Taming the Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Sierra Rose

  “You’re not eating,” she said.

  “I ordered it for you. I’ll have a slice of pizza when it comes.”

  “A slice? What do you live on, kale?”

  “Not entirely. I eat a lot of fish, leafy greens. That sort of thing. For maximum efficiency.”

  “Sounds super fun. I’m just saying, if I eat garlic bread and you don’t, you’re going to think I stink. So, I guess it’s insurance against kissing.”

  “I guarantee I’ll kiss you no matter what you’ve eaten. As long as you’ll let me.”

  She felt the thud of her heart, the rush of blood to her cheeks, the pull of attraction in her belly. It made her press her knees together beneath the table. She sat like she was afraid her panties would spontaneously combust just because he said he was going to kiss her no matter what. That sounded like fantastic news.

  Paige finished her slice of bread and drank some more of her soda. She couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “Please kiss me now.” So rather than scandalizing an entire roomful of teenagers by making out with her boss in the middle of a crowded pizza place, she sat quietly and looked around as though she were really interested in the basketball game on TV or the license plates on the wall.

  A pizza arrived along with a large bowl of spinach salad. She looked from the toppings on the pizza to her date.

  “It’s white chicken pizza. Supposed to be quite popular. Do you hate chicken?”

  “No, I’ve just never eaten it on pizza with, er, alfredo sauce?”

  “I think so. Go ahead, be brave,” he said, urging her to try it.

  Paige scooped a large portion of salad onto her plate just in case she didn’t like the pizza. Everyone knows pizza has red sauce and pepperoni, for goodness sake. Only a boy from Exeter would order highbrow pizza toppings. She took a slice and eyed it dubiously. She took a tiny bite from the tip of the pizza. The crust was pillowy and tender, the sauce rich and garlicky. It was delicious and cheesy. The chicken was—well, it tasted like chicken, but it didn’t bother her.

  She ate the whole slice and took another. Luke was halfway down his huge plate of salad, a slice of pizza untouched on his dish. She raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged and cut a small bite with a fork.

  “Nope. I disallow it. You’re not bringing me to a place like this and eating pizza with a fork like a big snob. Pick it up!” she teased.

  Luke rolled his eyes, but he picked up the slice and took a big bite defiantly. He nodded approvingly and took another bite, “Not bad.”

  “Let me guess, that’s the most carbs you’ve eaten in like a year.”

  “More likely five years. Although I eat whole grains from time to time.”

  “Didn’t you have nachos at the game?”

  “No, you had nachos at the game. I had peanuts.”

  “Ugh, you’re so virtuous. All that protein. Anyway, you can pick the chicken off and eat it, if you’re not afraid it’s been tainted by the crust. You might get bread cooties from it.”

  “I’m not afraid of bread, I simply avoid simple carbohydrates because—”

  “Let me guess, gluten is evil? Or you read something once about belly fat?”

  “Neither. My body runs more efficiently on lean protein and vegetables. It’s helpful in building muscle and maintaining optimal health.”

  “You sound like a vitamin commercial,” Paige said flatly and finished her second slice. “I’m sure your body’s a temple and all that, but fish and kale—not much fun.”

  “There are other things I enjoy more than food. Food is just fuel.”

  “Right. Delicious fuel. So, you’d rather play squash and lift weights with the trainer than eat yummy pizza? Or you’d rather just make people think you’re that disciplined?”

  “I’m very disciplined. Most of the time. Tonight, or anytime I’m with you I seem to slip up. Lose my focus or my willpower.”

  “It’s the black dress,” she joked.

  “It’s what’s in the black dress. It’s you,” Luke said. His voice was so warm and rough that it made her bite her lip. She could feel the scrape of lace against her sensitive nipples, was aware of the hard-wooden chair beneath her thighs and the distance across the small table between his hands and hers. Everything was so vivid to her, the rush of wanting that she felt and the way she could pick up traces of his spicy cologne even in this crowded room full of the scent of food cooking.

