Scandalous Billionaire
Sierra Cartwright
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Thank You
Billionaire’s Matchmaker Excerpt
Come to Me Excerpt
About the Author
Books By Sierra Cartwright
SCANDALOUS BILLIONAIRE
Copyright @ 2020 Sierra Cartwright
First E-book Publication: February 2020
Line Editing by Jennifer Barker
Diversity Editing by Renita McKinney, A Book a Day
Proofing by Bev Albin and Cassie Hess-Dean
Cover Design by Rachel Connolly
Photographer: Annie Ray/Passion Pages
Cover Model: Caleb Johnson
Photo provided by © Annie Ray/Passion Pages
Promotion by Once Upon An Alpha/Shannon Hunt
All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Adult Reading Material
Disclaimer: This work of fiction is for mature (18+) audiences only and contains strong sexual content and situations.
It is a standalone with my guarantee of satisfying happily ever after.
All rights reserved.
Dedication
BAB, there really are no words to express what it’s been like to have you along for every step of the journey over the past years. You’re so valued.
Jen, thank you, thank you for being so great to work with.
Renita, you are amazing! I admire your talent tremendously. Your suggestions are spot on and very much appreciated.
And to you. I appreciate your taking the time to drop me a line to say hello and share your stories with me.
Chapter One
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The woman in his bedroom closet gasped and swung around, clutching his red tie against her chest. Her eyes—the stunning blue of a topaz—were wide open, and her mouth was parted in shock. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare. Her full, kissable lips were painted red. Red? No. It wasn’t red. More like scarlet, the color of temptation.
He had an instant response to the sweet, springlike scent of her, until—
Jesus.
“Lizzie?” Braden blinked. It took him a moment to place her. He knew her, but at first he hadn’t recognized her at all.
For most of his early years, Elizabeth Ryan had been a fixture in his house. She was the daughter of his housekeeper—the much younger, off-fucking-limits daughter of his housekeeper, he mentally amended.
A few years ago, she’d gone away to college, and he hadn’t seen her since.
But now, she was back, more beautiful than ever, standing in his closet, near the shelves that held his shoes and winter sweaters.
“Braden.” She remained in place, as if shock had momentarily paralyzed her. “I…”
While he waited for her to go on, he swept his gaze over her. In the past four years, she’d changed considerably. Her cheekbones were more pronounced. Her curves were fuller, more enticing. But still, even in heels, she wouldn’t reach his chin.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Obviously.” It wasn’t often that he escaped the office to come home in the middle of the day, but if he were guaranteed to find her in his bedroom, that might change. Shit. What the hell was he thinking? This was Lizzie he was lusting over. He shook his head to get rid of the outrageous thought. “Care to explain yourself?”
“Ah… My mom recruited me to help her out. You know, for tomorrow’s party. There’s a lot to be done still, and she needs the help.”
Braden nodded. Lucky him, tomorrow he was hosting his grandparents’ seventieth anniversary party. A year ago, his mother had announced the event would be held here, at his house. Her royal decree hadn’t surprised him. His grandparents had built the River Oaks mansion in Houston in the 1950s, with an eye toward entertaining.
In the previous century, pictures of the numerous Gallagher soirees graced the newspaper society pages. But now, his grandfather’s health was declining. While he was still strong enough, they wanted one last magnificent party.
And Lizzie was right—there was a lot still to finish up, even though there’d been constant banging and clanging on the property for more than a week. Massive air-conditioned tents had been erected. All the pool decking had been power washed. A hundred potted plants and palms had been wheeled in. Fairy lights—how they were different than any other damn thing, he didn’t know—draped from his live oak tree and were threaded through all the fencing. As if that wasn’t enough, there were numerous lanterns flickering.
Almost all of the furniture from the main level had been moved into storage—the dining room set belonging to his grandparents, as well as the contemporary pieces he preferred. Rugs had been rolled up and hauled out, and pocket doors had been pushed all the way open so that the living room and parlor became a ballroom, as per the home’s original design.
Tall tables had been brought in and draped with white cloths and adorned with floating candles—since he had no idea what they were, he’d take the party planner’s word for it—and tiny vases of flowers. All of that had been irksome, but not as annoying as the hammering and pounding as a stage for the quartet had been erected. If he was smarter, he would have moved to a hotel for a couple of weeks.
However, none of the preparation explained why the very attractive Lizzie Ryan was in his closet. “As far as I know, my grandparents aren’t planning to give private tours of the master bedroom. My bedroom.”
