Bartered Seduction: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 2

Ava Lore

Copyright 2012 Ava Lore

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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.

Bartered Seduction: The Billionaire's Wife

by

Ava Lore

Part II

The next morning found me sitting in a lawyer's office and nursing a powerful hangover.

...Okay, fine, I was still drunk. After my encounter with Waters and my subsequent shameful display in his elevator, I'd knocked around my little studio apartment, feeling dazed and useless. I even went on a cleaning binge to try to make myself feel better, but when I realized I'd moved the same dirty plate back and forth from my futon to the low coffee table where I ate five times without even skirting my tiny kitchen area, I gave up.

Sitting down, I'd opened up the contract and begun to read, and made it about ten minutes before I cracked open a beer to go with it. I'm very mature when it comes to handling my problems. During my meeting with Anton Waters, my father had left me eight voicemails on my phone and I'd deleted all of them. I knew what he was going to say. Had I accepted Waters' proposal? Had I? Had I? Had I?

I'd downed a six pack in short order—way more than I usually did—and as a consequence I woke up with nacho cheese in my hair, a new sculpture of a goat tied up and blindfolded, and a browsing history on my computer full of websites about kinky sex.

Yeah.

That's why I was at a lawyer's office. I wanted to see if this was actually... well, binding. Should I choose to sign it.

Which I wasn't. Because, come on.

Don't get me wrong, I like a little spanking now and then, but the things codified in Waters' contract—and my god, he had to have ice water running through his veins to dictate that sort of shit to a lawyer, and the lawyer who drew it up had to be stone-cold to have typed it up without renouncing his license and retreating to a mountaintop to seek a cleansing of his defiled soul—were definitely out of my realms of experience. I'd had to look a few of them up, just to make sure they were what they sounded like.

I shifted in my chair, staring at the contract in my lap and trying not to think about what was in it. There was no way it was legal. I was, like... ninety-five percent sure. He couldn't actually take me to court if I didn't "play the submissive" for at least seventy-five percent of our sexual encounters. Could he? And was he going to be keeping track? A vision of Waters bending me over a table and fucking me while entering it into the record or ticking off a bead on the Sex Abacus first gave me a fit of the giggles, then set my cheeks aflame as I remembered that he had told me to beg him to fuck me in exactly that way.

And I had.

Shit.

I rubbed my face vigorously. I was so glad the lawyer I was consulting was a woman. I needed to come up with some demands of my own.

Not that I was thinking about doing this. That would be ridiculous. Haha.

And yet the knowledge that my mother was now another twenty-four hours without treatment was a rock in my gut.

Shit.

"Miss Dare?"

My head shot up, and I saw a handsome young paralegal standing in the doorway. "Yes?" I said.

"Ms. Gray will see you now."

I stood hastily, throwing my purse over my shoulder and clutching the contract like a shield. On unsteady feet, I tottered through the door.

I was never very comfortable around lawyers. I had friends that had gone to law school, but they weren't lawyers, they were friends who had studied law. And most of them weren't lucky enough to get jobs in law and ended up baristas instead of barristers. My father, however, loved to have lawyers around, provided they were on his side, of course. I had even liked some of them when I was younger, before most of them started hitting on me when I turned sixteen. And I knew for a fact that my father had used the law to screw people over, people who couldn't afford it, people whose only crime was ignorance or need or just being poor.

So it was with trepidation that I stepped into Ms. Gray's office, and when the kindly old lady in a tweed business suit rose from her seat at her desk and strode forward with a warm smile to shake my hand, I had to make a concerted effort to smile while my brain screamed at me: It's a trap!

"Hello, Ms. Dare, how are you this morning?" she said in a chipper voice. She looked like a librarian more than a lawyer. Iron-colored hair streaked with white was pulled back into an elaborate coiffure at the back of her head, and her bright dark eyes shone in her face.

I paused to think. "Been better," I said truthfully.

"But have you been worse?" she asked.

I had to think about that, too. "Yes."

"Then it's a good day," she said. "Now what can I do for you?"

Wordlessly I held out the contract. "I need you to look over this for me. It's a contract. Or a prenuptial agreement. I'm not sure."

If she had worn glasses, I'm sure she would have given me a sharp look over the top of them. "You don't?"

I shrugged. "That's why you're the lawyer and I'm not," I said.

"Your fiance didn't tell you which it was?"

