The Billionaire Bargain

The boss bold proposal

​"Good morning."

​"Sleep well?"

​"Of course. Wonderfully well. And you?"

​"Perfectly."

​That was the extent of their conversation the next morning over breakfast—until Henri began folding his newspaper. "A favor from you, Miss Stone?"

​Elizabeth glanced up, her heart hammering at the sight of his clean-shaven face. A kiss, she thought, a sudden tightness knotting her stomach. A touch. God, just one more kiss to overwrite the memory of the first.

​With her mind conjuring the image of Henri Gagnon’s lips on hers, she flushed so deeply her skin felt scorched. She toyed with her French toast, trying to keep her voice steady. "Nothing too drastic, I assume?" she asked, though a hint of giddiness slipped through.

​"Drastic?" he repeated.

​She shrugged. "Oh, you know… murder, blackmail. I don't think I could get away with those."

​His eyes glinted with amusement as he shook his head, though his smile quickly faded. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What kind of boss do you take me for?"

​The one I want, she thought. The one who kissed me.

​She looked at the broad, rippling muscles beneath his shirt; he looked less like an executive and more like a warrior. God just didn't make men like this anymore.

​She’d lied to him—she hadn't slept a wink. She had spent the night agonizingly aware that her dream man was only a few feet away. Her lips had tingled with the ghost of his touch, her body aching with a sudden, screaming demand for the affection she’d denied it for years.

​After tossing for hours, she had bolted upright, rummaged through the clothes he’d bought her, and slipped into something provocative: a sleek white silk gown that clung to her like a second skin. With her heart vaulting in her chest, she had unlocked her bedroom door, returned to bed, and waited.

​She had watched the knob turn. Her pulse had gone through the roof as she waited—minutes that felt like hours—for the door to swing open. But the knob had simply clicked back into place. Silence. He changed his mind? Her heart had throbbed with a mix of relief and crushing disappointment before she finally stepped out of bed. The living room had been empty, bathed in silver moonlight. Torn between an unnamable need and the instinct for self-preservation, she had gone back to bed.

​Now, looking like a well-rested, devastatingly handsome billionaire, he was asking what kind of boss she took him for.

​"One who's never bitten me," she blurted out. She immediately wanted to kick herself; it sounded like an invitation.

​He chuckled instantly. Elizabeth lost her appetite and stood up abruptly. He followed her, uncurling his long frame with that slow, feline grace he always possessed.

​"I like the dress," he said, his gaze tracing the fabric as it molded to her curves.

​"Thank you. I like it, too."

​His gaze raked over her so intimately she felt stripped bare.

​"Name your favor," she offered.

​Eyes locked with hers, he moved around the table. His scent enveloped her—not a manufactured cologne, but something raw and intoxicating. She wanted to inhale until her lungs burst.

​Gently, he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to his. A dark, intense shadow eclipsed his eyes, and his voice carried a trace of unexpected bitterness. "Just say, 'Yes, Henri.'"

​Her breath caught. His morning voice was low, gravelly, and far too attractive. Elizabeth pulled free from his touch and let out a nervous laugh. "You," she accused, tingles dancing across her skin. "I don't even know what I'm agreeing to."

​His arms went around her, slow and inevitable, securing her like silk manacles. "Can't you guess?"

​His breath was hot against her skin, eliciting a small moan she couldn't suppress. He felt solid and powerful against her, unlike any man she’d ever known.

​His voice was a soft command as he tipped her chin up again. "Yes to my bed for a week, Elizabeth. Say yes."

​Was he insane? "Wow," she said, choking on her shock. "I've never had such a blatant come-on."

​The determination on his face was unapologetic. "I don't want to play games with you." He studied her features—her forehead, her nose, the line of her jaw. "I intend to please you. I've thought of nothing else. Tell me," he urged, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Are you interested?"

​Interested? She was on fire. She was terrified and confused, realizing she was no match for a man like him. He moved like a force of nature—relentless and sure of his victory. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly against his chest. Her legs felt too weak to support her; she stayed upright only by gripping his forearms. "One week?"

​"Seven days. Seven nights of pleasure beyond your imagining."

​"And what if I can't give you the pleasure you want?"

​"I will take any pleasure you give me, Elizabeth. And you will take mine."

​There was no mistaking the intent in his voice. It was the most erotic thing she had ever heard. "A-and if I say I'm not interested?"

​He chuckled softly—an arrogant, masculine sound that melted her last defenses. "If that is what you wish." His gaze pierced her, searching for her secrets. "But haven't you wondered about us?" He lowered his head, skimming his lips against hers just enough to make her shiver before pulling back. "You unlocked your door last night. I was so close to opening it; you have no idea."

​"Oh, God," she breathed.

​His lips grazed hers from corner to corner. "You wanted me there. You wanted me in your room... in your bed."