“You’re right, of course.” Her face was scarlet, and she held his tie in a death grip. “I’ll just…”
He waited a full ten seconds before prompting, “You’ll just…?”
“Finish up here.”
“I asked what you were doing, Lizzie.”
“I heard you. I was ignoring you and the question.” She took a step back, but the shelving halted any further retreat. For as long as he wanted, she was trapped.
A pulse hammered in her throat, and it was maddening how much he liked it.
Braden moved toward her with purposeful intent, only stopping when he was mere inches from her. Desire, as carnal as it was forbidden, plowed into him. “Do you often trespass when I’m not here, Lizzie?”
“I…” Her voice cracked, and she took a breath to compose herself. Then, after a few seconds, her tone even, she went on. “This is the first time.”
That was probably the truth; after all, she hadn’t been here in years. At least not that he knew of. That didn’t stop him from fantasizing, just for a moment, that she’d been here before.
No doubt his imaginings were nefarious and her reason for being in his bedroom was innocent.
She extended her arms, holding the tie betw
een them as a physical barrier as she explained herself. “It was under the couch in your living room.”
Was that where he’d dropped it? Then he remembered. Jennifer Pollis. The evening had been interesting. Well, right up until the moment that she mentioned the ways she might want to remodel the kitchen.
Immediately he’d dressed and fetched her purse. Even as she protested, he’d called for a driver to take her home.
“Instead of telling my mother where I found this, I decided to put it away myself. You could thank me for doing you a favor, but you won’t.”
He wondered how that quip didn’t draw blood. There was no doubt she’d grown up. In front of him was a confident woman, unimpressed by his money or…frankly, him.
Truthfully he shouldn’t be embarrassed that it was obvious he’d had sex in the living room. He was a grown man, and it was his house. And still, it did make him uncomfortable that she’d been the one to find it.
With her chin tipped back, she looked at him. “There’s plenty of work still to be done this evening. If you’ll excuse me?”
She shoved the tie at him.
“Did you try my drawers?” What the hell was wrong with him? He should let her go. But he had to know what she’d seen, and she was making no attempt to get past him.
Something was happening here, and he wasn’t sure what the hell it was. He was caught in an undertow, and he wanted to take her down with him. “Did you?”
“Yes.” The word was part whisper, part confession.
God help him, it made him hungry to hear vulgar words fall from her beautiful mouth. “So you discovered it doesn’t go in my top drawer, with my underwear.” The relatively few pair he wore. Mostly tight-fitting and moisture wicking for when he worked out. “Or in the second one, with my socks.”
She nodded.
“Did you open the one after that?”
“You came in before I got that far.” Her answer was quick. Far too quick.
Lizzie, the girl who’d become a desirable woman, was a pretty little liar. The way she glanced at the dresser—nervously and repeatedly—proved it. “Maybe you should see if that’s where it goes.”
“No.”
He grinned, a lightning-fast, triumphant response that he failed to hide. “So you do know what’s in there. You saw them, didn’t you?” The floggers, restraints, blindfolds, gags. And no doubt, also the rope that would wrap exquisitely around her tiny middle.
“Look, Braden, I’m here to help my mother with a very big job. It was never my intention to invade your privacy.”
“Lizzie. Lizzie. We both know the truth. It started that way. But it turned into snooping. It makes me wonder why.”
The scarlet flush deepened.
“I have a tie rack.” He reached over to push a button nestled on the wall. A board filled with neat, flat U-shaped hooks slid out. “For future reference, it goes there.” He hung it in place, right above a selection of whips and paddles.
“Uhm. I’ll be sure to remember that if I ever find your clothes on the floor after you’ve had a night of debauchery.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone use that word.” It was as brave as the tilt of her chin.
If she’d been scandalized when she opened his third drawer, she would have dropped the tie and run. Instead, she’d stayed. “Are you in the least bit curious?”
“Not at all. You have kinks. And that’s okay. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Ashamed?” He sure as fuck was not. “A taste for BDSM, a little tie-me-up, tie-me-down is fine, as long as it’s between consenting adults.”
“Agreed. No argument from me. As a member of your staff, you can count on my discretion.”
That was the last thing he wanted from her. “Stop the bullshit. You’re not staff.”
“Your signature is on my mother’s paycheck.” Her shoulders were straighter, as if she’d donned an invisible set of armor. “She serves at your pleasure, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.”
“Over you being in my closet? You think I’d fire someone who’s essential to my family, who has been with me since I was a child, who at times was more caring than my own mother…” Anger seared, fed by Lizzie’s thoughtless insensitivity. Her mother, Eileen Ryan, had wiped his tears, helped him through his grief, showed up once for a parent-teacher conference after his dad had left and his mother was in bed for the third day in a row and he, a nine-year-old, hadn’t understood why. “What the fuck kind of man do you think I am?”