  It was like her whole body was attuned to his looks, his smell, his movements. The timber of his voice seemed to vibrate right up her spine when he spoke. She felt oddly like a violin, like she was somehow his instrument tonight, that his every move or touch would ripple through her like music.

  Paige found she couldn’t eat anymore. She could barely swallow her rootbeer. She was aware of her dress hitching up her thigh when she crossed her legs. She wanted Luke’s hand high on her leg, wanted him leaning over to kiss her. It was distracting. She let him talk about work, barely able to nod in response because she was so wired, so turned on by him. There was nothing simple about this second date, this one last time she’d go out with him. They were work friends, she tried to remind herself. But sitting here in long earrings and black eyeliner and about half a tight dress it didn’t feel like friendship. It felt like something infinitely more dangerous instead.

  Chapter 17

  AFTER LUKE FINISHED his salad and paid the bill, he took Paige into a large back room full of frenetic beeping and dinging, the cheers and groans of young adults playing arcade games—skeeball and air hockey, and a free throw game that was being monopolized by a group of teen boys who were trash talking each other loudly.

  She looked around, not knowing what to think. Luke pressed a cup of tokens into her hand and led her to a racecar simulator. They strapped in side by side and took the steering wheels. Paige started off in the lead, but Luke’s silver racecar quickly rammed hers into the wall and won the race. She stuck her tongue out at him and demanded a rematch. About four dollars’ worth of tokens later, she finally beat him, whooping with victory and waving her arms in the air.

  Luke beat her at skee ball and again at the bowling lane as he threw strike after strike. Paige grumbled and blamed her high heels for throwing off her balance, but he really was disconcertingly good at almost everything. She played a couple of rounds of Ms. Pac-Man and even got on the top-20 scoreboard on the machine. Luke told her that he had no respect for screen-based console games. He offered to play her at pinball.

  “Pinball? Like the one with the flappy things?”

  “Flippers, yes,” Luke said patiently.

  “Fine, I can play that,” she said and stepped up to the machine.

  Paige plugged in a token and poised her fingers on the side buttons to flick the ball away from the hole. She managed to flip it up a couple of times and score some points off a bumper, but soon enough the ball slipped between the flippers. “Crap,” she said, “It’s harder than it looks.”

  “No, here, let me show you. It’s about rhythm and timing. You can’t just jackhammer the flippers constantly. You watch the ball, see where it’s headed, respond to its movements to make it hold off.”

  Luke was behind her at the machine, his arms on either side of her, his hands covering hers on the buttons. He pulled back the plunger, and a ball sprang into action on the board. He leaned his chin on her shoulder, making her catch her breath.

  “Wait for it. Don’t rush. Wait...now!” he pressed one button, his hand over hers, and flicked the ball back into motion.

  Paige felt his chest against her back, legs behind hers, his hips pressing into her. It was difficult to concentrate on the ball, on the game, on anything but the thrust of his hips as he jolted the buttons to operate the flippers on the pinball machine. The nudge of his hard length against her bottom took her breath away. She felt a spark of lust every time he moved against her.

  A bead of sweat started at her hairline and rolled down her neck. She felt the dampness between her legs that an
swered his casual movements. Everything he whispered to her as an instruction sounded filthy to her—it all seemed to be about building a rhythm, drawing something out, making someone wait on the brink, on the edge like a climax.

  When the ball finally rolled between the poised flippers and the game was over, she sagged back against him momentarily. It was easily the dirtiest arcade game she’d ever played. It was all she could do not to rock her hips back against his shaft wantonly and grind against him.

  Instead, she stepped forward toward the machine to get some breathing space. He backed up, released her from his arms.

  “I think that’s enough of playing games,” she said, “Do you have anything else planned for me?”

  “I did say I wanted four or five hours. So, if you’d like to go back to my place—you’re a little flushed. Is it too warm in here?”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” she said sarcastically.

