An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3)

by Nadia Lee

  “More,” he orders.

  I separate my legs as much as I can. The cool air brushes my heated, wet core. I’m totally bared to him like this. Our power dynamic doesn’t escape my notice. He is still fully clothed, his hard, swollen cock straining against his slacks.

  Despite feeling like a helpless offering, the lust in his eyes keeps me pinned to the bed in that lewd position.

  Shaking, I wait for his next move.

  He kneels and drags his lips over my inner thighs. “So soft.” He runs a finger along my lips. “So fucking hot.”

  My hands clench the sheet. “I don’t think you should…” And I mean it. Men have tried, but it always felt like they were doing it because they thought it would get me to do other things they’d rather do—mainly plunging into me or getting me to give them head.

  “Well, then we have a difference of opinion, beautiful,” he purrs against the crease of my leg. “I’ve been thinking about eating you out for days.”

  His fingers part me, and I close my eyes with embarrassment and resignation. Even though he’s blown my mind before, I don’t—

  An electric shock ripples through me as his mouth closes over my clit, and my back bows. He pulls the bundle of nerves deeper, and my legs go rigid, jackknifing straight out.

  He wrecks me…utterly ruins me. His tongue, lips and teeth are ruthless as they lick, suck and pull at my clit and all the sensitive, dripping parts below. He laps me up like he’s starving, and his hunger feeds my need. He pushes a finger into me, and my inner muscles grip it hard. He hums with appreciation, then thrusts another finger…then another until I’m full. Then very leisurely he pumps me while he toys with my clit with his lips and tongue.

  Thick syrupy pleasure pulls me down, and I just…sink. My breathing grows ragged; I can’t think of anything but the electric sensations, the relentless drive to an orgasm I know will be just as shattering as the one before.

  His thumb replaces his mouth at my clit and the fingers depart. He lowers his face, his tongue driving into me.

  Whatever awkward embarrassment I might have had is burned away by the heat in my blood. Sweat mists over my skin. I’m coming apart at the seams, and just want more. The intensity of my greed stuns me even as my hips grind against his face.

  “Please…just a little more…” I hear myself beg in a voice I don’t recognize. If it ends now, I’ll probably die on the spot.

  He increases the tempo and power. His thumb moves rapidly over my clit, and I come undone, a low, guttural cry tearing from my throat. My hair sticks to my humid skin, and the aftershocks wring my body dry.

  He comes up, pushing me toward the headboard, and I just go with it, utterly boneless. His mouth is shiny with my juices, and it crashes over mine in a brutal kiss. It’s unthinkably indecent, but the combination of my taste and his is too heady, too right.

  I’m drunk on pleasure, drunk on our flavor. My arms wrap around his neck. I want to make him feel as good as he made me.

  He tugs at my nipple, then swallows my cries. My legs move against his restlessly. He’s still in his slacks, and I’m desperate for the feel of his bare skin against mine.

  His hands wrap around my wrists, imprisoning me. He traps my nipple between the flat of his tongue and the roof of his mouth. His cheeks hollow, and I strain at the stark delight. The sensory overload feels like torture…crazy-hot, mind-blowing torture.

  He switches his attention to my other nipple until it too is glistening and beaded.

  I part my legs, cradling his cock. I’m beyond caring, beyond embarrassment. I want him with a kind of uncontrollable madness that would frighten me if I weren’t so turned on.

  “Please…”

  “Fuck. I can’t wait,” he says.

  “Then don’t.” I spread my legs even wider.

  His glittering eyes on my face, he reaches blindly for the nightstand and pulls out a condom. He doesn’t bother to take off his clothes. He pushes his pants and boxers just low enough, sheathes himself with the rubber, and drives into me with a single powerful stroke.

  I cry out.

  He feels huge, almost uncomfortable. I clench and unclench around him, trying to adjust to his size. His forehead rests on mine. Sweat beads along his hairline and temples, and harsh breaths gust over my skin.

