THE BILLIONAIRE BRIDE

CHAPTER THREE

Sarah sat in silence as she watched the man whose mere presence had changed the atmosphere stride toward her. He didn’t just walk; he strode with a commanding presence that emanated from every step. Silent. Commanding. Breathtaking. She felt her color rise, and she couldn’t help it. She tried to take her gaze off his eyes but dared not. He was wealthy; more than wealthy; anyone with eyes could see that. But he was also breathtakingly handsome. He had gorgeous emerald green eyes and thick black hair that would make any woman want to run her hands through it. It should be a crime for a man to look like that, she thought.

He stopped abruptly, right in front of her.

“I’m Micheal Reginald,” he said. “And you are?” The question came out as a demand and nothing less.

She became speechless at that moment. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but she stuttered, feeling as if her entire body would burst into flames of fear.

“Sarah... Sarah Harper,” she managed to say.

“Where the bloody hell did you keep your coat?” he blurted out furiously.

Anyone who heard him might have wondered why he sounded as though all his anger was directed at her for not wearing a damn coat.

Shocked at his unexpected inquiry but still trying to maintain defiance, she tipped her head up and responded, “It is none of your business.”

Her response was followed by a collective gasp from everyone present in the bakery.

“Bloody hell!” he echoed. “It is my business. You’re shivering so badly, and your teeth are chattering, so of course, it is my business. Now, when I ask a question, I demand an answer. Where is your goddamn coat?”

She was on the verge of telling him to go rot in hell, but she kept silent. She couldn’t bring herself to voice those words; in fact, she couldn’t bring herself to utter any words at all.

She would have received a backlash from Micheal for choosing to remain silent if Catherine had not interrupted almost immediately.

“She gave it away, to the lady who stays on the street just at the beginning of your territory on our way here,” she responded, her voice low. “She was shivering from the chilly weather, so Sarah requested that I stop, and she gave her coat to her.”

Sarah didn’t hear the remaining part as her thoughts lingered on just one word Catherine uttered…. Your territory. This was his territory? Was he some sort of gang leader? A mafia boss perhaps? So many unanswered questions ran through her mind.

“Alma,” Sarah muttered subconsciously. “The lady has a name. Her name is Alma.”

“Alma?” he repeated.

“Well, I told you she has a name!” she said in an outburst before she even realized she had. She knew she sounded rude, but she didn’t care in the least.

“I very well know who she is, but what I would rather know is who you are,” he demanded.

And suddenly, there was silence in the bakery as everyone waited for her response. Why did he care? Why was he so bothered about knowing who she was? In the first instance, why was she even singled out among the crowd?

In an attempt to protect her friend in some way, Catherine quickly responded.

“Sarah is my best friend. She just came to Chicago from New York,” she said. “Johannes needed more hands in the bakery, and Sarah happened to be in search of a job at that time too, so I convinced her to come down here to work, coupled with the fact that she had the necessary experience.” She finished off her speech. “We are here for the interview... that’s what we’re doing now... waiting to be interviewed.” Her voice wavered.

“I see,” Micheal muttered, never taking his eyes off her. “You said she was your best friend; can you vouch for her?”

“With my life,” Catherine responded, nodding her head vigorously in what Sarah felt was fear.

She had never seen Catherine like this, scared of anyone. Her friend had always been a people person, loved by all, who could easily befriend anyone and make them feel comfortable. But here she was, another person making her feel uncomfortable and giving her cold feet.

Micheal’s next action shocked her. Without taking his gaze off her, he pulled out his wallet, removed a handful of dollar bills, and placed the sum in his coat pocket. Then he took it off, holding it open for her.

She felt insulted. The last thing she wanted was for a total stranger to pity her. Not only was he doing that, but he was also offering her money. She stepped back, bumping into Catherine’s trembling body, and shook her head vigorously. Her answer was NO. A resounding and emphatic NO. She refused to be pitied and absolutely refused to receive any favors from him that would leave her indebted.

Impatience crossed his face, mixed with a touch of anger at her defiance. “I don’t have time for this, missy. Get your arms in the coat and step outside with me for a moment.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “I have business to attend to.”

She looked toward Catherine and saw how desperate she appeared. Then she thought, I’ve seen these kinds of scenes in movies before. He had to be a leader of a gang. A criminal. A mafia boss. One of those strong-armed men involved in criminal activities. But his looks didn’t match that thought, although he appeared as if he could easily break someone’s bones and get away with it without breaking a sweat.

Catherine suddenly pushed her towards him, and she gave in. Turning her back, she slipped her hands into the sleeves of the coat he held open, and to her utmost shock, he reached around her and began to work the buttons up for her. She stood. Frozen. Her back to his chest. Locked in. His body emanated warmth, and for the first time since she had left New York, she stopped shivering, and her teeth ceased chattering.

She could feel his strong arms around her, his masculine scent emanating from his closeness; she could feel his manly chest. With every breath she took, she felt his scent infiltrate her system. He was close... too close, and that alone brought a yearning down below. The coat, now fully on her, also carried his scent. Oh goodness! She knew if heaven had a scent, then it would be one just like that. Done with fastening the buttons, he turned her around, and with his hand circling her left arm in a firm grip, he stared at Johannesburg James, the owner of the bakery, and without a smile on his face, he said,

“Johannesburg, good to see you. I trust you to take care of what is mine,” he said in a firm, resonating voice.

Briefly, he looked down at her once again, and just the look in his eyes was capable of sending her into a mini orgasm. And with that, he started for the door, his hand still firm around her.