A Hollywood Deal (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience #1)

by Nadia Lee

  * * *

  Paige

  When I come back to the house, it’s already a quarter to nine. I kick off my shoes and carry them in my hands. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. My arches ache like they’ve been beaten with hammers.

  The nighttime housekeeper serves me soup and salad. I don’t want anything heavy since I won’t be able to sleep otherwise. I can’t believe Josephine wants to shop again tomorrow. She’s not a Shopping Tornado. She’s a freakin’ Terminator.

  “Where’s Ryder?” I ask the housekeeper.

  “He went out half an hour ago,” she says.

  “I see.” I sigh. I want to ask him to call Josephine off. I pull out my phone to check the news and emails. There are over a hundred unread messages and alerts about Ryder.

  I check some of the links. Ninety percent of them are about our impending nuptials. Tons of speculation and rumors clog the celeb news blogs. Some are claiming an anonymous source who has “confirmed” that I initially got hired due to my skills as a fellatrix, and now I’m moving onto the bigger prize.

  Jeez. The comments are atrocious. Anonymous people are saying the most vicious things about me. Many of them ridicule my weight because that’s the easiest target. Some mock my face or fashion sense. Several call me a gold-digger. A few apparently think I deserve to be run over or die in some other gruesome way for daring to marry someone as perfect as Ryder.

  Irritated, I toss the phone back into my purse and push away from the counter. The dinner is only partially eaten, but I don’t have an appetite anymore. My stomach’s knotted, and my lower back hurts from all the damn shopping.

  I climb up the stairs to my suite. Once inside, I shower, put on a comfy nightshirt and toss myself on the bed.

  Haters gonna hate. I should just get some sleep. If I ignore them long enough, they’ll lose interest and move on.

  My phone buzzes. Out of pure habit, I reach for it and say, “Paige Johnson.”

  “Hey, lovely. It’s Derek Madison.”

  He’s a reporter for The Hollywood News. “Hello,” I say cautiously. He was helpful when we were doing damage control after that woman released the sex tape with the fake Ryder in it, but other than that, we’ve never talked. Ryder has his own publicist who deals with the media.

  “First, congratulations. I was floored when I heard.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Second, Ryder’s publicist is an asshole.”

  I chuckle. Christopher Luther is hard-nosed and no-nonsense. “He’s not that bad.”

  “Yes, he is. He won’t let anyone interview you.”

  That makes me pause. “People want to interview me?”

  “Of course! You’re the most interesting woman in Hollywood right now!”

  “I had no idea.” The only thing I’ve seen is speculative articles and nasty comments.

  “Paige, you have to have your story told.”

  “You’re assuming I have a story that needs to be told.”

  “Everyone has a story.”

  “And you want to be the one to do that.”

  “Of course. I want an exclusive.”

  “You should go through Christopher.”

  “I tried, but he won’t even return my calls. Apparently he won’t return anybody’s calls about you.” Derek sighs. “Which is why I’m contacting you directly.”

  I consider. I don’t mind being next to Ryder while he’s in the spotlight, but I can’t imagine having all that public scrutiny and interest shift over to me. I’m just not someone who’s comfortable with that. And an exclusive? Good lord.

  “Come on, Paige. You owe me. Remember all that help I gave you when you called me three years ago?”

  I can’t help but snort at his cajoling tone. “And you got an exclusive with Ryder out of it.”

  “Kinda had to, in order to help him. Look, think of it as a way to tell your story your way, so all the assholes out there can’t just write whatever the hell they want.”

  I sigh. He has a point. The news has barely broken and already I’m the target of speculative ridicule and hate by people I don’t even know because of who I’m marrying. And the marriage isn’t even real anyway. “Fine. I’ll do it sometime after this week.”

  “Great! The sooner the better. I’ll send you a few possible dates.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ryder

  I can’t sleep. The clock by my bedside reads one thirty a.m.

  I stare at the ceiling…then over at the door connecting my suite to Paige’s. The business meeting took longer than expected, and the traffic seriously sucked. Maybe I should just start flying everywhere in a helicopter. Then I wouldn’t have missed Paige. I had plans for us.

