Rapine: Abducted by the Billionaire

by Charlotte Rose

  Rapine: Abducted by the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife, Book I)

  Ravish: Ravished by the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife, Book II)

  Retrieval: Saved by the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife, Book III)

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without the prior written permission of the publisher. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet without the publisher’s permission.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, and places are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The reference to these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  RAPINE

  Origin:

  Middle English rapyne, from Anglo-French rapine, from Latin rapina, from rapere to seize, rob

  Definition:

  The violent seizure and carrying off of another's property.

  PREFACE

  Males have to pass through many a contest before they win a female, and the older males have to retain their females by renewed battles.

  - Charles Darwin

  A man fighting another man for a woman is something so incredibly primal, savage, and hot. It turns on nearly every woman to see a man fight for her.

  What makes men so attractive is that they are the opposite of women; physically, emotionally, and mentally. Men are built stronger, bigger, and more muscular. Men can be tender, romantic, and caring with women but competitive, harsh, and violent around other men. Men are possessive, protective, and aggressive at times. That’s what makes men so attractive to women. Feminine women want to be protected, cared for, and loved tenderly. The most feminine woman desires the most masculine man.

  I wanted to write a tale that combined the civilized and the primal male because I find this mix so irresistible: men who are handsome, intelligent, wealthy, but also savage, aggressive, and chauvinistic.

  MAIN CHARACTERS

  Cheryl Lynn

  Cheryl is twenty-two. Cheryl’s parents are both from the Czech Republic and Cheryl was born in New York. She is feminine, reserved, and is most comfortable with her small group of friends. She values her romantic relationships greatly, and is devoted and loyal to those she loves. She gains pleasure from pleasing her romantic partner.

  Derek Cartier

  Derek is thirty-seven. He was born in Poland and currently resides in Manhattan. He is a venture capitalist and a member of an elite secret society. He is a very private and serious man who demands respect. He is engaged to Cheryl Lynn.

  Julian Stone

  Julian is thirty-one. He was born in Geneva and currently has one hundred twenty-one residences around the world. He is a black-belt martial artist. He is extremely determined, unbending, dominant, and aggressive. He always gets what he wants.He vigilantly protects and cares for his loved ones.

  PROLOGUE

  As a little girl, I always imagined being in love, having a perfect wedding, and a man who made love to me tenderly, passionately, and loved me unconditionally. I never imagined this; a brutally forceful man who has to get his way, ALWAYS. If he doesn’t get his way, he is enraged.

  Derek is gorgeous, powerful, and incessantly dominant. He has a stone-hard, muscular, deep-tanned body. He has big, thick arms that I can’t wrap my two hands around. He has midnight-black hair, dark-brown eyes and a defined, square jawline. He rarely smiles, except when with me in private.

  Everyone has the deepest respect for him, a deep fear of displeasing him. He is thirty-seven and currently one of the most powerful men in the world. He told me that in his twenties and early thirties he founded and sold numerous multi-billion dollar companies. He told me that he owns many commercial properties around the world. He told me he is currently a venture capitalist. What really lit my passion for him was that he told me he was part of an elite secret society. I only heard about men this powerful in movies, books, or on television.

  He was raised in Poland and came to New York with his family when he was eight. He loves classical music, traveling, the finer things in life, and collecting luxury watches. However, he is still a mystery to me in many ways. He never told me any profoundly personal things about himself. He never tells me where he goes off every day.

  I only see him on weekday evenings. On Sundays, we usually spend the day together, doing such things as a spa day getting a couple’s massage; lounging in bed all day drinking wine and watching movies; or leaving the city and going horseback riding, wine tasting, and hiking.

  Last week he had proposed and I had said yes. He bought me the most classically elegant engagement ring by Lorraine Schwartz. It’s cushion cut, micropavé, super ideal cut, D flawless, ten carat in the center.

  He had selected the perfect time and place for a proposal with it being an especially beautiful fall day in Manhattan. Central Park was sunny and had the brightest orange and red leaves scattered about everywhere. There was a crystal clear blue sky with not one cloud. He had gotten down on one knee in Central Park after a romantic horse-drawn carriage ride. It was a simple, utterly classic proposal, nothing over the top, but perfect in my mind. I must have said yes like fifty times.

  The story begins when a few years ago, my best friends, Tanya and Yula, began dating men they termed The Manhattan Elite, while I was studying at Yale University School of Art. These men my friends were dating were not multi-millionaires; these men were billionaires. My friends had always had their eyes on this species of men, and said they would never settle for a man who made less than five million per year.

  Tanya and Yula have been my best friends since high school. They both look like top supermodels and I’m really not surprised. Yula is Brazilian and Tanya is Russian.

  Yula has long jet-black hair up to her lower back that she nearly always wears down in loose, cascading waves. She has emerald green eyes set below thick, well-defined and high-arched eyebrows. Her face is round, with a tiny little nose, and very full lips. She’s breathtakingly beautiful.

