Taming the Heiress

by Tiffany Graff Winston

  Taming the Heiress

  an Opulence story

  by Tiffany Graff Winston

  © 2015 Tiffany Graff Winston

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Want more Tiffany Graff Winston?

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  This is the first book in the Opulent world! All books can be read as standalones, but have interconnecting characters.

  E-mail Tiffany at tiffanygraffwinston@gmail.com

  Chapter 1

  FRANCESCA

  That stupid fucker.

  That sorry excuse for a man, that insane son-of-a-bitch.

  I've known him for all of two minutes and I'm already hell-bent on ripping his throat out the first chance I get. And I will not be gentle, you can count on that.

  Kaiden Hunter is currently sitting across the table from me, laughing that wicked smile of his that might just spoil my entire future with one show of his perfect pearly whites.

  Which won't be perfect for much longer if I have anything to do with it.

  “So, Fran,” he says with his mouth full of buttered bread.

  I freeze instantly, hating the way he shortened my name like I’m some stupid commoner.

  “It’s Francesca,” I say through gritted teeth, all the while shooting a murderous look at my friend Emmalee Branson, who is the one who dragged me into this whole thing.

  “Oh?” he asks, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. “Fran suits you so well, though. Very … homely.”

  There’s that wicked grin again, and I’m hating the adjective he used.

  Luxurious, expensive, beautiful, stunning … Those are all the things I’m used to, and appreciate being called.

  But homely?

  Fuck no.

  “Fran,” he repeats, taking no further notice of my anger. “I hear you’ve shacked up with plenty of dudes over the years, huh? What makes you choose Angus over here?”

  My date shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, and again, I am wondering what brought these two together, because they couldn’t be more different.

  On one hand you have Angus Lions. Perfect, London-bred, a bit on the short side, but more than makes up for it with his boyish good looks. He’s the Prince Harry of the Upper East Side and every girl I know has nasty, dirty little dreams about him.

  Then you have that damned Kaiden Hunter. Nouveau riche, shall we call him? His mother is some actress who has one of those rags to riches story, and his father … God only knows. Kaiden may look just fine outside – okay, more than just fine, I won’t be a hypocrite for a change. Towering over me even in my sky high heels, his hair dark and thick, rebelliously shaved at the sides and longer on top, his shoulders broad, his abdomen muscled according to the tabloids I read religiously for a mention of my name.

  What they don’t tell you though, is the fact that he is a complete, utter jerk face.

  In a matter of ten minutes, this double date has gone straight to hell, and I blame none other than Mr. Hunter. Even though he is my friend’s date, he has made several crude remarks about me, shot me down even after my polite answers, and managed to trip me on the way into the restaurant, breaking my heel in the process. While I hobbled into the restaurant, he laughed it off and pinched my girlfriend’s butt cheek while she laughed nervously.

  Classy.

  “I think that’s a bit inappropriate to ask,” I say stuffily, feeling a blush on my cheeks already. But that moron is grinning from ear-to-ear and I have a sudden urge to snap that smirk off his face.

  I look at Angus for support and he clears his throat.

  “Be a good sport now, Hunter,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Always am, Lions,” Kaiden replies, flashing another smile.

  “So,” Emmalee interrupts cheerily and I give her a stony look, but she refuses to meet my eye. She was the one to set us up, going on and on about how hot Kaiden is, and when I realized he knew Angus, I had to jump on the bandwagon.

  “Have you all decided what you’re having?” she chirps happily.

  “I’ll have the ossobucco, and I wouldn’t mind you for dessert, doll,” Kaiden replies, smirking, and by Emmalee’s horrified expression, I’m pretty sure his hand has found its way onto her thigh. Inner thigh, judging by her dilated pupils.

  “Oh,” she says stupidly, while Angus chuckles again and I roll my eyes.

  “What’s the matter, sugar?” Kaiden asks me sweetly. “You jealous? There’s more than enough room, so you’re definitely free to join us.”

  Both he and Angus laugh like he’s just uttered an incredibly hilarious joke, but I’ve finally had enough.

  I throw my napkin on the table and get up abruptly. “You may treat girls like that in Europe,” I spit out, trying to make him feel bad for his mother’s Italian heritage, though I’m pretty sure he’s a born-and-bred New Yorker.

  “But we have standards in NYC,” I finish stonily, giving him the iciest glare I can manage. This isn’t worth it, not even for Angus Lions.

  “Come on, Emmalee, let’s go,” I say decidedly and look at my friend, finding her looking squeamish in her seat.

  I’m sure my eyes are shooting daggers after she finally decides to meet my gaze, long seconds after my statement. But instead of compliance, which she usually serves, I can only see apologies.

  “Looks like you’re on your own, sugar,” Kaiden says cheerfully and I finally give off a dramatic sigh, purse my lips and try to leave with my head held high.

  I realize too late my heel is broken and go down in a flurry, pulling down a whole tablecloth with me, along with all of the cutlery.

  Of course.

  And because that isn’t good enough, I also manage to end up with my head in Kaiden Hunter’s lap.

  Which he seems to be enjoying, given his immediate groan.

