The Backdoor Billionaire's Bride

by Roz Lee

  “I did no such thing,” he protested, following her down the hall to their new studio. “The dress is gorgeous, but no one could wear it the way you do.”

  She stopped in front of the studio door and turned. She put her hand up to keep him from bowling her over and it landed on his chest. Before she could move it, he trapped it with one of his own. “Last night was special, Becks.”

  She tugged on her hand, but he wouldn’t let go. “I’m not saying different, but we can’t do it again. We shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

  “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But we can’t undo what’s done, and I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “Don’t pretend, Ford. Forget. It’s what I’m going to do.”

  She pushed down on the door handle, leaned hard against her shoulder, and the heavy, soundproof door moved inward. With a fake smile plastered to her face, she greeted their recently hired crew.

  Well, shit. Ford let the door swing closed in front of him. He’d hoped Becky Jean would have had a change of heart since she’d heaved him out her back door without so much as a good-bye kiss, but clearly, she hadn’t. She seemed determined to act as if nothing had changed between them, when he knew different. Everything had changed.

  He straightened his tie and shot his cuffs. She thought she could shut him out? The woman had another think coming.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” he said, entering seconds behind his co-host who began to rearrange the products on the display. Justin gave him a thumbs-up as Ford took his place on set. The young man had risen to the challenge of expanding from one live show to taping multiple shows in one day. He played an integral part in their rapidly growing television network, too. They’d be lost without him as neither he nor Becky Jean knew much about the broadcasting world.

  “Ready when you are.” Justin looked up from his clipboard. “I’d like to get done early today, if we can, so let’s try to do these in one take, if we can.”

  “Not a problem.” By ditching the live broadcasts, they’d gained the ability to edit the shows, which could be a good thing, but not when it came to Becky Jean’s candid responses to the things he said and did to provoke her on set. The less retakes today meant less opportunities for her to edit out what he knew would sell the product. “It’ll be like the good ’ole days when we were live.”

  Becky Jean glared at him as she took her spot beside him. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed at him.

  Ford arched one eyebrow and grinned at her warning. Today’s shows were going to be the best yet. Now that he knew her body intimately, he had every intention of using his knowledge to arouse and fluster her to the point everyone watching would want what she was getting. Which meant sales would go through the roof.

  Justin held his hand up, fingers spread to tick off the seconds. “We’re rolling in five, four, three, two, one.”

  “Good evening, folks. I’m K. Ford Adams and this is B.J. Parker.”

  Becky smoothed the multi-colored silk over her hips, refusing to look in the mirror again. Why hadn’t Amy returned with the nipple cover-up patches she’d sent her for? No one would see Becky’s soaked panties, but everyone would notice her headlights were on.

  She absolutely hated her inability to control her physical responses to Ford’s touch, and Lord, did he know just how and where to touch her. Thanks to the night they’d spent together, he knew every erogenous zone on her body, and he’d proved in the first two shows he wasn’t above using his knowledge to embarrass her. Justin had even stopped taping in the middle of the second show to adjust the lighting to account for the color in her cheeks. She doubted there were enough filters in the world to counteract the shade of red she would turn when she had to endorse the nipple clamps Ford had used on her.

  Damn, they’d hurt, but he’d distracted her through the worst of it then used the pain to give her the hardest orgasm of her life.

  She’d run the experience over and over in her mind, searching for the words to convince their viewers to give the tiny little torture devices a try, and come up empty.

  Ford won’t have any problem coming up with the words. He never did. Fans of the show ate up his sexy-as-hell confidence. The more he made her stammer and sputter, the more products they sold. Parts of their shows were viral sensations, shared over and over again on social media with comments about his hotness and how lucky she was to be his co-host.

  Someone tapped on her dressing room door. “We’re ready for you, Ms. Parker.” She recognized the voice of the young woman they’d recently hired to assist Justin.

  “I’ll be right out, Kiley.” Becky forced herself to take one last look in the mirror. She made a mental note to order a lifetime supply of the little nipple concealing patches as soon as possible, but for the time being she’d have to pretend her nipples weren’t standing up like traffic cones.

  All eyes turned on her the second she walked through the door to the set. Holding her head high, she took her place beside Ford then nodded to Justin. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

  “Good evening, I’m K. Ford Adams, and this is B.J. Parker.” Ford launched into the familiar intro on the director’s signal. “Last time we introduced you to the Safety First Restraint System, designed to allow you complete access to your partner’s body while keeping them safe and secure. As you’ve heard us say on every show, our products are meant for you to enjoy in the context of a SSC relationship—Safe, Sane, and Consensual.

  “Still, you have to be a little bit crazy to want to try the items we have for you tonight, isn’t that right, B.J.?”

  The way his voice dropped when he called her by her on-air nickname reminded her of the way he said her name when he had his hands on her, stroking her to climax. Her cheeks heated and her sex throbbed. “Yes, you do, Ford, but if used responsibly, the Safe and Snug Nipple Clamps will provide you with an experience like no other.”

  Ford splayed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to stand behind the display table. “You sound as if you speak from experience, B.J. Tell me, have you tried the Safe and Snug Nipple Clamps?”