"He's not my fiance yet. He's just this guy that wants to marry me."

Her eyebrows shot up. "And do you want to marry him?"

"Not really," I told her. "But if I did it would solve a lot of problems."

For a long moment she looked at me. I could practically hear what she was thinking, which was unsurprising because I had thought many of those things myself.

Finally she gestured for me to sit down, and I did, sinking gratefully into one of the rich leather chairs in front of her desk. She sat across from me and began to thumb through the contract. The pages ruffled loudly in the quiet of the room, though through the thick windows of her office I could hear the city going about its business. My father had worked in New York all his life, but commuted from out of state. My mother currently lived in San Francisco. The sounds of the city were usually comforting to me, but as the silence between us stretched out longer and longer I began to wish I'd brought some headphones. I wouldn't even have to plug them into anything. Just stick one end in my pocket and pretend I didn't care about how this ridiculous contract made me look. Pretend I didn't care about anything. I tried to ignore the few times she cleared her throat and looked at me, opting to study the law tomes lining her walls, which were just as dull as I thought they would be.

At last she set the contract down and folded her hands in front of her. She appeared to be searching for words. My stomach, still on the mend from the abuse I'd put it through last night, clenched, and I tried to shrink into my clothes.

"Miss Dare," she said at last, "I haven't ever quite seen a contract like this. I can only assume your reasons for considering it are good ones, but it is my professional opinion that this contract is not legally binding."

I sat up. "So... that's like a loophole, right? I can sign it and get married and then divorce him?"

Her lips twisted, and I knew her answer wasn't going to be quite that simple. "The problem, you see, is that it is a prenuptial agreement in the strictest sense. If you choose to divorce Mr. Waters for any reason, you will get nothing. That he wishes you to, ah, allow him certain liberties and wishes to codify them into a contract, then he may choose to terminate the marriage if you do not agree." A frown creased her face, traveling along well-worn lines. "Sexual provisions in prenuptial agreements cannot be enforced, as the refusal of one spouse would render said sexual interaction as rape rather than consensual sex, and the law cannot condone nor enforce rape. This clause would be found invalid in a court of law, should Mr. Waters choose to sue you."

I felt the last shred of hope slipping through my fingers. "But... wouldn't that invalidate the whole contract?" I asked plaintively.

Ms. Gray sighed. "I'm afraid not. There is a severablity clause included. Should one part of the contract be rendered invalid, it will be removed, but the contract is still valid. Therefore, should you choose to sign this contract, Mr. Waters will be able to terminate your marriage for any reason he desires, and you will be left with only the assets with which you entered. If you terminate the marriage, the same thing will happen."

I bit my lip. I didn't like this one bit. "What does it say, exactly?"

She leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. "Well, it's fairly standard outside of the, ah, sexual provisions. Both parties are expected to be faithful. You will be given an allowance, both for yourself, your vocation, and for various projects you choose to pursue. In the event of Mr. Waters' death, you would receive very little, I'm afraid. He also appears to have included a clause wherein should his death be suspect, you will receive nothing." She sniffed. "He is a very... thorough man."

"You mean he's totally bugfuck," I said.

"I have not met him," she replied primly. "I'm sure you would know more about that."

"I only met him yesterday," I said.

Her lips thinned and she appeared to be debating something. She inhaled and leaned forward. "Miss Dare, may I speak frankly with you?"

Hooboy. Here it came. The motherly lecture. "Sure. Why not?"

She laid her hands on the contract. "As far as sexual perversions go, the ones in this contract are fairly light."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yes. There's nothing in here about sex with animals or other people or even a sexual schedule, which I have seen before. Well, not the sex with animals part," she amended. "That is highly illegal. But the other things, yes. Are you doing this for the money?"

I felt like crying. "I don't know if I'm doing this at all yet."

"But there is a good reason?" She glanced down, then back at me and said, almost gently, "There is a clause in the contract that covers any medical expenses you might need. I noted that it does not mention you specifically as the recipient of medical attention. Is that it?"

I nodded miserably.

She sat back. "Then you should do it."

My mouth dropped open. I closed it, then opened it again.

"What, seriously?" I said.

She nodded. "I know who Anton Waters is. Most people do. From what I can tell, this marriage would be a little bit of putting the cart before the horse, yes? You are not currently romantically interested in him?"

Not romantically, no. I shook my head.

