The Billion Dollar Bachelor

by Ashenden, Jackie

  Except there was nothing average about this man. For a start, that suit was custom-made and had to have been worth a couple of thousand dollars—and she should know since she was surrounded by those kinds of suits every day. Then there was the fact that he wasn’t built like any businessman she knew of, not that she knew many, but still. Even under all that charcoal wool she could tell he was built broad and muscular, more like one of her bodyguards than a man used to sitting in a cubicle all day.

  No, not a cubicle. This guy was not in any way a cubicle kind of guy. With his hard jaw and high cheekbones, there was a quiet kind of arrogance to him that had corner office written all over it.

  Something tugged inside of her. He was familiar in some way but she couldn’t quite place him. And that made her wary. She didn’t want to run into anyone that might be familiar to her because that would not be good, especially since the only people she had any face-to-face contact with tended to be friends of her father’s.

  “Have we met?” she asked bluntly.

  “No,” he responded with absolute certainty. “I would have remembered meeting you. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Do you want me to stop looking at you?”

  No. She took a slow, silent breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She was used to men looking at her since her father paraded her around whenever he got a moment, showing the world his lovely daughter.

  But even though those men had looked at her with lust, none of them had looked at her like this man did. None of them saw her, they only saw Nick Garret’s daughter. This man though, didn’t know who she was. And the look in his eyes, yes, it was desire. Yet something more, something fiercer. Hotter.

  “No,” she said, the breath catching in her throat. “I don’t want you to stop looking at me.”

  He didn’t smile. Only kept looking. “What’s your name?”

  “No. I don’t … let’s not do that.”

  “You prefer anonymity?”

  “Yes.” It was safer if he didn’t know who she was. Safer for both of them.

  “I’m good with that.” His gaze roved over her and it made her feel hot, like there was a fire burning inside her. “But I need to call you something. Maybe Snow White.”

  A startled laugh escaped her. “Snow White? That’s kind of cheesy.”

  Again, he didn’t smile, but something flickered in his blue eyes, something that might have been amusement. “Why not? Black hair. White skin. Red mouth. You’re Snow White all right.”

  “So what does that make you? You don’t look like Prince Charming to me.” Because Prince Charming was a good boy and this man definitely wasn’t. That fire in his blue eyes, that arrogance, that hard voice—those kinds of things only belonged to the bad boys.

  His long mouth curved in a smile that made her heart stop altogether. “Oh, I’m not Prince Charming, baby. I’m the Huntsman.”

  Chapter 2

  Her pupils dilated, making her eyes even darker. “The Huntsman, huh? You do know that means you have to take pity on me and let me go, right?”

  She wasn’t scared. He could see that immediately and he knew how to spot fear. He’d learned to recognize it in the boardrooms he’d virtually grown up in, as he learned the business from his father.

  “Let you go? I could do that.” He raised a finger to the bartender. “Or I could buy you a drink and let you decide what you want to do.”

  Her dark gaze flickered, as in surprise. “Really? You sure you’re not Prince Charming?”

  “Oh, I’m almost positive.” Charm was Donovan’s area of expertise, not his. He’d never needed it anyway since power and money did the job for him when it came to women. Not that he generally picked women up in bars. Or at all, in fact.

  His approach to women was the same as his approach to business—cool and logical, emotions kept right out of it. If he did happen to want sex then he preferred to meet appropriate women at appropriate gatherings. Wine them and dine them. And if compatible, indulge in a satisfying sexual affair usually lasting no more than a month.

  It was easier that way, less chance of anything messy and emotional happening. Having had a front-row seat to the fallout of his father’s affairs in the form of a half-brother his own mother had hated on sight, he’d witnessed firsthand how destructive love and passion could be. It wasn’t anything he wanted for himself.

  So what are you doing lusting after this woman?

  He didn’t quite know since he’d never lusted particularly strongly after any woman before. But perhaps the whiskey had shaken loose something inside him because the thought of letting this woman leave was unthinkable.

  Leaning forward, he snagged a bar stool and dragged it over. “Sit down, Snow. I’m not going to cut out your heart yet.”

  “You have no idea how reassuring that sounds.” There was a sarcastic edge to her tone but she sat down nevertheless, clutching a little red sequined purse in long white fingers.

  “You’re not scared,” he said.

  “No,” she admitted frankly. “But then being nervous isn’t the same as being afraid.”

  “This is true.” The bartender approached and Jax raised an eyebrow at the woman sitting beside him. “What would you like to drink? A green apple martini too cheesy for you?”

  “Oh, just a bit.” Her gaze rested on the whiskey tumbler near his elbow. “I’ll have one of those if you don’t mind.”

  “Why would I mind? I like a woman who appreciates a good scotch. Another please, Tony.”

  “Actually, I don’t much care what it is as long as it’s extremely alcoholic.”

  “Nerves again?”

  “You could say that.”

  He studied her, taking in the way the light fell on the red silk of her dress. How the material pulled tight over her breasts and hugged the slim width of her hips, highlighting her subtle curves. The dress had an asymmetric hem with a split that left bare one thigh almost to her hip. A sophisticated, seriously sexy dress. Much like her in fact.