  Damn it.

  Irritated, I throw on a robe and go downstairs to the kitchen. When all else fails, there’s the old stand-by: make something to eat and watch a movie until I feel sleepy again.

  It doesn’t take me that long to put together chicken and mushrooms sautéed in dry white wine and truffles. The chef and housekeeper keep the fridge stocked with stuff they know I like to munch on at night. There’s even a premade pizza crust, which is good because I don’t feel like putting one together from scratch.

  While the pizza bakes, I go to the movie room. It has no windows, just a giant screen and the state of the art surround system. The soft leather seats look more like beds than true theater chairs. The one in the center already has a blanket over it, perfect to snuggle under. The portable table has napkins. The housekeeper always keeps the room like this because she knows I come here when I can’t sleep.

  I scroll through what I have. Mira sent some kind of artsy European film a few days ago, which sounds like just the thing. It’s bound to put me to sleep.

  After I set everything up, I go back to the kitchen for the food, which should be ready any min—

  Paige is there, standing on the tiles in nothing but a long gray Tweety Bird t-shirt. Her nipples poke at the cotton, and my dick twitches in response. I haven’t seen much of her since the meeting at Samantha’s office, and she is hot. I can’t exactly say why—she isn’t in lacy lingerie, trying to seduce me like the usual chick. She’s just herself, no artifice. And it feels fresh and natural. I can’t think of the last time somebody tried to just be themselves around me.

  She flushes and gestures in the general direction of the oven. “I was hungry and came down…” She shifts her weight.

  “I made enough to share.” I give her a smile, trying to put her at ease. This is her home too, now, and I want her to feel comfortable in it.

  I put on a pair of mitts and pull out the pizza. After I let it rest for a few minutes, I place it on a platter. “Junior wants some?”

  “Yes. I’m starving,” she says. “I didn’t eat that much for dinner.”

  “You should’ve. Oh, and sorry I missed you earlier. I had a meeting.”

  “No problem.” She makes her way to the fridge as I cut the pizza. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Coke.”

  She grabs a can of Coca-Cola Classic and a glass of ginger ale.

  “I have a movie ready to go,” I say. “We can watch it if you’re up for it.”

  “Are you going to watch one this late?”

  “Why not? I can’t sleep. Maybe it’ll help.”

  “Is it a boring movie?”

  “God, I hope so. Never seen it.”

  I gesture toward the movie room. Smiling, she carries the drinks, and I take the pizza platter.

  After putting down the can and glass on the portable table, she asks, “Where did you find seats this large?”

  “Custom made.”

  “Where did you get the inspiration? Or was it something your interior decorator suggested?”

  “I was at the Ritz once, and it had these huge beds and sofas. Everything looked like it was built for a giant. I wanted to do something similar here.”

  “Ah.” She nods, then studies the pizza topping.

 
Before she asks, I say, “Grilled chicken and mushrooms cooked in dry white wine and truffles.”

  “Same thing you made for the proposal.”

  “Yup.” I’m pleased she remembers.

  She takes a small bite. “Mmmm… This is even better than I remembered.”

  And it feels damn good to feed my woman, have her practically moaning with satisfaction. I want her to do the same with my dick inside her. I want to be her everything…and the feeling’s uncomfortable, making me unbalanced, like I’m trying to walk across a half-full water bed.

  Not willing to dwell on the squirmy emotion, I bite into a piece and start the movie.

  It isn’t in English, and it isn’t subtitled. Black and white, it goes on and on, following some slim woman during a bleak winter in Eastern Europe. The lack of color makes her appear stark, and she doesn’t speak much, just going through the daily routine of her ordinary life. I don’t mind, since the goal isn’t to be sucked into the film.

  Paige leans over so close I can smell the shampoo and soap from her soft flesh. “Do you understand this?”

  “Nope.”

  She worries her lower lip. “Then why do you watch it?”

