by Kira Blakely
Table of Contents
Billionaire's Package
Copyright
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Extended Epilogue
Thank you!
Also by Kira Blakely
Also by Emily Bishop
About the Authors
Billionaire’s Package
by
Kira Blakely and Emily Bishop
Copyright © 2018 by AG Media, LLC, a representative of
Kira Blakely and Emily Bishop
All rights reserved.
AG Media, LLC owns exclusive rights to all content herein. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from AG Media, LLC, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
She thinks I’m a stripper, so I’ll play along.
Mistaken identity at its finest, considering I own half of the hotels in Hawaii.
But there’s nothing sexier than a bridesmaid.
Especially one giving me the, “I’ll fuck you right here and now” look.
Her innocence is clear as day.
My desire to dominate is in fucking overdrive.
It’s instalust. Not going to deny it. And why should I?
We both deserve this. Need this.
Her recent break-up. My fucked up past.
It was supposed to be one night.
It’s become something more.
But when I find out who her ex is… Fuck.
Chapter 1
Hazel
“Here come the strippers!” Carly, the bride, clapped her hands and jostled around in her seat, almost dislodging the glittery wings we’d attached to the back of her ‘Til Death Do Us Shot t-shirt before the bachelorette party.
The grand doors to the resort hall swung inward and the song Macho Man pumped through the speakers overhead. Men in all shapes and sizes, some genuinely attractive, entered, wearing fancy suits and cheesy grins.
They formed a line at the front, already tapping their feet to the rhythm.
I groaned and sank down in my seat. “No, no, no,” I whispered.
Can you say, awkward?
“Lighten up, gorgeous,” Carly said and pinched my nose. “You’re going to love it. Come on! It’s Hawaii. You’ve got to live a little. Shake the dust off your thong.”
“I love that you think I’m wearing a thong,” I replied and twinkled a smile in her direction.
This was her weekend, after all, and I wanted all the happiness in the world for her.
It was just that chiseled guys in speedos and bow ties weren’t my thing.
Sure, I liked hot guys – who didn’t, am I right? – and some would say this was the perfect way to get over an ex, but the idea of a dude waggling his junk inches from my nose didn’t do it for me.
Particularly after having my heart dragged across the jagged rocks out on the beach.
Tha-thump, tha-thump, flat line. Sleep tight, Hazel.
What kind of asshole dumped a girl in Hawaii, right before a wedding, which, ahem, may I add, we were both attending?
My ex-boyfriend, Jacob, that was who.
“I have literally never been this excited,” Carly said and lifted her mimosa. She slurped on the end of the straw and left a magenta lipstick stain behind. She tossed her long blond locks, then nudged my arm. Alcohol splashed onto my jeans, right at the crotch.
Perfection. Of course, that would happen to me.
Carly sloped her arm around my neck and hugged me close. “Drink it, don’t spill it! You need to loosen up, Hazey, darling. Things are about to get wild.” She wriggled her penciled eyebrows at me.
“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d shake you,” I said.
She threw back her head and laughed, then broke into song. “Macho, macho, man!”
The other bridesmaids sang along with her, hopping to their feet and stomping around, wiggling their hips. The strippers, dear god help me, ripped off their pants as one and revealed glitzy thongs underneath.
Hey, at least they’re not wearing speedos. Or strategically placed leis.
Thank heavens, Carly hadn’t asked me to take photos of tonight’s event.
“Get up!” Carly shrieked.
I rose to my feet, painfully aware of the stain on my jeans, and the logo on my shirt, Bad and Boozy Bridesmaid, and attempted an unenthused shimmy.
The men approached, removing their shirts, one button at a time, still grinning and humping the air in front of them. My cheeks heated, and the inside of the hall, down lights, parquet flooring and all, swam around me.
Can’t do this. Not after what happened. I sucked in a breath and let it out again. No, Hazel, get it together! This isn’t about you or your shitty ex-relationship. This is Carly’s weekend.
But it was all too much. Every single dude wore Jacob’s grin – the expression which said, “Sorry, not sorry I’m dumping you.”
I swayed and bit my lip, then spotted Carly’s empty mimosa glass. I snatched it up. “Anyone need another drink?!” I yelled.
The other bridesmaids hooted and thrust empty glasses in my direction. I swiped a silver tray off the little round table we’d been sitting at and loaded them up, along with my own. “Be right back, ladies. Have fun!”
None of them heard me, and it was a damn good thing, since I had slurred half of the words out of sheer panic.
I scurried between the tables and toward the bar at the other end of the room, gaze fixed on the bartender there – a young weasel-looking dude in a dress shirt and tie. I clattered the tray onto the bar top and exhaled a long, thin stream of relief.
Christ, this was nightmarish.
Why? Why couldn’t I keep it together? Or rather, why hadn’t Jacob broken up with me before we’d flown all the way out here?
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried stilling my mind.
“It’s okay,” I muttered under my breath.
