Billionaire Games

by Frasier, Kristin

  “This is where I leave you, Claire. Mr. Hayes says you are to go up alone. Top floor,” Alan said.

  “Which unit?” Claire replied, pushing her voice out around the anticipation that was building in her chest.

  Alan smiled quickly and then said, “There’s only one.”

  Of course there was only one. Simeon hadn’t ever liked to share, so if the opportunity presented itself, which it seemed it had, she didn’t doubt he would take an entire floor for his own.

  Alan stared at her and then gave her what she decided to interpret as a nod of support. Claire smiled back and then said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alan.”

  “You too, miss,” he said, and then he lifted the privacy screen and left her alone in the backseat. Claire didn’t want to delay, but she wasn’t quite able to make herself move, at least not yet.

  She was overwhelmed with emotion and near shaking with the desire that had her burning with the need to have Simeon touch her again. So she stayed still and breathed deep until her galloping heart slowed to a more manageable trot.

  Then, after wiping her hands on her skirt one last time, Claire got out of the car.

  The twenty-foot walk to the elevator felt both interminable and not nearly long enough.

  Though she spent those seconds trying to gather herself, the way she trembled didn’t reflect that. Movement was difficult, her knees were shaky, and again, as much as it shamed her, not with fear. She was excited to see him, anticipated touching him, having him touch her.

  When she reached the elevator, she pressed the Up button and then got into the sleek glass car and stood still as it raced to the top of the building.

  She ignored her reflection staring back at her, trusting that her expression was calm and that her attire was appropriate, or looked as good as she could possibly make it, anyway. Claire had spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to decide what to wear. And her choice had been made even more difficult by the fact that she had no idea what the appropriate attire was for this sort of interaction.

  In the end, she had settled on business casual, which, while probably silly, was the best she could come up with. It was that, jeans, or one of the bridesmaids’ dresses she had collected over the years. But her just-below-the-knee black skirt was the picture of respectability, as was the ivory button-down blouse she had tucked inside of it.

  The three-inch heels she wore were one of the few embellishments for the plain outfit. She’d purchased them on a whim, and they gave her a few precious inches of height and would allow her to come that much closer to meeting Simeon’s eyes, allow her to stare at him as close to eye to eye as she could get. And, if she were being honest, Claire would admit that the shoes made her calves, short and stocky as they were, look a little bit longer and leaner and gave her butt a nice lift.

  Not that that should matter, she tried to remind herself. She also tried to make herself believe it was true.

  She failed.

  No matter these crazy circumstances, she still cared what Simeon saw when he looked at her, and she had felt compelled to present herself as best she possibly could.

  The elevator slowed as it reached the penthouse, and after it came to a stop, the doors pulled open.

  She quickly looked outside of the car and saw what Alan had meant. There was a large foyer lined with dark wood flooring, and on the opposite side of the elevator was a single door. Claire stepped out of the elevator and listened as the doors slid closed behind her, the quiet whoosh far louder than it should have been.

  Claire smiled at the irony of this situation. She had two choices: leave or stay. She could get back on the elevator, ride back down, and face whatever may come. If she did, she’d still be Claire, a Claire who would have to contend with Simeon’s wrath, but still herself nonetheless.

  Or she could stay.

  If she stayed, she’d be changed. She knew that the Claire she was in this moment wouldn’t exist when she left here. Could she deal with that, deal with the certainty that walking through that door would again leave her at Simeon’s mercy and again guarantee that she would be irrevocably altered?

  One deep breath, then a second deep breath, and yet another swipe against her skirt, which was receiving more than its fair share of handling today, and she took the first step.

  Waves of nervousness crashed through her, chased by waves of desire that only increased as she took her slow, deliberate steps.

  It was the desire that had kept her here. She didn’t know if she could handle him, and she knew she would be changed, but it was worth it if only for the chance to touch him.

  Her heels clicked as she stepped across the smooth wood polished to a high shine, but she could barely hear it over the thudding of her heart. When she reached the penthouse door, she stopped, again weighing the importance of the moment.

  Then, after a breath, she lifted her hand and reached for the doorknob.

  9

  Her hand trembled as she turned the knob, and on a deep breath she pushed the heavy door open. A rush of cool air greeted her, and she wondered if maybe she should have knocked.

  “Hello?” she called in a whisper.

  There was no response, and the penthouse was completely silent.

  Claire stepped in, noting the continued ring of her heels on the dark hardwood floors that continued from the foyer, the boards inside also polished to an inky shine that made them look almost liquid. To her left was the hugest kitchen she’d ever seen in an apartment, high-end fixtures, generous counter space, and a huge, professional-grade refrigerator and stove.

  She turned, and from what Claire could see, the only furniture in the vast living room was a small love seat sofa and chair.

  But everything inside the apartment, save the lone occupant that she finally noticed, was nothing compared to the view.

  Night had fallen, and the harbor and city were lit up. Through the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that covered an entire wall, she could see everything below, all spread out, looking smaller from this height.

