The Billionaire's Disgraced Virgin (Billionaire Knights Book 2) (3 page)

C
hloe was mortified
. The home she considered her own private sanctuary, the place where she came to lick her wounds after being confronted with the cruel world outside, was being scrutinized by this overbearing male—this intruder in the sanctity of her private space. And what was more, it was quite obvious from the way he was gazing around, subjecting her modest living arrangement to a disdainful sweep of his eyes, that he found them wanting.

She felt inclined to defend herself and the way she lived. Frugality might be considered a sin in the world this billionaire inhabited, but in her own estimation it was a blessing and a skill to be praised, not mocked. A mutinous streak compelled her to pipe up in a soft voice, “Don’t like what you see, Mr. Knight?”

Instantly she regretted her rash comment. Here stood her overlord and master, the man who decided her fate, and she had no business antagonizing him even more after turning down his offer. What was wrong with her? But then it seemed that his mere presence was turning her world upside down. She’d never invited any man up here, and most certainly not a billionaire hunk, and for some reason watching his presence clash with her sense of normalcy had a strange effect on her, encouraging her to do and say things she normally never would. Color flooded her cheeks as he turned his haughty and autocratic gaze on her.

“What I see, Miss Ross, is an apartment that is well below your current means. And I should know, as I’m the one signing your paycheck each month. What has compelled you to—” He swept his hand in an all-encompassing gesture at her modest apartment. “—to choose this place to make your home in? Don’t I pay you enough to afford something more decent?”

Embarrassment vied with irritation at his words. Irritation won, adding yet more color to her customarily pale cheeks. “You’d be surprised how much a place like this costs, Mr. Knight. Though obviously you wouldn’t know that, considering your privileged position and your not inconsiderable wealth.”

“And you’d be surprised what I do and do not know,” he bit back, his voice turning as icy as his gray eyes.

Once again she’d allowed herself to be carried away by her resentment and shoot her mouth off. And once again she bitterly regretted her outburst as soon as the words had rolled from her lips. “I’m sorry,” she began, shaking her head.

He was standing before her, wide-legged, his hands folded behind his back, his face a mask of cold scorn. It was obvious from his expression that she’d angered him. “You should be sorry,” he shot back, “for you have no idea how I lead my life, as I have no idea how you lead yours. The only thing I can tell is that you consciously clothe yourself in garb that is a disgrace to an attractive young woman like yourself, and you choose to live in an apartment and in a neighborhood that must cause you considerable emotional distress and not the succor one expects to find in one’s home after a long day at the office.” He directed a pointed look at the window when a car exhaust fired outside. She’d jumped inadvertently, as it sounded like a gun being discharged, not an unusual occurrence in this part of town. “Trust me, Miss Ross, I know more about the cost of living in London than you might imagine, and this place simply won’t do.”

He was deliberately taunting her, she saw, trying to undermine what little self-esteem she’d managed to scrape together in the five years since her life had been turned upside down. She tilted her chin in a rare gesture of defiance. This lordly man, obviously used to telling people off, wasn’t going to do the same to her. If he thought she was going to stand here and take his abuse he was sorely mistaken. “Actually I enjoy living here,” she lied valiantly. “And as far as my wardrobe is concerned, that is hardly your business, is it? As long as my work is satisfactory I should think that my private life is of no concern to you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Your work is indeed satisfactory,” he allowed, “but if you’re going to be working directly for me your wardrobe is my concern.”

Flustered, she stammered, “Working directly for you? But I thought I made it clear—”

“That you prefer to hide behind your desk and refuse my offer?” he grated out sardonically. “Yes, you made that abundantly clear, Miss Ross. And I should like to make it clear to you that when I give one of my employees a direct order I expect that order to be carried out. If not…” He raised his eyebrows in a gesture that told her all she needed to know.

A sickening wave of despair thudded through her, and for a moment she thought her legs would give way, unable to carry her miserable frame. So he was going to blackmail her into doing his bidding, was he? She should have expected as much. Murray had been right to warn her. Mike Knight indeed didn’t take no for an answer. His will was her command. But she couldn’t! She simply couldn’t face Roderick Holmes and go through this whole terrible ordeal all over again!

The wounds were barely healed, the scar tissue still raw. Facing that horrible man would simply destroy her—and this time there would be nothing left to rebuild. She’d done it once, started over from scratch, and it had taken everything she had to do it. She couldn’t do it again. Where would she find the energy?

But she couldn’t tell him that, could she? She couldn’t possibly entrust him with the secrets that still held her in their toxic grip. So instead she shook her head. “I—I simply can’t,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

What was happening to her? Mike wondered. Her face had gone as white as chalk, and as he stood watching, he could see the shadows chasing each other in her eyes. As if his mere words had plunged her into the deepest darkest pit of despair and despondency. The woman was obviously scared to death of assisting him in these vital negotiations. Look at the way her hands shook. She was terrified! Mortally afraid! But of what? Of being found out? But of course!