  She could do this. She swept her hand over the display, praying the cameras would follow the movement and zoom in on the product while she spoke instead of her flaming face. “Yes, Ford, I have tried them.”

  He picked up a set identical to the ones he’d used on her the night before and held them in his palm for a close-up. They looked tiny in his hands, but when they’d bit into her nipples, she’d thought a merciless giant had a hold of her. Realizing her real thoughts were not a selling point, at least not to her, she decided to keep her mouth shut. Let him sell the damn things.

  “They look so delicate,” he said, flicking the tiny bells hanging from them. “I’m sure the viewers would like to know more.” Ford replaced one of the clamps on its display card then held the other between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing to make the jaws open much like he’d done before placing the first clamp on her breast the night before.

  Becky’s heart raced, and her knees trembled in tandem with her lower lip. Remembering the searing pain she’d experienced, she barely contained the squeak forming in her throat. “I imagine these would hurt like the devil,” he said, his voice dropping lower and taking on a darkly sensual tone that had her clenching her thighs together. She tore her gaze away from his hand, then wished she hadn’t. The carnal hunger she saw in his eyes robbed her of speech.

  “I didn’t know you were into pain, B.J.”

  “What?” She gave him a questioning look and shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

  He pinched the tip of his little finger with the clamp, grimacing under the pain. “Ouch! You put these on your nipples?” He removed the toy and gave his hand a dramatic shake.

  “Well… I didn’t… I mean—”

  “Ahh, I understand. You didn’t do it yourself, someone helped you.” His wicked grin told everyone what they’d done.

  Embarrassment ratcheted her bo
dy temperature up to flaming. No light filter in the world could compensate for the color in her cheeks.

  “Yes,” she said, fixated again on the clamp he snapped open and closed.

  “I suppose it would make a difference, having someone there to take your mind off the hurt.” He clamped his little finger then traced the digit down the length of her arm, leaving a wake of gooseflesh behind. “Did he take your mind off your nipples, B.J.?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did the pain go away?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “No?” he asked, feigning surprise at her answer. He’d been there, knew the pain had never gone away, just changed.

  “It didn’t go away… just became different… less pain and more an ache I felt everywhere.”

  “Everywhere?” No one with hearing would mistake his one word question, not with the way his gaze dipped low.

  She wanted him more than she wanted her next breath. Her nipples were hard as diamonds and probably casting their own shadows under the harsh studio lighting. She grasped his wrist before he could draw another line down her arm with his torturous toy. It was time to turn the tables on K. Ford Adams before he reduced her to a puddle of hormonal goo in front of the world. She brought his hand up between them and removed the clamp. She licked her dry lips first—a warning—then flicked her tongue over his aching pinky—a reminder, she hoped, of the way he’d prepared her nipples before clamping them. “Yes, everywhere, Ford. I wish I could explain the feeling better, but any woman who’s been distracted by her lover will understand the concept of heightened awareness. You feel as if you’re walking a high wire—all your senses are engaged. You’re tuned in to every cell in your body. Tense with expectation.”

  She dropped the clamp to the display table and selected a larger version. She licked his finger one more time then, gaze locked on his, affixed the clamp to it. His nostrils flared and his eyes grew dark. As subtly as possible, she shifted so her stomach brushed his erection below the display table.

  “Then you’re taken out of your world into another one where there is only you and your lover and the exquisite pain of need.” She held his hand between both of hers, stroking her thumb over his palm while she spoke. “You know the feeling, don’t you, Ford?”

  She knew the look on his face. She’d seen it last night, right before he came. Since she couldn’t very well have him coming on set, she lowered her eyes, breaking the invisible connection between them. She turned to the camera. “Any words I could use to describe the sensation of wearing the clamps would pale in comparison to the actual experience. I will say this, wearing them is only half the fun. The other half happens when you take them off.” As the words left her mouth, she removed the clamp on Ford’s finger. He let out a yelp and tried to yank his hand from her grasp. She held on, massaging his pinky and palm while he dealt with the pain of blood rushing back into the tip of his finger.

  She faced the camera with a smile. “The Safe and Snug Nipple Clamps are best used with Safety First Restraint System. Remember, Safe, Sane, and Consensual.”

  She smiled until Justin yelled, “Cut,” then she dropped Ford’s hand and stormed off set.

  PART THREE

  It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

  Jane Austen

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “She’s killing me.” Ford hunched over his scotch on the rocks. His best friend since college, Scott, occupied the barstool next to him.

  “We aren’t talking about my sister, are we? ’Cause if we are, I’m out of here.”

  Ford shook his head. “No. Ronnie and I are done.” Though he hadn’t spoken with her as he’d planned, he believed their relationship had died a natural death. Her lack of pleading with him to come back to take her to any of her society functions proved she’d moved on. “Haven’t talked in weeks.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry or surprised. Never did think you two were suited.” Scott finished off his drink and signaled the bartender for a refill.

  “Really? Why didn’t you say something?” Once, he’d thought he and Ronnie were very well suited. Just went to prove what he knew about relationships. They’d used each other, nothing more.

