Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  “Sit.” He nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

  “Like this?”

  “I know you are low on moral fibre but I did not also take you for dumb.”

  “Don’t speak to me like that,” she glared. Her fingers shook as she lifted them and ran them through her fiery, titian hair. “Whatever you think of me you should remember that I was Sabra’s best friend and that she loved me.” Her voice cracked when she spoke of their link – the dead woman who had brought them together.

  It took every ounce of Malakhi’s willpower not to be cowered by the invocation of his sister. The words breathed reality into the cold, aching soil of his soul. Roots dug deep and the truth of his actions began to sprout plants he couldn’t ignore.

  He cleared his throat and carried on with determination rather than conviction.

  “Sit down.”

  “Why?”

  He made a noise of frustration and scooped her up, lifting her easily and placing her over his shoulder. So close to him, and completely naked, she froze. He walked swiftly to the desk and placed her down beside the chair. “Because there are things you need to learn and you will be more comfortable if you are seated.”

  “But not if I’m clothed?” She demanded angrily.

  “I care about my entertainment more than your comfort, in that regard.”

  “You are such a chauvinist.”

  “Sit.”

  When still she didn’t, he shook his head. Unused to being challenged, he wasn’t going to admit what a novel and pleasing experience it was. “Fine. Stand.” He put his hands on her hips and pulled her hard against his body. He dropped his head lower, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. Having never been kissed so intimately, she jumped out of her skin.

  “Oh my God,” she cried, arching her back and giving him greater access to her body.

  He laughed against her chest, his stubbled chin rough on the sensitive flesh.

  He rolled her nipple with his tongue and bit down on it with his teeth, while his fingers crept to the apex of hair at the top of her legs. He teased it with his fingers, marvelling at her responsiveness. Suddenly, the idea of waiting at least a day to possess her was anathema.

  “If you do not sit down I will make love to you right here,” he promised darkly, hoping she would stay standing.

  It was like ice water on her libido. He’d be in for a rather nasty surprise. She collapsed into the chair, her whole body on fire. Did she need to tell him the truth? The actual truth? Or could she pretend she was experienced? Would he notice she was a virgin? She’d read so many conflicting reports she had no idea what to expect.

  “Shame,” he said with a tight smile as he took his seat opposite her.

  “So? What do I need to know?”

  “Before coming to my bed, you will need to be … groomed.”

  “Groomed? Are you kidding me?”

  “No.” He laughed at her outrage. “It is an ancient ritual of purification, not one of aesthetics. Women who are to make love to the Sheikh of Ishala are to be hairless. It’s an old custom that is supposed to prevent … unwanted complications.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Let me get this straight. If I get all plucked like a chicken, that’ll stop me from getting pregnant somehow?” She slapped her palm to her forehead in an exaggerated gesture of mockery. “What a shame the western world doesn’t know this. Birth control stocks would plummet.”

  “Very funny.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What else?”

  “Beyond that, I don’t know.” He shrugged insolently. “You can tell me tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night?” She swallowed, nervous suddenly. “You want this to start … so soon?”

  His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “So where do I go for my plucking?”

  His lips twitched. “A servant will come to you in the morning.” He stood, and apparently feeling there was no further need for communication, crossed to the door.

  “Wait. When do I … what time should I …”

  “Nine o’clock,” he said, his hand on the door knob.

  “Nine o’clock? What... I don’t even get dinner first?”

  He raised his brows. “Do you want to share a meal with me, Jamila?”

  Her heart turned over in her chest as she shook her head from side to side.

  “Nine it is then.”

  Four

  Fortune favours the brave.

  Fortune favours the brave.

  Evie repeated those four words to herself as though they were her lifeline.

  It didn’t help though, for she was not brave. Not, at least, in that moment. An arrangement of exotic flowers stood sentinel beyond his room. She caught a hint of its sweet fragrance and breathed in deeply.

  With a hand that was shaking, she knocked on the door, so quietly that she was almost certain he wouldn’t have heard.

  But it was nine o’clock on the dot, and perhaps he was waiting right near the entrance to his suite, for the door was pulled inwards instantly.

  “Come.” He stepped back a little to allow her entry, his large, dark eyes studying her appearance with interest.

  Evie had dressed in the golden robe that had been presented for her. It had a tie around the waist and beneath it she was naked, but for a fine gold chain that had been fitted to her waist.

  She nodded jerkily, dislodging a tendril of cherry red hair from the plait it had been weaved into.

  He watched as she walked into the middle of the room and then turned, slowly, to face him.

  “You’re nervous,” he observed, his expression giving little away.

  “Yeah.” She bit down on her lip. “I’ve never done this before.”

  At his look of confusion, a blush spread across her face.

  “Slept with someone because of a deal. It’s weird.”

  “Sex is always a deal,” he said simply. “A transaction. An exchange. Sometimes pleasure is the only goal. More often than not it is more complex.”

  “And love?” She said softly, watching his face shift at the question.

  “Love? You tell me. You are the one who has been in love before.”