She patted the papers in front of her. "The man who drew up this contract wants a woman who cannot betray him. This indicates he has a lot of problems, but he is also treating you as an object rather than a person. The former does not excuse the latter. In my opinion there is nothing in the world that should keep you from taking all you can from him, while you can. If you play your cards right, you would be able to launch a career from this marriage, or become a highly lucrative name. The world would be your oyster should you marry this man. You would not want for money should you choose to divorce him." She shrugged. "If the sex is good and you get something out of the marriage, I don't see why you shouldn't do it." She gave me a kindly old librarian smile.

I put a hand to my forehead, trying to assimilate this information. It was terrible because it made sense. I didn't like the fact that it made sense. I'd wanted her to tell me that this contract was a complete joke and that there was no way it would be enforceable. That way I could have just married Waters, then divorced him, taken his money, and saved my mother. Unfortunately, that didn't seem like it was going to happen.

On the other hand, even with  her encouragement, I was still hesitant. Fuck Anton Waters? Sure. Date him? From what I'd seen, a couple of really expensive dinners would be fun to get, but not much else. Marry him? God no. I wasn't naive. I didn't think marriage had to be for your one true love, but marrying for something other than love left a bad taste in my mouth. I must be a secret romantic. Who knew?

But what choice did I have?

I sighed. "Thanks for your time," I told her.

She looked surprised. "You don't want me to go over the contract with you?"

"Will that cost more than the free consultation?" I asked her. "Because I don't do anything but free so well."

Her eyes crinkled. "Oh, I'm sure I could go over it and even make some changes that you'd probably find useful, pro bono. Of course, I'd expect you to recommend me to your friends. And if anyone asks, drop my name as your prenup consultant."

"Wow," I said. "That's... uh..."

"No problem," she said airily. "It'll be great for my business." She fixed me with a sharp eye. "And if you marry Anton Waters, get used to that sort of proposition." She sat up and pushed the contract across the desk, flipping to the second page. "Now, here's the section about separate property..."

*

By the time I got home and had a shower, I was full of vim and vinegar and ready to take on the world, and Anton Waters in particular. I wasn't going to take any of this lying down. Wrapped in my threadbare bathrobe with a Hello Kitty towel smothering my wet hair, I called Empire Capital and demanded to speak to Anton Waters.

This didn't go over so well, until I remembered that I was apparently a VIP in the Empire empire and gave my name.

"Oh!" The poor receptionist sounded like she was going to have a very peppy heart attack, and I felt bad. But not very. She was part of the Evil Empire. She was the enemy. "Yes! Of course, Miss Dare!" The phone line clicked and my ears were flooded with baroque music. It lasted only a few moments before Arthur's voice came on the line.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Dare," he said smoothly, "but Mr. Waters is out of the office. Let me give you his private cell so you may reach him."

"I... oh." I was taken aback. I'd worked as a receptionist before, and let me tell you, in some places giving out someone's private cell number is tantamount to committing ritual hari kiri in the workplace. If you wanted to fast-track yourself to getting fired, give out a private cell number. The only explanation that I could come up with was that Waters had left specific instructions to give his number to me if I called.

Unnerved, I wrote down the number, thanked Arthur, and hung up.

Having to call a second number was less exciting than the first call. The courage I'd mustered from my meeting with my lawyer—and I had to give it to my father, being able to say 'my lawyer' was pretty exhilarating—was fast dwindling. Hearing the lower-level monkeys at Empire Capital—my sort of people—chirp excitedly at me did not help.

With a gulp, I dialed Anton's number, turned on the speaker, and put the phone out of reach so I wouldn't accidentally hang up, take a taxi to the airport, and buy a one-way ticket to Belize. After only two rings, the phone clicked, and his rich, deep voice answered: “Waters.”

For a moment I was tongue-tied. All the things I'd meant to say got tangled up and I couldn't sort through them fast enough to decide which I should start with. The silence got longer and longer. I knew this tactic. He was waiting on the other end of the line, waiting for the person who called him to fill up the silence. He was Anton Waters. He didn't have to talk if he didn't want to, and he certainly wasn't going to waste precious words asking someone something twice.

“Why is everyone at your company so nice to me?” I finally blurted. Hey, it was better than nothing.

“Ah, Miss Dare,” he said. “I was wondering when you would call.”

Uuuuuugh. He was such a twat. Such a movie-cliche twat. And I wanted to fuck him really badly, and I might actually maybe perhaps marry him. I should have gone to a shrink instead of a lawyer.

