Body Talk: An Ex-Navy SEAL Billionaire Romance

by Ashlee Price

  This, here, is where I’m at home. Where I’m at peace.

  If I could give up the organizing, I totally would. But though I’m busy, it’s all relative. I have less time to dedicate to my craft, and therefore I’m always on the go. If this was my full-time job, I’d have a lot of time on my hands.

  Although I guess I’d be able to supply my two indie shops with more items…

  Wrinkling my nose at the thought, because it’s more tempting than I’d like, I smooth my hand over the silk cutouts. It’s a beautiful bolt of Dupioni silk in a color that’s close to lapis lazuli. The design includes tiny detailed beading with the same stone, and I know that part is going to be a bitch. Fiddly work always eats up time, and time is a commodity I don’t have much of.

  I should be more careful with my designs, but they talk to me and there’s no way I’m going to undercut them and make them ‘lesser’ simply because I don’t have enough hours in a day. It would shame me to finish a piece that fell short of its potential.

  As I line up the pieces for tomorrow, the phone rings. Reaching for it, I spot Jessie’s number. “What do you want, brat? I thought you’d be snoring away by now.”

  Truth is, Jessie’s more of a friend than simply an employee, so I tend to talk to her like the former rather than the latter. I’ve gotten used to her ways, and doing without her would suck. In both my personal life and my work.

  “He has mistresses.”

  I blink at that greeting. “Huh? Who does?”

  “That Levitt guy.”

  “What?” I blurt out, stunned by both the information as well as the fact she’s been cyber-stalking our potential new client. “What are you doing looking him up?”

  Jessie’s snort is far more adult than her usual immature self would allow. “Guess.” I can almost see her rolling her eyes at me. “I wanted to know more about him, duh. The guy undressed you so many times tonight it’s a wonder he didn’t have you stripping and dancing around a pole.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Shut up.”

  “No, I won’t! You shouldn’t mess with this guy, Zia. Honestly, he’s like a man-eater. Or in this case, a woman-eater.”

  “He wants to meet on business,” I try to soothe, touched despite myself at her concern. “I can’t turn his kind of work down, Jessie. You know that.” I could, actually. We’re busy enough, but I’m curious. I want to know what he wants, and if that includes me, then I might surprise myself by not turning him down…

  “Well, at least let me come with you.”

  “I can’t. I checked the schedule. I need you to go to the bakery with the Morrises.”

  She groans. “They still haven’t decided on their wedding cake?”

  “No. And time’s ticking away.” I sigh. “I’m a big girl, Jessie. I’ll be fine. But thank you for caring.”

  “You need to be careful, Zia. I just looked up his name and ‘girlfriend’ and all this stuff hit me. I mean, some of the articles used the word ‘partner’, but a lot of the columns just came right out with ‘mistress’! It’s like the Dark Ages or something.”

  Amused at her disgust, I tut in sympathy. “You’re right. It’s terrible.”

  “It really is,” she continues, her tone so earnest my heart melts. “I don’t want you ending up as one of them.”

  Hell, if it meant ending up in the man’s bed, I’m not too certain I’d back away from the idea. Then, chuckling because I’m hardly mistress material, I tell Jessie, “He’s got the whole city at his fingertips. Why would he come after me?”

  “Duh, because you’re beautiful.” She grunts. “I swear to God, I need to buy you a new mirror. Plus, you have that whole unapproachable thing going on. Men dig that shit.”

  They do? I blink at that, because it’s the first I’ve heard of it. All that being unapproachable has gotten me is never being approached by a guy. Hardly useful when my right hand and my BOB are both close to worn out from all the workouts they’ve been getting of late.

  “I’m sure you’re wrong. A man of his status wouldn’t ask me to meet him in his office, Jessie, not if he wanted to ask me out on a date.” Shit; that’s the truth. Christ, there go my hopes.