  Desire gripped him, making him aware of how long it had been since he’d taken a woman to bed. Since that damn journalist’s exposé had hit the headlines and Morrow’s past paraded in front of a gossip hungry world, he hadn’t had the time for any pleasant distractions. All his energy had gone into making sure his hold on the company was absolute and limiting the damage. He certainly wouldn’t ever have considered a bar pickup.

  But tonight was different. Tonight she was here.

  Maybe the intensity of the chemistry between them should have disturbed him but it had been a long time since he’d done anything purely for himself. And hell, after the hours he’d clocked up putting out fires and calming investors, he deserved a little R&R surely?

  Make up all the excuses you like. You just want her. End of story.

  Yeah. He did.

  Of course, she could be a reporter, which would be bad, not to mention incredibly disappointing. Then again, he didn’t think she was. That look of wonder on her face as she’d entered the bar hadn’t been feigned, he was sure of it, and it was certainly an expression he’d never seen on any journalist he’d met.

  Jax took another sip of his whiskey, watching as Tony pushed another tumbler toward her. She didn’t hesitate, just lifted the glass and knocked the whole lot back.

  “Jesus,” he murmured. “You are nervous.”

  She thumped the empty tumbler back on the bar top, a flush to her pale cheeks now. “I need another.”

  “One more and that’s it.”

  “I can buy my own drinks.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But I’d like you to be able to make an informed choice when I ask you home tonight.”

  The flush in her cheeks deepened but she didn’t look away. “In that case you’re right. Only one more.”

  Jax raised another finger and Tony poured her a refill. She didn’t knock back this one. Instead she picked it up and took a sip, studying him from underneath long, silky bla
ck lashes. “So, do you often ask strange women you meet in bars home?”

  He supposed he could have lied, played down the attraction that pulsed in the space between them. Made it into something less than it was, something meaningless. Something cheap. But he couldn’t do that. A woman like this deserved more than cheap and shit; so did he. And besides, he hated liars. “No,” he said softly. “I never have.”

  Her dark lashes fluttered. “So I’m special then?” She sounded as if that was the strangest thing she’d ever heard.

  “Why shouldn’t you be?”

  “No reason I guess.” Her gaze fell away, down at the tumbler in her hand. “It’s just … you don’t know me.”

  “No, but I do know I haven’t felt this with anyone else in a long time.”

  “This … ?” She let the word hang, slowly looking back up at him.

  He met her gaze, read the dare and the challenge in her brown eyes. It touched something inside him, an instinct he didn’t even know he had. Oh, she was going to test him; he could already feel it. “You know what I’m talking about. Or is that your way of asking for a demonstration?”

  She flushed an even deeper red yet her gaze remained locked with his. “Maybe.” The silk across her breasts pulled tight as she took a breath. “Or maybe I genuinely don’t know what ‘this’ is.”

  No, she had to know. He’d seen the flare of response in her eyes the moment they’d looked at each other. Had felt it right down in his bones. There was no way she didn’t feel this. “Come here,” he said, the order coming out of him before he could stop it.

  She’d gone very still. “Why?”

  “Because I asked you to.”

  Slowly, she put her tumbler on the bar and slid off the stool. Took a step toward him. Stopped. “What are you going to do?” Still no fear, but there was wariness now. Very definitely wariness.

  “I believe you wanted a demonstration?”

  At that moment the bar door opened and she stiffened, a bright flicker of fear on her face. But she didn’t turn around. Instead, she took a step toward him, then another, coming to stand between his spread thighs.

  He didn’t know why the opening of the bar door should make her afraid, unless she was running away from something, but right at this particular point in time, he didn’t much care. Because the warmth of her body was almost touching his and he could smell the scent of her skin. And again it surprised him because she didn’t smell of some expensive, luxurious perfume, but of vanilla.

  He’d never done this before. Never allowed himself to get so carried away by lust he forgot his cool, logical approach and touched a woman he didn’t know in a bar.

  Because he was going to touch her. And he did. Reaching for her, letting his hands come to rest on the warm silk of her hips, bringing her closer. She didn’t protest, but he heard her inhale sharply as he touched her, saw again that flare of response.

  “Now do you understand what I’m talking about?” he asked softly.

  *

  Yeah, she did. Admittedly, she’d already guessed that the heat burning inside her was probably the ‘this’ he was talking about. But having never felt it in her entire life, she wasn’t sure. Now she was. The moment his palms had settled on her hips, she’d felt the shock of response go through her, all the way down to her toes.

  No one had ever touched her with desire, at least not with desire she wanted to reciprocate. In fact it had been years since anyone had touched her at all. Literally years. Her father wasn’t a physically demonstrative man and since her mother had died, she didn’t have any other relatives or even any friends. Not ones who weren’t online or daughters of her father’s lieutenants at least.

  God, it was intense, almost overwhelming. Like he was touching her bare skin.

  She shivered, her hands automatically covering his to pull them away, to lessen the sensation somehow. But the look in his eyes stopped her. Fire burned there, a twin to the fire that also burned in her. And it challenged her. Dared her.

