Beauty's Daddy (Billionaire Daddies #1)

by Jane Henry

  I swallowed. “You want me to wear heels like this?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t much care what you wear for heels,” he answered. “Anything here can be returned. Lisa picked them out for you. But if you’re not comfortable in them, I won’t push it.”

  I’d catch you.

  I had the sudden ridiculous notion of me tripping, going flying, and him snagging me about the waist and righting me on a cobblestoned street corner in Paris.

  Craziness.

  I glanced back at the shoes and realized there were lower-heeled numbers, though they all looked expensive and luxurious.

  “Alrighty then,” I muttered. “But I don’t know about these dresses, Mister —”

  “What’d I say about my name?” His chiding tone arrested me mid-sentence. When I stared back at him, I felt my tummy flutter at his stern, dark look, brows furrowed over eyes that looked black as coal, jaw lined in dark scruff, lips thinned, one hand on his hip. He’d whipped my ass with the tail end of his belt, and my skin still burned from the spanking he’d given me. He would spank me if he wanted to.

  I fucking loved that he would.

  My tummy dropped and my clit throbbed.

  I cleared my throat. “You said to call you Sawyer,” I said, meeting his gaze.

  He nodded. “Those dresses are custom-fit for you, Annabelle.” With the hand holding his glass, he pointed at the dresses. “You have an hourglass figure, and my stylist knows what type of clothing would best fit your body type. Jewel colors and warmer tones suit you, as well as halter and sweetheart necklines.”

  What was a sweetheart neckline?

  I swallowed. “Hourglass body type?” I asked. Bullshit, hourglass body type. I had full hips and a rounded tummy, and I was hardly Marilyn Monroe.

  He nodded soberly. “Yes. Hourglass. That means your waist is narrower than your hips and bust.”

  He was a fashion expert?

  “How do you know that?”

  His eyes twinkled at me, just slightly, enough to make my belly warm a little. “I sell clothing, sweetheart,” he said. “You didn’t know that?”

  I felt a faint flush creep along my cheeks and neck. How could I have practically slept with the man and not known that? I cleared my throat. “Um. Well, no, sorry. I didn’t know that. So, do you design them, too?”

  He shook his head. “No. I have teams that manage all that. But to be successful, I need to know the market, and I know it well. I know what your body type is, what colors look good on you, and what you should avoid. And I’m telling you that every one of the items will suit you perfectly.” He nodded to the clothing rack. “Try them on. You’ll see.”

  Still clutching the towel, I walked back over to the clothes and choose the simplest of them all, a deep burgundy wrap dress with a low v-neck. It gathered at the waist, the hem slightly angled. I glanced around and found bras and panties neatly stacked atop my dresser. “I’ll try this one,” I said. “Will you please leave?”

  I half expected him to balk at that, but to his credit, he gave me one long look before reaching for the doorknob, and pulling it shut tight behind him.

  As soon as he left, I dropped the towel, grabbed the dress, and ran over to the mirror.

  Was he right? Would they all look good on me? For someone who’d been on a shoestring budget for over a decade, who considered swimsuit shopping a medieval form of torture, high-end, expensive clothing was an exciting prospect. I tried on the burgundy, and gasped when the material draped to my knees.

  I. Looked. Amazing.

  My breasts were full and curvy, my waist slimmed with the cinched material, the color making me look vibrant and alive. My eyes even looked brighter. Holy shit.

  Pulling that garment off and placing it on the bed, I then tried on an olive-green number with scooped neckline, a shorter dress but still gorgeous. I sighed dreamily, feeling like I’d just stepped off a runway. Maybe I would wear those damn heels after all. I tossed that off and slipped on a v-neck halter top gold dress that shimmered all the way down to my ankles. Jesus, was he taking me to the Oscars or something? But I stared at my reflection, mouth hanging open, as I gazed at the way the material hugged my curves, accentuating my slimmer waist, and shined like stars in the night sky. A gentle knock startled me just seconds before Sawyer pushed the door open.