  The view drew her closer, the picture enough to break the ice that had started to freeze her feet to the floor. She stepped toward it, eyes glued to the harbor below until she reached the windows. Beyond the windows was a large balcony, one that Claire looked forward to sitting on as she watched the sun rise. Then she wondered if she’d have a chance to.

  She wouldn’t think about the future, though, the minutes, days, and weeks that grew closer with each passing second, and instead tried to keep herself in the here and now as she tiptoed across the wood floor, sure that her steps got louder as she approached.

  When she finally reached the windows, she stopped next to the only thing that was more breathtaking than the view.

  “I see Alan found you,” Simeon said.

  “You sent him directly to my doorstep,” she replied.

  “How did you know I’d sent him?” he asked.

  “A hunch,” she said.

  Claire thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile, but it was quickly snuffed.

  “And you didn’t change your mind,” he said.

  “No, despite how hard you tried to make me,” she said, thinking back to the picture, the very fact that Simeon had sent a stranger to retrieve her. It hadn’t occurred to her then that sending Alan might have been his way of trying to push her to change her mind. She was even happier now that she had seen through his attempt.

  He kept his eyes glued on the view, hands behind his back, his face an implacable mask of reserve.

  Her already-thudding heart sped, and her stomach swirled with a combination of nerves and desire so intense that it almost took her breath away.

  She looked at him openly, curiously, at first focusing on the dark brown hair that he had brushed back, a stray curl he hadn’t managed to tame lying against his forehead, the lone part of him that didn’t look completely put together.

  Claire looked lower at his jaw, as strong-looking as granite and dark with the beginnings of a b
eard that he always seemed to sport. Her sex clenched as she remembered how that skin felt against her body, abrading her as he kissed her. She quickly dropped her gaze to his ramrod-straight posture, his suit dark blue this time, which did nothing to hide the power of his strong, thickly muscled body.

  Claire still hadn’t gotten used to it, this man before her so different than the one she had known before, but so potent still.

  “Hello, Simeon,” she finally said.

  Instead of returning her greeting, he replied with a question.

  “What are the terms of our agreement, Claire?” he asked, all without looking at her.

  She had been watching him, saw his firm yet full lips as they moved, heard the deep rumble of his voice emerge from his chest, but he still seemed distant, rigid. So controlled, and not at all like the way she remembered.

  Stop it, Claire scolded herself internally.

  She couldn’t continue to do that, couldn’t allow herself to think of him the way he had been then. If nothing else, she knew that her old Simeon was gone. She’d have to learn the new one, learn to tolerate him, if not fully understand him.

  Though if the way her body hummed with anticipation was any indication, tolerating this new Simeon’s touch wouldn’t be a problem at all. Could she handle the emotions that would undoubtedly be stirred?

  That was still an open question.

  “You still have that terrible habit of answering questions with questions,” Claire finally said. He’d always done it, and it had driven her mad back then just as it was annoying her now.

  “What are the terms of our agreement?” he repeated, voice bland, disinterested, as if he were asking about a grocery list.

  Her anger sparked.

  “You’re right. We should come to an understanding of our terms. I’m going to start first,” she said.

  Then she turned her body so that she directly faced him, the light from the streets below lighting half his face but leaving the other in shadow.

  “Simeon, whatever you think I was back then, whatever you think I am now, you don’t know me. I’m going to go through with this, but you don’t get the right to judge me, or assume that you know who I am or that you know anything about me. And you don’t get to disrespect me,” she said.

  That got a reaction from him, the way he thinned his lips and the tight tic of his jaw giving him away. She’d struck a chord, though she couldn’t say for sure on what.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said, voice coming out tight and rigid even though he seemed to be agreeing with her. He shifted slightly then and met her eyes. “Besides, it’s not like I ever knew you at all.”

  Claire thinned her lips as she stared at him. He’d revealed something, though Claire couldn’t tell whether he’d intended to or not. He didn’t think he’d known her. At least she weren’t alone in that feeling.

  He stared at her for a moment longer and then began to speak. “Now, what are the terms of this arrangement?” he said.

  His voice had taken on an icy, no-nonsense tone, one that shot straight to Claire’s core and reintensified her desire.

  She waited a breath and then another, determined that he would not see the way he affected her and more determined to wait until she could speak without her voice trembling.

  Then, finally, she spoke. “I’m yours. At your beck and call, for the next six weeks.”

  “And what does that mean?” he asked, his gaze clashing with hers, daring her say anything but the truth.

  “It means I’m yours to do with as you wish,” she said grudgingly, though she still heard the undertone of need in her voice.

  His eyes flashed, and he shook his head, the lock of dark hair moving against his forehead.

  “No, Claire, don’t be vague. You know exactly what it means, and I want to hear you say it,” he said, still looking at her and speaking in a voice that had taken on an intensity even stronger than before.

