Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance Boxed Set (10 Book Bundle) (81 page)

“Gloria, I overestimate you and you underestimate me. Do you really think a creative guy like me would do the same thing twice?”

I screwed up my face. “Well, to be honest—”

He cut me off again. “To be honest, I just want to hold you this time around.” He coaxed me to sink my head against his warm, tight chest. I sighed as I melted into him. The sweet musky smell of his leather jacket wafted up my nose. I closed my eyes to the song of our heartbeats thrumming together.
Heaven!

When we got to the top, the cabin began to rock again. Blissfully, I just let myself rock with him, swathed by the warmth of his body. The rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his soft breathing lulled me into a trance-like state. I felt so safe when I should have felt so scared. I’d lost track of time when he nuzzled my neck, bringing awareness back into me

“Gloria,” he whispered into my ear. “I have another surprise for you.”

Another surprise? What now? He never ceased to amaze me. Slowly, I lifted my head from his chest and met his gaze. His eyes were twinkling like the lights below us. He circled my lips with his index finger and then dug his hand into a pocket of his jacket. He whipped out a small red velvet box and held it in his palm. “Open it, Gloria,” he ordered. “It’ll turn you on.”

A mixture of curiosity and anticipation coursed through me as I took the box from him. What could be inside? A butt plug? A nipple clamp? A clit ring? I was familiar with  all of these little sex toys from our research for our new product line but knew nothing about them personally. With jittery fingers, I flicked it open. I gaped in shock and my heart skipped a beat. Glaring in my eyes was a magnificent platinum ring with two entwined, heart-shaped diamonds. They sparkled like the stars surrounding us. I couldn’t get my mouth to close.

“Do you know what this is?” asked Jaime, his eyes burning into mine.

My heart was slamming so hard against my chest I thought it would leap out. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

TO BE CONTINUED

Gloria and Jaime’s story concludes in the steamy and suspenseful sequel…

Gloria’s Revenge

Coming SOON between November 5-14, 2013

In the meantime, I hope you check out my erotic romance trilogy,
Seduced by the
Park Avenue Billionaire,
and my critically acclaimed erotic love story,
Undying Love.

Please fo
llow and “like” me on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/NelleLamourAuthor

And email me at [email protected] to be on my mailing list.

MWAH!

Chapter 1

Roughly three hundred sixty three days a year, I knew without a doubt I had the world’s best job. Spending afternoons lounging in a café, mainlining white chocolate mocha Frappuccino, and nights sipping top shelf wine was not a bad way to make a buck. Especially when I was doing so while socializing with single men who were--for the most part--extremely pleasing to the eye, unbelievably rich, and in the market for love,.

But every now and then, I had a day like today.

“I need to find a man.” Poking at my salad, I cast a hopeful glance around the restaurant-slash-jazz-bar where my best friend and I were having our regular Friday night dinner, or at least, I was eating dinner. Sasha had opted for a liquid meal, as usual.

“Don’t we all, honey,” Sasha said with a chuckle
as she gave her long hair a flip. “I haven’t been on a date in months.”

“Not for me, silly. I need to find a new client. I haven’t closed a deal
in over a month. Not one.” I stabbed a tomato with my fork.

“Don’t worry. Your boss loves you.”

“Loved. Past tense, Sasha. I’m new. And the honeymoon’s over. The way things are looking, I’ll be collecting unemployment soon…and living under a bridge. Marguerite doesn’t smile when she sees me anymore; she glowers. It’s only a matter of time before I’m kicked to the curb.” I poked at my house salad, light dressing, with my fork. Clearly my definition of light didn’t match the waitress’.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I wish I was.” Sasha, a novelist who was still living at home with her parents, hadn’t sold a book in two years, and had recently “parted ways” with her agent, might be neck deep in denial, but I wasn’t. As the sole source of income in my household, and a girl who’d learned not so long ago that I needed to do whatever was necessary to survive, I knew I needed to land a new contract. Soon. Like, yesterday.

Or I’d have to go crawling back to my mother’s sister for help.

I’d rather die than do that.

After my mother and father had been unjustly convicted of murdering my little brother four years ago, my aunt had been shoved into the role of surrogate parent. It wasn’t a role she filled eagerly.

I had to get a new contract.
Had to.

But
signing a new contract was easier said than done. Premier was the most prestigious matchmaking company in the state, catering to highly selective clients who required discretion and complete privacy. The chances of stumbling upon a man who’d meet Premier’s minimum requirements in a place like this--not that it was a dump--were slim to none. Regardless of the fact that it was a Friday night. And every booth and table was packed. And eligible men of all shapes, sizes, and ages were filing through the door at a steady clip.