  “So, would you like to go for drinks at a club or come back to my apartment?”

  “I think I should go home. I need to check on my sister, and I think if I stay with you I’ll end up doing something I regret. Something we’d both regret.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’d regret a single minute, but if you want to go home, I’ll take you.”

  “Thanks. I really do appreciate that. I’m sorry this didn’t work out like you thought it would. I’m still not comfortable being your fake wife. I mean, my first instinct when I overheard you was that I could help you out and it might be fun. But with things going not so great with my sister, plus the fact that you’re the CEO of the company where I work...it was a bad idea. Your initial reaction, I recall, was to say it was inappropriate for an employee to be involved in a personal matter like this. And I don’t say this very often, but you were right. I was wrong. So, I apologize for butting into your business that way. You can call off the flowers and chocolates and shoes and all that now.”

  “I never sent you chocolates.”

  “Oh, like you remember what Gina sent me?”

  “Gina didn’t send you a damn thing. I know how to make a phone call, and I know how to shop online. She did provide your shoe size, but that’s the extent of her involvement. I kept this quiet out of respect for your privacy.”

  “You sent me stuff at work. That’s showing off, not keeping it quiet.”

  “Did I put my name on a single card?”

  “Well, no, but it was obviously from you,” she faltered.

  “See, I was protecting you from speculation. I wanted everyone to see the flowers, to see that you were—wanted and valued. I liked doing it. I also want the offer back on the table.”

  “I know we’ve been toying with the offer but... And I say this in the nicest and kindest way. No offer. No deal. I’m going home. You’ve been pretty wonderful to me, but I can’t get involved in someone else’s drama when I have plenty of my own going on. I—I’ll probably miss you. Miss talking to you. So, if you ever need a friend, give me a call. But otherwise, I’m going back to being just another VP’s secretary on a floor you never visit.”

  Luke called the car, held the door for her to get in. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dark interior as he slid in beside her.

  “Are you telling me to forget your number?”

  “I’m asking you to let this go. I realize you thought two dates would make you irresistible to me, and it did. Just not in the way you wanted. See, I’d sleep with you right now, this second, but all that would accomplish is confusion and misery for me, and probably inconvenience for you. Because I’ve got a crush on you. You’ve been thoughtful and charming, and you’ve listened to me and paid attention to me—I was lonely as hell, and there you were. So, I like you. And the kind of thing you’re talking about, twelve months of living together, there’s bound to be blurred lines. There’s bound to be funny business and hanky-panky between us, and pretty soon I’d be infatuated with you. I’d end up heartbroken, Luke. And you’d end up disgusted with me because I couldn’t keep my feelings out of a business arrangement.”

  “That’s not a happy ending. The way I see it, we have a good time together, we challenge each other. What better way to spend a year that’s going to pass anyway than being married? The benefits are manifold. First, obviously, the illusion of stability will get my board of directors to calm their tits. Second, we like to spend time together, so we could do more of that. Third, I’d have a partner in crime at all the boring functions I have to attend. You’d make me laugh and smile, make them bearable. Fourth, you’d have the benefit of my financial support during that period as well as a settlement upon divorce. It would take care of your student loans if you have any or credit card debt. You could use the year to quit your job and study something you always wanted to or just take time off to be a corporate wife and go to the spa and have brunch with your friends. Maybe even go on a little vacation. There’s no drawback here. It’s win-win. What do you say?”

  “I’m still reeling from the fact that you said calm their tits,” she giggled.

  “That’s your only reaction? I gave my best persuasive argument in favor of marrying me and what stuck with you from that was tits?”

  “You have to admit, it was surprising.”

  “You’re avoiding the question. Will you marry me?”

  “You told me when I asked you that same question I needed a ring.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “And you said it better be over-the-top.”

  “You have a great memory.”

  She peered up at him. “Yes, I do.”

  “So, what’s your answer?”

