The Contract Wife & The Billionaire

Seven Years Ago, New Orleans. It was summer. And Summer in New Orleans meant heat. Hot clammy humid air that sticks to your skin and makes you sweat even while standing.  It was a familiar sensation for Eliana Walker who had been born and raised in Treme, which was one of the oldest and poorest neighbourhoods in New Orleans near the French quarters.  It was past eight in the night and the night was very young for its kind. Her kind.   At twenty-three, her life had etched lines of experience into her soul that made her feel decades older. She was an old, sad spirit, accustomed to life’s blunt and rusty edges.  She was the only surviving daughter of her mother, so she had known the rules of survivor way before she knew how to change sanitary pads. And when her mother had died from leucemia she had faced life alone. Weaving through it with bits of her sanity still intact without letting go of her light.   Her mother would say “Life throws us shits, it's out choice to decide what to make of it”   And for years living alone and fending for herself with 10 dollars per hour jobs like the one she's in now, she had made sure to retain her joy no matter what life threw at her. But unknowingly for her, tonight was not going to be one of them nights she had managed to come out with her sanity and control still intact.   Her life was about to change and the architect of that was looking at her with a primal urge she hadn't felt for a very long time. Or ever in her life.   What Eliana lacked in wealth and status, she made up for with a graceful femininity that inevitably drew men's eyes. Tonight, it was the intense gaze of a brooding, devil-may-care stranger—a man so handsome he seemed carved from myth. Eliana had been trying, and failing, to ignore his hungry, emerald eyes all evening but she had been failing woefully at it. He had nothing on his table. Not even the regular cup of coffee most people ask for when they don't intend to patronize the bar for anything else.   He just sat there and used his lustful eyes to make her yearn for him.   Jerk! She thought in her mind.   She was no backstreet w***e who would bend over for a few dollars, a fate that had claimed too many girls she knew. Yet, she was an energetic, passionate woman whose past pains and betrayals has never fully dimmed the light she radiated to everyone she met.  Standing at 5'4", her height was unremarkable, but her generous curves and ample bosom more than compensated. She pushed a sweat-soaked lock of red hair from her face and, against her better judgment, stole anotthee glance at the handsome stranger.  Her entire body ignited the moment their eyes met. He offered an effortless, sideways smile, and she froze, staring like a deer caught in headlights. He was built like a tank yet moved with a lean grace, as if a team of divine sculptors had crafted him into the embodiment of a Greek god simply out of spite. To rue women like her and render them incapacitated.   She wondered how many women had fallen into his bed just because of that one coy seductive smile.   Damn it, Eliana, get a grip of yourself! she chided herself internally, forcing her eyes away before she could embarrass herself further and drool.   She was grateful the pub was dimly lit. The owner, Rick—a brutish man with a permanent dirt stain on his cheek—never bothered to invest his profits into maintaining the bar he’d inherited from his fastidious father, so that made it difficult for him to see the heat on her cheeks.   Yet somehow she felt he probably knew she was moved by his charm. She could tell he could tell and the idea made her tummy churn with embarrassment.   Choosing not to linger on the stranger, Eliana resumed her rounds, taking orders for food, drinks, and coffee. But her attention kept drifting back to him. Every time their eyes met, his emerald gaze burned with a hunger that made heat pool and throb in a very intimate part of her—a feeling she’d forgotten after years of avoiding relationships.  Her path then led her to a table of four mean-looking bikers, the local "Renegade" group known for causing trouble. Dressed in thick black jackets adorned with metallic skulls, they were men you didn’t provoke. She’d always managed to avoid serving them, but covering for her friend Ruth had put her directly in their path.  The smallest of them weighed over two hundred pounds. These were not the kind of men you slapped for grabbing your ass. Which is exactly what one of them did. A thick, oily hand landed on her rear with a sting, followed by a low growl.  “Hey baby….wanna sit on my lap? I can make you ride me like my bike,” he sniggered, his brown teeth wafting a wave of offensive smell that made her reel.  But she wasn't just irritated; she was furious. She hated men who thought they could take women like her for granted. Before her brain could intervene, her hand moved. The crack of her slap echoed in the bar.  The biker’s face, thick with acne, oil, and a bushy beard, twisted in rage. She had just poked the hornet's nest.  *s**t…*  She backed away as he shot to his feet. He was a mountain of a man, his abs like bricks, his fisted hands resembling sledgehammers. Trepidation washed over her.  *This is how I die. A lonely, broke, horny waitress, and no one will even bother with a cheap casket.*  “You b***h!” he growled, spittle flying.  But Eliana was no pawn. Mustering her courage, she stood her ground, meeting his seething glare. He seemed ready to explode—but then, as if deflated by an unseen pin, he suddenly slumped. His chest stopped puffing, and he stepped back so fast he nearly tumbled over his chair.  *What just happened?*  She watched in stunned disbelief as he and his companions scrambled out of the pub like scared puppies with their tails between their legs.  Eliana stood frozen, her mind racing. *I should be dead. Stomp-to-the-earth-with-a-boot dead.*  That’s when she heard it. A low, masculine voice, so commanding it seemed to resonate inside her skull before it reached her ears.  “Are you alright?”  She spun around. Jaden stood behind her. How had he moved so fast, so silently? Now, up close, he was even more imposing—towering over her at well over six feet. His narrow waist accentuated his wide, muscular shoulders. He was devastatingly handsome, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, a proud nose, and deep-set emerald eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul.  Eliana swallowed, her breath catching. He reached out and took her hand, stepping closer until his presence enveloped her completely, drowning her restraints and rendering her open and vulnerable.  *Yeah, well, talk about wet? I'm drooling! f**k!*  He spoke again, his voice firmer, demanding an answer. “Are you alright?”  In that moment, every cell in her body screamed one thing, an abominable desire she had suppressed for three years since her ex, a Nigerian gigolo, had shattered her heart.  She was burning for him.  Without thinking, she closed the nanosecond of distance between them, grabbed the lapels of his impeccably tailored suit, and kissed him. Full on the lips.  Jaden stiffened for a fraction of a second before responding—hungry, demanding, like a caged wolf finally finding its mate after an eternity. He pulled her closer, effortlessly lifting her from the ground as his tongue claimed her submission. And he was sweet. So sweet. She gave in completely, letting him plunder the softness of her mouth in a blissful tango that left her breathless and flushed.  When he finally set her down, reality came crashing back. Humiliated and exhilarated, her body throbbing with a wet heat between her thighs, she turned and dashed for the door behind the counter, leaving her composure shattered on the floor behind her.  Jaden stood still for a moment, blinked once, then turned on his heels to leave. For a moment there when she kissed him, he had come alive. The passion unlike those he was used to having with the women his PA Angelina brought for him, was real, authentic and sweet. Not the false devotion that s*x workers gave in exchange of the money and thrill they got from banging the most dangerously handsome bachelor in New Orleans.   He knew he wouldn't be recognized in this part of town which was why he had simply walked all the way from the mainland to this area. He was mad at something and seeing her had given a backseat to that irritation that drove him to seek a place like this.   But with her running into the bathroom like that? Well? Nothing shows. So time to go.   He was about to stride out of the house when her voice stopped him.  “Wait.”  He turned back and found her standing there. Disheveled, uncertain, yet still radiant—more breathtaking than most princesses could ever manage even after hours of careful preparation.  Her eyes pleaded with him, shimmering with a raw vulnerability that tugged at him. It was as though she herself struggled to understand what had just happened. Perhaps she feared she had made a mistake, that kissing a man like him was far beyond what she should have dared.  He drew a slow breath, tried that smile again—that tilted grin which had been the very spark of Eliana’s reckless action moments ago. She bit down on her lip, her body igniting with heat at the sight of it.  She was attracted to him. They both knew it. But what unsettled her was the unknown—was he as drawn to her as she was to him, or was his response to the kiss nothing more than the instinctive reaction of any man faced with a beautiful woman? Because all she wanted now was one thing: to take him to bed, tear off that thousand-dollar suit, and ride him until her body gave in. That was why she had come after him—to look him in the eye and do what she had never dared before: invite him into her bed. She was lonely. She was burning. And she had never felt such need for a man as devastatingly handsome as this one. She would be damned if she let the chance slip away. She moistened her lips with her tongue and stepped closer. “