  “You feel so damn good,” he says. “Better than I imagined.”

  “So do you,” I whisper. And that’s true. Now used to the invasion, it feels amazing to have him inside me, connected like this.

  He cups my ass in his big, hot hands. “I don’t think I can go slow.”

  “Then don’t.”

  His eyes narrow. “It may not be good for you.”

  I almost laugh. “It’s already been great.”

  He gives me a slow smile, pulls out almost all the way until only the tip of his cockhead remains inside, then drives into me with all his weight. The power of his thrusts shocks me to the core. The bright lust in his gaze and the frantic movements fuel my hunger. The friction of his cock rubbing against my inner walls sends frissons of pleasure through my body, and all too soon tension begins to coil in my belly again.

  The muscles in his arms bulge. Sweat drips from him, and he clenches his teeth as he keeps stroking into me. I clutch him. I can’t believe I’m already so hot and primed. It’s as though the previous orgasm was just an appetizer.

  Control tightens his stunning face, and then I feel a finger on my rosette.

  The sensation is too much, and I scream his name as ecstasy crashes into me like a freight train. Elliot groans deep in his throat. He drives into me one last time, and I feel him pulsing. The tendons in his neck stand out, and a dark flush suffuses his face as he squeezes his eyes shut. He buries his head at the crook of my neck, his breath heating the skin there.

  “Gigi…”

  The heat in my blood turns to ice even as small tremors run through me in the wake of the killer orgasm. He collapses, but before he can crush me, he rolls over beside me. He breathes hard, an arm thrown over his eyes.

  Tears fill my eyes and leak out along my temples. Quietly, I roll to my side, my back to him. I finally realize why I was so apprehensive before.

  I am utterly, irrevocably ruined by a man who wants me to be someone else.

  Chapter Twenty

  Annabelle

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I waken I’m alone in bed. My eyes are gritty from crying yesterday, and I rub them roughly. I have no business wasting my tears over what happened. I knew what Elliot was asking for when I agreed to marry him. He never said he wanted me. He wishes I was Gigi. It’s obvious he can’t have her for some reason, and I’m just a substitute for that unrequited love.

  But that doesn’t mean it hurts less, and I hate myself for feeling anything. Didn’t I tell myself I wouldn’t dwell on things I can’t change?

  Pushing myself up, I glance at the clock. Nine forty-two.

  “Damn it!”

  I jump out of bed. I can’t believe I overslept. It’s my morning ritual to make Nonny breakfast and take some time to talk to her. Otherwise we don’t generally get a chance to chat with my work schedule and all.

  I scramble into the robe from last night and rush down the stairs…

  …and run smack into Elliot.

  He’s in a pair of black Nike shorts, slung low on his lean hips. Sweat runs down the hard planes of muscles on his chest, then along the sharply defined ridges of his rock solid abs.

  Awareness zings through me, and air sticks in my throat. I swallow hard. How can I feel this way after what he called me last night?

  “Morning,” he says, his dark eyes unreadable.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I step around him. “Did Nonny get to school?” I ask without looking at him. I go straight for the kitchen to find some form of caffeine.

  “Yeah. Fed her some breakfast and drove her this morning.”

  I grip the edge of the marble kitchen counter and rub the spot between my eyebrows
. I should’ve been up. She’s my responsibility, not Elliot’s. “Thanks,” I say with forced calm.

  He is quiet for a moment. “Just so you know, my assistant is looking into placing her in another school that’s closer…and preferably better.”

  “But why?” I ask, my mind unable to process what he’s saying. This has come out of nowhere.

  “Her current school is atrocious. I saw how it is there for her. It’s going to be better for her to transfer. And…I can arrange it.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to move?”

  “She does.”

  I remember the ride he gave her before. “What did you guys talk about when you picked her up from school?”

  “This and that.”

  “How did you even know she had a rehearsal that day?”

  “I have ways of finding out things.”

  The silky tone is a warning—there’s no secret he can’t dig up.