  “Something for background noise when I eat and try to relax. I don’t watch new movies that I know will get me thinking too hard or anything.”

  “Oh.” She reaches for another slice of pizza. After a while, she says, “I thought you were kidding when you said you ate at night like this.”

  “Why?”

  Paige finishes her slice and sips her ginger ale. “Well…eating alone isn’t fun. Food is meant to be shared. It’s such a social activity.”

  I pull her closer to me until her side is flush against mine. “Now I have you.”

  She cuddles, her soft body curving around me. Her skin’s so smooth and warm against mine, and we watch the movie in silence. When I’m almost done with the pizza, the movie turns decidedly racier.

  The protagonist walks into a strip club. She chats, then gets dressed. She goes on the stage, gyrating and rolling her body, showing off her assets to the hungry stares of the men around her. The men are in shadow, but it’s obvious they’re supposed to be moneyed from the classic cut of their suits, the fancy cigars they smoke.

  The lust from the men is palpable, while the woman seems to feed on it, thriving under the greedy gazes.

  When she’s done, a few of them follow her, but the bouncer stops them. It isn’t until her shift is over and she slips into the bathroom that a man accosts her. He doesn’t even talk to her. Just grabs her roughly in front of the sink and grinds his mouth over hers. She digs her fingers into his hair. They fuck hard and fast, no foreplay, nothing.

  The scene’s hot, and my balls grow heavy and my dick hardens, especially since I have Paige plastered against my side. Her chest rises and falls erratically, and she licks her lips, her eyes glued to the screen. Even in the dimness of the room, I can see the dark flush on her cheeks.

  After the characters both come, he tucks his dick back in his pants, and she smoothes her dress. They don’t talk to each other or make eye contact, but they aren’t embarrassed either.

  Stranger sex.

  Paige breathes out softly, lips parted.

  “You like that, babe?” I whisper into her ear.

  She starts to shake her head, then stops. “Yes.”

  “Is that your fantasy? Sex with a stranger?” When she pulls her lips in, I lift her chin with a finger. “Tell me.”

  “…yes.”

  “Are you a stripper?”

  “No.” She pauses for a moment. “In my fantasy, I’m just a girl having fun at a club. But men are watching me as I dance with my friends. They check me out, my boobs, my ass. The way I dance. And they want me, and they don’t care if I know that they want me.”

  Her beaded nipples are poking at the shirt. I bend down and take one into my mouth through the cotton.

  A breath shudders out of her. Her pupils are dilated.

  My body responds to her arousal. I’m uncomfortably hard, my balls tight.

  Her voice shaky, she continues, “When I get away from my friends to grab a drink at the bar—it’s past a lot of dark corners—a man shoves me against the wall, away from the prying eyes. I don’t know who he is, but he’s warm and solid and smells like a million bucks. There’s a hint of expensive alcohol…maybe scotch…when he fondles my breast, pinching my nipple a little, making me gasp.”

  She lets out the last word on a soft sigh. I can totally imagine the scenario. I tweak her other nipple when she’s taking too long a break. I want to hear the rest.

  She moans. “He says he’s not usually like this, but he can’t help himself. He just wants me, and the urge is undeniable. He speaks well, and it’s obvious that he’s well-educated and had the kind of upbringing that taught him right from wrong, but all he can think about is possessing my body.

  “He doesn’t even want to hear my answer because he has to have me, and if I say no, maybe some part of him will compel him to let me go. He puts one hand over my mouth and slides the other under my skirt…between my legs. He knows immediately that I’m wet.”

  “Do you touch yourself when you fantasize about this?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Her answer is soft, but there is strong need lacing her voice.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  She does, her hands unsteady.

  I hit a button to recline our seat. “Show me,” I order.

  She looks into my eyes as if seeking some kind of confirmation. Apparently she finds it; she lies back, her gorgeous lush body spread out before me like a sensual feast. Her rosy nipples are hard, beaded tightly. Her legs are parted, and one delicate hand covers her pussy. She circles a finger around her swollen clit and squeezes one breast. Her eyelids flutter, and she breathes audibly.