  “The answer is no, but thanks for asking,” she said, more lightly than she felt it. Because somewhere inside of her, there was the secret desire to say yes. To accept his proposal for a few months, to agree to anything just to keep him in her life. Her practicality, her self-preservation were the only things stopping her from running off the edge of a cliff that way.

  At her building, he walked her to the door, leaned in and kissed her cheek, “Goodnight, Paige,” he said.

  “Goodnight, Luke,” she answered, her voice hollow in her chest.

  Chapter 18

  LUKE FLICKED THROUGH the PowerPoint Magnus had sent him, a series of eligible women—right age, right education, suitably attractive and accomplished. Women likely to further their own careers through networking as his wife, through the increased visibility of being the Mrs. Luke Conners for a time. It felt dismal. He saw something wrong with each one.

  The first one’s smile was too wide—she looked like a wolverine. The second one had a doctorate in anthropology, far too serious for him and his MBA. Definitely not the sort who’d wear a too-short dress to play pinball and eat pizza. The third candidate had a long history of serial monogamy but didn’t have a sense of humor.

  He was comparing them all to Paige.

  Luke rubbed his hands over his face, trying to clear his vision. He couldn’t have her. Couldn’t convince her to marry him. She was officially the first thing he’d ever wanted that he had failed to get.

  He wasn’t in love with her. Not even close. He liked her. A lot. The thought of being married to her didn’t fill him with queasy dread, unlike all the others. In fact, it might be fun spending a few months in close quarters with Paige. He was sure if he could only have persuaded her to marry him that he could have gotten her to reverse the no-hanky-panky rule. She’d said herself that he could’ve had her last night right there on their date. She’d sounded miserable about it, like it was a personal failing on her part. That had bothered him for some reason.

  He’d spent most of the day trying not to think about her. She wasn’t at work. He’d checked. He’d been trying to devise some other solution to his problem. He needed to go for a run and clear his head or something because he was stuck in a constant mind loop of Paige being the only answer. He pushed back from his desk and went to change for the gym. The door to his office swung open with no warning.

  Ther
e she stood.

  Paige.

  She was a mess. Her hair was tumbling out of its messy bun. Her face was blotchy and red. Her eye makeup was either gone or smeared under her eyes.

  Luke was at her side in an instant, ready to destroy whatever had made

  her cry. He took her hands in his and held them.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “I’ll marry you.”

  “Is that why you’re crying? The thought of marrying me?” He stepped back from her, not knowing what to think. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “No, that’s not why I’m crying. It’s Paxtyn. Her scans were bad. I find—“ She broke off, drew in a ragged breath. “I find myself in a position of...of needing to pay out-of-pocket for an experimental treatment. It’s the only thing that could save Paxtyn at this point. Even if she had decent insurance, it wouldn’t cover this. So, I’m lucky. Because there’s a way I can earn the money. I can be your temporary spouse. And I promise I’ll be the perfect fake wife. I can be convincing and everyone will believe me.”

  “I’m sorry about your sister. Sit down, we can talk about this. I’ll help you. Whether you marry me or not,” he said, and he knew it was true.

  He’d pay for Paxtyn’s treatments right now, cover all her bills without a single question if it could keep Paige from ever looking this frightened, this heartbroken again. But even as he said it, he knew she wouldn’t accept his help with no strings attached.

  “No. That’s sweet of you, Luke, but I won’t take charity. I won’t take money I didn’t earn. You said before that I’d get a settlement after a year when we get divorced.”

  “Prenuptial agreement. One million dollars tax-free, payable on the date of dissolution. If we stay married longer, that figure increases by half a million dollars at six-month intervals.”

  “I’ll sign it today. I’ll marry you today. We’ll go to the courthouse.”

  “Easy, tiger. Slow down. It has to be a society wedding. If we get married at a courthouse after two dates, that looks suspicious. It won’t help my image at all. I’ll advance you the money. Your sister will get any treatment she needs. But you don’t have to do this.”