“I’d say it’s more than okay, bad and boozy bridesmaid.” The deep rumble came from my right and set all the nerves I possessed tingling. And not the bad ones either.
I cracked one eyelid and then the other, shifted my gaze from the empty lipstick-stained glasses, to the man who leaned on the bar at my side.
His ocean-blue eyes sparkled beneath the bar’s down light, which also cast a shadow on one side of his face, right in the crook of his nose, which had been broken at some point if the kink in the bridge was anything to go by. Lips, not too full, just right – hmm, just like Goldilocks’ bed – curled back over perfectly white teeth.
And the jaw line. Oh, man. The guy could’ve chopped down trees with it.
The suit that clung to his muscular frame was all clean lines, stark black, and accented by a tie.
Heat shuttled through me and I blinked. “Huh?” Super, super eloquent first word there, Hazel.
“Bad and boozy,” he said, nodding to the title on my shirt, then flicked his gaze to the women shrieking and dancing around with the strippers by the tables. “You’re not bad and boozy? Because if not, that’s false advertising.”
I opened and shut my mouth again. And that heat focused solely on my cheeks. “I’m neither bad nor boozy,” I squeaked. Was this guy a stripper? He had to be, dressed like that – the suit looked almost exactly the same. Gra
nted, I wasn’t an expert in all things sartorial but –
Okay, definitely rambling in my head. And rambling means panicking.
“Neither bad nor boozy,” the hubba-hubba hunk replied and took my hand. He turned it over and ran his thumb over my wrist. “I like that. I like good girls.”
My jaw dropped again, and shivers tingled through me followed by a hot burn in my core. I wrenched my arm from his grip, immediately. “I just came for drinks,” I said. “That’s all.”
“So, you can get boozy?” he asked.
“What does it matter? I don’t even – look, shouldn’t you be out there, doing your thing?” Where had that damn bartender gone? This was the last place I needed to be: turning into a molten mess over some superhot stripper dude at the bar.
Minutes ago, I’d been on the verge of passing out, thanks to a shattered heart. It simply wasn’t conceivable that some guy could stroke my wrist like I was an oversized cat and smooth away my sorrow.
“You don’t like the show,” he said.
I snapped around again, stiffening. “What? No. It’s – look, it’s great. I just – I’m sure you’re very skilled, but I’m not into this type of thing.”
He brushed hair from my collar bone and set off another marathon of shivers. It was such a casual move, so natural, and at the same time… so damn possessive. “What is your type of thing?”
I gulped.
The song overhead changed to one more sultry and smooth with a deeper bass line. The thump matched the beat and flutter of my heart.
“I like taking photos,” I said, because it was the first thing that popped to my mind and the last thing he probably wanted to hear.
He ran his fingers across my collar bone, leaned in, and pressed his cheek to mine. “I like the way you move.”
I stumbled back a step – irony! “Okay, well, okay. That’s nice. I’m Hazel, by the way. Not that you needed to know that, or asked or anything. I’d better get back to my friends.”
The swarthy treat of a man lifted a scotch glass from the bar top and swirled the amber liquid within it. “Out there? Are you sure?”
“Ye-no,” I replied.
“Makes sense.”
“I mean, yeah, I’m sure.” God, I was never usually this… dumb? I’d lost all my words thanks to him, and it was a feeling to which I definitely wasn’t accustomed.
My ex had been sexy but nothing that’d induced brain mulch.
This guy, the Nameless Stripper, made the muscles in my stomach clench like an iron fist. He lifted the tumbler and tipped it toward me. “Enjoy your evening, Hazel.”
I licked my lips, turned, and hurried back to the table, where Carly held a fistful of one dollar bills.
“Who’s next?!” she yelled and waved them around. “Momma’s got a fist full of dolla biiiiiillls!”
I reached the table, then stalled and palmed my forehead. I’d forgotten the drinks! I spun back toward the bar, nervous mode activate, then stalled mid-step.
The bar stools were empty. The ‘I’ll fuck you with a look’ guy had disappeared, and so had my tray of empty drinks. “What the –?”
“Ma’am?” Two fingers tapped my shoulder, and I turned, yet again, this time to meet a waiter, holding a silver tray of mimosas. “Your drinks, ma’am. Compliments of the gentleman at the bar.”
Chapter 2
Bain
I leaned against the door jamb at the back of the hall and tapped my fingers on the elbow of my Armani suit coat.
The women out there danced and shrieked, clapped their hands and grab assed the strippers. It’d taken a bit of arm twisting to arrange the co-bachelor and bachelorette parties at my resort, and that was exactly the reason I’d come to check in on the proceedings.
I was one hands-on mother fucker when it came to my businesses and most especially my island resorts.
The reason I’d stayed in this hall, however, stood beside the bride, gripping a cocktail glass and grimacing every other second.
Adorable, refreshing, fucking pure to some extent and fragile. She’d been on the verge of tears at the bar and the animal inside me had roared.