  She swallowed, hating her traitorous body for responding to his words and the sound of his voice, and even more not wanting to speak the words out loud. Somehow she had convinced herself that if she didn’t say the words she could keep herself distant, detached, or as detached as possible, anyway.

  Leave it to Simeon to rip that option away.

  “It means that you’re going”—she swallowed hard and then exhaled—“to sleep with me…whenever you’d like,” she said.

  His face shifted into an almost wolfish grin, and he shook his head.

  “No. I’m not going to sleep with you, Claire, and you’re not going to sleep with me,” he said. “We’re going to fuck. A lot.”

  At his words, her craving body pulled tight, and she could feel the wetness pooling between her thighs and could feel the tremble in her hands at the need to touch him.

  “Say it,” he said, voice low, demanding.

  He’d looked away and back out to the beautiful view, but Claire could sense his attention on her, knew that he was focused—entirely—on her.

  That only made things worse. One look from Simeon had turned her into a pooling mess of desire. Something that hadn’t changed, even in all these years.

  Her breath, which she hadn’t even realized was coming out in short, harsh almost-grunts, got even harsher and her breasts rose and fell in time with her rough exhales.

  “We’re going to fuck,” she said with only the faintest tremor in her voice, one that was entirely due to the desire that threatened to overtake her.

  “Strip,” he said.

  This time when he spoke he looked at her and turned to face her fully, his broad chest centered toward her.

  And in that moment any doubt she might have felt faded.

  She didn’t understand this, didn’t understand the man who stood in front of her, and she definitely didn’t understand the anger he felt toward her.

  But she understood desire, and she could see it in him.

  She also knew that what Simeon had said was true.

  They were going to fuck.

  And she was going to enjoy it.

  10

  She slipped her foot out of one of the heels, then the other, disliking how much more obvious the differences in their heights was without the extra inches the heels gave her.

  He kept facing her, and Claire focused on the broad expanse of his suit-covered chest.

  Under Simeon’s unwavering, heated gaze, she unbuttoned her skirt but didn’t lower the zipper. She reached up instead and pulled her blouse from her skirt, smoothing the shirttails against her palms, though she knew it was just a ploy to buy herself a few precious seconds of respite.

  And then she began to work the buttons on her shirt, slowly opening them one by one and wishing she had worn a shirt that had a hundred buttons instead of seven. Because far too soon, she had reached the final button and was left with a question. A choice.

  Lower the skirt first, or take off her blouse?

  It was a silly, stupid question, but it was one she grappled with.

  If she removed the skirt, he’d have more time to look at her body, the hips that were always a touch too wide and full, but even wider and fuller now than they had been before. He’d have more time to examine her curvy thighs, the ones that stayed soft and untoned no matter how hard she tried to shape them.

  Or worse, he might see the dampness of her panties, the way her sex was now dripping with evidence of her desire for him.

  On the other hand, if she removed the blouse, he’d see the stomach that was not flat and her breasts that had sometimes been the source of embarrassment because of their generous size.

  She couldn’t decide which course to take and wasn’t sure that either would help her. So she stood, frozen, staring at Simeon’s chest as he watched her. Seconds bled into minutes and still Claire stood, not sure what to do. She hoped he’d say something, do something, anything that might help her decide in one way or another.

  He did nothing.

  Said nothing.

 
He just stood, watching, waiting.

  Screw it! Claire thought.

  On two hasty motions, she tore out of the blouse and then unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it, leaving herself in the matching bra-and-panty set she had bought just for this occasion.

  Insane, she knew, especially since she’d bought special underwear but not actual clothes. Maybe it was her way of acknowledging what this was all about. It had been funny because between her trip to Simeon’s doctor and a stop at the post office to have them hold her mail, she’d made time to go to a lingerie shop. She was unemployed now, needed to watch every penny, but she hadn’t been able to resist getting something special for this occasion, and it had been love at first sight when she’d seen the pink-and-nude lace set and elation when the shop had had it in her size.

  She was again pleased with the choice as she lifted her eyes to meet Simeon’s and watched him react. His eyes darkened even further, and he looked at her intently, his gaze roaming her body, until he again lifted his eyes to meet hers.

  “I said strip,” he said, his voice gravel rough and low in the reverent silence of the room.

  She swallowed, not surprised that her ploy hadn’t worked, but now so deeply nervous and aroused that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to remove the underwear without him seeing the vicious tremor in her hands.

  She looked into his eyes. “Why don’t you help me?” she asked.

  His expression turned thunderous. “Are you playing some kind of game, Claire?”

  Something in her made her push back. “Would it matter if I were? Isn’t that what this is to you? Some kind of game?” she said.

  “I won’t be toyed with, Claire,” he replied voice low, almost silent, but she heard it loud and clear.

  “Sad for me that I can’t say the same,” she said.

  After she spoke, they stood, staring at each other. They stood for a long time, his expression so stormy that Claire halfway thought he was going to change his mind and send her away. And she knew where that would leave her.