  “And you haven’t?” Curiosity barbed inside of her. “Ever?”

  “No.”

  “I see.” She was shivering, though not from the desert winds that were trifling through his windows. Anxiety was perforating her soul.

  “Are you hungry?” He asked, crossing the room to stand before her. His hands cupped her hips, pulling her gently towards him.

  She shook her head. They were heading towards an inevitable union. She’d jumped down the rabbit hole and now it was only a matter of time before the Mad Hatter invited her for tea.

  “Good. Nor am I.”

  Silence formed a trance around them.

  Evie broke it. “So what do we do now?”

  He smiled; a genuine smile, his eyes crinkled at the corner and she was reminded forcefully of what a handsome man he was.

  “You undress me.”

  “I do?” She squeaked, her eyes flying to his in a fit of uncertainty.

  His nod was droll. “It is somewhat of a prerequisite for what we are about to do.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Of course.” Her fingers wouldn’t obey her mind’s commands, however. She lifted them to his cream robe and began to push it, to separate it from his body, but her hands lacked strength and skill.

  He expelled an impatient breath as she tried to disentangle him until finally he grasped her hands in his much bigger, more powerful hands. “Stop.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes were huge in her dainty face. “I’m nervous.”

  “Apparently.”

  “You must be used to much more sophisticated lovers.”

  “Yes,” he shrugged, as though such an easy admission wasn’t striking a dagger through her heart.

  “Have you done this a lot?” She mumbled, dropping her face to hide he
r embarrassment.

  But he pressed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her eyes to his once more. “Done what?”

  “I mean, you have that other woman, and I guess this is normal for you.”

  “Sex?” He laughed. “Yes.”

  She nodded, mortified. What would he say if she confessed the truth of her innocence to him? Might he change his approach? Would he still want her? Or would her appeal evaporate with her imagined experience?

  “You do not need to be afraid,” he said softly, dropping his fingers to the robe and pulling expertly on the rope to release it around the middle.

  “I’m not afraid,” she said honestly.

  “Good.” He pushed the robe off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He stepped back to study her from a distance, and nodded.

  “Satisfied?” She purred, though anger was flicking at her heels. How dared he look at her like an object d’arte?

  “Not yet,” he grinned. “But the night is young.”

  God, this was really going to happen! Evie’s breath was coming in fits and spurts. “I don’t know what to do,” she confided honestly, her voice hoarse.

  “Relax,” he commanded, but in a tone that made it impossible for her to obey. Her anxiety ratcheted up a notch.

  He pushed at his own clothes, freeing himself from their confines quickly and easily, so that he too stood completely naked.

  “No golden chain for you,” she drawled, to cover the fact that the sight of his glorious body without clothes was doing something unbearable to her pulse rate.

  His laugh was abrupt. “It would hardly be appropriate.”

  “You don’t like jewellery?”

  He shook his head slowly and reached forward, hooking a finger around the fine chain and pulling at it. The metal cut into her skin painfully; she had no choice but to move with him.

  “This is not jewellery. It represents a shackle. Many years ago, women who serviced the ruling Sheikh were chained to his bed.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “I agree,” he said quickly. “This is supposed to represent the past; to honour the sacred role of the palace harem, while empowering the woman who wears it.”

  “That … I have so many things to say to that my brain is about to explode.”

  He arched a brow, prompting her to continue. “Firstly, how is anything that pays tribute to a time when women were shackled to a bed considered empowering? And do you actually have a harem? And as for servicing you … that’s an archaic and barbaric notion …”

  He lifting a finger to her lips, entreating her to be silent.

  “I do not have a harem.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. You have Leilani.”

  “I have lovers,” he said with a shrug. “Just as most men, and women, do. Stop being such a prude about this.”

  “But …”

  “You will be servicing me.” He pressed his fingers to her lips, keeping her quiet so that he could finish the thought. “But I will also be servicing you.” He dipped his head lower. “I will make you scream tonight, Evelyn, until your voice has left your body.”

  A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine.

  “This chain ties you to yourself, and yourself alone. You wear it as a reminder that you are free to leave my bed at any time. No longer shackled, but a beautiful creature tethered to free choice.”

  “Well, when you put it like that,” she said meekly, shaking her head a little.

  He lowered his head so that his lips were close enough to Evie’s she could almost feel them. “I have never taken a woman who did not wish to be with me.”

  “I’m sure,” she arched towards him a little; their lips brushed.

  “I have wanted you since we first kissed.”

  “I know.”

  “I am not a gentle lover, Evie. I do not want to hurt you. This will not work if you are going to act like a terrified schoolgirl. You must speak up if you are uncomfortable. Do not be shy.”

  “Now I’m scared,” she quipped, not entirely joking.

  “Listen to your body and tell me if you are not comfortable.”

  She nodded.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I don’t know,” she laughed unevenly. “But I know that I want you. Can we just … do this quickly?”

  He arched his brows in surprise.

  “I mean just the first time. I’ll feel better once we’ve … crossed that threshold.”