“You have a reasonable expectation of privacy in your own home, even when your housekeeper—”
Lizzie’s soothing, placating tone pissed him off.
“Honestly, Braden, all I wanted to do was put your tie back where it belonged. Not cause upset.”
He’d fucking heard enough.
Braden grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up, until her prim-and-proper little heels were inches off the hardwood floor. “Don’t you ever, ever say anything like that again.”
Her mouth parted, and she sucked a tiny breath.
“Your mother can work here as long as she wants. She’s more than a damn employee to me, and you know it.” A lifetime ago, he and Lizzie had sat across the kitchen island from each other, drinking milk and eating chocolate chip cookies after school. But now, this woman had the face and body of a goddess, and she was cursed with the tongue of a hellion. “You’ve dealt me the greatest insult I’ve ever received.”
“Braden—”
With his mouth, his kiss, his absolute fucking anger, he silenced her.
He used his tongue to press past her sealed lips, seeking entrance.
Braden knew what polite society said behind his back. That he was rich, privileged from birth. That his behavior was, at best, scandalous. At worst, reckless.
But he’d never had the one thing he needed most. Love. Others received it, but it had never been meant for him.
His life experiences had hardened him. To cope, he’d walled off his emotions. Despite that, he thought the world of women, and he enjoyed spoiling them with meals and gifts, and sex. His particular fondness was for BDSM. The sweet sigh of a submissive’s surrender was the most beautiful sound in the world.
He’d been careful to never make promises, and he didn’t utter careless words of affection. One date accused him of being emotionally cold. She’d been right.
But in under five minutes, Lizzie had pissed him off and simultaneously intrigued him.
At first, he tasted the tang of her resistance. Her eyes were wide, and she kept her body rigid. And then…
He softened the kiss.
He no longer wanted to punish her thoughtless words. Instead he hungered to know more about her. Was she as passionate as she was standoffish? Was she at all curious about what she’d found in his closet? Would her capitulation be as mind-blowing as he imagined it might be?
In his arms, Lizzie moaned. It was soft, more a whimper than anything, and yet it stoked the flame inside him.
He pulled her closer and tasted her deeper. She no longer resisted him. Instead, she leaned into him.
Braden was there for her, pressing one hand to the small of her back. With the other he tugged the pin from her hair and sent her brunette tresses cascading over her shoulders and down her back.
She was the sexiest woman he’d ever had in his arms.
Earlier, she might have had a glass of wine. There was sweetness from the grapes, and perhaps the drying bitterness of tannins all rolled into one and wrapped in her response.
Like a dying man, he was mad for more.
Braden plundered her mouth, and as the moments passed, she linked her hands behind his neck and offered herself to him.
She met his thrust with her parry. What they shared was heated with an intensity unlike any other, threatening him with combustion.
He wanted surrender as much as her demands.
Finally, when neither could breathe, he pulled back a little. But even that was too
much. Instantly, he claimed her mouth again, and her blazing response seared him.
She kissed him back, as demanding as he’d been. She wasn’t the aggressor. Not at all. Instead, what she offered was a timeless acknowledgment of the passion between them.
Minutes ago, they might have had a verbal parry and thrust, but this was as honest as it got. Lizzie—Elizabeth—was as interested in him as he was in her. She hadn’t run when she saw his implements of pleasure and pain, even though she lacked the courage to admit her curiosity.
There was something here. Something neither of them dared do anything about.
If he didn’t have morals, he’d close the door behind him, lock it, then strip her down. She’d let him, too. The sexual hunger in the air told him that.
He’d wrap her wrists with his red tie and then secure her to the clothes bar above them. After he’d aroused her, he’d spank her ass and fuck her hard from behind. He’d take everything she offered and even some she didn’t.
At the end of it all, when he released her, she would have no doubt who owned her, and the only sound from her mouth would be her gratitude.
But damn it all, he cared about what she thought of him. He couldn’t fuck her and send her on her way like he did countless others.
Lizzie Ryan deserved to be treated like the princess her mother believed her to be. And by God, he would do that.
Even though, right this moment, he would rather die instead.
The dress wasn’t for Braden. How many times have I told myself that?
Lizzie reminded herself that she was attending the event as hired help and nothing more. And she had three or four garments in her closet that were suitable for this evening’s party.
Scandalous Billionaire (Titans Book 5) Page 1