  Silence falls on the other end of the line as Jessie realizes the unfortunate truth behind my words. “You’re right. He wouldn’t, would he?”

  “No. Not unless he wanted to open himself up to a lawsuit.” Dammit.

  A relieved sigh gusts into my ear. “I was so worried. You didn’t see how he was looking at you, Zia.”

  I made sure I didn’t. The last thing I needed was to be distracted all night.

  It was hard enough not primping and fussing over my appearance when I had work to do, but actively avoiding looking his way was close to impossible. Thankfully, I was very busy, and the work kept me on the straight and narrow.

  The last thing I needed was to be looking at him with calf eyes. Somehow I doubt I’d have been as appealing if I was staring after him like a love-struck teenager.

  “Thank you for caring, sweetheart,” I tell her warmly, meaning every word of it. I know we’re friends, but I didn’t realize she’d do something like this for me.

  There’s a shrug in her voice. “You’d do the same for me.”

  “You’re right, I would.” And on that note, I pounce. “When are you going to stop beating around the bush with Dave? At least with him, we don’t need to Google him.”

  She pshaws. “We’re talking about your love life. Not mine.”

  What love life, I feel like asking, but instead I huff, “Yours is as dire as mine. Dave has no idea you have a crush on him.”

  There’s silence, and then a wail hits me. “I know!”

  “Want me to drop some hints?” I ask around a chuckle.

  “No.” I know she’s pouting. “Maybe.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Zia,” she replies, then sighs. “You sure you’re going to be okay at that meeting?”

  “I have two choices.”

  “Well, I’m here if you need me. And if that guy even mentions any word associated with the bedroom, get ready to sue his ass.”

  Snorting, I just say, “Night, Jessie.”

  She grumbles off a farewell of her own and then cuts the call. Shaking my head at her, I tidy up in the studio, then wander over to the other side where the door is. Turning off the light, I yawn on my way to the bedroom.

  That room has seen decidedly little action over the past year, and I know the thought has only cropped up because I would very much like Marshall Levitt to be the one who changes all that.

  I know it’s stupid. I know he’s way out of my league. Even if he’s the one who instigated the flirting, men do all kinds of weird shit for even weirder reasons—maybe, despite his wealth, he’s a tight bastard and thinks flirting with me will make me cut my rate… Stranger shit has happened.

  But even though I caution myself as I climb into bed, it’s too late for that.

  Though Jessie would be disgusted, if Levitt decides he’d like to do more with me than just eat me up with his eyes, I highly doubt I’ll say no. Christ, I’m looking forward to being made a meal of.

  Chapter Three – Marshall

  “Miss Grazia Fabiola has just arrived in reception, sir. Shall I escort her up?”

  When Miranda’s voice pierces the intercom speaker, I smile. Not at her voice, but at her words.

  She’s here.

  “Please do, Miranda. Also, upon your return, bring tea.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Miranda, I’m certain, is part robot and part humanoid. Though she’s beautiful, she makes blocks of ice seem warm and cozy. Nearly all my friends have hit on her at some point, and each and every one has ultimately failed. Something that only makes me respect her more. Not that I wouldn’t respect her if she started to date any of the bastards I call pals, but still, her taste tells me a lot about her. All of it good.

  Rubbing my hands together, I realign the
papers on my desk, quickly brushing the crumbs from the protein bar I ate a few minutes ago into the trash can. I take a quick sip of water, then reach into my drawer for a breath mint. I highly doubt she’ll let me kiss her during this interview, but hell, there’s no harm in a man preparing. Christ, preparation was how I made my fortune, and I’m not ashamed to admit that.

  I sit back in my seat, letting it rock as I decide how to greet her. These things matter, I’ve come to realize. First impressions count. And though this isn’t our very first meeting, it’s our first meeting as potential client and contractor… and I don’t just mean to make her my events organizer.

  I have three in-house events organizers; I don’t need to outsource, not really. Not that she needs to know that. This meeting is an excuse. Nothing more, nothing less.