“That's nice,” I said. “Why is everyone so nice to me?”

“I told them we may be getting married,” he said.

I couldn't hold in my indignant shout. “What?” I hadn't even told my closest friends, and he'd probably sent out a company-wide memo about it.

“It wouldn't be good for their health if they found out after the fact,” he said. “Katy, my front desk receptionist, already called Arthur yesterday and apologized for being rude to you when you first walked in. I gather she was very contrite.”

It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Oh. Well,” I said awkwardly, “I wasn't really dressed for visiting.” The only place my work clothes were fit for visiting was a street corner, and even then I'd need a nice cardboard sign to complete the ensemble. Will make poor life decisions for food.

Nervously I fidgeted with the towel I had wrapped around my head. Hearing his voice, even this pale imitation over my cell phone speakers, was bringing back memories of yesterday, when he cornered me in his office and pressed me against the wall.

My cheeks heated. Don't think about that! I commanded myself.

“Have you given any further thought to my offer?” he asked, which made it hard not to think about. Almost absently the hand toying with the towel on my head drifted down to the hot space between my thighs and began toying with that instead.

No matter how I sliced it, that couldn't be a good sign. I didn't take my hand away, however. The richness of his voice had made me wet and slick.

“I went to see a lawyer today,” I told him.

The other end of the line was quiet for a fraction of a second longer than I expected. “Good,” he said. “I'm glad. You should have legal counsel when signing legal documents.”

Yeah. And she told me to marry you if the sex was good. My middle finger circled my clit as though pondering just how much it could get away with while I talked on the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I have a few changes to make.”

This time the silence on the other end was definitely longer than I expected. A few other fingers joined the first. At last there was a rustling sound, and I heard him sigh. “We should meet.”

I hadn't expected that, although I probably should have. “Okay. At your office?”

“No,” he said. “It's almost lunch time. We should meet for lunch.”

My roving hand stilled and my nerves shot through the roof. “Uh. Okay. Where?”

This time when he spoke, I could hear the smile in his voice, and that made me even more nervous. “I'll send a car to pick you up.”

“How should I dress—” I started to say, but he hung up on me.

I stared at the phone in my hand. Quickly, I redialed his number, but it went immediately to voice mail.

My eyes flew to the contract where it sat on my coffee table. All that shit about being submissive... that's what he was doing, wasn't it? He was trying to show me just how much power he held.

“Ass!” I said out loud, though I would have been hard pressed to tell anyone listening if I were calling Waters an ass, or merely commenting on the general situation. Maybe both.

I jumped up from my seat, shedding my towel and bathrobe.

Two could play this game.

*

Anton Waters knew where I lived.

I mean, of course he did, it was right there on his stupid contract, but the fact that a fancy-ass car—black, naturally—pulled up to my shitty apartment in my little low rent neighborhood reminded me that he knew where I lived. Suddenly my tiny shoebox didn't seem so safe and snug. For reasons I couldn't define, the idea that he could probably find me whenever he chose gave me the shivers.

I took a drag of my cigarette and lifted my chin.

To his credit, the driver Waters had sent only did a double-take when he saw me, and it was only a small one, at that. But it was enough. I knew I had done a good job.

I'm not in the habit of dressing up, and I have to make my clothes last when I get them, so luckily I still had some truly awful clothes left over from college. The tiny red skirt I wore contrasted horribly with the orange blouse, worn because it revealed a truly indecent amount of cleavage. Knee-high leather boots and some torn fishnets leftover from that Halloween where I dressed up like Sally Bowles completed the outfit, and I'd layered the blue eyeshadow on like it had gone out of style in the eighties. I hadn't had time to do my hair so it still hung straight and wasn't a glorious frizzball like I'd wanted, but I thought I looked pretty good. For my purposes anyway.

The driver recovered and opened the door. "Ma'am," he said. "My name is Zachary. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you," I told him, and got in.

The car was even nicer on the inside than on the out, and the outside had been pretty damn sweet. Buttery leather seats caressed my thighs through my fishnets, and there was a tiny bar built into the seats in front of me. Look at me, it seemed to say. I'm classy and made of real wood.

"Is the bar free, or do I have to pay a surcharge?" I asked the driver as we pulled away from my apartment.