  His finger between her thighs was an unexpected invasion. She cried out as he drove into her, slicking in a circular motion, feeling her wetness and contracting muscles. “This threshold?” He murmured, holding her tight to his body as he began to rub his thumb on her clitoris and his finger across her insides. He found her most sensitive muscle and teased it mercilessly, until she was a puddle of desire in his arms.

  It took less than a minute for her to orgasm. Evie gripped his shoulders tight, as her body was racked by sensation.

  “You will be an excellent lover,” he said with a slow-spreading smile that warmed her soul. Her cheeks were bright pink and her eyes fevered.

  “You already are.”

  His laugh was warm. “Lie down.”

  She nodded. The words she knew she should utter were locked in her mouth. In the back of her mind there was the small risk that he might call the whole thing off if he knew she was completely innocent.

  “Quickly, you said?” He brought his body down on top of hers, his eyes scanning hers for confirmation.

  She nodded, biting down on her lip. “Yes.”

  His hands spread her legs wide, and he lifted them too, planting them over his shoulders so that she was completely ready to receive him. His hands gripped her lower hips, digging into her flesh as he pulled her down on the bed at the same time that he thrust forward.

  He was as hard as a rock, and his arousal was huge. It speared into her and she cried out in pain and shock.

  Their eyes met; his confusion was unmistakable. He swore every curse he knew, in every language he knew, and he begun to pull out. But by then the pain had subsided, and she had grown accustomed to the way her muscles were moving to accept his size and depth. She shook her head. “Please don’t stop.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw and his expression was grim but he stilled, lingering in her sweet depths.

  His eyes bore into hers as he moved, and when she reached up to touch him he gripped her wrists and pinned her hands to her sides. With her legs over his shoulders and her hands out of action she was literally a body, powerless to do anything but receive him.

  And receive him she did. She welcomed him to her core, crying out in fevered moans as another release built inside of her. When it had brewed into a storm of terrifying degrees, he quickened his pace, and she tumbled off the edge of the abyss, deep into the well of pleasure and satisfaction.

  The pleasure was a cloud of joy, swirling around her. Never in her life had she imagined sex could be so incredibly fulfilling; so absolutely perfect.

  But he did not join her in sensual ecstasy. When he pulled out of her she saw he was still as stiff as he had been.

  “Mal …”

  He jerked as though she’d slapped him. “Do not call me this.”

  Chastened, she froze. Her body glistened with perspiration but she was ice-cold. “What shall I call you then?”

  He sent her a scathing look of impatience. “You should have told me. You … how the hell can you be a virgin?”

  “I’m not a virgin now,” she pointed out with impeccable logic.

  “You were married,” he responded, ignoring her comment.

  “Yeah? So? We never did that. Obviously.”

  “You were married and you never had sex with your husband? Suddenly I am beginning to understand why he left you.”

  Her eyes narrowed as pain chafed her insides. “So first I’m a slut, and that’s why we broke up. Now it’s because I’m frigid?”

  “You tell me?” Malakhi snapped, reach
ing down and pulling his robe on again.

  “I didn’t want him like that,” she said simply, for it was the truth. “I thought it would be different once he was my husband.” But by then, I’d met you, she added silently.

  “Fine. You didn’t sleep with Nick. But before him?”

  “I met him when I was young. I …” she closed her eyes. “Please stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” He demanded, hands thrust on powerful hips.

  “Like there’s something wrong with me.”

  “I don’t know where to start with what’s wrong with you.” He compressed his lips as fury washed over him. “Get dressed.”

  She pushed up to sitting, a frown on her features. “You can’t be serious.”

  “What were you thinking, coming here to my bed? What did you think I would say?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, hating the way her voice caught on the tears that were clogging her throat.

  “Let me put it simply for you, then. I would never have touched you if I had known. I would never have suggested you join me in bed. I thought you were like me.”

  “A heartless bastard?” She asked with a scowl, but it was bravado. Inside, she was like a tiny porcelain vase being thrown hard against a wall.

  “Just … go, Evelyn.”

  “This is … I don’t …”

  “Go.” He turned his back on her and walked out of the room. She watched him go with a growing sense of panic and confusion.

  She stood gingerly. Muscles that had never been tested were throbbing now from the unusual pleasure and the intense way they’d been brought to life. She winced when she reached for her robe and tied it around her waist. It was a beautiful piece of fabric but she knew she would destroy it when she returned to her room. It, and anything else that reminded her of him and this night.

  For the briefest of moments she thought her hatred was so extreme that she could almost have contemplated returning to Australia, even knowing it might have meant that she wouldn’t see Kalem again.

  But it was a brief moment, and she discarded the thought almost instantly.

  She could never leave him.

  But nor could she ever be in the same room as Malakhi.

  Tears were streaming down her face. She surveyed the room one last time, and she didn’t see him watching her from the balcony outside. She didn’t see the way his face contorted at the sight of her crying; she didn’t see the way he was reeling from what he’d done – what he’d taken without ceremony or respect.