  I’ve tried to approach her at the various soirees I’ve attended where she’s been working behind the scenes, but to no avail.

  Last night, seeing her at the auction, I knew I had to make my move. Especially when I saw Chris Evans staring at her too. No way in hell am I going to let that piece of shit anywhere near her. I saw her first, after all. Grimacing, because that makes me sound like a five-year-old, I try to figure out why I’m going to these lengths to speak with Grazia.

  There is something about her, something… Hell, I don’t know what it is. And for a man who knows himself as well as I do, who’s as honest with himself as I am, that’s a large admission to make.

  I’m a billionaire. Those billions were made with hard work, determination, and verve. I’m not accustomed to pussyfooting my way through life. If I want something, I get it. I chase after it until I can call it mine.

  In this instance, I want Grazia. I want her badly enough to work at getting her. Because, though I will chase, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to.

  The advantage of money and fortune is it’s incredibly easy to go through life making ‘friends’. Of course, those acquaintances will leave you the instant you cease to be of value to them. I’ve learned, along the way, to do unto others as they’ve done unto me. I toss them out when they cease to be useful to me, and I feel no shame in admitting that.

  However, now isn’t the time to think about tossing people away… not when I’m trying to get Grazia Fabiola into my bed.

  Just the prospect has my cock twitching in the expensive cage of my Savile Row tailored suit trousers. She has that bizarre effect on me, and though I don’t appreciate being made to feel like a teenaged kid with more hormones than sense, that very unusualness is why I’m willing to break with habit.

  There’s a slight ping from down the hall which tells me the private elevator has been used to reach this floor.

  She’s here.

  God, I wish I did have the right to kiss her. To grab her to me, to steal her breath and drown her in passion.

  She was made for passion, was Grazia. Every time I see her, I know it. It’s in the way she moves, in the way she breathes. Every ounce of her is filled with energy. A vibrancy that I’d love to capture, and that for as long as I have her in my bed, I intend on hoarding.

  Deciding on my next course of action, I head to the front of my desk and perch on the edge of it. Crossing my feet at the ankle, I settle my hands ata either side of my thighs and wait for Miranda to knock. When she does, I wait a handful of moments and say, “Come in.”

  Miranda’s smile is its usual icicle-forming self, and I immediately bypass her frozen sensibilities for the heady warmth of the woman behind her.

  Today, even though she’s coming to a business meeting, Grazia is wearing a floaty black-and-beige patterned skirt that swirls about her ankles. Beneath the long hem, I can see some demure black pumps peeping out. A tight-fitting camisole covers her top half, but the bottom of the camisole is hidden under the high waist of the skirt.

  There’s something modest about the outfit, yet at the same time, immodest. The long length of the skirt swirls about her shapely thighs and calves, revealing more than it should. Her breasts are lovingly cupped by the black silk camisole, meaning I can see every inch of her while every inch of her is hidden.

  On her arm is a large shoulder bag, black leather, and a smile is pinned to her face when she enters the office.

  As she walks toward me, everything that is ice in Miranda is fire in Grazia. It’s a wonder there isn’t some kind of storm brewing between them as the cold and hot fronts meet. Her hips sway, the sinuousness making me wish I could grab ahold of her butt and hug her to me. Lift that skirt and find out what she’s wearing underneath it.

  Withholding a groan is a lot harder than it should be. Only the fact that it would make me seem like an untried youth compels me to keep quiet.

  She reaches out for me with her hand, ready to shake mine, and the instant our fingers brush, it’s comforting to see her firm her lips, gulp a little in reaction. I noticed that before at Charles and Deirdre’s dinner when I tried to talk to her then.

  Desire and passion… both swirl through Grazia like a tornado ready to take form, and I know that that single, simple touch of palm and palm has made the prospect of a twister much more likely.