"Mr. Waters said you were welcome to anything you wish, ma'am." Unlike Katy and Arthur, Zachary seemed more standoffish, but that was probably my outfit talking. He was the soul of politeness otherwise, but I could practically feel him replaying the plot of Pretty Woman in his head and trying to figure out which scene he was in.

Well, I might as well give myself a little liquid courage. I popped open the bar and grabbed a bottle at random. Scotch. Of course.

Yuck.

Trying to act cool, I replaced itand looked out the window. "So where are we going?" I asked.

"To lunch, ma'am," Zachary said.

My mouth twisted. "Did Mr. Waters give you instructions not to tell me where exactly we'll be going for lunch?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," he said. "I've never spoken with Mr. Waters directly. But..." In the rear view mirror he looked faintly embarrassed. "I am supposed to, er, drive around a bit before dropping you off.”

He looked worried.

“Don't fret,” I told him. “I won't tattle.”

I settled back and watched the city glide by me, hoping to calm my jangling nerves, but I must have been more tired than I'd realized. The cumulative effect of the car's momentum and last night's ill-considered bender combined to send me into a doze. I was startled awake by the door opening.

“Hrble?” I said intelligently. I glanced around, disoriented.

“Here we are, ma'am,” the driver said, and when I looked up at him, I saw the slightest bit of sympathy in his eyes. I felt pathetically grateful for it.

“Thank you,” I said. He helped me out of the car, and I pretended to fix my clothes—an impossible task as they were designed to be unfixable—and tried to figure out where I had ended up. Story of my life.

To my surprise, I discovered that I had been delivered to a small Mom and Pop place called The Villa. This didn't really tell me anything, because there are a thousand Mom and Pop Italian places called The Villa, but at least most of them were good. That I had not been deposited in front of a high-end sushi bar or a sexy French bistro surprised me, but only for a moment. I gathered my courage and went in.

Anton Waters was waiting for me just inside the door. Even though I was semi-prepared to see him, he still stopped me in my tracks.

Dammit. I'd forgotten just how arresting he was. He sported a light dusting of dark stubble today, accenting the squareness of his jaw. His stupid full lips quirked in that faint smile of his when he saw me, and I felt like those vivid green eyes, muted in the gloom of the intimate little restaurant, were staring right through me.

“Miss Dare,” he said.

I tried to toss my hair back arrogantly, but I wasn't used to wearing such high heels and the gesture made me stagger.

One large, warm hand caught me before I fell on my ass, and then Waters was pulling me close to him. His lean, hard body fairly hummed with energy, and he stared down at me.

“Watch your step,” he said. Then, gently, he let me go.

I swallowed hard. “Mr. Waters,” I said.

He held out a hand. “Please. Let's be seated.”

I gripped my purse, holding the strap in front of me like a talisman that could ward him off, and glared at him. He dropped his hand, somehow making the gesture elegant rather than awkward, and turned into the dining room. I followed him.

We wove through the other diners. A few stopped chewing and stared at him as he passed them by, but most of them ignored him. I, in my hooker-on-a-holiday getup, attracted far more attention. I didn't like that one bit. Mercifully, we were seated at the back of the dining room in an intimate little booth. I took one side and put my purse next to me to deter him from sharing my bench, but he didn't even try. Instead he slid in across from me, poured two generous glasses of red wine, and ordered the asparagus salad for both of us from the waitress who stood next to our table, practically vibrating at attention.

“Of course, Mr. Waters,” she gushed. She didn't even look at me. I wondered if I would have to get used to that sort of thing as well when we got married.

No. If. If!

Dammit.

I smoothed the white table cloth under my hands as she ran off to the kitchen. “I'm not fond of asparagus,” I said.

“You will be with this asparagus,” he said. “It is delicious.” I watched as he shook out his napkin and laid it in his lap. I envied that napkin. I followed suit, though the table cloth was so long it seemed like it could do double duty as a napkin just fine. I shoved it out of my way and laid the cloth across my gaudy red skirt.

“Care to explain what you are wearing?”

I looked up.

Waters sat across from me, one arm propped on the back of the booth, his head tilted at an arrogant angle. He wore another linen shirt today, this one just as impeccably tailored as the one yesterday, and a tie was conspicuously absent. Every day was casual Friday in the Empire empire, apparently.

“Just something I had left over from college,” I said. Which was mostly true.

He arched one perfect brow. His green eyes glinted. “I see,” he said, his tone of voice conveying that he didn't see at all. I felt like a contrite schoolgirl dragged in front of the principal.