  I turn away. He can think that all he wants, but there is one he’ll never discover. Unless I tell, nobody will. Not even Traci knew. I feel a petty satisfaction at that. At the same time horror and humiliation entwine in my gut. The secret is so shameful and ugly. I’m lucky nobody knows.

  Not true… a small, insidious voice whispers. The boy…or boys. They know. They just aren’t talking.

  Good god. I can’t think like that. I heave the voice out of my head and drag my mind back to the topic. “She likes being in the band. Did she tell you that?”

  “There are plenty of schools with better bands,” Elliot says blandly. “My assistant made a list of some private—”

  “No. Not private.” I can’t afford to keep sending her there, and I don’t want to yank her out of yet another school so fast. She deserves some stability and normalcy in life. “Public is fine.” I look around the huge open kitchen with countless pots and skillets hanging from the hooks built into the ceiling. “Where do you keep the coffee?”

  He comes over, his body moving with the fluid grace and confidence of a man who is intelligent, powerful and attractive and knows it, is comfortable with it. Heat ripples through me, and humiliation follows in its wake. How can I still feel desire for a man who is using me as some kind of love-doll stand-in for his Gigi? How can a man like that be the one who can shatter me?

  Arms wrapped around my midriff, I move away, making sure we don’t touch, not even accidentally. Something that looks like regret flits through his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. He dumps a pod into a sleek machine in the corner, and soon the aroma of coffee fills the kitchen.

  Before he can grab it, I snatch the mug and start drinking. The fresh java should taste great, but I can’t taste anything. The caffeine still works, though, kicking my brain into gear.

  “I need to shower. After that, we should get brunch soon and get going,” he says. “We have a meeting.”

  I hold the mug with both hands and keep it in front of my face like a mask. “About what?”

  “You wanted me to create an escrow account for your money, to ensure that it would be there when we divorce.”

  I nod.

  “That’s smart of you, but it’s foolish to keep it in a bank where it won’t pay you any real interest. You’ll probably lose money after inflation.”

  He makes sense. It’s a line my dad often used to lure in clients. But I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with the information. It’s not like I can find a magical bank somewhere that’s going to give me a decent rate of return.

  “There’s a financial advisor I use at OWM. He handles all my investments, and he’s excellent. I thought it’d be a good idea to ask him to manage yours as well. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be worth a lot more than a million after a year.”

  I blink at him over the rim of my cup. Investing the money never even crossed my mind. At the same time, I can’t help doubting whether this is legit. Dad was supposed to be a champ too until it turned out that he ripped everyone off. “How can you be sure he’s not a scammer?”

  Elliot raises his eyebrows. “Scammer? Like he’s embezzling?”

  “Or, you know…a Ponzi scheme,” I add in a near whisper.

  He laughs. “I’ve done my homework. Trust me. I wouldn’t have given a penny to someone I hadn’t vetted thoroughly.” He tugs his earlobe. “OWM doesn’t take on new clients and a mere million-dollar account isn’t something they’d usually consider, but they’re making an exception for me.”

  Good god. What kind of people treat that much money with such disdain? Elliot’s talking like a million bucks is something he finds when he digs between his couch cushions.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask. “You don’t have to bother. All you have to do is hand over the money, and your end of the deal is finished.”

  “Because.” He shrugs. “It isn’t a lot of money, so it’s even more important to be careful so it stretches and provides you with the kind of comfort you want. Besides, once the news gets out about your money, unscrupulous assholes will come after you.”

  Will they ever. And most of them will look upstanding and perfect. That’s how they make you feel like they’re doing you a favor by taking your money.

  “Just my way of ensuring you don’t get taken advantage of,” he adds.

  And just like that he whacks at the tight ball in my heart, making it crumble a little. I can’t remember the last time somebody seemed genuinely interested in what happened to me or Nonny. I hate him a little bit for that. He isn’t supposed to be considerate, not after calling me Gigi.