Aiding and abetting Roderick Holmes from behind the safety of her desk was easy, coming face to face with the man while Mike watched on was not. She might betray herself. A gesture, a look, a wrong word was all it took. She wasn’t a cold and calculating person, not a professional corporate spy. She would be found out, and the consequences would be grave. That was all this was, he decided harshly. A mere ploy to save her own skin. To prevent him from finding out.

For some reason she’d taken Holmes’s money and now found herself in over her head, fighting to save her own skin. He decided to probe deeper, to see how far she would go to get out of her predicament. If he was right, she would fight him tooth and nail before she allowed him to drag her into these negotiations.

“Look. You’re the best accountant on Murray’s team, Miss Ross. And the report you drew up has impressed me. This takeover of Press Corp is of vital importance to Knight Enterprises.” He walked to the window, gazing in distaste at the next building, as drab and dreadful as this one. At least she’d done her best to make the place look nice, with plants and flowers placed on the windowsill in an attempt to add the homely touch. “In this business either you stand still and perish or you forge ahead and prosper. We need to expand our business from mere telecommunications services and internet solutions to offering content of our own. Press Corp is one of the top content providers, and will give us control over magazines, TV stations, news networks, and even one of the major Hollywood film studios. It would, in other words, allow us to offer our own content to our customers, and position us for a bright future.”

She was listening to his words but had to admit they eluded her. She’d heard this speech many times before, most recently from Murray that morning. She didn’t care. Helping big corporations become even bigger wasn’t what she was interested in—far from it. But as she watched Michael Knight’s profile as he stood gazing out the window, giving his sales pitch, she felt odd stirrings at her body’s core. It was a frisson of something she hadn’t felt in such a long time she didn’t even recognize the sensation. But when it only increased in strength, her nerve endings suddenly tingling warningly, she discovered to her horror that she did know what it was. Awareness of him as a male of powerful sexual prowess.

She’d first noticed it in the elevator as they traveled upward, and now as they were locked in her apartment, just the two of them. His aura seemed to permeate every cell of her being, every inch of space he occupied and every single one of her thoughts. The invasion wasn’t merely physical but it extended to a deeper level she could only describe as primal. And suddenly her gut warned her that Mike Knight was a very dangerous man indeed, perhaps even more dangerous to her sanity than any other man she’d ever known.

His profile was arrogantly male, his jaw square and unforgiving, his upper lip sculpted to perfection as was the rest of the planes and edges of his face. But even as she admired the sharp cut of his features, she found herself drawn to the fullness of his bottom lip, oh so sensuously alluring. His hair was black as a raven’s, a cowlick provocatively slashed across his brow, and when his eyes suddenly and without warning cut to hers, she felt the shockwave obliterate the last vestiges of uncertainty that Mike Knight possessed the capacity to destroy her even more thoroughly than Roderick Holmes or Lewis Dixon ever had!

She was shaking her head even before he stopped talking. “No,” she muttered feebly. “I—I can’t. Don’t ask me to do this. I simply can’t!”

Suddenly the world was turning on its axis, but before she collapsed to the floor he was holding her upright, his fingers gripping her wrists, pulling her against his hard and unforgiving frame. “What’s wrong?” he grated out. “Why does the prospect of working with me terrify you so much?”

His nearness choked the words from her throat. “It’s not you, Mr. Knight.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grunted, giving her a little shake. “It’s Mike. And now tell me, what the hell is going on with you?! Talk to me, dammit!”

She shook her head despairingly, and involuntary tears suddenly sprang to her eyes. Five long years she’d managed to keep it together—to lead an unassuming life in the shadows of this big city. She had no friends, no family, no one who cared for her, and she’d told herself that that was fine. That she didn’t care as long as she was safe. Now, in one fell swoop, Mike Knight had breeched her defenses. Had seen through the charade she’d erected. But she couldn’t let him in on the secret she harbored. Not him, not anyone. And she most certainly couldn’t accept his assignment. “Don’t ask me!” she finally cried out.

Her body was trembling so violently Mike was forced to press her close, to hold her against him as she rode the waves of her inner turmoil. She was surprisingly soft, her breasts full as they pressed into his chest. And suddenly he didn’t care anymore that he’d been right. And he was right. Without question. He’d pushed her to the edge and she’d teetered over it, terrified of facing Roderick Holmes, her spymaster and paymaster, and being found out for who she was: a Press Corp mole. But as he wrestled with her jerkily ineffectual attempts to free her wrists from his grasp, the only thing in his estimation that prevented her from collapsing onto the floor, he felt something twitch inside his chest and perform the impossible: Chloe Ross had managed to penetrate his hardened core. And instead of telling her she could kiss her job goodbye, he found himself swayed in the opposite direction. With the swift determination that characterized him, he made a decision.

S
he was acting like a fool
, Chloe knew. Instead of offering him her stoic silence, she’d allowed him to see beyond the carefully erected bulwark and straight into her aching soul. How was that even possible? How could a man she’d known for all of five minutes break through her defenses as if they consisted of mere tin soldiers? Was it because he was her boss, and she felt she owed him some kind of feudal obedience? Some remnant from a bygone era when workers were mere serfs to an almighty overlord, passing judgment over their lives, controlling them from the cradle to the grave? But these were modern and enlightened times. She wasn’t a serf but a human being who traded her time and energy for money. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet five minutes with this man and she was blubbering like an errant child. In a supreme effort she pulled herself together. What must he think of her?! Horrified, she blinked away the tears, willing her trembling limbs to respond to her command.