The crappy odds weren’t going to stop me from looking, though. For one thing, because I was desperate. For another, it was fun. And lastly, because I was a firm believer in miracles.

“You ask me, that’s where you’re going wrong, Daryl.” Playing with her unlit clove cigarette, Sasha shook her head, her trademark let-me-tell-you-how-it-is look firmly in place. “Girl, you keep handing all the keepers over to other women. You deserve a good man too. Or a bad boy, as the case may be.” She winked.

“Mmmm,” I said, intentionally ignoring Sasha’s last statement. This conversation played between us at least once a month. She told me I needed to find myself a man. And I told her I was one hundred percent content to remain sin
gle for the rest of my life. It was ironic, I knew, that I was selling the one thing I would do just about anything to avoid, but I had my reasons. Call me jaded, but I’d come to the conclusion that bachelors my age didn’t want to settle down. No matter what they said in an interview. At least, they didn’t want to settle down with a girl like me. Especially not the kind of men who paid for a Premier membership. “Seems to me, we’ve gone down this road before.”

Sasha sighed so hard her bangs fluttered in the breeze she stirred up. “I’m so tired of arguing about this.”

“So am I.” There was one surefire way to put a quick halt to this conversation before it got out of hand. “Look at that,” I said. “You need another beer. Maybe we’d better order two.” I waved the waitress over to order a couple more beers for my annoying but loveable friend.

“Mom is on another one of her trips.”
Looking a little pathetic, Sasha plunked her elbow on the table and dropped her chin onto her hand. “And I don’t want to go home to an empty house tonight.” She tipped her head toward a group of male newcomers, crowding around the bar to watch the last few minutes of the hockey game. “Maybe I can find me some company.”

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” I asked around a mouthful of soggy iceberg lettuce.
“I told you I would stay the night.”

“
Oh, honey. Of course you’re not chopped liver.” Sasha gave me a little pat on the shoulder. “But, no offense, spooning with you just doesn’t cut it.” Her smile was slightly wilted around the edges, like my salad.

How I hated salad.

Deciding I’d eaten enough, I set my plate to the side. “I told you to come into the office and I would hook you up.”

“I don’t need any help picking a man. I do just fine on my own,
thankyouverymuch
. Hey, that one over there, with the dark eyes and wavy hair has promise. And look at that, he has a tattoo. That makes three hottie points in my book.” Sasha slid forward in her seat as the waitress trotted over with two longneck bottles of their best Canadian beer, set them on the table, and took my half-eaten dinner away. Sasha took a swig out of one then set it down, the glass clunking against the polished wood table. “I think I’ll go out to smoke later.” She dug into her purse, returning the cigarette to its case and producing a pack of gum. “How’s my lipstick?” She puckered. “I’m going in for a ring-check, instead.”

“Hold on.” I leaned over, getting a look at her target’s backside. “Forget it.
Your three-point hottie is wearing jeans from Wal-Mart. You might as well go out and smoke.”

“What? Damn.” Sasha popped a couple of pieces of gum out of the foil pack and dumped them in her mouth. “Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“It’s my job. I can spot a pair of Wranglers from fifty yards.”

“You continue to amaze me.” Sasha leaned forward, her breath reeking of mint and beer. “Show me, oh wise one.”

Trying to look inconspicuous, I motioned to Mr. Wrangler whispering, “You can’t miss the big, ugly tag on the waistband.”

“Ah, but what if he’s wearing a belt?”

“Then, you can check the back pocket. But you’ve got to get closer to do that. The pocket tag is a lot smaller.”

“Mmmm, mmmm.” Sitting back again, Sasha snatched her beer up. “I wouldn’t mind getting closer to that tush.”

“Which is exactly why you need me to pick your next man.”

Bottle at her mouth, Sasha shook her head, setting her dangly earrings into a violent swing of silver flash. “You can’t. I don’t meet Premier’s minimum requirements, remember? What a joke. Who says a zillionaire can’t fall in love with someone like me? The girl next door. It happens all the time.”

I cringed. There was no denying the hurt I heard in Sasha’s voice whenever we talked about my job. But the truth was I wouldn’t meet Premier’s minimum requirements either. In Sasha’s case, though, it was only a matter of a few minor fibs. I was a total lost cause. “Like I said, I’ll lie about your smoking. Your job. Your--“

“Everything,” she interrupted.

“Not everything. You’re gorgeous. In shape, athletic--”

“No. You’d have to lie about practically everything but my name and my dress size. You can’t do that.”

“
You’re exaggerating. But for you, I would lie. Yes, I could. And I would.”