  Scott shrugged then thanked the bartender for the refill she placed in front of him. The woman looked barely legal to work behind the bar, and gorgeous in a way only Texas women could be with her ample cleavage showing, a mane of chestnut hair made for wrapping around a man’s fist. Her smile said she’d give you a ride if you were interested. She didn’t interest him, but he admitted to being surprised when Scott ignored her, too. He waved the girl away, indicating he didn’t want a refill or anything else she might be offering. He’d forgotten their conversation until Scott spoke. “Your relationship wasn’t any of my business. Can’t say I liked the idea of you with my sister, but she’s a grown woman. If she wanted to make a mistake with you, I couldn’t stop her, and likewise, I might add.” He downed half his drink in one gulp and signaled for another.

  Ford finished his drink and signaled for the check.

  “So, if it isn’t my sister who’s killing you, it must be your partner.”

  Maybe he’d been too hasty in requesting the check. He pushed the paper back to the bartender. “Another round,” he said, wagging a finger at both their glasses. Silence reigned until two new glasses sat in front of them. “What makes you say so?”

  Scott snorted. “Seriously? Don’t you watch your own show? I keep watching ’cause I don’t want to miss the explosion when it finally happens. The chemistry between you two is off the charts.”

  He knew it was, and if the sales figures were any indication, the viewing public knew it, too. He just wished he knew what to do about it. “Wait until you see the shows we taped for next month.” Especially the last one. She’d spun the tables on him, had him panting and ready to blow in his pants. He’d asked Justin to let him see the final edit, but the bastard refused. He’d suggested they add more phone lines then mumbled something about being a millionaire as he walked away.

  Ford stroked his pinky finger through the condensation on the outside of his glass. An image of Becky Jean’s tongue licking the hurt away came to mind. He shifted on his stool, making room for his instant wood. Anything would bring the images to mind these days, and every damn time, the results were the same. There would be an explosion alright. It just wasn’t the kind Scott had in mind.

  “I can’t wait. Watching the two of you is better than watching porn.”

  Ford had nothing to say to his friend’s comment. He’d rather watch Becky Jean than porn any day.

  “So, have you slept with her yet?”

  He’d never told Scott he was sleeping with Ronnie. The man had correctly assumed it at some point, and they’d never really talked about it until today. If he hadn’t felt the need to tell his buddy he’d slept with the man’s sister, he sure didn’t feel the need to tell him the details about his relationship with Becky Jean. “None of your business.”

  “I’ll take your response as a yes,” his friend said. “But I don’t see what the problem is, unless it was one and done on her part.”

  Ford stared at his mostly empty tumbler.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? You were her one-night stand?” Laughing like a loon, Scott slapped the bar. Ford could feel the gazes of everyone in the place on them.

  “Shut the fuck up, man. This isn’t funny.”

  “The hell it isn’t. Fuck-and-run Ford Adams has been caught! I bet you can’t even count the number of one-night stands you’ve had, but all of them were on your terms. My sister lasted longer than any of them, but I’m sure she dug her claws in and wouldn’t let go.” He guffawed and shook his head. “Damn. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  Ford fished his wallet out of his back pocket and stood. “Like your record is any better, buddy. We called you Scooter because you scooted out of their beds before they finished coming.�
�� He tossed a few bills on the bar to cover their drinks. “See you around.”

  Scott couldn’t be more wrong. Becky Jean had every right to take what she wanted. He’d never indicated he wanted more, and neither had she. What really twisted his short hairs was he hadn’t expected her rejection to hurt as bad as it did. Damn it. He wanted more.

  ~~~

  So far, so good. Becky Jean rocked back in her desk chair. It had been three days since she’d made the monumental mistake of taking Ford to her bedroom, and she hadn’t relapsed since. Oh, she’d wanted to, and judging by the leering glances and innuendo coming from her business partner, he did, too.

  But they couldn’t. She couldn’t. Once had been a mistake. Twice would be insane.

  The company was doing exceedingly well. Yes, they were spending lots of money, but their expenditures were nowhere near the amount coming in. If she figured in the new real estate acquisitions, and what those would add to their bottom line, Ford had to be well on his way to becoming a billionaire. Hell, he might already be one. Which meant, he’d be looking for a way out soon. He’d never made any promises about staying, and since Adams Manufacturing had a solid future, he had to be planning to return to his other life. The one-year stipulated in his father’s will would be up soon. When the date arrived, she could kiss her partner good-bye.

  Becky leaned forward and flipped the pages on her old-fashioned desk calendar. Had he already talked to potential buyers? Would he do so without telling her?

  She’d known the day would come when she’d have to decide whether to sell or not. The last few months had flown by faster than debris in a twister, leaving her disoriented. If one of Ford’s buyers wanted her share, too, would she sell? And if she didn’t, would they want her to remain in her current position? She couldn’t imagine they would. Anyone who owned the majority of a company would want to bring in their own people to make sure things were done according to their wishes. Her opinion, backed by her very small minority share, wouldn’t mean a thing.