Oh no, don't paddle me, Mr. Principal, I thought, and was immediately angry. It was becoming increasingly clear that I was fighting a losing battle, and it wasn't with Waters; it was with myself.

Of course it was Waters' fault for being so sexy. It wasn't fair.

I shrugged at him. “Well, you hung up on me before I could ask you what I should wear.”

“And this is what you chose?”

I looked down at myself, pretending to be surprised. “Sure,” I replied. “Why not?”

He studied the glass of wine in front of him, then reached out and began to play with it, but before he could answer me the waitress returned with our salads. She chirped something at him, and he answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too mesmerized by the slow, deliberate way he stroked the stem of his wineglass. It wasn't until the waitress bustled away again that I realized he had ordered my lunch for me. I was really blowing this. Ah, well, at least I could get a meal out of it, right?

I looked down at my salad and was perturbed to discover that it was a single piece of asparagus on a leaf of lettuce, artfully arranged and drizzled with some balsamic concoction that stung my nose all the way from the table. A lone slice of tomato peeked from beneath the lettuce.

“You are trying to get a rise out of me, Miss Dare.”

I looked back up at him. His gaze penetrated me straight to the core.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

He leaned back. “You will have to do better than that. What purpose would dressing as a prostitute serve?”

“Well, that's what I'm going to be for you, right? Your prostitute?”

“No. You would be my wife.”

I scowled at him. “I don't see it that way, and I doubt many other people would either if they knew the truth. I just thought I'd rather be honest about what I am to you.”

He pursed his lips. His lovely, perfect lips. Why was he so distracting?

“I know what you are to me, and you know what I am to you, Miss Dare. There is no other reason for dressing in this fashion than to attempt to humiliate me.”

I shrugged. “If you think so, then fine.”

To my surprise, he shook his head. "Your opinion of others is so low," he said. "That is disappointing. Many wonderful women work in the sex industry. I would not be insulted to be seen with one of them. I hope they would be able to make the most of it."

Stung, I stared at him. He was right, of course. I had just assumed, because he was rich and lucky, because of the circles he moved in, that he would be angry with my outfit. In a flash of insight, I realized that he hadn't told me how to dress because he wanted to see what I would do, not just exerting power over me.

For a brief moment I felt ashamed. "Was this just a test?" I asked.

He tilted his head. "It was what it was. I now know more about you than before. That is enough for me." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I wished I could punch it and not get my name in the papers. I wondered if paparazzi were taking pictures of us right now. The thought was so humiliating that I swept my hair over my face and looked down at my plate and its lovingly arranged asparagus.

"But we are here to talk about the contract, yes?"

I nodded. "Yeah." The asparagus languished in front of me, begging to be eaten, but I had lost my appetite.

“Let me see it.”

With clumsy fingers, I extracted the rewritten agreement from my purse and handed it across the table. Waters leaned back and began to flip through it as though he had all the time in the world. Ms. Gray had highlighted the changes in the contract to make them easy to find, and he lingered over each one, sipping his wine as he did so. Occasionally he glanced up at me.

At last he sat back. “None of these changes are very drastic,” he said. “Are you sure this is all you want?”

I'd been staring at my asparagus salad, trying to ignore him and make a decision about what part of my bounty to attack first, but at this I looked up in surprise.

“I, uh, didn't know I could ask for more.”

He speared his tomato and popped it into his mouth. “You may ask for anything you like. Whether or not I will grant it is another matter entirely.”

God, I hated him.

Thoughtfully, he chewed and swallowed. “Your changes are minimal. The major changes appear to be a requirement to revisit and renew the contract after one year. That is fine with me. And you wish for the medical clause to go into effect immediately upon signing.” For a long moment, he regarded me, then signaled a passing waiter who snapped to attention.

“May I borrow a pen?” he asked.

The blood drained from my face. Surely he didn't mean to...?

But he did. The waiter whipped a ballpoint pen from his pocket, and right in front of me Anton Waters initialed and signed each clause and page, and then signed and dated it.

He pushed it across the table.

I stared at it.

It stared back at me.

I willed it to go away.

It didn't.

I reached out and drained my glass of wine.

“Are you not prepared to sign today?” Waters asked.