  He whistled low, and I smiled. He liked it.

  “You look fucking gorgeous,” he said, his eyes smoldering. “Wear that one.”

  “This one?” I croaked. It was the most expensive, extravagant thing that had ever graced my body.

  “That one,” he repeated. “I have someone who will fix your hair and make-up if you’d like.

  I nodded. I mean, slapping on drugstore lipstick and a messy bun wasn’t going to do the trick.

  “Okay, Sawyer, how much does this thing cost?”

  “You don’t need to know that.”

  I pursed my lips and raised my brows, but he only narrowed his eyes at me. I humphed and he crossed his arms on his chest.

  “Doesn’t matter how much it cost,” he said. “It could be three million, and I’d still figure out how to lift it up to bare your ass.”

  I tingled from head to toe. “No doubt,” I muttered, and at that he laughed, actually laughed out loud.

  I blinked. “Are you laughing at me?”

  He shook his head. “Not at you, sweetheart. You’re just fucking adorable. Now pick out some shoes and I’ll send the girl in to do your hair and make-up.”

  I swallowed, meeting his gaze, and I said the only sensible thing I could. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sawyer

  When she finally came to me, I stared at her as if she were a mirage, or better, an angel from a dream. Demons came to me in my dreams… but here stood a beautiful angel.

  She was dressed in my top line of exquisite evening gowns, hand sewn and custom-made, and she looked like an absolute dream. Her hair hung softly about her shoulders in waves. Her eyes were bright, her complexion clear, and the dress…God, if I could fuck her with my eyes, she’d be up against the wall at this very moment, that dress up around her waist.

  I cleared my throat. “You look…gorgeous.” My voice was husky and broken, colored by the emotions that teemed within me. I wanted to own her, and she’d barely even begun calling me by name.

  Annabelle cast her eyes to the floor and shifted, shy from the praise. “Thank you.”

  “Come, join me for dinner tonight. I’ve ordered an elegant meal for two, and after that I’ll have you pack a bag. My business meeting is early tomorrow morning in Paris, but with the time difference, we’ll have to leave shortly after dinner.”

  Her gaze returned to mine, her eyes expectant like a little girl on her birthday. “You’re really taking me to Paris?” she asked, her voice rising in excitement.

  I couldn’t help but smile at her. “Of course. Did you think I was joking in my note?”

  “I…I wasn’t sure.” She clapped her hands, the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen. “Oh, thank you,” she said, then her brows furrowed. “What about my passport and things like that?”

  “Taken care of,” I said with a smile.

  “Thank you, Mist— Sawyer. Thank you.” She raced across the room and threw her arms around my neck, standing on her tippy toes, and even then she barely reached me. My arms encircled her waist and I held on tight, closing my eyes for a moment to enjoy the wonder of this moment, holding the girl in my arms, her thanks still ringing in my ears.

  “You’re very welcome. Now come to dinner,” I said, pulling away with some reluctance.

  “Would you like a glass of wine or sherry?”

  She went to pull out her chair and I stopped her by placing one firm hand on the arch of the chair. “I do that, Annabelle.”

  Her cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded and stepped back, giving me room to move the chair out. I raised a hand to signal for my wait staff to join us, and on cue, a white-coated gentl
eman came to do my bidding, bowing to me as he walked our way.

  “Sir?” he asked.

  “A drink for the lady, please,” I said, nodding to Annabelle. “What’s your drink tonight, honey?”

  “Straight vodka,” she mumbled.

  I shook my head. “Bring a bottle of one of those white zinfandels I purchased last month. Ok?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, and he took his leave.

  “Now,” I said, pulling my chair out beside hers and gently rubbing her back. She sighed as my hand smoothed over the soft fabric. “Take a moment to compose yourself. Then we’ll talk. Whatever it is will keep.”

  She took a deep breath in, then exhaled, straightening her shoulders. In no time at all, our waiter appeared with a chilled bottle of white and poured us two glasses.

