Determined billionaire, p.24
Determined Billionaire, page 24
part #4 of Titans Series
He stared into the distance, probably seeing, as she was, the outline of Croagh Patrick.
Perhaps sensing her, he turned and beckoned her. As was becoming custom, she stood in front of him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“Our future.”
She moved back, a bit closer to him. The fire was just getting going, so the cottage still held a chill.
“We’ll meet it together.”
Who knew what it held? Children? A certainty. Success? Perhaps. Love? Undoubtedly.
“Any ill effects from last night?” He turned her to face him.
“No. Just…”
“Go on.”
“This may sound ridiculous, but”—she toyed with her hair—“I feel closer to you.”
“May it always be thus. It’s the same for me.”
This from the man who nearly destroyed their relationship for fear of admitting his love. “You have a heart, Jack.”
“One that’s mended, because of you.” He gave her a morning kiss.
“I’m told you have a hot chocolate for me. As a surprise.”
“My beautiful warrior.” He captured her chin and tipped it back. His eyes were filled with promise. “That is not the only surprise I’ve in store for you today.”
“Oh?”
“Upstairs with you. The honeymoon has just begun.”
Thank You
Thank you for reading Determined Billionaire! I hope you loved it!!
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Turn the page to read an excerpt from Billionaire Matchmaker…
Billionaire Matchmaker
The door closed with a decisive click, sealing Rafe in with the enemy. Hope was a beautiful, seductive temptress, but the enemy, nonetheless.
“You’re a matchmaker,” he said.
“It’s an honorable profession.”
“Is it? Much like operating an escort service. I hire you. I will end up paying to fuck a woman, one who’s interchangeable with any number of other candidates.”
“That’s as insulting as it is crass.” She set her chin and didn’t sever the connection of their gazes, meeting the heat of his anger with cool, aloof professionalism.
He wanted to shake it from her, strip her bare, discover what lay beneath the surface to leave nothing but aching, pulsing honesty between them.
Either not noticing the tension or ignoring it, she continued. “Throughout history, families arranged marriages all the time. In parts of the world, it still goes on. Today, there’s a bigger need for my services than ever before. I have clients all over the world, from all sorts of backgrounds and of all ages. Often, men in your position don’t have time to meet women in the traditional way. You’re far too busy, important, insulated.”
“Spare me the sales pitch.” Rafe took his seat and left her standing. It was undoubtedly rude, but justified. “So that’s what’s in here?” He flicked a glance at the pile of folders on his desk. “A money-hungry bride-to-be—I beg your pardon, candidate—who understands what she’s getting herself into?”
“These women all deserve your respect.”
“And an expensive engagement ring?” He glanced at the top folder as if it were rabid. “How did you choose these particular women?”
“In normal circumstances, I meet with a gentleman so I can get a sense about him. Then he fills in a questionnaire. It’s rather detailed. Fourteen pages of likes, dislikes, things that worked in previous relationships. Things that didn’t.”
“Go on.”
“Expectations around traditions are important as are roles in the relationship. To some, religion is important. I find out if he wants children. If so, how many? Will he want them raised in a particular religion? Where does he plan to live? In the US or abroad? Will the children attend private school? Boarding school? Will a nanny be hired? A housekeeper? After I’ve reviewed that, I have a second meeting with him for further clarification.”
“And they need you for this?”
“Most of the men I work with don’t have the opportunity to meet women they might be serious about marrying. They’ve often focused their attention on their careers or education. Some of them are famous, but they don’t want to settle down with a woman they’ve met on the road or someone who’s been part of their fan club.”
“And where do you find the women who are anxious to throw themselves at the feet of these rich men?”
“I belong to a number of organizations, and I’m active in Houston’s art and business communities. It may surprise you, but I’m often invited to high-society events. I’ve seen you at a few.”
Rafe regarded her again. “We haven’t met.” He would have remembered. Her eyes, her voice, the sweet curve of her hips, the way her legs went on forever in those shoes. Yeah. He would have remembered.
“No. I spend most of my time talking with women. Part of my value is that I’ve met all the candidates, interviewed them, watched them interact at social events.” She nudged a folder toward him. “Try me.”
“Have a seat.” Rafe wondered at his sudden offer of hospitality. He didn’t need Hope and her lilac-and-silk scent in his office while he looked through the files.
She sat opposite him, her movements delicate. Her skirt rode up her bare thighs, just a bit. He imagined skimming his fingers across her smooth skin while she gasped, then yanking down her panties, curving his fingers into the hot flesh of her ass cheeks.