  He was dangerous. She knew it. Felt it. A fascinating, beautiful kind of danger. The kind that made you want to stroke the man-eating tiger just to see if he were as sleek as he looked. Or leap off the cliff to see if you could fly. You could destroy yourself chasing that kind of danger.

  And that was okay. She could use a little destruction. God knew she’d burned every bridge she had by escaping the limo tonight anyway so it wasn’t like she had anything left to lose.

  Shouldn’t you be planning your escape?

  Probably. But escape where? With what? She had nothing but the clothes she wore and a credit card she couldn’t use. At least going with this man would get her off the streets.

  So why the hell not? She was still a virgin for Christ’s sake. She’d never even kissed a guy since either Thing One or Thing Two would have castrated any male who got close. That was, if her father didn’t get to them first.

  But this guy—no, she couldn’t call him a guy, he was a man—didn’t know who she was. And if she were quick, she could maybe even get out of here with him before her bodyguards found her. Which meant he’d be safe from her father’s wrath, too.

  She could have this, couldn’t she? A night to feel like a normal woman instead of a stupid princess locked up in a tower. A night to make her own choices for a change.

  Pandora let her hands drop away, relaxed against his hold. “I think I’m getting some idea of what you’re talking about,” she said in a voice that sounded way more breathless than it normally did.

  “I thought you might.” He didn’t move, kept his hands right where they were. Then his thumbs shifted, a caressing movement on her hip. Gentle and light.

  Sensation flooded through her, a wave of heat that made the breath catch in her throat.

  “It’s my birthday tomorrow,” she said thickly. “I’ll be twenty-five.”

  “In that case, happy birthday. I’ll have to get you a gift.” His thumbs continued their movement, a slow sweep across her hipbones, causing ripples of fire to move outwards over her skin.

  “It’s okay. I already know what I want.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She stared right into his blue eyes and gathered her courage. “You.”

  He didn’t smile but the flame in his eyes burned hotter. “You have me.”

  “Good.” She tried to get more air in her lungs, because she couldn’t quite get in enough oxygen.

  His thumbs kept moving, a steady, hypnotic kind of caress that made her knees want to give out. “Are you sure you don’t want to know who I am? Going home with a stranger isn’t the type of thing I’m guessing you normally do.”

  “How would you know what I normally do?”

  “I don’t, but you’re nervous, Snow. You admitted it. And now you’re shivering.”

  Yeah, she was. “It’s not because I’m afraid, Hunt.”

  “Hunt?”

  “I’m Snow, you’re Hunt.”

  “Fair enough, but still. You don’t know me. I could be anyone.”

  All this was true. And yet she didn’t care. It was either go home with him or let her father find her. Be forced into an engagement to a man she didn’t want—what kind of choice was that?

  “As long as you give me an orgasm before you kill me, I don’t care.”

  He smiled, that slow dangerous smile and she knew it was too late. Too late to refuse. Too late to leave.

  She’d made the mistake of petting the tiger and now he was going to swallow her whole.

  “Only one?” he said lazily. “I think I can do better than that.”

  “I was keeping my expectations low.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I like a challenge.”

  The sensual movement of his thumbs was driving her crazy, the heat of his body only millimeters away. She’d tried sex once basically the only way she could—via the Internet. Cybersex with some guy called Deathlord832. But all it had done was only emphasize how isolated she was. How arid her exis
tence.

  She wanted contact. Closeness. Someone to touch her. Not some words on a screen describing what was happening.

  And Jesus, this was closeness. This was touch. This was everything she’d been craving and it was going to destroy her, but hell, at least she’d die happy.

  “You’re right,” she said, because if she didn’t speak, her eyes were going to roll up in her head and she’d melt in a puddle at his feet. “I don’t normally do this. I’ve never had a one-night stand in all my life and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

  His fingers spread out, pressing lightly, a fan of heat against her hips. “Then it’s lucky you’ve got me, because I do.”

  A weird sort of relief gripped her. She didn’t want to tell him she was a virgin just in case he might walk away and she’d die if he did that. But then she couldn’t pretend experience she didn’t have because he’d probably see through it in a nanosecond. A half-truth seemed the way to go.

  “Thank God for that.” She let her hands rest on his forearms, feeling the heat of him seeping up through the charcoal wool of his jacket. “In that case, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Chapter 3

  Shit, he wasn’t going to argue with her. If she wanted to go now, he was good with that. Except leaving involved taking his hands off her and that was the last thing he wanted to do. She was hot beneath the silk of her dress and with every sweep of his thumbs she shivered. Her eyes had gone black in the dim light of the bar, that sexy flush still burning on her cheekbones. And her mouth … Christ, he couldn’t leave here without tasting that lush mouth of hers.

  What was it about her that caught him like this? As long as I get an orgasm before you kill me, I don’t care. She seemed so nervous and slightly awkward, yet full of defiance at the same time. The combination of sarcasm and painful honesty intrigued him, fascinated him. There were secrets behind those dark eyes, he was sure of it. And goddammit he wanted to know what those secrets were. Like why such an obviously inexperienced woman would go home with a complete stranger, for example.