  Tanya is even more beautiful. Tanya has a diamond-shaped face, sapphire blue eyes, and a small button nose. She wears her long, blonde hair in different styles every single day and tells us she styles her hair on her own. She must have a colossal encyclopedia of different hairstyles because I rarely see her with the same hairstyle two days in a row.

  Yet even though my two best friends are so very beautiful, Derek has told me that I am even more beautiful than Tanya or Yula. I can’t imagine what could make me so much more beautiful than them. Both my parents are Czech and I have their features of dark brown hair, brown eyes, full lips, and an oval face.

  Tanya found herself a tech billionaire right after I graduated and took a job as a Publicity Coordinator at The Museum of Modern Art in New York.

  Thanks to Tanya’s wisdom, and her constant discussion about The Manhanttan Elite, I was open and willing to meet a wealthy man, but it’s not like I was actively searching for one and it’s not like it’s hard bumping into a billionaire in Manhattan, especially when you are attractive, well-groomed, and well-dressed.

  While I was leaving work, Derek had walked up to me, and my eyes lit up when I saw his chiseled face and strong masculine features. I felt instant chemistry and attraction to Derek. He was wearing a black Alexander Amosu qiviut suit. He looked astonishingly
handsome and razor-sharp.

  He had spoiled me during the past two and a half years that we have been together. He won me over with his aggressive pursuit and relentless gifts. I fell in love with the expensive four and five course dinners, the mouth-watering wines, and the jaw-dropping jewelry as well as the compliments and romantic gestures. He always pulled out my chair, he always stood when I left the table, and he always opened every single door for me. He was a gentleman who took pleasure in treating his possession–his lady–right.

  I love this man more than just a romantic partner. He has two sides to him–two extremes–which I find intriguing and incredibly captivating. He is aggressive and domineering in the bedroom, but sweet and gentle with me out of the bedroom. He is serious and cold in public with acquaintances, but cordial and caring with me in private. He is very old-fashioned in his dealings with women, but extremely contemporary in design and style.

  The old-fashioned part of him was revealed in the first few weeks of our relationship. Derek told me that a woman should not work, but rather take care of herself. He said that it is an insult to him for a woman to work while she is in a relationship with him. A man who allows a woman to work is incompetent in his career and doesn’t make enough money. Basically, a man is a failure if the woman works. He told me a woman’s full-time career should be maintaining her looks and satisfying her man in bed. I was his companion, and I wasn’t to be anything more. Sure, he encouraged my love for painting and playing the piano, but I was never to have a real career other than pleasing him and being at his beck and call.

  My days used to revolve around myself, my work, and my bills. Now that I am with Derek, I don’t have to worry about paying the bills. My responsibility is primping and priming myself to perfection and meeting his every whim in bed.

  Derek, like all other very wealthy men, hires staff to do housework. He expects nothing more from me than to please him visually and sexually.

  I totally agreed with Derek’s expectations of women. I thought to myself, sure women fought for their rights, but women just fucked themselves over and made life more difficult for themselves. I’ve seen it many times when I was younger; the woman who allows herself to live an “average lifestyle” of career, household chores, caring for her children and husband. She had no time to take care of herself, so her husband loses his attraction for her and leaves her. The woman is not left with much and struggles for the rest of her life, and because she is older, she has trouble finding another man.

  So Derek convinced me to stop working at the art gallery and I moved in with him six months later, at the ripe age of twenty-two. At this point, my girlfriends were already married to wealthy men and weren’t working any longer as well.

  At lunch the other day my girlfriends and I discussed the fact that “marriage is a deal that must be fairly negotiated to ensure your survival and the survival of your children. You must also make sure you get premium insurance in case it doesn’t work out, which is really 50% of marriages these days.”

  When you marry for money you get a large chunk out of the man when he trades you in for a newer model. When you marry for love, you are left with nothing when the man discards you.

  We also discussed that romantic stories based exclusively on love are just stories, wishful thinking if you will, but not the reality of life. My closest friend Yula added, “We women have an expiration date and we must find an appropriate husband while we are still fresh.” So this is what I did and my entire life turned in a whirlwind of passionate sex, possessive love, extravagant pleasure, immense wealth, and heart-pounding adventure.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I wake up at 8:18 a.m. on Monday and sit up in bed. My head is spinning from last night’s limited edition Dom Pérignon champagne. Derek is gone as usual. I slide out of the white silk sheets. I walk barefoot across the natural oak wood flooring heading toward the washroom.

  I hear my feet pattering against the glistening white quartz floors in the excessively large, all-white washroom. Sitting on top of the white quartz bathroom countertop is a box wrapped in sparkling white gift paper. I unwrap it carefully and see a Cartier box. I open it to reveal a gorgeous pearl necklace.

  I grab a magnifying glass and examine the pearls closely. They look scaly and maze-like under the magnifying glass; they are real pearls.