Christ. He’d spent all Saturday working on next quarter’s business plan. In the previous day’s bike race against some of his friends, he’d pushed too fast, too hard, on a grueling part of the course and crashed. He’d had a shot of Crown before going to bed, but skipped taking anything else for the pain. He’d slept like hell, and he’d spent too long working out cramps in the shower to even think about masturbating.
Now, he wished he had taken the edge off.
Of course being this close to an attractive female after an intense drought would give him an erection. Shit. He couldn’t force himself to believe his own fucking lie. Every day, he was surrounded by beautiful women. He wanted Hope. With her ass upturned, listening to her frantic breaths as she waited for his belt…waited for his touch. It was more than the sound of her voice or the innocent-yet-provocative shoes, it was carnal desire. Lust. The last time he was gripped by its power, he’d been in college and far more helpless than he was now.
He imprisoned his thoughts and focused on the task in front of him.
Picking up the first file, he flipped it open.
The top page had a name, a picture, and the vital statistics of a beautiful twenty-four-year-old blonde. She was a UT Austin graduate, a pageant winner who flashed a tiara-worthy smile and worked as a fundraiser for underprivileged schools.
Of course his mother would approve. And yet… He felt nothing—less than nothing. He was uninspired and disinterested. The hard-on he’d been sporting vanished. He glanced up at Hope Malloy.
“She doesn’t appeal to you?”
“Not in the least.”
“Perhaps you’ll have better luck with another choice?”
He didn’t.
After perusing the second picture, he glanced back at Hope.
“Nothing?”
“No.”
“It’s possible the attraction would develop after you meet someone. Her choice of conversation, the way she moves or looks at you.” She shifted. “Pheromones.”
Those, he was starting to believe in. Keeping his mind on the folders, he said, “I see. My mother hopes I will select a bride, whether I want to fuck her or not?”
Hot pink scorched Hope’s cheekbones before she recovered. “So, you would rather have a spine-tingling attraction to someone who consumes you? A wife you can’t stop thinking about?”
“No.” He flipped the folder closed without reading any of the pages. He refused to be out of control over a woman ever again. But if he was expected to marry and produce an heir or two, he should at least want to go to bed with her.
“Can you tell me what it was about the first two candidates that didn’t suit your needs? It will help me refine the search.”
“Ms. Malloy…” He struggled to leash his raging impatience. “Show some fucking mercy, will you? Until ten minutes ago, I didn’t know I needed a candidate.”
She edged the third folder toward him.
With great reluctance but with a sudden urge to get through this, he thumbed it open. Another blonde. Another perfect smile. Another impeccable pedigree. “Since I didn’t fill in your forms, I assume it was my mother who decided what college degrees and background were important?”
“Your sister rounded it out as far as activities you enjoy.”
“Yet I don’t see any of them who like to ride a mountain bike.”
“Not a huge demand in this part of Texas.”
For the second time, he resisted the impulse to hurl the files in the trash. Instead, he opened his top drawer and swept the offensive lot inside, then slammed it shut.
Hope uncrossed her legs and leaned toward him. Then, evidently thinking better of it, she sat back and recrossed them.
He swore her skin whispered like the promise of sin.
“Perhaps you should consider the options at a more convenient time,” she suggested.
“I’ll see you receive full payment.” He stood.
“I’ve already received it.”
His mother had written this woman a check for a hundred grand? “Thank you for your efforts.”
“Mr. Sterling—”
He walked past her to the door and opened it.
She sighed but stood. After gathering her purse—a small pink thing shaped like a cat, complete with ears and whiskers—she joined him. Instead of leaving, as he’d ordered, she stood in front of him, chin tipped at a defiant angle.
Hope projected competence, but the heels and fanciful handbag gave her a feminine air. A sane man would think of her as a vendor or business associate, so he could slot her into the off-limits part of his conscience. She wasn’t a potential date or wife. Or submissive.
He wanted her.
She isn’t mine.
Fuck his conscience.
Read more from Billionaire Matchmaker.
Also by Sierra Cartwright
Titans
Sexiest Billionaire
Billionaire’s Matchmaker
Billionaire’s Christmas
Hawkeye
Come to Me
Trust In Me
Meant For Me
Bonds
Crave
Claim
Command
The Donovans
Bind
Brand
Boss
Mastered
With This Collar
On His Terms
Over The Line
In His Cuffs
For The Sub
In The Den
Master Class
Initiation
Enticement
Individual Titles
Double Trouble
Shockwave
Three-Way Tie
Signed, Sealed, and Delivered
His to Claim
Hard Hand
Sierra Cartwright, Determined Billionaire