  “I was gonna buy you a drink first, Princess,” he says softly so only I can hear, and I get up with a flushed face, ready to scream my head off.

  Instead, a waiter rushes forward and fusses over me, asking me if I need a doctor.

  I ignore it, ignore them all. I step out of my broken heels and set off for the door, barefoot.

  It is only when I’m on the street that I remember I forgot my coat and my purse along with my cellphone and wallet.

  Breathing deeply, I remind myself who I am.

  Francesca DeMarco.

  Stunning beauty, heiress to a multi-billion dollar hotel empire.

  Long-legged, silky-haired, blue-eyed blonde with a 24-karat smile and a rich Daddy.

  No-one fucks with me and gets away with it.

  Chapter 2

  KAIDEN

  I met a girl today.

  Fuck, I'm a walking cliché, aren't I?

  But this one really is special. And I don't mean the size of her tits, or the tightness of her pussy, or anything else of that matter. I mean her ... all of her.

  She's feisty, she's got a big mouth, yet she somehow manages to stay so classy, centered and sophisticated. She's all I imagined my girl would be someday ... if I were the type to get tied down.

  But as soon as I meet this girl, I can actually imagine myself doing just that. Being with one person only, because she' that great and it's enough.

&
nbsp; My mother Ava Hunter is a movie actress, you see. So when you grow up with five different Daddy figures and your real Dad doesn't give a shit about you in general, you become a different kind of person.

  I'm not blaming my Mom for any of this, you have to know. It's just the way I am.

  But this ... thinking I could be with one girl, and one girl only, happened for the first time in my entire life. And it's all because of Francesca DeMarco, a gorgeous, long legged, silky haired heiress of NYC.

  She's snobby. She's annoying. She's hot as fuck.

  As soon as I saw her, an insane desire to make her mine came over me, something I've never felt before. Sure, I've been attracted to girls - her friend Emmalee is a prime example - but never like this.

  So I do what I'm best at.

  I make fun of her, mocking her, teasing her.

  I take it so far, she actually storms out of the restaurant where we're having lunch.

  Great job, Kaiden.

  I'm quiet for the rest of the evening, but Emmalee is all over me. I can tell it's superficial, this attraction she feels for me. I don't think I could tell her a thing about myself that she would genuinely care about. She saw the photos, heard the story, and she just wants a piece of me.

  Somehow, we end up in my apartment in the early afternoon.

  She's insistent, trying to get me to fuck her, I'm sure. But it's like a switch has gone off in my head, and try as I might, I just don't feel attracted to her anymore, Francesca's face swimming in front of me every time I look at Emma.

  She finally steps on tiptoes, pressing a passionate kiss against my lips.

  Well, what I'm sure could turn into a passionate kiss, had I actually opened my mouth.

  Emmalee finally moves away and looks up at me, looking more than a little offended. "What's wrong?" she asks, her lips pouting. "Did I do something wrong?"

  I sigh heavily. She's definitely one of those girls that worries about every single thing, always thinking about what others think of her. And I want to tell her she shouldn't, want to convince her she's beautiful without other's approval.

  "Listen, Emmalee," I say, finally meeting her hurt gaze. "You're a gorgeous girl, you really are." She beams, but I can see the traces of worry already in her eyes.

  You could tell this girl she was your queen, and she'd still be doubtful.

  I decide honesty is the best policy in this case, so I laugh nervously, scratching my head.

  "I seem to have a little crush on your friend," I admit nervously, and her eyes bulge out. "Francesca. I haven't met her before and ... I just, don't know. There's something about her, you know?"

  She looks so hurt, all I want to do is pet her like some kind of puppy. But she nods none the less, giving me a brave smile before claiming she really must get going and heading out of the apartment.

  Frustrated, I let out a sigh and sit on the edge of my rumpled bed. Francesca is all I can think about, and it's been hours since we had lunch together.

  I lie back on the bed, and before I can even think about what I'm doing, my fingers unzip my jeans and I bring out my already hard cock.

  Stroking my length, I think of the girl that has occupied my mind for the past few hours.

  Her full lips, almost to the point of being too big for her face ... but yet so perfect. That gentle curve of her hips that turns into a beautiful rounded ass, and her oh-so-tiny waist. The sky high heels she wore only accentuated her lean legs. And then there's her glorious, voluminous and incredibly long brown hair.

  In a world full of full heads of extensions, her natural locks are a pleasant change. And I can't help but imagine pulling the down as she sucked on my cock.

  I groan, stroking myself as I think of her, becoming harder and harder with each stroke. But I'm growing frustrated, knowing I want her hands on me, not my own.

  Sure, I could call a girl from my little black book, yet I don't want to. At this point, I'm pretty sure I need Francesca's lips locked on mine ... and possibly some other places, too.

  I sit up again as a brilliant idea makes its way into my mind.

  I have an interview in about an hour, and it's the perfect opportunity into motion.

  Smiling slowly, I begin to make a plan that will bring Francesca DeMarco's perfect ass straight into my bed.

  Chapter 3

  FRANCESCA

  I'm not on speaking terms with Emmalee, so I've been ignoring her calls since that so-called date at the restaurant. But she's been ringing incessantly the whole day, and I've finally had enough.

