AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I walk past him into the suite, my jaw dropping. “Christ, are you a billionaire?”
He laughs, flicking on the lights and dimming them to a gentle glow. “What gave it away?”
Jesus, is he serious? He’s so young! I know that most very rich people—like Oprah Winfrey, Sir Richard Branson, and Elon Musk—are in their forties or older when they become billionaires. Bill Gates was thirty-one, I think, and Zuckerberg was only twenty-three, but they’re record breakers because of their age. Saxon told me he’s twenty-eight. Maybe he’s the son of a prince, or something. He’s certainly no ordinary guy.
I feel intimidated. I couldn’t be more at the opposite end of the spectrum where money is concerned. Every dollar I possess, I’ve had to work my fingers to the bone for. The money to start my new life has accrued cent by cent, formed through years of going without. This guy’s obvious wealth is so far out of my range of understanding that it’s almost funny.
I walk into the suite slowly. The place is fucking huge. Taking up a quarter of the top floor, it’s bigger than the whole house in which I currently rent a room with Louise, and mostly open plan, so during the day it must be filled with light. I can see gray carpets, a cream leather suite, a spotless chrome and marble kitchen, and a glass dining table and chairs. The table is covered: with papers, folders, a laptop, and coffee mugs—clearly, he’s been working there. But there’s no time to look at anything else, because Saxon takes off his coat, tosses it over a chair, then moves toward me.
Backing up to the wall, I watch him approach with wide eyes. He stops in front of me.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks. “You look terrified.”
I give a short laugh. “I’m nervous. Not terrified. It’s only because I’m… me, and you’re…” I consider a way to describe how attractive, rich, charismatic, and captivating he is. “You,” I finish lamely. “Why are you interested in me? I don’t understand.”
A frown flickers on his brow. “Someone’s done some serious work on you, haven’t they?” He cups my face and brushes his thumbs across my cheeks. “If you were to ask my friends about me, one thing they would say is that I never lie. I always tell the truth. And so you can believe me when I tell you that I think you’re absolutely stunning.”
I’d say he just wants to get in my knickers, but I think he knows that’s a done deal at this point. He sounds like he means it. I look at him in bewilderment, not knowing what to say in response to a compliment as effusive as that.
“Can you take your hair down?” he murmurs.
I lift a hand to the elastic holding it up, carefully extract it, and let the long strands tumble past my shoulders. Usually it’s fairly straight, but after being in the bun it twists and turns, all the way to my breasts.
His face fills with wonder, and he sinks his hands into it, touching it as if it’s a bolt of cloth of gold. “Wow,” he says, reverence in his eyes.
“Are you trying to make me cry?”
He smiles. Then he cups my face again and touches his lips to mine. “You’re sure about this? It’s the last time I’ll ask.” When I nod—trying not to scream, Meg-Ryan style, yes, yes, yes!—he says, “If you want me to stop at any time, though, just say. Preferably not right at the critical moment, but…” He chuckles, then brushes his thumbs across my freckles again. “You say these are all over your body?”
I nod again.
“Show me,” he says, his voice husky. I still have his tie looped around my neck, and he takes hold of the ends in one hand and walks backward, pulling me with him as he heads for what I presume is the bedroom.
As I follow, my heart pounds, and I feel a little faint. I gather my wits together as if I’m scooping up spilled marbles and putting them back in the tin. I need to at least try to act as if I’ve done this before. I like sex, and in the past, I’ve always been hopeful it’s going to be as exciting and passionate as you see in the movies, but it’s only ever left me with a vague sense of disappointment and irritation at myself for setting my hopes too high. Somehow, though, I have a feeling this is going to be different, and not just because he’ssexy as, and I’m pretty sure he knows his way around the bedroom. We’re not consummating a long relationship, and I don’t have to worry about making an impression for the future. I only have to do my best to pleasure him, and to enjoy myself.
I’m not terrified. I’m so excited I can barely breathe. He likes me. He thinks I’m sexy, and I believe he really does find me attractive.
And once that sinks in, all my fears fade away.
Chapter Three
Catie
I slide down the zipper of my jacket, let it fall off my shoulders, catch it in my hands, and toss it away. I’m wearing a black skinny-rib sweater and black jeans, which I know makes me look like a cat burglar. I like the anonymity of black clothing, although his comment thatIf you’re hoping it makes you invisible, you’re very wrongsuggests it says more about me than I realize.
We reach the bedroom, and he removes the tie from around my neck and lets it drop. Holding up a finger, telling me to wait, he takes his phone out of his jacket pocket. He scrolls through, looking for something. Is he checking his texts? While I wait, I glance around. The room is a mess. Clothes are strewn over the bed and chair, and his suitcase lies open on the bench, with more clothes spilling out. The wardrobe is half open, revealing two more suits hanging up, both exactly the same—navy-blue pinstripe, along with half a dozen white shirts, again, all the same. He’s like Einstein. I wonder whether the similarity ends there. Maybe he’s a scientist, and that’s how he made all his money.
Music starts suddenly, making me jump. I look back at him and laugh—it’s Barry White’sYou’re the First, the Last, My Everything.
Grinning, he puts the phone on the bedside table, and takes out his wallet and places that beside it. Next, he undoes the buttons of his jacket and tosses it across his suitcase. Oh man, I love a guy in a waistcoat. Then he picks up my hand, pulls me toward him, and we start dancing. Laughing, I let him spin me around the room a few times, and then I step back. Taking a deep breath, I cross my arms, take hold of the hem of my sweater, peel it up my body, and let it fall to the floor.
He inhales, his expression joyful that he doesn’t have to talk me into it anymore, that I’m obviously up for a fun time. Resting a finger on my collarbone, he traces it across my clavicle, then down over my skin to the top of my breasts, which are propped up in the lacy black demi cups of my bra. I got the garment from a charity shop only a few weeks ago, and it still had a label on it, so luckily I think it was new.
“I’ve got a lot of kissing to do,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my freckles. Then, before I can say anything, he bends and lifts me up. I squeal and wrap my legs around him. He climbs onto the bed into the middle, turns, and falls onto his back.
“Ooh!” I land on top of him, both of us bouncing, disturbing the items of clothing on the duvet. I pull a sock from under me and throw it away. “Jesus, you’re untidy.”
Half-heartedly, he picks up a discarded shirt and a T-shirt and tosses them onto the floor, then flops back. “Are you here to organize the room or to have fun?”