  In the periphery of my vision, I see Miranda with a tray of coffee. She places it on the desk, silently slinking out once her duty is done. The quiet snicking of the door is all the encouragement I need; I intended to talk business first, but now, with that explosive if silent reaction still at the forefront of my mind, and the need to strip her bare and stake a claim, I murmur, “I have a proposition for you.”

  To be continued…

  DESIGNER FOR THE BILLIONAIRE

  A Billionaire Romance Novel

  (Contemporary Romance Novels)

  Book 2

  A FASHIONABLE ARRANGEMENT

  By: Ashlee Price

  Description

  When Marshall Levitt propositions Grazia Fabiola, she’s anything but flattered. Insulted and hurt, she determines to hide from her attraction to the gorgeous billionaire – but Marshall won’t let her. He’s equally determined to have her, to make her his. The minute he set eyes on her, Marshall knew he had to have Grazia in his bed, and when a man like him makes such a decision, no one can stand in his path.

  But Grazia has a past, and experience with being a man’s mistress. Will she allow Marshall into her bed and her body at the expense of promises she made to herself a long time ago?

  When the attraction is bone deep, Grazia has to question if she even has a choice…

  Chapter One – Grazia

  “Well, that sounds ominous.” And doesn’t it just?

  I’m standing in the office of a tech billionaire, a new mogul on Wall Street, and he, Marshall Levitt, has a proposition for little old me.

  Considering I figured I was here to organize some kind of event for him, because duh, that’s what I do, I hadn’t really expected him to come to me with a proposition. Especially not in that low tone of voice that makes molasses look runny and golden. Instead, he’d rumbled the words at me, with a dark and sinful undertone that turned my knees to jelly.

  I’m a grown woman. I live in one of the biggest cities in the world and have since I was a child—you can’t not be street smart in New York City. However, this man has me flustered, and to be honest, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

  That’s the problem with rich people. They all think they can do whatever the hell they want, and we plebs have no choice but to concur with their wishes. The bitch of it is, they’re not exactly wrong. Who in their right mind could turn their back on a billionaire’s offer of business?

  No damn one, that’s who.

  And yet, though his voice sounds like sex, though I find him utterly attractive, and though I have no idea what he’s about to suggest, I’m naturally predisposed to tell him to stick his proposition where the sun doesn’t shine.

  But that wouldn’t be politic, would it? He’s one of the city’s newest scions, and I haven’t made this business what it is today by insulting potential cli
ents.

  So I bite back my irritation and plaster an ingratiating smile on my chops. It’s either that or ask him what the hell he’s deliberating over. It’s been at least a minute since I spoke, and all he’s doing is staring at me like a cat that has just caught sight of a canary. Either that or a toddler with a plate of cookies close to hand.

  I can feel his eyes tracing over every part of me, and I won’t lie… parts of me are tingling. Parts that I’d prefer to stay tingle-free. Rather than let him look me over again like a choice piece of meat, I take a seat without waiting for his invitation and cross my legs. I can’t deny his arrogant assertion has irritated me, but as I look back at him, it doesn’t take away from the fact he’s a glorious specimen of manhood.

  “Hardly ominous,” he tells me, pursing his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, then his feet at the ankle. It’s a pose straight from Gordon Gekko, but still hot as hell. The bulge in his pants is more prominent than ever when he’s standing in that position, as is the fact he’s as lean as they come.

  Considering he’s a desk jockey, that does come as a surprise.

  “No? Well, what is it then?” I ask him, taking the bait.

  When our eyes meet, I’m hard pressed to contain a little shiver of excitement. It’s been a long time since I’ve reacted to the animal magnetism of any man, and I have to wonder why it had to be this one who did the reawakening.

  It couldn’t be the nice guy from the deli with the cute dreads, or the man who designed my website for me last month who had looked delicious when he rolled his shirtsleeves high up on his forearms… oh no, those two hotties did nothing to entice me, but this one, this power hungry shark, apparently knows how to get my juices flowing.