into anyone who enters our orbit. Can’t be too careful, you know?"

"Hmm." I fold my arms around my waist. "It’s what Sinclair and then Saint did before they proposed to my friends," I say, referring to the now-husbands of Summer and Victoria, respectively.

His lips quirk, "You think that’s what this is about? My sneaky way of trying to form some kind of fake marriage proposal with you?"

Hmm, when he puts it like that, it sounds pretty far-fetched, but still, "You did ask me to accompany you to see your family."

"Just a way to get them off my back," he grumbles. "You’re going to be hanging about here. I may as well as put your time to good use."

"Jeez, you have a foolproof way of charming women," I mutter.

"Right?" His smile broadens and his features light up. He is taking the piss, isn’t he? I mean, no one could mistake his attitude to be anything but self-satisfying, egoistical, narcissistic—gah—I’m running out adjectives.

"Well then, you’d best get your luggage in…"

"Hold on, hold on." I blow out a breath, "Nothing’s settled."

"Of course, it is."

Gah! I almost cross my eyes at the sheer lunacy of this situation. "Six days with an egomaniac, who is going to make every moment a living hell. Would it be worth the money? Six million freakin’ quid! Ohmigod! That’s what’s at stake here. How many zeros are there in that number anyway? I pout, "You sure…uh…this isn’t another way to—"

"Get in your knickers?" He raises an eyebrow, scans my features. "Face it, Buttercup. If I wanted," his voice lowers to that seductive hush, "I could take you now, and you wouldn’t say 'no.’" His lips curl in that hotter-than-bubbling-custard-sauce smirk. OMG, how could I compare him to one of the food dishes that I am famous for?

He closes the remaining distance between us and that scent of his—pine and cloves and an edgy depth that coils around me—pins me in place. I can’t move, can’t think, can only watch as he looks down on me from his superior height.

"N...no," I stutter.

He pauses inches in front of me, "Did I ask a question?" His lips twitch. What a stupid idea this was. Damn…but six million. Six freakin’ million pounds. Hell, I’d do anything for that. Even put up with his alphaholeness for a limited period of time. I mean, this is only for a short period of time, right? It has an end, after all, this time with him.

"Fine," I mutter and my stomach flip-flops. Shit, what am I getting myself into?

"The arrangement is dependent on one thing."

Knew it. I scowl, "Now what?"

"You can't sleep with me during our time together."

I blink. "So, you’ll pay me a million pounds a day, to be your glorified housekeeper, and sex is not part of the bargain?" I pause. "And if I sleep with you?"

"Then the deal is off."

Huh? I peruse his features. Is he for real? Is this...weird-ass bargain as good as it sounds?

"So..." I try to give voice to my thoughts, "Everything but sex?"

"Not gonna repeat myself." His lips quirk.

What's the catch, huh? What is it?

I stare at him; a low smoldering burn begins to curl in my belly, "So...” I gulp. “Wh...what’s not off limits, then?" Why is my voice shaking?

"You sure you want to know?"

No.

No.

"Yes." I clear my throat, "I need to know before I sign on the dotted line, right?"

"Hmm." His eyes gleam. He bends his knees, thrusts his face into mine, "What’s not off limits includes, but is not limited to, squeezing, fondling, strumming, stuffing, kneading, massaging, pinching, spanking, hurting you, tying you up, making you scream, cry, beg, plead, howl—"

"Stop," I gasp.

He nods. "That’s another thing you need to learn—to not tell me to stop when you don’t mean it."

"Of course, I do."

His lips curl. He swoops out his hand to cup my pussy through the blouse that covers me to mid-thigh.

I squeak, grab at his wrist. He digs the heel of his palm into my core, and the strength of his touch, presses up through the soft fabric of my blouse into my clit. Sparks of heat, of lust, and streaks of emptiness slam into my gut. I shudder, "Oh, my God."

He rotates his palm in circles. Pinpricks of need swirl up my spine, my thighs spasm,