“No, you won’t.” Sasha pointed the mouth of the bottle at me. “Because I won’t let you. And I know you’ll be fired if you do any matchmaking outside of work, so forget it. I’m on my own.” She checked her reflection in her compact mirror then stood. “And now I’m going to talk to Mr. Wal
-Mart Pants because he has great dimples and a hot tattoo. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” Smiling, she trounced off, a girl on a mission, target in sight, and all guns locked and loaded.

She returned less than five minutes later, her quarry trailing behind her, Mr. Wal
-Mart Pants and a second guy, who was seriously cute, in a rough, slightly mussed kind of way. As they came closer, I noticed the friend’s hair was a riot of blond-tipped waves, the roots a deep brown. Sexy dark stubble shadowed his clefted chin. When he stepped up to our table, a stunning smile spread over his nicely angular face, the brilliant white of his teeth a stark contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

Sasha slid into the booth across from me. “Guys, this is my friend Daryl. Daryl, this is Andy and Tevin.”

Andy plunked himself down beside Sasha, leaving Tevin to sit next to me.

“Hello.” I gave each man one of my I’m-being-friendly-only-because-I-have-to half-smiles and scooted over, putting some space between me and Tevin.

“Tevin Page.” Tevin eyed my glass. “What’re you drinking?”

I didn’t offer Tevin my last name.

“I’m good.” Sasha said, weighing her two bottles with her hands.

“Diet cola,” I said, catching a surprised look from both guys. “I gave alcohol up for Lent.”

“And she’s not even the Catholic girl in the group,” Sasha teased. “I am.”

“Yeah? I heard plenty about Catholic girls.” Andy flung an arm over Sasha’s shoulder and waved for the waitress with his other hand. “Are the rumors true?”

Sasha’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink that matched her clingy knit top perfectly. “All lies. Well, most of them, anyway.”

T
he waitress came bouncing up, her bright smile highlighted with a brilliant shade of pink lipstick. She sure hadn’t beamed that brightly a little while ago, when she’d taken our order. Andy rattled off the drink order while Sasha fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Now that we’ve covered religion,” Tevin said, drawing my attention away from my flirting best friend and her latest potential conquest, “what other taboo topic should we talk about? Politics?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Democrat. You?”

“Republican
,” Tevin answered.

“Really?” I gave him another up and down assessment. He bore none of the trappings of a typical conservative. Quite the opposite, with his shaggy hair, pierced ears, and the tattoos peeking out from under his well-fitting short sleeves, he was looking far from conservative.

“I’m an entrepreneur,” he explained, as if he owed me any explanation at all.

“Ah, got it.
” Entrepreneur? Judging from this guy’s looks, I would guess that was a fancy word for unemployed and unemployable. “So, what kind of business are you into?” While I was absolutely certain Tevin was not potential client material, at least small talk was good. Safe.

“Lawn care.”

Lawn care. Yes, I
could
still spot a man worth a second look in a crowded room, practically with my eyes closed.

Tevin wasn’t one of them.

“Lawn care. That sounds great. Do you have your own company?” I asked, humoring him.

“Yes. I s
tarted it a few years ago. Last year, I grossed a fair amount in revenue.”

Revenue?

I’d never heard a lawn guy use that kind of language.

Maybe I’d been a little hasty in judging him?
Probably not, but I perked up, shifting into work mode anyway. I was desperate. Desperate times, and all that.

Ring check? Clear.

Tan marks on the ring finger? Nope.

So far, so good.

I glanced at his feet. Shoes said a lot about a man.

Interesting.

“How’s business?”
I asked.

“We’re doing pretty well. And I dabble a little in real estate in my free time.”

Now the real estate dabbling sounded promising.

And the Dolce & Gabbana shoes
spoke volumes.

Hoping my first impressions had been wrong for once, I asked,
“Do you have a card on you, by any chance?” I wasn’t permitted to ask potential clients for financials to prove their net worth, but oftentimes it didn’t take much to get a picture of a man’s financial standing.

“Why? Are you looking for someone to cut your lawn?”
Tevin the lawn cutting real estate dabbler who spoke like a U of M graduate asked.

“No, not exactly.”

His smile turned wicked. I really liked that smile. Maybe a little too much. “Ah, then you just want my phone number.”

I nodded. “
Maybe, I do.”

That wicked smile turned wry.
“Hmmm. In general, I prefer old-fashioned girls. You know, the type who would rather let me pursue them. But in this case--“

“Actually, it’s not for me.” I dug into my purse, looking for my business card case. It always sank to the bottom, and it took my cell phone with it every time.

“Not for you?” He smacked a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”