I swallowed. “I...” My thoughts ricocheted inside my head. All it would take was a flourish of a cheap Bic ballpoint and my life would change. I would be bound to marry this man that I didn't even know, my father would be back in business, and my mother would be in chemo.

The world darkened at the edges of my vision. I tried to take a deep breath, but it seemed like something heavy had settled on my chest.

“Miss Dare?”

A movement across from me caught my attention. Waters had risen from his seat.

I didn't know how to react, but then I felt the booth dip and he slid in next to me, looping an arm around my shoulders, shielding me from the rest of the dining room.

God, he felt good, warm and strong. If circumstances had been different, and if he had been less of a douche, I might have enjoyed the intimacy. I might have been able to lean into him and taken comfort from his strength. I might have been able to wholeheartedly let him take my burdens from me.

But all it did was make me skittish. My pulse picked up the pace.

"Let's not pretend," he said. Reaching out, he poured me another glass of wine. "You need me, and I want you."

"You don't want me," I said. "You want a woman who needs you."

"To me, those are one and the same at the moment." He lifted the wine and brought it toward me, urging me to drink. I took the glass from his hand and set it on the table.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head. "I like to watch you fight it," he said. "Just like I liked watching you finger yourself in my elevator while you thought of me."

Security cameras. Of course.

Mortification swept over me. I stiffened and he leaned in. His lips brushed over my ear. "You are beautiful when you abandon yourself."

"Don't feel so smug," I snapped, even as he moved his lips to the spot just below my earlobe. "I haven't gotten laid in six mo—ooh..."

Anton Waters pressed his hot, soft mouth against my hammering pulse.

I melted under him, my body dissolving into shivers. Panting, I put my hands on the table, gripping the table cloth tightly as I struggled to keep myself from touching him back. My fingers itched to feel him. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting him.

"Our marriage would be mutually beneficial,” he said, breath ghosting over my skin. “I think you might even enjoy it."

No, no, no, no, no... "No one would enjoy being forced into sex for money,” I ground out.

He smirked against my throat and swept my hair aside. Lightly, gently, he placed lingering kisses down my throat and up over my neck.

"I would never force you. You will always want it."

My heart twisted in my chest. I know, I know, I wanted to say, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.

His breath was hot on the back of my neck. "Do you think I won't be able to please you? Is that it?" he whispered, and I felt his words sink into my skin, into my bones, zipping down my body, electrifying me. I wanted him so badly, but how could I tell him that obtaining orgasms with him was the least of my worries?

His leg pressed against mine. The heat of his body seeped through the fabric between us and I wished I'd been more prudent and worn pants instead of a skirt. His fingers alighted on my thigh and began to trace shivering patterns across my skin. Lips and tongue played with the sensitive nape of my neck, and his hand drifted down my arm, fingertips skimming the outside swell of my breast. Between my thighs, I felt myself grow hot and slick.

"I could make you come right here in this restaurant," he murmured, and his voice was hoarse. "Right in front of everyone. I'll make you scream."

His words set me on fire. "I'd like to see you try," I whispered back. Bravado. My voice shook.

But it wasn't a lie.

Pulling back, he graced me with another one of his faint smiles. "You are the perfect woman for me," he said. "Defiant, with nowhere to run. You'd rather die on your feet than live on your knees." His fingers drifted up my leg, up under my skirt. I swallowed around the lump in my throat.

"I'd rather live on my feet than die on my knees, thanks," I told him.

He laughed, then looked shocked that he'd done so. I saw him forcibly recover, but I had no time to bask in my tiny victory. One long, hot finger brushed against the soft mound above my pussy, robbing me of thought.

"You may live on your feet," he whispered, "but I will bend you over and fuck you all the same."

And he slipped under the table.

It was so quick, so unexpected, that I was still staring at the spot where he had been and trying to muster the presence of mind to react when I felt his large, hot hands on my knees.

My god. He was kneeling under the table, hidden by the long table cloth. He was going to—going to—

I wish I could say I put up a fight. But my thighs parted at the slightest pressure from his hands, and I opened to him.

He pushed my skirt up, rearranging the table cloth so that it fell across my lap and hid my sudden indecency from the rest of the lunch crowd. All around me conversation carried on as usual. Glasses clinked, knives scraped against forks, someone tittered at an amusing joke. And Anton Waters gently pushed the crotch of my panties aside, parting the slick folds there.