  I pull up my waist-length, dark brown hair in a ponytail, and put on the pearl necklace while taking a closer look in the large mirror. The pearls look very elegant and classic wrapped around my slender neck.

  I hear the phone ring and rush back into the bedroom to grab my phone off the espresso maple wood bed stand. It’s him.

  “Hello sweetie!” I say cheerfully.

  “Hello Cheryl, my darling angel,” replies Derek in a sweet tone.

  “Thank you for the beautiful pearl necklace honey,” I purr as I smooth over and touch the beads around my neck.

  “Don’t even mention it,” he growls. “You know you can have anything you desire,” his voice softens. “And absolutely anything is yours once you become my wife. What you’ve seen is nothing yet,” he says boldly. “When I get home tonight, I want you to put on your red silk dress and the red satin pumps I purchased for you last week,” he commands. “I have somewhere I would like to take you. I must run darling, take care, and enjoy your day.”

  “What time will you be home?” I ask hesitantly.

  “I should be in around 8:00 p.m., bye darling.” He hangs up.

  I never have the courage to ask where he works or what he does during the day. He never volunteered the information, so I never want to pry for the information. I am not sure what a venture capitalist or secret society member really does but I do know that being a venture capitalist has something to do with investing in businesses.

  I am caught up in my mind for a moment, thinking about the future days activities. Breakfast with my girlfriends, gym, spa, lunch, pedicure, and preparing myself to see him for dinner.

  Derek likes seeing me elegantly dressed up in long silk dresses. He told me he likes to use his imagination and that men who go to strip clubs have absolutely no imagination. For a man this masculine and powerful it was a surprise to me when he first told me this. I’m sure Derek has more testosterone than the average millionaire. He certainly does in the bedroom. However, when we go out together, I am always expected to wear a long dress, and in many cases, I am to wear evening gloves as well.

  It’s 9:45 p.m. I am sitting in the extravagantly large living room on the white Barcelona chair, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Central Park, drinking a glass of red wine, after having had my makeup and hair done, and waiting for Derek to come home.

  I turn on some classical music from SKY FM premium radio on my iPod. I am wearing my red silk Valentino dress, and the red satin pumps he had told me to wear. I imagine I look like a red splat among the almost blinding all-white, luxury penthouse apartment besides the abstract, colorful paintings on the wall composed of various bright shades of red, yellow, orange, and blue. I am surrounded by white abstract sculptures displayed on art pedestals, and a few valuable vases and ancient coins encased in glass display stands.

  Derek’s penthouse does not look like a home at all, but rather like an art gallery. I feel like I am at The Museum of Modern Art, even though I am no longer working there. Now I am working for Derek. I am his companion and sexual partner. My utmost responsibility is to maintain my looks and fitness level. I must go shopping frequently to buy visually appealing outfits for him. I am also required to get health check-ups, IV nutrient therapy, and spa treatments. It really is a grueling, full-time job to be with a multi-billionaire. I spend all day, every day, running around Manhattan, maintaining myself to flawlessness just for him. I have very little time for my hobbies; my favorite of which is painting. I always desired to become a famous artist.

  To Derek and most wealthy men it’s all about show. They want a trophy home, trophy car, and trophy wife. However, I can say the s
ame thing because Derek is my soon-to-be trophy husband.

  As I sit in Derek’s art gallery of a home, I wonder where he possibly could be taking me this evening. Normally, he tells me exactly where he is taking me, whether it is to dinner or one of the charity or gala events we happen to attend so frequently.

  It’s 10:55 p.m. I continue to sip my wine, now on the third glass, listening to the classical music, and fiddling around on my completely transparent and rimless iPad, the newest version not available to the public yet. Billionaires own what the general public can’t have until months or even years later.

  When Derek gets home at 11:14 p.m. with a furious expression on his face, I don’t say anything. He doesn’t even glance my way. He simply goes straight to the washroom, and I hear the shower running.

  I flick through my iPad while Derek is showering and I reply to an e-mail from my mother updating her on how the wedding planning is going, and watch some of the latest shows on the Fashion Network app. Note to self: I have to get the new, long, flowing, strapless, white Ellie Saab dress.

  Derek strongly has convinced me of the elegance of white and encourages me frequently to wear white. Derek has an obvious obsession with white, and it’s an infectious obsession that has developed in me as of recently. Although red has always been one of my favorite colors, I find myself buying more and more white outfits the longer I am with Derek. However, his obsession does have a limit; he insists on only wearing dark-colored suits.

  When Derek gets out of the washroom, I’m still looking at the latest Ellie Saab fashion show. He walks into the living room naked, his length completely hard, and his facial expression is clenched.

  I put the glass of wine and the iPad on the white Tambor coffee table. As soon as he gets a glimpse of me, his facial expression transforms into one of heated passion and strong primal desire. He approaches me while he continues to glare at me with pure hunger and fire in his eyes. He orders me to get undressed.