  “Thanks,” I say tightly and turn away before he does or says anything else nice. I gulp down the rest of the hot coffee and place the mug in the sink and start to walk toward the staircase leading to the master suite.

  “Beautiful.” His voice is soft, but no less forceful for it.

  I stop for a moment, but don’t turn around. “I have to get ready,” I say, then resume my ascent.

  * * *

  Elliot

  Goddamn it.

  She’s still upset.

  I should’ve kept my mouth shut. But I couldn’t. The expression on her face was amazing, like she couldn’t believe she was climaxing again. My name tore from her, and it hit me like a drug. Her name tickled my mind, rolled around on my tongue as my muscles melted. And that, more than anything else, made me whisper the name I gave her.

  What I didn’t expect was for her to turn away. Or cry.

  She was quiet though. I almost didn’t notice. And I hated it that she was shedding tears at all. Sex is supposed to be fun. It isn’t the kind of thing you’re supposed to feel anything more about, but she did, and I want to fix it.

  Getting Omega Wealth Management to take her on as a client was my peace offering. She should’ve been thrilled. I even explained the significance—although it was awkward as hell because it sounded like I was bragging or something—but damn. Gavin Lloyd only allowed it because I asked extra nice…and shamelessly leveraged his friendship with Elizabeth’s cousin Mark. I even had to bring Gavin’s pregnant wife and son into the conversation, saying, “Wouldn’t you want to know that the money you set aside for them was in competent hands?”

  “I’m more than competent, but I see your point,” he said. “Only this one time, Elliot. I really don’t want to have to take on more clients. I’m trying to cut back, enjoy what I have with my wife and kids.”

  He should just retire if enjoying what he has with his family is the goal. The man’s worth over twenty billion. He could spend a million bucks a day till he dies and never run out.

  Shaking my head, I go to the master suite. I need a shower after my morning workout. Once everything sinks in, she’ll get over her hurt feelings. Women all do when presented with money.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Annabelle

  It feels weird to walk into OWM as a potential client rather than a member of the janitorial staff. I know what the firm is and what it does. I heard people talking about it in the break room. And like Elliot said, it’s
probably a big deal to become a client.

  Since I don’t want last night to weigh me down forever, I put on a bright sunflower-yellow sheath dress and nude pumps. The hat I wear is jaunty and provides plenty of shade against the brilliant L.A. sun. Elliot is in his usual black button-down shirt and slacks—which must be excruciatingly hot, but never seems to bother him. Today he looks forbidding, like a thundercloud.

  The mood rubs off on me, but I do my best to focus on the positive. Elliot is superb in bed, and—except for calling me by another woman’s name during sex—he hasn’t been a complete douche. Things could be worse.

  He puts a hand at the small of my back, the courteous but possessive gesture starting to become familiar. He’s so good at acting like a newlywed that I can’t help but wonder if he’s had practice.

  The neatly dressed receptionist doesn’t seem to recognize me as she greets me and Elliot. She gives both of us a warm smile.

  It makes sense she wouldn’t make the connection, though. Who notices a cleaning lady? Besides even if she thinks I look familiar, she won’t be able to place me, not when I’m sporting a new haircut, an expensive dress and all the rest.

  The office we walk into is spacious without being grand. A calming shade of blue accents off-white walls, and the expansive desk is neatly organized. The man behind the desk is surprisingly young, no more than in his early thirties. His gray suit is so dark it’s almost black, and it molds to his lean frame perfectly in the way only custom-made tailoring can. A big smile splits his face as he stands. “Congratulations on your marriage!” The man reaches over and shakes my hand. “I’m Pete Monroe. Nice to meet you.”

  I murmur, “A pleasure,” but don’t give him my name. Elliot can call me Gigi all he wants, but I’m not going to introduce myself as Gigi to people we meet as a couple. It feels…wrong.

  Elliot guides me to a plushy armchair. Only when I sit down does he take another one just like mine.

  “I have all the paperwork,” Pete says. “Your lawyer was very thorough and specific, which makes my job easy.”