I felt the rough tip of one finger poised at my entrance. Then it slid up, up, up, almost touching my clit, but he only grazed it before sliding back down, pressing against my waiting channel. I was biting my lip so hard I could almost taste blood. Up his finger came again, gently teasing me, then down it went. Up, and down. Up and down. Up, and down again, each time pressing ever so slightly into me.

It was torture. My cheeks burned. I wanted to reach down under the table and slam his face against my pussy. I wanted to leap up and kick him. I didn't dare do either of those things. I knew I was soaking through my panties and probably staining my skirt, but I couldn't bring myself to push him away. My whole existence was his finger and my aching cunt. The restaurant faded around me and I closed my eyes, trying to maneuver my hips into his finger yet again. I needed him to touch my clit. I was going to die without it.

But he didn't. Instead, he paused again at my entrance, and I could feel his gaze on me, staring straight into my quivering folds. I was exposed to him. All my defenses were stripped away, need spiraling out of control.

Slowly, surely, one long finger entered me. I convulsed around him.

“Miss?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now. Go away...

“Miss, is there anything I can bring you?”

I forced my eyes open to see the waitress hovering at the side of the table, looking at me curiously. Surely she knew what was happening. It had to be obvious.

The finger inside me curled, and my toes curled along with it.

“No!” I said. “Nothing. Thanks!”

She looked at me strangely. “Your lunch will be out shortly. There's a bit of a backup in the kitchen.”

Don't care! I wanted to scream.

I felt Waters move under the table. Rough cheeks scraped over my tender inner thighs.

Oh god. No, don't, don't you dare.

“Ma'am?” the waitress said. “You don't look very well.”

“Just a hangover,” I blurted. “Need some hair of the dog.” I reached for the wine glass I had rejected, desperate to hide my cresting need.

Anton Waters sucked my clit into his mouth, scraped his tongue over it, and I came.

My hand flailed against my wine, knocking it over, but I barely even noticed. All my determination not to scream flew out the window, but I had the barest shred of self-control left to bury my head in my arms and shriek into the table. My whole body shuddered and stars burst against my eyelids as he suckled on my clit, curling his finger inside me. My legs curled over his shoulders, pulling him to me as I shook with a pleasure so acute it was almost pain. The soft, vague roughness of his tongue pulled my clit further and further into his mouth, and pulled me along with it. I felt as though I might melt where I sat, might fall into his mouth and be devoured, and I wouldn't care.

And he didn't stop, even as I came down from the shuddering heights, dragging moans from my mouth. I felt the eyes of the entire restaurant on me as I came, and the coarse humiliation slid against the pleasure, sharpening it like a whetstone, until it cut like a blade.

Waters retreated, and I felt his absence like a bruise. At last I was able to raise my head. I forced myself to meet my waitress's eyes.

We stared at each other for a long moment. I knew she knew. And she knew that I knew that she knew.

I did the only thing I could think of. I pressed a hand to my mouth and clutched my stomach with the other. “I think... Mr. Waters went to the restroom,” I gasped. “Could you... get him for me?”

Her eyes wide in terror, the waitress nodded frantically and fled the scene of the crime. I didn't dare look around to see who else had noticed me just have the most powerful orgasm of my life.

After a moment, Anton Waters popped up on the other side of the booth, looking cool and unflappable, as though he had just gone to retrieve an errant fork. The only thing that gave him away was the slickness of his lips, wet with my juices, and his green eyes, watching me like a tiger. I met his gaze, still panting, then pulled my skirt down. My thighs rubbed against my pussy, sending aftershocks through my body.

For a long moment, we stared at each other. He glanced down at the contract by his elbow and rescued it just in time from the spreading red wine.

Wordlessly, he pushed it toward me, then held the pen out to me.

“This is your call,” he said. He studied me with eyes hooded by desire.

I hesitated one final time. Then I grabbed the pen in my hand and signed my life away.

*

To be continued in Bartered Fiancee: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 3!

About the Author

Ava Lore was raised by wombats and lives to corrupt the innocent. When she's not writing erotic romance, she spends her time thinking about writing erotic romance and drinking enough iced coffee to kill a musk ox.

Ava Lore at Smashwords.com

Discover more titles by Ava Lore at Amazon.com.

You can email Ava Lore at authoravalore@gmail.com. She yearns for your approval.

Other Titles by Ava Lore

The Billionaire's Wife:

Bartered Proposal: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 1

Her Alien Abductor: Galactic Concubine, Part 1