Hazel was a breath of fresh air in her tight-fitting Bad and Boozy Bridesmaid top and equally tight jeans that cupped a pear-shaped booty. Blond hair trickled down her back, curled slightly at the ends, and her sharp, gray eyes caught the pulsing light from the strobes out there each time she looked around.
Searched, actually. For me.
“Fuck it,” I said and pushed off from the door.
I’d been set on retreating back to my penthouse suite alone – business, business, and more business, nothing else, never anything else – but this woman woke me the fuck up. I had to have her.
Touching her had sent tingles spiraling down my chest and abs, right into my cock.
That never happened.
It had something to do with her smell – fruity and sweet, like cherry blossoms.
I strode across the hall, each step powerful and sure, brimming confidence, then halted behind her, close enough that her slowly swaying ass, definitely not in time with the rhythm of the music, brushed against my crotch.
I took hold of her shoulders and leaned in, breathed against her ear. “Come with me,” I said.
She stiffened, didn’t step away.
“I’ll make it disappear, Hazel. All the shit you’re feeling, all the pain. I’ll replace it with the sweetest pleasure,” I said and devoured the scent of her skin. “I swear to you, I won’t stop until your mind’s blank and your body’s dripping with your sweat and mine.”
Hazel shivered beneath my grip. Slowly, she pivoted under my palms, until it was her breasts that brushed against my chest, instead of her ass against my dick. She radiated pure fucking desire.
This woman was mine, already.
The other bridesmaids and the severely judgement-impaired bride were oblivious, horn dogging it over the strippers.
“Say the word,” I said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
It was all I needed.
I took her by the hand and led her from the events hall, down into the lush, carpeted corridor and toward the elevator at its end. My ears rang from the lack of thumping music. Hers likely did, too.
I squeezed her hand, my cock stiffening at the smoothness of it. Christ, if her hand was this soft, what would her pussy feel like? What would she taste like? How would she sound, look writhing beneath me?
I pressed a button and the elevator doors slid back.
We stepped over the threshold and I thumbed the button that would take us up to my penthouse suite. Two mirrors on either side of us reflected our images back. She was pale, trembling, eyes wide, but unafraid.
This was the effect I had on women.
However, my cock practically tearing at the fabric of my pants wasn’t the usual effect they had on me.
I turned to her, walked her back, and pressed her against the back wall, caught her leg in one hand and lifted it so I could grind my captured dick against that triangle of pure heat. I buried my nose in her neck and suctioned down more of her smell.
Christ, she was addictive. “Hazel,” I grunted.
“I don’t even know your name,” she whispered, between gasps.
“Bain.”
She groaned as if I’d said the sexiest word in the English language.
“You like that?” I asked and pressed my dick into her, riding it up and down. Christ, I needed to get these jeans off her, now.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Oh, god, yes.”
My dick throbbed – that voice was so fucking soft, so sweet, and just as edible as the flesh of her neck. I suckled on it, and she jerked, moaned.
I caught a glimpse of her in the mirror, captured in this moment, a snapshot of her eyelashes fluttering, her breasts pressed against me restrained by her shirt, and I reached critical fucking mass.
I had to be inside this woman in the next couple minutes or I’d lose my damn mind.
W
hat the fuck is this? Why do I want it this bad? It was as if I was driven by some deep force, something on a cellular level for fuck’s sake.
The elevator doors binged and slid open, and I grabbed two handfuls of that pert, delicious ass and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around me and pressed her forehead against mine, stared into my eyes as I walked us out of the elevator and to my front door.
I swiped the keycard from my pocket, pressed it to the pad, then let us into the darkened living room and promptly dropped it on the floor.
I captured her lips with mine, parted them, and tasted her sweetness for the first time. Oranges and sugar and fucking, fuck yes, she tasted just as good as she smelled. Better.
Hazel moaned into my mouth and took hold of both of my lapels. She kissed me harder, deeper, and I grunted.
She wanted this just as badly as I did. Perfect.
I walked her into my bedroom, but I couldn’t make it to the bed. This had to happen now, I was already thrusting, though we hadn’t started. I reached between us and undid my zipper, dropped my pants, and freed my aching cock, already dripping for her.
“Pill?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
I put her down and ripped off her shirt, tossed it aside, exposed perky tits to cold air. The room blurred around us, and I took one of her pink, taut nipples between my lips and suckled.
She lurched and swayed.
I was merciless. I plied her supple flesh with my teeth, all the while unzipping her jeans, removing them, reaching between her legs, ripping her cotton panties to one side. Her cunt was deliciously wet and warm, swollen, too, and I growled and straightened.
I slapped her ass with both hands, then lifted one of her legs and pinned it around my waist.
I walked her to the wall, as I’d done in the elevator, and pinned her against it. One of the paintings slid free on impact and crashed to the floor.
She gasped, but I silenced her with another kiss.
Hazel, what a fucking name. The name of a goddess. “Hazel,” I said, out loud. “Hold onto me.”
She did as I said. Complete obedience. My dick was so hard it fucking hurt.
“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Please, please, Bain.”