  “Here you are, sir,” he said. “We can either do appetizers, or go straight to the main course.”

  “Just the main course, please,” I ordered, concerned about time. Annabelle took the glass offered to her gratefully, and tilted it back, easily drinking half her glass in one gulp. I signaled to our waiter, who filled the glass without a word, then silently took his leave as she took another sip.

  “Have something to eat with that wine,” I said. “Drinking on an empty stomach is not a good idea.”

  “Sounds to me like an amazing idea,” she huffed. “I think I can handle it.”

  I growled without even realizing I had. She blinked up at me. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, my.” But she obediently put her glass down, and thankfully the wait staff showed up with several large platters of food.

  Annabelle plucked an olive off a toothpick, and ate it. “Ooooh,” she hummed. “These are delicious. Where do they come from?”

  “Tuscany,” I replied. “They’re marinated in olive oil. I’m glad you like them.”

  “I love them,” she said, her mouth stuffed full of olives. I watched, pleased, as she took another sip of her wine, and our waiters brought out a platter of warm bread and olive oil. “These are delicious.” Her words were slurred, either from the food or wine, but in any event, it was adorable.

  “Help yourself,” I said, swallowing another mouthful of whiskey. “Have you ever traveled before?”

  She took a piece of bread from the tray, and dropped it with a startled, “Oh!” She put her finger to her lips. “That was hotter than I expected.”

  I took her hand in mine and kissed the hurt away.

  Her eyes widened but she didn’t move to pull away. She sat stock still, watching me. I wanted to suck her fingers into my mouth and lick them, nip them, show her how dangerous I could be. But I had to keep myself tamed. Dropping her hand, I reached for the bread and tore it in half, waving it to cool it down before handing it to her.

  “My sister called me,” she said, her eyes cast down. She was confiding in me without being prompted. I schooled my face to keep it impassive as she spoke. Whatever that had happened may have upset her, and I had to keep my temper in check.

  “Gavin, that — that…” She cleared her throat. “He wrote a story about my mother!” she said, her voice rising as her hands went up in protest. “Can you believe that jerk? He said that I’d tried to get her the help she needed but that you interfered with your big company, that you interfered by using your pull with local politicians, and that you’d made it impossible for me to have access to the medical resources that my mother needed.”

  I frowned, my appetite suddenly gone.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “So my sister tried to intervene and call him out on the lies that he’s spreading, but it turns out my mother was the one telling him all of this stuff to begin with!”

  This was not good.

  I chewed my bread methodically. “Very interesting.”

  She threw her bread onto her plate. “Interesting? I tell you that my mother has been spreading lies to the local reporter, who is now planning on doing an expose in the paper about you abusing your influence with local politicians and that’s all you have to say?”

  I shrugged. “Let him.”

  “And then he’s going to prove that you have taken me against my will!” she said, throwing her hands up in the air.

  Gavin could huff and puff, but he wasn’t going to knock my house down. “Have another sip of your drink, sweetheart,” I said, tearing another piece of bread, blowing on it to cool it, then handing it to her. “And have some more bread now that it’s cool.”

  Sensibly, she obeyed, biting into the bread after dipping into olive oil, and chasing it with a long, thirsty sip from her wine glass.

  “So Gavin’s blustering nonsense about you being here, and has decided that he’s on a witch hunt, and your mom is feeding his story. Anything else?”

  “Nope that’s it.” She frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally, she said, “Okay, so…you don’t think this is a big deal?’

  Shaking my head, I chuckled, though one of my hands was still clenched into a fist. I wanted to smack something — preferably Gavin — repeatedly, but it was more important that I calm her down.

  “He’s jealous of me, sweetheart, and loves that he can try to ridicule me for a story. Whatever. This isn’t a big deal.”

  She looked visibly relieved, her eyes softening as she took another sip of wine. “Thank goodness.”

  The wait staff returned then with steaming platters.

  “Oh. Lobster?” Annabelle said, eyeing the baked stuffed lobster. Our waiter placed the platter in front of her along with salad greens.