  I grab my cellphone, swiping furiously. "What?" I bark down the line.

  "H-hi, Francesca," Emmalee says sheepishly. It's her usual tone, so I'm not too bothered yet. Oh boy, do I have a surprise in store. "How are you doing?"

  "Calling to grovel?" I ask with a syrupy sweet voice and I can feel her discomfort across the line. It makes me feel good, knowing she's embarrassed about what happened.

  "Aaaaactually," she begins nervously, and my blood becomes ever so slightly colder in my veins. Because her tone is a bit strange, and I'm really not in the mood for whatever she's going to tell me.

  "Well?" I ask impatiently. "Would you spit it out already?"

  Emmalee clears her throat meaningfully while I'm rapidly losing my patience. When I'm just about to scold her again, she finally gets to the point.

  "Have you seen Hello! today?" she asks hesitantly.

  I scan the magazines at my bedside table, which I haven't gotten to yet, too busy with my beauty ritual to check for mentions of my mail. My assistant usually does that for me, but it's her day off today.

  "I haven't," I say, my tone warning her to be careful where she treads. "Am I in it?" I immediately perk up at the prospect of being mentioned in a tabloid - I always like seeing my name in the press.

  "Oh," Emmalee chirps on the other side, giggling nervously. "Well, there's an interview in it ... with Kaiden. Don't get too upset, okay?"

  "Upset?" I laugh it off. "Why would I be upset? Like I give a fuck about that guy."

  But I can't deny the fact I'm already searching the stack of magazines until I see the familiar logo. Pulling the magazine out, I flip the pages until I come across a full-page photo of a smiling Kaiden.

  Son of a bitch. Of course he got a full-page portrait.

  I bet the journalist was a single female, clenching her legs to stop her urge to jump his bones as she took down his answers for the interview.

  My eyes scan the article as Emmalee goes on and on, talking my ear off. Not that I hear a thing, especially as my eyes end up on a specific question on the bottom of the page.

  How are you enjoying New York City? Any girls you have your eye on? asks the journalist.

  And here is his response: Oh, most definitely. I've had a few flings here and there, you know, boys will be boys. (chuckle) But I have my eye on someone, for sure.

  And who might that lucky lady be? Ha! You can almost smell the jealousy coming out of her mouth, wanting to keep Kaiden for herself, probably.

  You might've heard of a little lady called Francesca DeMarco. She's quite popular in your fashion column, I believe. But from what I've heard, she's definitely not like the prissy princesses of the Upper East Side. I hear she's quite [censored] and she likes to [censored], even with a few people at a time. So yeah, you could definitely say I'm interested! I think she's pretty kinky.

  I hear a shrill scream ring out through the room, and unlike those clichéd people in books, I am well aware that it's mine. I can also hear Emmalee shouting something over the phone, but I've already cut the line and torn the article to pieces, paying special attention to the photo of Kaiden.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid fucker!" I scream loudly, stomping around my bedroom loudly and groaning as I imagine my super strict father reading that article. I want to sink five feet down in the ground, but that's not about to happen.

  Not until I'm finished with a certain Kaiden Hunter.

  Even though I'm fuming angry, I know fu
ll well I can't just storm out of the apartment. I'm sure there are a bunch of paparazzi waiting for me, and I'm not about to be photographed in a state of disarray, especially not courtesy of Hunter.

  I get ready in a rush, but with my usual carefulness. I pick out an outfit put together by my stylist (if anyone asks, I don't have one. And if you tell, I will cut your fingers off one by one. I'm serious) and add my signature scent, Chanel Chance.

  Throwing on some dainty jewelry and doing my hair and makeup, I check out my appearance in the mirror.

  With my bedroom waves - which actually take half an hour to create - my striped top and A-line black mini, I look like a Parisian. After a short thought, I apply some red lipstick and throw on my tortoiseshell cat-eye sunglasses.

  I chose some red pumps, grab my Chanel bag and am out of the door in a hurry.

  Don't mind the fact it took me an hour and a half to get ready.

  Emmalee keeps calling me, so I finally answer, needing Hunter's address anyway. From the way her voice sounds when she gives it to me, I'm pretty certain she slept with him, which is the reason why she recites the address to me immediately.

  I love Emma, but she's such a slut. For a quiet girl, she sure gets around a lot.

  Indeed, there's a flurry of photographers waiting for me, and they take a few snaps as I jump in a cab. I didn't have time to call my driver, so I scoot on the edge of the seat in the car, but not before wiping it with a baby wipe.

  The cab driver gives me a look in the rearview mirror, which I promptly ignore, but he's obviously one for conversation. "Dressed to kill," he whistles, and I roll my eyes.

  He keeps chattering about something or other, which goes on and on and on for half an hour before we make it to Brooklyn. Who even lives in Brooklyn?

  I pay the driver handsomely, and he thanks me profusely, which I wave off. I stand in front of Hunter's apartment building for a while, getting ready to pull his heart out through his throat.

  Then, finally, I set out inside, flash a smile at the doorman, who even walks me to Hunter's door and take a deep breath before pressing the doorbell with purpose.