She straightened, pushing him away. Averting her eyes, she murmured, “I’m so sorry about this, Mr Kni—Mike. I don’t know what came over me.” Quickly she cast around for a viable excuse. “I—I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

She’d used the excuse so many times now it was growing old, she recognized. And Mike seemed to feel the same way, for he merely regarded her sternly. Finally, he grunted, “Very well. I’m going to offer you a rare choice, Miss Ross. Routinely people who thwart me don’t get second chances but for whatever reason I’m willing to offer you one. Tomorrow morning I’m going to send the car round to pick you up. It will take you to Harvey Nichols, where you will select garments suitable for a weekend of negotiations which will take place at Knight Castle in Oxfordshire. You will need regular clothes but also evening dresses, as there will be dinner on both Saturday and Sunday night as well as a small celebratory party when the negotiations are finalized and a deal is made. You can pick and choose anything you like—don’t worry about the tab. I will pick it up. As my representative I expect you to dress accordingly, after all.”

“But—”

He held up his hand. “If you’re not there when the car comes to pick you up, I will assume you have decided to decline my offer. In that case don’t bother showing up for work. Your position will have been terminated. Do I make myself clear?”

Miserably, she nodded. He’d made himself abundantly clear. Either she did what she was told or she was out of a job. As simple as that. Mike Knight had proved everything she’d heard he would be: authoritative and cold-hearted.

His implacable, steely-eyed look confirmed her assessment. After a curt nod, he turned on his heel and strode for the door. Before he reached it, he warned, “Oh, and Miss Ross, I suggest you accept my offer. Believe me when I tell you it’s the best one you will ever get.” This final menace uttered, he was gone.

The moment he’d pulled the door closed behind him she broke down, her face in her hands. Oh, God, what was she going to do now? It was obvious from his final words that Mike was going to make sure she would never work in accountancy again, at least not at the level she was enjoying now. Could he do that? Could he sabotage her career if she didn’t give in to his demands? Of course he could. He was running one of the biggest conglomerates in the country, after all, and probably knew all the top dogs of industry. If he banned her, her career was over, unless she started all over again. A new name, a new identity, but no references and no degree, which meant she was going to have to start from scratch or work in a different capacity. But as what? Accounting was her life now, and she loved the work that was involved. She couldn’t start over, could she? What would she do? And even if she kept her name and changed industries, Mike’s words had struck the fear in her heart he would make sure she was blacklisted in anything she tried her hand at.

But why? Why couldn’t he leave her be? And as she wept silent tears she cursed a fate that had landed this project in her lap. Murray had put her up for it, thinking he was doing her a favor, but instead he’d wrought her downfall.

That night, she hardly slept. Tossing and turning, she went over Mike’s proposal again and again, trying to find a way out. If she didn’t meet the car in the morning she was out of a job, and not merely out a job but out of a career.

Perhaps she should have explained to him why she couldn’t possibly face these people. Why she couldn’t stand in front of Roderick Holmes and his cronies and see recognition dawning in their eyes as they saw her for who she was: Gwen Parker, the Men’s Monthly girl. Perhaps she’d changed so much he wouldn’t recognize her? Perhaps she should change even more? She could change her hairstyle again, add more makeup. But she knew it was no use. Her face was synonymous with Men’s Monthly, one of the cornerstones of Press Corp’s success. Even if other people didn’t recognize her, Sir Holmes would.

Finally, when the morning light came peeping in through the windows, creeping through the heavy drapes, she sat up in bed, the pillow propped up against the headboard, and knew there was only one solution: she would have to go in and hope that Holmes wouldn’t recognize her. And perhaps he wouldn’t. She was, after all, a mere accountant, and men like Holmes didn’t pay attention to the serfs, only to the masters who were his equal. He would undoubtedly focus all his attention on Mike, not even offering her a glance. She’d be part of the background, like the paper on the wall.

Grimly, she vowed to look even plainer than she did now, but then Mike’s words came back to her. He wanted her to buy herself a wardrobe that would be fitting with her new position. And at Harvey Nichols at that!

But then she figured she’d simply pick the plainest women’s suit possible, one that would make her blend into the background and wouldn’t attract Roderick Holmes’s attention. And then there was the color of her hair, of course. That might go a long way into deceiving him. She knew from experience that men had a hard time recognizing a woman who’d changed her hair color.

Yes, that was her only hope, she thought with a tired groan. And as she stepped into the bathroom and saw her face in the mirror she groaned again. Combined with the bout of crying from last night and her sleepless night, she looked like the creature from the black lagoon, her eyes puffy, her skin blemished and her hair listless and without its customary luster. She looked positively haggard. With a wry smile she thought that perhaps she should go like this. Roderick Holmes would never recognize in this wreck of a woman the fresh-faced teenager she’d been five years ago.