  “Tell me your fantasy,” she says.

  “Mine’s pretty simple,” I say, my eyes on her.

  “Simple is good.”

  That gets a corner of my mouth to lift. “I’m in a dark room, naked,” I begin.

  As if to reward me for that, she buries two fingers inside herself and lets out a low cry. The sound and visual go straight to my bloodstream, and I bite back a curse.

  “I’m standing, while there’s this girl on her knees. Her hands are bound behind her, and she’s blindfolded. She can’t see anything, has no idea who I am or what I look like, but it’s not important. She’s a gift. A sex slave. Since she’s a good one, she’ll do whatever her master told her to do—which is to let me use her in any way I please. But I don’t want her unless she wants me, and I tell her so. She can only be wet if she wants me, not because she’s trying to obey her master’s order.”

  Paige fucks herself with her hand, and lust pounds through me. When I don’t continue, she prompts, “Then what?”

  “I brush her mouth with the tip of my dick.” When I restart my fantasy, she continues pleasuring herself. I purposely speak slowly so she can prolong it. “I’m hard because I want to bury it inside her, but I pull back. Her lips are wet with my clear juices. She licks it delicately.”

  Paige’s tongue darts out and wets her mouth. I groan at the sight, and she gives me a small smile.

  “When I order her to spread her legs, she does it eagerly”—Paige spreads her legs even more widely—“and I crouch down and finger her wetness.” My voice drops low, almost guttural now. “She shudders and begs me. She wants to feel me, measure me, know me. And I let her. She uses her mouth and tongue all over my dick, then pulls it inside her mouth. She’s completely focused on me, my reaction, my need.”

  Paige’s breathing is rough and loud. From the sound of it, I know she’s really close. A moan tears from her arched throat. Her hand pinches her nipple. I bend down and take the other one in my mouth and suck hard, my teeth scraping against the hard tip, while grinding the heel of my hand against her clit.

  Her back arches as she screams out her pleasure. It lances through me, and
I grip my dick hard, almost roughly.

  When she’s recovered from her orgasm, she looks at me with a sly smile. “So that’s your fantasy? A slave girl sucking you off?”

  “Something like that,” I say. My cock throbs, and the mischievous look on her face isn’t helping.

  “How about your fiancée doing it to you?”

  She pushes my shoulders with her hands, and I lie back. My heart is in my throat, and she pushes the robe aside and licks her lips. “God, you’re so big. So hard.” She kisses the underside of my shaft. It tingles and heats, and I feel like my skin’s on fire.

  She licks the head, her pink tongue flickering over it like it’s a hard candy. My hands fist the blanket. My fantasy ends with me mouth-fucking the slave girl, but it’s probably too much for her.

  Paige’s soft hair brushes over my belly and thighs, and the feathery sensation combined with what she’s doing to my dick with her tongue is killing me. Then she pulls me inside her mouth and bobs up and down, and I’m a goner.

  Countless women have gone down on me, many of them uninhibited about debasing themselves if that’s what got me off, but this is totally different. It’s like I’m living my fantasy with Paige as the object of my desire. She has no idea, but she’s basically my fantasy girl—she wants me without caring about who I am, how famous I am, how rich I am.

  There’s a part of me that feels hopeful. That maybe this relationship really can work… Maybe our marriage of convenience may end up being more.

  Because no matter what, Paige is not Lauren.

  And the realization is a hammer that shatters the shackles around my heart. I can visualize our future together, and I know I can make her love me, stay beyond the first year. I can be quite persuasive when I want to be. And I want to be very much.

  When the orgasm hits me I arch into her mouth, my entire body tight as a high-wire. Guttural groans emanate from my chest.

  Finally I recover. I pull her up, feeling the sensual glide of her smooth skin against me. My blood still sizzling, I kiss her, tasting the blended taste of her and my release. I want to take her, thrust my dick deep into her and fuck her all night long so she can’t remember what it’s like to be without me inside her, but it’s late, and her eyelids are drooping now.