  “Me, too,” I told her. “I have my own trapping outfit on the other side of the cliff. We outsource the lobster to local vendors, who sell them fresh daily, but we have our pick whenever we choose. I have several different lines of business”

  “Wow,” she said, carefully removing a tender pink piece of lobster meat and eyeing it thoughtfully. “That’s serious luxury, I’ll tell ya.”

  I shrugged. I was a billionaire. Why wouldn’t it be?

  “Do you enjoy being wealthy, Mister — Sawyer?” she asked, as she carefully forked another piece of lobster.

  “Yes.” I sipped my bourbon and looked steadily at her. “I enjoy the lifestyle my wealth affords me,” I explained. “I don’t regret working hard so that I can reap the benefits of such hard work.”

  She nodded, taking a small piece of asparagus and nibbling it thoughtfully. “I see,” she said. “Have you always been rich?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve always been fairly well-to-do. You?” I knew she’d grown up poor, but I wanted her to confide in me. Not meeting my eyes, she helped herself to another piece of bread.

  “I thought you knew my history,” she said, her eyes shuttering as she looked at me. Shit.

  “I do. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

  Her voice trembled a bit but only when she first began speaking. After a moment, her voice rang loud and clear. “I was from a family of average wealth until my father died,” she said. “Then after he died, my mother took a really…” she paused, and sipped her wine again. “A bad turn, I guess you could say. She was in bed for weeks at a time. I was the only one who really did anything. I was fourteen at the time and my sister was twelve. We had no food, and our bills weren’t getting paid. We had no family or friends who were willing to help. Things were getting desperate.” She sighed. “So I took over. I contacted local people and got my mom on government assistance, but because I was the child contacting them, things went from bad to worse. They wanted to do investigations and things like that.”

  It seemed now that she’d started talking, she couldn’t stop. Her wide eyes met mine as she sipped her glass again, and I realized it was empty. Without a word, I refilled it. “We were able to avoid any kind of interference from local authorities, and fortunately, my mom pulled through. She got out of bed and got a job, and we were…well, fine for a while. But she was never quite right after that. She lost one job after another until finally, after I graduated high school, I got a job
of my own.”

  “You never went to college?” I queried. She’d graduated class valedictorian with perfect scores, and could have landed scholarships, no doubt. “You’re very well spoken for a girl who never went to college.”

  “Thank you.” She tore her bread harder than was necessary, and dabbed it in the olive oil. “I…I read a lot,” she said. “One can make tremendous advances in one’s education with a well-read mind.”

  I hid a smile behind my glass of bourbon.

  She was so fucking adorable.

  “So you went on to get a job in the local diner,” I said. “Like George Bailey. Never got out of Bedford Falls, huh?”

  Her cheeks flushed a bit as she sipped her wine, and when she replaced the glass on the table, she met my gaze. “I love that movie,” she admitted, her voice a bit wistful. “I watch it over and over and over again. I love it.”

  I smiled and reached for her hand, squeezing it. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Well tonight, honey,” I said, lifting a platter of stuffed mushrooms and offering them to her. “We’ll travel beyond Bedford Falls.”

  She took a long sip from her wine glass before sliding it back on the plate. “Sawyer? I already have.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Annabelle

  Despite eating bite after bite of everything he offered me, the wine was going to my head. I knew it because the room swam a bit and his voice sounded a little distant, and when I turned my head to look at him, it felt as if it took several seconds to catch up. I blinked at him. He’d said something, but I didn’t know what. “What was that?” I asked.

  “I asked if you were ready for dessert,” he said. Was it the wine, or the lighting, or my own altered mental state? He looked ridiculously handsome sitting across from me, his stern eyes matching the downward turn of his lips, a scowl that sent a shiver straight down the length of my spine as he spoke. His voice was so deep it made my nipples pebble at the sound. He was dressed impeccably in an expensive suit and tie, his dark hair falling across his forehead, lending him an air of mystique, danger, and intrigue.